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Beinn a' Ghlò

It was yet another sunny day as we drove up the A9 to reach Pitlochry, and start up the winding, steep singletrack road to the start of the route up Beinn a’ Ghlò. There’s a small car park at the start of the walk, just beside a small area of forestry plantation. From the start of the walk the first hill of the day was clearly visible as a pyramid rising from the lower ground, and while we had a short walk-in to get to it, it provided a very quick climb up to the high level of the ridge. From the first Munro, Càrn Liath, there were good views across Perthshire, and we were left on the fine, gently meandering ridgeline out towards the next two Munros.

Beinn Bhrotain and Monadh Mòr

The final set of hills for my big trip to Braemar were to take me back into some of the remoter parts of the national park. It was a warm and clear day, and I set off with the bike one last time on the Linn of Dee Road, and then onwards to White Bridge. I left the bike around 500m past the bridge, and set off at a jog towards the hill, feeling my relative lack of fitness (I’d been nursing knee pain since the end of May which was still affecting me while running).

Beinn a' Chaorainn and Beinn Bhreac from Derry Lodge

I’d been in the Cairngorms for over a week, but the start of that period I’d kept away from the big hills thanks to high wind forecasts (and, as it turned out, high winds in reality). So the second week of my trip was going to involve back-to-back days of hills, and this was the third in a row. I was just about starting to feel it, and my legs grumbled a little at cycling out to Linn of Dee yet again. This time I was joined by Andrew and Shona, who were themselves up in Braemar, also here to climb Munros. We met at the Linn of Dee carpark and then cycled on along the same track I’d taken two days earlier to get to Derry Lodge.

Ben Avon & Beinn a' Bhuird

After excellent conditions the day before on the Macdui horseshoe, I was out again in search of more hills the next day. This time the forecast was slightly less favourable, and I’d have a substantially longer walk-in, to reach the most easternly region of the plateaux, and the impressively large Ben Avon.

Ben Macdui Horseshoe

After a weekend of high winds over the massif, and a general lack of favourable walking conditions, on Monday the forecast had finally turned favourable. So it was that I set off on an early bike ride from Braemar, past Linn of Dee, and out to Derry Lodge, ready to tackle one of the bigger rounds from this trip. Compared to some of the other ride-ins in these parts, this one felt like a breeze, though I took a slight detour from the road, and took the landrover track which I’d climbed Creag Bhalg from a couple of days earlier. On the way out I passed a fair number of walkers and cyclists (including one braving the landrover track on a road bike): clearly the hills and walks from Derry Lodge were in demand.

On Morrone

The poor weather outlook was set to continue for at least another day, though by now I was itching for something a little bigger than a Graham, and decided that it was finally time, on my third visit to Braemar, to actually climb the hill which rises above the town: Morrone.

Ey Five

The weather forecast was not fantastic, but looking ahead things didn’t appear to be getting any better. So I took a risk, and set off on what was to be the longest and most remote of my planned walks for this trip, which would take me deep into some of the remotest mountains on the margins of the Mounth and Atholl.

Rolling into the Deep (Cairngorm)

It was day one of a holiday which had already got off to a somewhat chaotic start. I’d relied on getting the train to Aberdeen, and then the Stagecoach bus in to Braemar in order to get a mountain bike up for a grand expedition into the mountains.

Reaching the hundred above the A9

I’d spent a lot of time trying to decide on the perfect hill to complete my first century, the ton, of Munros on. I’d thought about trying to make it something spectacular (maybe this was the time to do Ben Nevis?) or geographically appropriate (my first was the most southernly, Ben Lomond, maybe I should aim for another cardinal direction?). I’d actually planned to make Mount Keen my hundredth, and then realised that over the winter I’d misremembered my count, and carefully laid plans to start the year on number 100 turned into plans to climb my 99th.

Closing-in on a milestone: 99 Munros Bagged. Part 4

100 Munros · Part 4

In the final instalment of the series, I cover all of the hills from the second plague year, 2021, which don't range quite as far and wide as previous years, but include some very tough days out, including trips into some of the remotest sections of the central Highlands; Loch Ossian, and Ben Alder, and a high-level traverse which had been in planning for many years.

May Day on Beinn a' Bheithir

Squinting at the night sky, the Ancients (and sometimes, the surprisingly moderns) allege to have seen the figures of twins, fish, virgins, sextants, and giraffes imprinted on the heavens. In comparison I normally expect geology to be… down to Earth. I’ve spent the last few years trying to muddle my way through learning little bits of Scottish Gaelic, and while it’s been fascinating at times, it’s had a rather catastrophic effect on my understanding of the romanticism of the hills. “Beinn Dearg” becomes simply a red hill, “Beinn Dubh” the dark hill, and “A’ Bhuidheanach Bheag” the little yellow place. Perhaps a little mystery and romance is left in some of the places after all… A hill name where this romance and mystery is not lost through greater knowledge, however, stands above the small town of Ballachuilish (the town of the narrows) on the A82 between Glasgow and Fort William. Its name, Beinn a’ Bheithir, is often translated as “the hill of thunder” or something along these lines, but really, this hill which bares over the aforementioned narrows, is named for a mythical dragon or serpent.