The next few days Matthew progressed nicely, picking up knowledge from sitting in on lessons, then putting it into practice when we had time between lessons. But I was concerned that it was all getting a bit concentrated. Time for a break.
A week or two ago my daughter, Rachel, had suggested that we all climb Ben Wyvis, the 3,432" mountain that dominates the landscape North of Inverness. The name derives from the Gaelic
Beinn Uais, which apparently translates as
Hill of terror. Of course, often when such things are suggested, everyone seems keen initially, but nothing happens. This time it actually went ahead.
Matthew and I were driving/instructing in Ullapool during the morning and arranged to meet everyone else at the car park, a few miles north of Garve, at 3.00pm. Of course, after weeks of calm, sunny days, the weather was now looking slightly menacing and the wind was really beginning to whip up.
 |
| Corrieshalloch Gorge |
 |
| Corrieshalloch Gorge |
Matthew and I took a very slight detour to Corrieshalloch Gorge, 12 miles south of Ullapool. The photos don't do it justice. The drop from the suspension bridge is just terrifying. But, if ever you are anywhere near Ullapool, it is well worth the short trip.
 |
| Matthew at Corrieshalloch Gorge |
We met the others, as arranged. There was Jane, my wife, Rachel and her fiance, Jamie, and our eldest three grandchildren, Jordan, Charlie and Carmen, plus Jordan's friend, Job. I haven't told you about Dolly yet. She is our 'new' Jack Russell terrier. Actually, she is a year old now, and I will probably tell you more about her at some point. Anyway, she came too.
Not everyone was suitably attired - Rachel thought Ugg boots were appropriate - but we were not in any hurry and the ground was dry. Off we marched, Jordan and his friend up at the front, and me at the back, lying to my grand-daughter Charlie about how much further it was. The initial approach is a long, continuous rise and a bit of a slog. Charlie was finding it hard going and, to my concern, so was I. For someone that, in the past, has run marathons, cycled from John O'Groats to Lands End and ascended peaks like this with ease, it was alarming how unfit I had become. It must be at least a couple of years since I have done any proper exercise and I was playing the consequences. My legs were fine, but my lungs just weren't accustomed to being used and I was beginning to think that I would have to tell the others to carry on to the top without me. The really embarrassing thing was we weren't even a quarter of the way up.
Every now and then, someone would stop to take a breather, have a drink, adjust clothing, or simply stop to admire the increasingly spectacular view. To my enormous relief, this gave my lungs time to adjust and, after a while, I was absolutely fine and stomping up the mountain without the slightest discomfort.
The thing with mountains is that the summit always seems much closer than it really is, usually because the true summit can't be seen from the slopes. The slope was getting steeper, the path was becoming increasingly zig-zaggy, the wind was becoming a roaring gale and we were all struggling. As we sheltered from the wind behind a mound of boulders, we decided that the sensible thing was to stop climbing and head back down the mountain. The climb itself was not too dangerous, but the wind was incredible.
But Jamie, Job, Matthew and I (with Dolly, of course) are not sensible, and carried on to the top (hopefully). The zig-zag nature of the path mean that sometimes we had our heads right down, using every muscle to push ourselves into the wind, then, as we turned the other way, the wind would push us up the hill - a relief, but you had to be careful not to let it push you too fast. Job decided it was too much and found more boulders to shelter and wait for us. Even Dolly was beginning to tremble. My legs were beginning to burn and my lungs had pushed my ribs to breaking point. The wind roared in my ears, caused my jacket to inflate and flap around me. My cheeks felt like they were being torn from my face, and streams of tears and snot flew from my eyes and nose, high up into the air, and off towards an unsuspecting fisherman, somewhere off the coast of Norway.
 |
| Near the top |
After what seemed an age, Matthew, Dolly, Jamie and I finally reached the summit. Strictly speaking, it wasn't the very highest point - that was further along the long, humped ridge - but that was a walk, rather than a climb, so we decided that we need go no further. We sat, almost in silence. Funnily enough, the wind wasn't so bad right at the top, almost as though it had admitted defeat. There was no low cloud to obscure the view, so we could see forever in every direction. Sunbeams danced around the scenery, rivers seemed like tiny silver ribbons and clouds raced across the surrounding hills. It was enough to make you feel like a god. An utterly, utterly shagged god, but still a god.
 |
| Matthew, Dolly and I at the top |
 |
| Jamie and I at the summit of Ben Wyvis |
 |
| Matthew, Jamie and Dolly |
The initial part of the descent was steep and totally unforgiving. My legs muscles burned with every step and my sinews and cartilage around my knees had turned to soup (Mulligatawny). Even Dolly was beginning to slow down. Until now she had been scooting up and down the mountain, probably covering at least twice the distance that we poor humans managed. Eventually, the slope began to level out a bit, giving very welcome relief, but it was a seemingly endless trek back to the car. By the time we finally reached the cars I was blistered, aching in virtually every part of my body and my lower jaw hung like an extra from the film Deliverance. But would I do it all again? Of course! Just give me a year to recover.
