Jul 2007
Ben Nevis Hike Saturday 23rd June
Sunday July 2007 02:46 PM
It's been
almost a week now since eleven of us travelled to
Scotland for a hike up Ben Nevis. The journey there
was very enjoyable - especially as Neil was doing the
driving - although the weather was atrocious at times
with torrential rain and thunder. Our journey took us
alongside several loughs including Lough Ness, and
even though common sense tells you that you aren't
likely to see Nessie popping her head out, the
surface of the lough has a hypnotic quality and I
found it hard to stop watching the water.
As we approached the hostel, we were able to see glimpses of the mountain through the clouds and I was surprised to see that there were still areas of snow near the summit. I'd heard that Ben Nevis can have snow all year round but it was still fascinating to see it in late June. We arrived at the bunkhouse, dropped our gear off and went back into the nearby town to buy supplies. While we were there we met with a couple of locals (Del and Michael) who joined us for dinner and a drink in a busy pub/restaurant in the town centre.
When we eventually dragged ourselves away from the bar it was quite late, but because we were so far north the horizon was still glowing brightly. I don't think it gets fully dark here at this time of year. The others, who had arrived while we were at dinner, were sitting in the garden at the back, enjoying the evening in spite of the swarms of midges. We soon had to take cover inside so we crawled into our bunks. I've stayed in bunk houses before and I had the foresight to bring earplugs with me, a few people weren't so prepared and they maybe didn't get quite as much sleep as I did! I remember waking up in the small hours bursting for a pee which is a surprisingly big deal when you're in a top bunk in dark and unfamiliar environment, surrounded by tired and irritable homosexuals. When I took my earplugs out, I was almost deafened by a cacophony of grunting, slobbering and snoring noises - and that was just from the women's bunks (only joking girls!!).
The next morning we were all "refreshed" and eager to get started, in spite of the rain and the poor visibility. After a good breakfast (it's fun to see everybody's morning routines, us gays are a fussy lot when it comes to our porridge), we geared up and set off, leaving the hostel at almost exactly 10:20am. Very soon we realised that we were over-dressed for the occasion: in spite of the drizzle and grey skies it was really humid and we rapidly started overheating. There were loads of people on the same path as us - but most of them seemed to be on their way down, and many of them were running. It seemed very dodgy to be running down such a slippery narrow slope, and they didn't look to be in 100% control of themselves, which could have been a problem if they'd bumped into one of us. But most of them had such amazing thighs that we found it in our hearts to forgive them.
About a third of the way up, some of us started to feel the strain. The humidity was very high, the midges were sucking us dry, and the narrow path was on a constant incline with few places to rest. As well as this, there was no view at all - the mist didn't seem to be clearing as the day progressed. At this point, five of the more sensible members of our group decided to call it a day (hats off to Alex, she'd been struggling with knee and hip trouble and it was really inspiring to see her make it this far!!). We said our goodbyes and six of us continued on. As the route was fairly obvious, and because some of the the remaining hikers were so bloody fit, we split into separate groups. Neil and I walk at a similar pace, so we stayed together for the remainder of the hike while everybody else zoomed ahead for the summit.
The path stayed steep, narrow and rocky. Because it was so misty, we hadn't any idea about how much progress we'd made, or how much further we had to go. Very unusually for me, I didn't seem to get hungry, which was lucky as we hadn't spotted a single place that looked like it would be nice for a sit-down and a bite to eat. About an hour after we'd parted company with everybody, we met one of our group who'd zoomed on ahead of us. He seemed pretty tired, and he told us he'd eaten all his food and was feeling pretty knackered. His two companions had gone on ahead and he was was having a rest. We walked together for a while, but he couldn't manage the pace and told us to go on ahead as he may not make it to the top. Not long after this, I got a text message from David (who was at the front) that he's reached the snow line. This gave us a boost of energy to carry on, and the cooler air as we gained altitude actually made the climb seem easier.
After about 45 minutes, we started to notice the mist getting lighter straight ahead: we thought it was the skies finally clearing until we realised, as we got closer, that it was snow. Lots of it too! There wasn't a gradual change to snowy conditions as you might have expected, but a sudden, sharp snow line. On one side, it was wet and rocky. Take one step forward though, and you were standing in approximately two feet deep, slightly dirty, icy snow. There was a large cairn that conveniently marked the snow line, although this was surely a coincidence. We stopped to take photographs and marvel at the sight of deep snow in late June, but the cold soon meant that we had to get moving again. The snow was fairly easy to walk on, but it was on quite a steep slope so we had to dig our toes and heels in to stop ourselves sliding backwards. After about 50 metres we were back on rocky ground again, but with snowy patches in sheltered areas. We knew we weren't far from the top so on we went, as the mist got thicker and and the air got colder.
