Suilven

‘Spare any change mate?’

‘No, sorry’

‘But I can hear it jangling in your pocket’, he responds aggressively.

I speed up my pace, even with a heavy rucksack, a homeless guy won’t match my pace.

He gives up the chase and I enter Birmingham’s Digbeth bus station.

I buy a ticket to Inverness via Glasgow and head for the station’s pub.

Two pints later, I take a piss and head for my coach. As I board a woman asks, ‘Are there any toilets aboard?’

‘No’, the driver responds, unsympathetically.

‘OK, everyone on board’, he shouts.

‘I’m not sure I want to’, she mutters sarcastically.

‘Oh God, two pints was a mistake,’ I think.

Two hours later we are on the motorway heading north. We’ve passed what seems like dozens of service stations and he shows no sign of stopping.

I ask the guy next to me, ‘Do you also need a break?’

‘I’m gonna piss myself if we don’t stop soon’

‘Same here’

I get up and ask the driver, ‘Can we take a break? Lots of people need the toilet’

‘Yes, of course’, he snaps.

I sit back, confident that he will stop at next service station.

Horror of all horrors, he just drives past.

My full bladder is pressing against the muscles which are trying their best to hold it in. This is nightmarish and it hurts.

Finally, we stop at the next service station. The entire bus literally runs to the toilet. The relief is palpable.

I pee, smoke and get back on the bus, resisting the temptation to buy a beer at the service station.

Few hours later we arrive in Glasgow. Three hours to kill so I go for a pint, just one, I’ve learnt my lesson.

After, I just sit and wait in Glasgow bus station, chain smoking.

A young guy is also waiting for the Inverness bus. He has full winter mountaineering kit strapped to his back. Winter boots, crampons and an ice-axe – all shiny and new. Nothing unusual for Scotland, but it is August! Guess he just wants to impress with his new kit.

We are soon heading north again, and the landscape starts closing in, as we enter the highlands. We stop near Cairngorm Ski Centre. The Cairngorm peaks enticingly surround us. I so must come climbing here, maybe one winter when I have enough winter experience. Next stop Inverness.

It was dark by the time we arrived. I haul my rucksack to the nearest campsite and hastily pitch my tent using a flashlight. After the tent is up, I light up my gas stove and heat up a ready meal. After a small dinner, I settle into my sleeping bag and sip from a half bottle of scotch.

The next day I take a walk to Loch Ness, find a pub and order double single malts sitting at the bar, looking out of the loch. All very beautiful, but this is not what I came for.

Suilven. She is my aim. An insignificant little mountain on the west coast of the highlands, even further north than Inverness.

The following day I take a bus from Inverness to Ullapool. Closest I get to my destination of Lochinver.

The local bus is busy. A father and son come aboard, and the son sits next to me and the father behind us.

The lad is curious. He sees the rucksack and starts asking questions.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Lochinver’

‘Why?’

‘To climb a mountain’

‘Which one?’

‘Suilven’

‘Oh’

‘But how will you get from Ullapool to Lochinver?’

‘Bus?’, I shrug.

‘No chance, you’ll have missed it by the time we get to Ullapool’

‘We are also going to Lochinver. Want a lift?’

Now I’m interested.

‘Err well yes, if I can!’

He turns around and speaks to his father. His father agrees immediately, and I thank him profusely.

‘Nae bother, laddie’

They have a car parked near Ullapool station and I climb in the back. I’m travelling in style now, after all those buses, it’s a relief.

The road winds itself around mountain passes, and I sit admiring the landscape. The west coast of Scotland truly is stunning.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘I’m camping’

‘Oh OK, we know a spot’

They drop me off close to a grassy knoll on the edge of Lochinver village, overlooking the ocean.

‘Is that alright for ya, laddie?’

‘Well, yes, but I’m climbing tomorrow, will my stuff be safe?’

They both laugh.

‘Of course, laddie, this is Lochinver’

They leave me at my new home for the next two nights. I have food but no water, although I can hear running water even over the waves. I follow the sound into a small wood where I find a stream. I fill my water bottle and head back to camp. I taste the water, so pure, I don’t even bother filtering it.

I head to the village shop and buy a bottle of scotch.

I lie in my tent, listening to the waves, sipping whiskey, thinking how lucky I was to sit by those two on the bus. I would have been camping in Ullapool otherwise. My mind wanders to tomorrow and the mountain.

Suilven is comprised of three summits, the highest being Caisteal Liath ("Grey Castle"), rising to 731m. It’s a remote spot. Approximately a 3km hike from Lochinver to Suilven’s base. She is steep. I knew that from the hiking magazine clipping I’d bought with me.

Next morning, I left the tent and most of my belongings behind on the grassy knoll. I just took my small backpack for water. I walked through the village and passed the village pub. I found a track that led part of the way to Suilven according to my map. After about 1.5km the track ended.

From here on out, it was going to be a trek through the moorland. There was a path of sorts, but it was clearly not maintained, just formed by hikers like me heading to Suilven.

