‘The Day A Mountain Changed My Life’
Idecided on my 70th birthday to go hillwalking again after a thirty year lay off. I was keen as a young man, then inconveniences like careers, families, houses etc., got in the way. Could I go back? I know there are loads of wrinklies parading about the hills everywhere. Bonington still walks in his 80s, while Hamish Brown is a good chunk older than me and still active. But these guys and many more never stopped. They stayed hill fit. I became couch fit...
To get started I chose Tinto Hill in South Lanarkshire, just 15 minutes from my home. My first attempt found me all weak and rubbery not very far up the hill, sitting on a rock smiling like the village idiot to all who passed. Attempt two was better. I shortened my stride, slowed right down, and to my astonishment reached the massive summit cairn still breathing. To get fit I walked Tinto two or three times a week. It’s a safe place for an old duffer to get fit. If I collapsed in a heap blocking the path someone would at least a) roll me over the edge, b) go through my pockets, then roll me over the edge, or c) let their dog pee on me.
I became fitter, but something was lacking. There was no passion, no edge. I needed a real hill with a bit of a thrill to it. But where, with my limited fitness? The north-west ridge of Beinn an Lochain was my choice. It was a delight. Very steep, sort of scrambling most of the way. A tiny path that crossed very steep faces and led to a small summit. Hands- on rock.
My old Nikon D80 was clacking away like ill-fitting false teeth. Such views, even a wee bit vertiginous at times. This was it, I was back...
I went home salivating to do more. Twice more I walked Beinn an Lochain, then moved on. Over the last six years you could have come across me anywhere in the Scottish hills. You might still, for the ember blown into a brilliant flame on Beinn an Lochain gets brighter every trip. But, should you come across me, just promise to keep your dog on a leash, won’t you?