All of a sudden we were at the top, 4,406 feet above sea level, three hours and forty minutes from when we set off. The summit was a wide, rocky expanse, with a number of large cairns, some ruined stone buildings and the remains of an observatory on a large stone structure. There were lots of people about, most of them taking photographs and all of them feeling justifiably pleased with themselves for making it this far. We found our three friends who had been ahead of us. They were sitting close by a cliff edge, taking the weight off their feet. My first thought was, as usual, "food". I sat down on a damp rock and it almost immediately a chilly wind sprang up. We gathered up our gear and moved to a more sheltered area, but it was still too cold and windy to eat. Then the rain started. We moved again, and my stomach started to protest at being teased like this. So the third time we sat down, I was determined not to move again. We crouched down in the "shelter" of the meteorological station and I started tucking into my lunch. The rain got so heavy that it was diluting the tea in my little flask-lid cup. It was also doing a fine job of soaking into my wooly gloves, making them sodden and freezing. We soon realised that we must have been sitting in one of the few places on the summit where you could have a sneaky pee out of the public eye - there was a distinct smell of urine in our chosen sheltering spot. Luckily I had my handy, antibacterial, moist wipes with me!
As we finished our lunch, crouching on pissy rocks in the rain, wind and cold, (am I painting a pleasant picture?) we heard our names being called through the mist and rain. Well, more like "where the FUCK are you?" but I'm trying to be all poetic, like. It was our straggler, who had made it to the top after all. He wasn't very happy though: the combination of exhaustion, bad weather and an over-full belly had made him grumpy, throwing his handbag - oops, obviously I meant rucksack - down in disgust when he finally found us before storming off again. So lunch was over and we started back down. The journey back was uneventful, although as we approached the bottom of the mountain the mist suddenly cleared and we were treated to a momentary spectacular view of multiple loughs and mountain peaks all around, which we'd missed on the way up. Damn you, Mother Nature!!
It was great to get a hug from my man as we got back to the bunkhouse (he'd turned back with the others) and I was on an emotional high for the rest of the weekend. Thanks to everyone who came along for making it a truly great weekend away.
ianP
As we approached the hostel, we were able to see glimpses of the mountain through the clouds and I was surprised to see that there were still areas of snow near the summit. I'd heard that Ben Nevis can have snow all year round but it was still fascinating to see it in late June. We arrived at the bunkhouse, dropped our gear off and went back into the nearby town to buy supplies. While we were there we met with a couple of locals (Del and Michael) who joined us for dinner and a drink in a busy pub/restaurant in the town centre.
When we eventually dragged ourselves away from the bar it was quite late, but because we were so far north the horizon was still glowing brightly. I don't think it gets fully dark here at this time of year. The others, who had arrived while we were at dinner, were sitting in the garden at the back, enjoying the evening in spite of the swarms of midges. We soon had to take cover inside so we crawled into our bunks. I've stayed in bunk houses before and I had the foresight to bring earplugs with me, a few people weren't so prepared and they maybe didn't get quite as much sleep as I did! I remember waking up in the small hours bursting for a pee which is a surprisingly big deal when you're in a top bunk in dark and unfamiliar environment, surrounded by tired and irritable homosexuals. When I took my earplugs out, I was almost deafened by a cacophony of grunting, slobbering and snoring noises - and that was just from the women's bunks (only joking girls!!).
The next morning we were all "refreshed" and eager to get started, in spite of the rain and the poor visibility. After a good breakfast (it's fun to see everybody's morning routines, us gays are a fussy lot when it comes to our porridge), we geared up and set off, leaving the hostel at almost exactly 10:20am. Very soon we realised that we were over-dressed for the occasion: in spite of the drizzle and grey skies it was really humid and we rapidly started overheating. There were loads of people on the same path as us - but most of them seemed to be on their way down, and many of them were running. It seemed very dodgy to be running down such a slippery narrow slope, and they didn't look to be in 100% control of themselves, which could have been a problem if they'd bumped into one of us. But most of them had such amazing thighs that we found it in our hearts to forgive them.