Without a heavy pack, this was easy walking; I could see Suilven about 2km away in the distance, so navigation wasn’t needed, I picked up the pace, bouncing along through the dense heather, following the faint path, occasionally jumping over small streams running through the heather; it was cloudy, sporadic early morning drizzle, I just speed up to keep warm, I hear voices and behind me in the mist I see two figures, I increase my pace further, no wish for company on this climb; I soon reach the base of Suilven; it’s almost vertical! I knew it was steep but this I wasn’t expecting; too late to turn back now; I find the start of a small path heading up Suilven’s north face and start walking up; I soon need to use my hands, grabbing hold of rocks, almost intuitively checking they are stable, if not searching for another handhold before moving feet onto another foothold, previous handhold, half an hour of this and I’m so focused on finding holds that I have strayed from the path, I look down, the two figures I spotted earlier in the mist are now at the base of the mountain looking up at me, I’m going to look a fool if I start searching around for the path, I look up, I’m about half way up, fuck the path, my method might be unorthodox but it has gotten me half way to my goal in record time, I continue, now moving fast, mind focused on a pattern; standing on solid handholds from previous step, I reach for new handhold, high as I can reach with right hand, solid hold? No, then look around, avoiding the temptation to grab hold of heather however stable it might look, nothing available? Then look to right and left, slight traverse until my right hand is firmly gripped onto some stable rock, check for suitable left handhold, if I see one then, pull hard on my right arm and lift right leg onto the scree slope, then left leg, finding rough foot holds on the loose rock, then finally reach with my left arm onto a another solid handhold, then pulling hard on the handholds I scramble up to the handholds and they become footholds again; and repeat; I moving fast now; lost in repeating a pattern, though simple, that is keeping me from slipping; no longer any though of my spectators below, the summit, the weather, my tent; all lost in an almost zen like state of repetition; I finally scramble over the lip of Suilven and follow the path to one of the summits, I’m lost in swirling clouds, if it was clear I would be at the highest point for miles around and would see the lochs surrounding the area and a view over the ocean, but I don’t care, I didn’t come for the view; this was my first scramble and any kind of exposure, I wasn’t expecting it and the sense of achievement is palpable, I rest on the summit, munch on a protein bar, and sip whiskey from my hip flask; I consider hiking to the other two summits but after looking at the very exposed path I decide against it, enough exposure for one day; as I’m heading back to the path the two figures from below appear, popping out of the mist as they reach the top of the path,

‘Hey, did you enjoy your climb or hike, or whatever that was?’

I hesitate, that was not a planned scramble, and they could probably see that, but I can’t sense any sarcasm in the question, I was elated anyway,

‘Yeah, loved it’

‘We’re heading off to the next summit now, join us?’

‘No thanks, enough for one day!’

‘OK see you!’

I start down the path, sticking to it this time, it’s steep but nowhere near as steep as the route I had made for myself on the ascent; as I’m descending a teenage girl passes me, on her way up, I make room for her on the narrow path and she passes me without a glance or word; ten minutes later a middle aged woman appears out of the mist, she appears exasperated,

‘When she was younger, I could take her anywhere, now she won’t even climb a mountain next to me!’

‘Hi! Enjoy your walk’, I smile and nod to her comment knowingly, as if I even knew what it was like to bring up a teenage girl!

Soon I was back onto the rough track heading towards Lochinver. It was now afternoon, and eager to check my tent and belongings were safe, I made quick time back into the Lochinver.

Amazing! Not only my tent was there but all my gear, it hadn’t even been touched. Compared to camping in the Cotswolds earlier that year when by shortwave radio was stolen out of my tent whilst I was gone for just an hour having a beer in the local, Lochinver is a dream.

I walk to the stream, wash my hands, arms, legs and face in the cold water. Back in the tent I put on a fresh T-shirt and shorts and exchange my hiking boots for flip-flops, and head to that pub I had passed earlier that morning.

There are only two customers sat at the bar. As soon as I open the door, one of the customers says,

‘Ha Ha, I knew you would end up in here? Where have you been?’

‘Climbing Suilven’

‘Oh nice, pity it is so cloudy, the views are amazing in the sunshine’

I agree and make small talk until it becomes obvious that I’m tired and just want to drink a beer in piece, anyway I must stink of sweat, despite my rudimentary bath.

The next morning pack up my tent, hoist the now heavy backpack and walk down to the bus stop and wait for the 7am bus to Ullapool. God, the gnats! They are literally swarming around my face. I spend almost an hour jumping around and flapping my arms about my face. I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see a bus arrive. This trip – never been so glad to get on a bus and never so glad to get back on one!

From Ullapool, I bussed my way down to Fort William. This was unplanned, but spurred on by my success at Suilven, I thought I might try out Ben Nevis.

Not much time, before I was back at work, so the following day after a night camping in Fort William, I turn my attention to Ben Nevis, and just started walking. The weather is terrible, there was quite a crowd of us at the base, but most turned back as we approach about two thirds the way up.

Turns out they all had the right idea, I arrive at the summit I can hardly see the path, a strong wind and dense mist, reduce visibility to just maybe a metre at best. I rest in a little cabin on the summit, but not for long.

Panic! Ben Nevis summit is quite large, and I can’t find the path I took to ascend. The mist, driven the wind and rain, makes identification of any landmarks almost impossible, my heart is racing, taking the wrong path down from the summit would result in almost certain disaster.

Then suddenly, I make out the shape of two figures descending from the summit, I watch their heads dip down below my view as they walk down. I quickly follow them and find the path. It’s my path! Thank God!

Weirdly though there is no sign of the other two climbers! They are gone.

Ghosts? Who cares they saved my bacon!

I hurriedly head back to camp, bouncing down the now familiar path.

Now I’m safe, my thoughts turn to this holiday. My first ever exposed scramble and Britain’s highest mountain, but there is no comparison, Suilven was an experience like no other. Although I did no technical climbing, quite the opposite, I finally understand why a climbing friend at university had described it as zen-like. Now I understood.

Little did I know, Suilven would be a source of inspiration for many years to come and would be fondly remembered as one of my best little climbs even into my fifties.