We decided to start by traversing the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, basically after a Google search of “easiest munros” cast it up as a viable option. My initial: “Babe, do you fancy climbing a Munro one weekend?” quickly escalated into 2 nights of wild camping with a Munro chucked in for good measure. We researched the area carefully since despite Scotland being a wild camping playground, the Trossachs National Park is actually managed through the implementation of camping permits. We chose a site called Firkin Point D, somewhere between Inverbeg and Tarbet and the permit cost £3 per night, so pretty reasonable. What was not reasonable, was the ridiculous amount we packed in to the car. 4 sleeping bags, a 6 man tent, 3 pillows, a camping mat, box of beer, two gallons of water, fairy lights to make the inside of the tent look pretty…etc etc…well you get the gist!
With Friday being a work day, we didn’t arrive at the area until 8pm on Friday night. Ahh Scotland sure is prettiest at dusk. The warm orangey glow of the sun filtering through the trees on to the stunning private strip of pebble and shingle that was to be our abode for the weekend. Dead silent except for the water lapping the shore and the occasional fish breaking the surface. We felt like the only two people in the world. And then they came. Slowly and tentatively at first, testing the boundaries and the taste of our skin, slightly clammy from the car journey. The bane of a Scottish camper’s life…the midges! Having realised the camping spot was a 15 minute walk from the car park, we decided to grab the tent and poles and set them up and then go back later for the rest of our entire house contents. This however meant that we hadn’t had the time or foresight to apply repellent or don one of the stylish midge face nets I had purchased from Amazon in a moment of Bear Grylls glory. And so we were attacked. Full force. This was not a good time to work out neither of us actually remembered how to set up the tent given that it had lay in the back of the garage since last summer like a forgotten teddy bear. There were cuss words….furious swatting motions….the occasional solitary tear but we managed it just as the sun set and the area suddenly resembled something straight off a postcard or reddish-pink canvas. It genuinely was breathtaking and as we slid our arms round each other and sighed contentedly staring across the water at Ben Lomond, our next challenge, it didn’t seem to matter that either of us were covered head to toe in tiny red dots and bloody scratches from the brambles that clawed us in our frantic bids to dodge the beasties.
That evening, we quickly transported the ridiculous camping “necessities” to the tent and just about had time for a cup of tea boiled on the portable gas stove we had borrowed, whilst looking across the water in alarm at the daunting peaks of the Munro we were planning to “conquer” the following day. I remember using the word “daunted” a lot that evening, worried that my fitness wasn’t sufficient for such a task. Luckily I believe attitude is as important as fitness sometimes and I was determined to smash it.
Day 2, we set the alarm early. Having picked a spot on the wrong side of the loch, we had decided to pre book the water taxi which took us from Tarbet across to Rowardennan; the foot of the mountain. Waiting for the water taxi departure at 8:45 was an undeniable opportunity for people watching. Having been warned beforehand that it’s a particularly busy route, we set off early, arriving at Rowardennan youth hostel around 9:30. The forestry map provided us with 2 choices: the recommended “main path” and the more challenging “Ptarmigan path”. What ultimately swung it for us was the fact that if we traversed the latter, it was 0.8 miles shorter in distance and we would’ve had to travel 10 mins down the road to get to the start of the main path. Our carefully considered, methodical, scientific decision was “bugger it…we’re here already so let’s just go this way”. The answer to your question is: “yes we are the numptys who climbed their first ever Munro via the dangerous, more remote path cos we couldn’t be bothered walking 10 mins further along the road”.
The initial part of the ascent was a shock to the system. Straight up through the woods. We met a lovely French novice climber who was frantically trying to keep up with his female companion who had shot off at great speed in preparation for her impending Kilimanjaro quest. Preliminary introductions established that he lived 15 mins from us in the Scottish Borders, which made us all laugh for the first (and only) time that afternoon. The path was generally tough but manageable with no map reading skills necessary due to the sheer volume of traffic. It is a busy one, no doubt about it although we definitely saw far fewer people going up since we had chosen the proverbial “road less travelled”. The final half hour to the summit was definitely hard going. Less of a path than a scree scramble, our fair weathered friends returned at this point with a renewed vengeance so I’m proud to say I reached the summit with a full midge net over my whole head, much to the amusement of the other hikers. Obligatory photo at the top (taken in 5 seconds before a frenzied dash to get the midge net back on) and we were done! The views were absolutely spectacular. I never take the Scottish landscape for granted but this was something else. Beautiful panoramic view enhanced by the glorious, baking sunshine only added to our feeling of self satisfaction.
We enjoyed a beer at the top with our lunch then planned our descent. By this point we had been walking for around 4 hours so we naively imagined we would be back at the bottom in around an hour.
Wrong.
First lesson in Munro walking: the end goal is not the summit. The end goal is the end, and never underestimate the challenge and length of the descent. We took the main path back down, figuring would be easier but it went on for bloomin’ ages! The neverending path of creaking knees, blisters and weak, wobbly ankles. My body definitely suffered far more on this part of the route. Our impression of euphoria in the sky disintegrated quickly and all in, the descent actually took over 2 hours, with the garish sun now mocking us rather than spiriting us on. With tempers becoming fractious, we eventually reached the end and had time for one quick celebratory beer and an ice lolly before catching the water taxi back to Tarbet where we snuggled up, with barely enough energy to sit upright. Elated and exhausted.
Having been careful not to overindulge the night before, we had intended to arrive back at our tent ready to feast and fish. But the truth of the matter is, we were so tired we went to Arrochar for a chippy to avoid having to cook and devoured it on a bench overlooking the Cobbler. Later, back at Firkin Point, I sat my chair next to the edge of the loch and soothed my sore, swollen feet in the fresh, lapping water whilst reading my book and Chris did his favourite thing in the whole world – built a fire. The best thing about our camping spot was that it directly faced Ben Lomond so we were able to sit and ponder the enormity of our achievement. Go us!
We slept 13 hours that night in the tent despite the uncomfortable bony, prodding fingers of the shingle beach under the ground sheet, thus meaning we didn’t actually pack up until well after the 11am “checkout time” stated on our wild camping permits. Having never seen a park ranger all weekend however, we didn’t make haste. Careful not to leave a trace, we loaded up the car with frequent assent about what we had learned from the experience and all the things we definitely wouldn’t pack next time and all the essential equipment we needed to invest in. I won’t lie, we felt pretty hardcore by this point despite my sunburnt nose and Chris’s pink noggin. Must. Remember. His. Hat. Next. Time.
282munroswithmylove 