Alex Roddie introduces his wife to the joys of Munro-bagging
SOME SAY that a happy marriage is based on mutual interests. Hillwalking has been part of our relationship since the beginning, and I even asked Hannah to marry me on the summit of Fremington Edge in the Yorkshire Dales; but one thing she hadn’t done was tackle a Scottish Munro. When we headed north for a walking holiday in Perthshire I suggested we climb Schiehallion as it would be a new hill for us both. After a summer confined to the flatlands due to the coronavirus pandemic we were both itching for a bit of hill time, but I didn’t want to throw her in at the deep end and put her off bigger
mountains for life.
I’d heard that Schiehallion could get busy, so we made an early start; sure enough, the Braes of Foss car park was already half full by the time we got there. I’m usually one for solitude in the mountains, but it made a nice change to be saying hello to fellow walkers all heading for the same objective. Had lockdown increased my appetite for social interaction?
Thanks to the good work of the John Muir Trust, who own much of the mountain, the footpath was in an excellent state of repair as we ambled through an area of regenerating mountain habitat with new young trees beginning to sprout. A chilly breeze kept the weather feeling autumnal despite the greens and heatherpurples of summer still predominating around us.
As we ascended, we passed more evidence of path repair work in progress: a necessary step to prevent erosion on such a popular hill. But although there were plenty of other walkers about, it never felt crowded and I found myself cheered by the friendly greetings. After a difficult few months, there was a palpable sense of appreciation at being free to get outside in the open air and climb a beautiful hill.
And the experience was even more enjoyable than expected, with a certain purity to the line of ascent, traversing the ridge on a meandering line at first and then over narrower and rockier ground, almost but never quite crossing the line into scrambling. It grew cooler, and the wind had that big-mountain bite to it that hinted at a colder season just around the corner. Soon enough the ridge narrowed to a final crest of rock, and then there was no more ascent. We ate our lunch in the lee of the cairn, taking time to appreciate the misty views out over to lochs, hills and forests in the distance: a quintessentially Scottish scene.
“How does it feel to have climbed a Munro?” I asked Hannah. “Chilly,” she said; but the big smile on her face told me all I needed to know. Schiehallion may have been a straightforward ascent, but it was worthwhile.