Bumbling up Ben Nevis

Well, it was May revision week and we were all just about fed up of revision. It was first year and, as all the older years kept reminding us, did our grades really matter that much? It also signalled nearly the end of a year at a Scottish university and still one great thing loomed over me. How on earth could I be living in Scotland and not have climbed up Ben Nevis? I use the term “climbed” here very loosely… Instead, perhaps it’s more of a walk up a big hill on a large footpath? Never mind, I won’t let that defeat my sense of purpose – it is, after all, the highest mountain in the UK!

So, with all this in mind, I broached the topic to AP. If I recall correctly, the conversation went something like this:

Me: “AP, do you want to climb Ben Nevis with me?”

AP: “Why?”

Me: “Because I think it would be fun?”

AP: “Why?”

Me: “Well, you know it’s the highest mountain in the UK and I’ve always wanted to do it and it’s nearly the end of first year and… (more persuasive arguments)”

AP: “Hmm, well why do I need to come?”

Me: “It would be really nice to do it together and I think you’d enjoy it and… (see more of above persuasive arguments) and, well, you have a car…”

AP: “Fine.”

With AP clearly sharing in my excitement, we planned to do it the following Sunday as, you know, a nice and chilled revision break. I brought it up at breakfast and then Amelia thought it sounded fun too (clearly my persuasive arguments are effective) so she hopped on the bandwagon.

It was Saturday night and the three of us were sat in our hall’s kitchen, looking up Google’s tips on how to climb Ben Nevis. Admittedly, we’d left it a bit late and realised that the weather at the top of the mountain would not be all sunshine and blue skies. Nevertheless, we packed up the kit that we did have and got an early night.

The next morning we got up early, had a quick breakfast and set off on the long drive. We stopped off at the Dundee Tesco to stock up on the essentials: meal deals and waterproofs (I warned you we weren’t prepared…). Arriving three hours later at a cosy-looking information centre, we sat eating our meal deals and looking up at what really is a very big hill indeed. We realised that, having told absolutely everyone about this adventure and having updated all social media, we had better start climbing.

Right, the thing about any hill or mountain that you immediately forget when reaching the top but also immediately remember when you start a new one is, well, there’s a lot of up. We started up a track through a field that morphed into stony steps that just seemed to get steeper and steeper. The steps continued along the side of the hill, showing a well-trodden path with the occasional walker zipping past us. As we climbed higher, the views stretched out below us: beautiful rolling green fields and hills – like the opening sequence of the Vicar of Dibley! It was amazing to see the view change and spread out the more height we gained, one of us insisting on stopping every 10 minutes “because this photo will look completely different to the last one, I promise!”

Our legs were getting tired and we could see absolutely no end in sight. Instead, the path zig-zagged across stonier terrain, the path seeming to get steeper still. And then the first sight of snow. In May. Along with the startling realisation that we had definitely not prepared for this… We had to scale across what can only be described as a mini waterfall amongst the snow, while I was determined to see how far I could get in my shorts. We passed fellow walkers who were coming down and eventually, after several groups had warned me against the cold, I relented and put on my waterproofs.

The path became really quite steep, quite quickly. At this point, my biggest challenge seemed to be convincing AP and Amelia to continue. A truly impossible challenge when you have absolutely no idea how much longer it is to the top, let alone even see the summit. Thankfully, a kind descender noticed our exhaustion and reassured us that there was “less than 20 minutes to go!” Motivated, we trekked on, religiously hunting out the cairns to show that we were on the right track. 40 minutes later and there was still no sign of the top… He had lied. There was something about this stranger’s white lie that felt like the biggest betrayal in the world. Forget cheating husbands and dirty fraudsters, this lie was the worst of them all.

I became desperate: “please guys, there’s no way we can get this far and not reach the top!” They were not impressed. Still, we plodded further, amazed at the amount of snow surrounding the landscape. The scree was slippery under our feet and it was taking all our concentration to not trip. Then the fog set in. Dense, mountain fog that made seeing the next cairn – just 10m ahead – impossible. At this point, I started to panic a little. In classic Sophie-style, I’d ploughed on with my grand idea, dragging AP and Amelia with me, while having no clue of what I was getting into. We had no gloves or hats and were getting very cold. With no map, we had no way of knowing if we were on the right path or not, other than stumbling upon the next cairn or tracing footprints in the snow. It all felt very dramatic.

After what felt like a trek to the summit of Everest – and was definitely just as eventful – we made it! Relieved, exhausted and excited, we threw down our bags and got our phones out for the amazing scenery. The scenery that was completely masked by this unrelenting fog. We could barely see each other, let alone the incredible view that everyone had talked about! We peered ferociously into the distance, staring down the fog and trying to make out shapes but still nothing. Absolutely nothing. Far too cold to even contemplate eating our lunch at the top, we hoisted our bags back on and trekked back down. At least there was no more uphill.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the only thing worse than uphill is, surprisingly, downhill. At first, you are excited about the rest your legs are getting, the fact that you have your breath back and you can chat again. But then the pain in your knees hits, the thumping on hard ground taking its toll. And all you can think about is how much longer it is down to the bottom. You lack the motivation of reaching a summit, instead just heading back down to where you started. And the expectation that this will take half the time is very quickly dashed. We walked mainly in silence, taking far fewer breaks and frantically trying to warm up our hands. After a couple of hours, we arrived back in the car park and I have never been more delighted to spot AP’s orange fiat punto. Piling in, we set the destination to the one thing we wanted more than anything else: Costa hot chocolates. Having filled up on cream and marshmallows and only just beginning to feel fuzzy fingers swollen from the cold and dehydration, we drove back to St Andrews. Amelia and I scrolled through Instagram while AP drove, realising 1) how amazing the view is from the top and 2) just how close we were standing to the edge we couldn’t see. I joked it just meant we had to do it again! This joke did not go down well. Everyone seemed very much relieved to see us return and we regaled them with our snowy adventure, the dangers of our expedition scaling the great Ben Nevis. Of course, we left out certain aspects like the information centre, the other tourists, its popularity in the summer and the Instagram pictures of toddlers hiking up it. Well, at least I could now say: mission accomplished.

20th May 2018