Reflections on the Munros
Darrell Farrant
It was with the greatest pleasure that I read in the second issue of the excellent new Club Bulletin that two of my oldest friends in the YRC, Peter Swindells and David Smith, had recently completed the Munros. In his article Peter kindly referred to my own ascents which were completed in 1974, and about which I wrote in the 1976 edition of the Club Journal.
The Editor suggested that I might write some reflections at a distance of twenty years, and I am happy to do so. On rereading my earlier article and comparing it with Peter’s, I was struck by their similarity. We both looked for some explanation for our quest – as if to brush aside possible criticisms of mere Munro-bagging – we both explained how an undeniable determination had got into the blood, we dwelt upon our favourite memories of the best days and paid tribute to some of the very special friends who had enabled us to accomplish our goal.
I recognise now that with the commitments of my present job I would never be able to achieve the Munros these days. Living in Edinburgh was a huge advantage for the nine years that I took, and it is perhaps worth recording that then petrol was 30 pence per gallon! Nevertheless the memories remain surprisingly fresh, and I still regularly go out on the hills with the same mountaineering companions. I also quite unashamedly regard the Munros as a very special achievement.
What memories still stand out even at this gap of time? Certainly a long and bitterly cold Easter Day along the Cam Mor Dearg Arete and Ben Nevis, followed by a sudden fall on the snow slope whilst abseiling into Coire Leis; only a brilliant piece of ice-axe braking by my companion saving us from a possibly fatal plunge to the floor of the corrie. Then, only a couple of days later, there was a superb winter traverse on An Teallach in breathtakingly beautiful conditions of warm sun, firm, crisp snow and endless visibility.
I remember my fifth visit to Skye – on the previous four it had rained most of the time – when we climbed all the exciting things on the warm, abrasive Gabbro: the Cioch, the Round of Coire Lagan, the Inaccessible Pinnacle, the Clach Glas-Blaven Traverse and the Pinnacle Ridge of Sgurr Nan Gillean. There can be no better climbing in Britain than conditions like these.
There were three consecutive Easters in an idyllic cottage in Glen Affric which enabled me to climb all the peaks in the area, again in the most superb winter conditions. One Easter Monday was spent on Sgurr Na Lapaich and we sat on the summit in shirtsleeves for over half an hour in glorious sunshine with views of diamond clarity all around us.
It was a pity, for my final ascents, that I chose a rather poor weekend towards the end of May. We walked into Shenaval on a glorious evening, and whilst we had good weather part of the next day, the rain and mist came flooding in from the west to deny us the spectacular views of Strathnasheallag and the Fisherfield Forest. That evening finished with an ascent of A’Mhaighdean, so that on the Sunday we had just Ruadh Stac Mhor to complete. It was a long, wet trek, but our navigation was good, and my companions were in fine spirits. By early afternoon we were having a modest celebration with chocolates, oatcakes and a dram of whisky, and I treasure the dark photograph of four bedraggled figures sitting beside the cairn in the pouring rain with an infectious grin on all their faces. In some respects it was the end of the odyssey, but in a wider context it was merely part of a longer-lasting love affair with the hills