About a third of the way up, some of us started to feel the strain. The humidity was very high, the midges were sucking us dry, and the narrow path was on a constant incline with few places to rest. As well as this, there was no view at all - the mist didn't seem to be clearing as the day progressed. At this point, five of the more sensible members of our group decided to call it a day (hats off to Alex, she'd been struggling with knee and hip trouble and it was really inspiring to see her make it this far!!). We said our goodbyes and six of us continued on. As the route was fairly obvious, and because some of the the remaining hikers were so bloody fit, we split into separate groups. Neil and I walk at a similar pace, so we stayed together for the remainder of the hike while everybody else zoomed ahead for the summit.
The path stayed steep, narrow and rocky. Because it was so misty, we hadn't any idea about how much progress we'd made, or how much further we had to go. Very unusually for me, I didn't seem to get hungry, which was lucky as we hadn't spotted a single place that looked like it would be nice for a sit-down and a bite to eat. About an hour after we'd parted company with everybody, we met one of our group who'd zoomed on ahead of us. He seemed pretty tired, and he told us he'd eaten all his food and was feeling pretty knackered. His two companions had gone on ahead and he was was having a rest. We walked together for a while, but he couldn't manage the pace and told us to go on ahead as he may not make it to the top. Not long after this, I got a text message from David (who was at the front) that he's reached the snow line. This gave us a boost of energy to carry on, and the cooler air as we gained altitude actually made the climb seem easier.
After about 45 minutes, we started to notice the mist getting lighter straight ahead: we thought it was the skies finally clearing until we realised, as we got closer, that it was snow. Lots of it too! There wasn't a gradual change to snowy conditions as you might have expected, but a sudden, sharp snow line. On one side, it was wet and rocky. Take one step forward though, and you were standing in approximately two feet deep, slightly dirty, icy snow. There was a large cairn that conveniently marked the snow line, although this was surely a coincidence. We stopped to take photographs and marvel at the sight of deep snow in late June, but the cold soon meant that we had to get moving again. The snow was fairly easy to walk on, but it was on quite a steep slope so we had to dig our toes and heels in to stop ourselves sliding backwards. After about 50 metres we were back on rocky ground again, but with snowy patches in sheltered areas. We knew we weren't far from the top so on we went, as the mist got thicker and and the air got colder.
All of a sudden we were at the top, 4,406 feet above sea level, three hours and forty minutes from when we set off. The summit was a wide, rocky expanse, with a number of large cairns, some ruined stone buildings and the remains of an observatory on a large stone structure. There were lots of people about, most of them taking photographs and all of them feeling justifiably pleased with themselves for making it this far. We found our three friends who had been ahead of us. They were sitting close by a cliff edge, taking the weight off their feet. My first thought was, as usual, "food". I sat down on a damp rock and it almost immediately a chilly wind sprang up. We gathered up our gear and moved to a more sheltered area, but it was still too cold and windy to eat. Then the rain started. We moved again, and my stomach started to protest at being teased like this. So the third time we sat down, I was determined not to move again. We crouched down in the "shelter" of the meteorological station and I started tucking into my lunch. The rain got so heavy that it was diluting the tea in my little flask-lid cup. It was also doing a fine job of soaking into my wooly gloves, making them sodden and freezing. We soon realised that we must have been sitting in one of the few places on the summit where you could have a sneaky pee out of the public eye - there was a distinct smell of urine in our chosen sheltering spot. Luckily I had my handy, antibacterial, moist wipes with me!
As we finished our lunch, crouching on pissy rocks in the rain, wind and cold, (am I painting a pleasant picture?) we heard our names being called through the mist and rain. Well, more like "where the FUCK are you?" but I'm trying to be all poetic, like. It was our straggler, who had made it to the top after all. He wasn't very happy though: the combination of exhaustion, bad weather and an over-full belly had made him grumpy, throwing his handbag - oops, obviously I meant rucksack - down in disgust when he finally found us before storming off again. So lunch was over and we started back down. The journey back was uneventful, although as we approached the bottom of the mountain the mist suddenly cleared and we were treated to a momentary spectacular view of multiple loughs and mountain peaks all around, which we'd missed on the way up. Damn you, Mother Nature!!
It was great to get a hug from my man as we got back to the bunkhouse (he'd turned back with the others) and I was on an emotional high for the rest of the weekend. Thanks to everyone who came along for making it a truly great weekend away.
ianP