This is a catalogue of my son Ben's Munro Bagging with me. We did a few around Ben's 6th birthday, but only really started ticking them off the following year, often as part of multi-day backpacks and sometimes in the winter. On 28 August 2011 we finished on Ben More with Ben having reached the ripe old age of 10 years and 3 months. Its been a great experience.
An easy day at last for Ben, albeit the last of this trip on our way home. Another fine day of weather, with dazzling sunshine and snow. Mountain hares and ptarmigan enlivened the ascent which we had to ourselves, only seeing the weekend walkers on the way back down.
An amazing day of azure skies, startling white snows and no wind. The most wonderful feature of the day was the swish. swish as we plodded through the deep snow. The frost crystals were truly amazing as the photos show. We passed quite a few climbers on the way to the window, but most seemed to give up in the deep and less than ideal snow. For us it was heaven.
A hard day in deep, deep snow with me trail-blazing the whole way. We saw no-one else which meant knee deep slogging the whole way, and it wasn't much easier for Ben who had to lift his legs in and out of my footsteps. We also got stuck on the road up to Fersit, so had to leave thecar short of the normal departure point. Nonetheless, it was a satisfying day with tremendous views and little wind. More Pictures
Aftera heavy nights snowfall it was clearly not going to be possible to drive up to Kinlochhourn, so we gently made our way to Gulvain instead. The snow was deep, the wind was blowing but Ben managed very well and we enjoyed the mountain if not the long walk up and down the glen.
These innocuous hills gave surprisingly good sport, with the snow on the first hill having compacted to bullet proof neve on which Ben managed admirably in his new pair of 12 point crampons.even more surprisinf was the cornice which seemingly appeared out of nowhereon the next hill. Ben wasn't too keen on downclimbing the 40 degree slope.
A pretty winteryand wet day although the wind wasn't as bad as anticipated. Some nice snow crests and a fairly short day meant we could get back to the bunkhouse nice and early, but the bunkhouse was cold.
After a poor few days, Ben was keen to climb Ben Nevis by the tourist route, so I agreed and it proved to be surprisingly enjoyable with hard neve all the way up and down the Red Burn and a whiteout on top. Finding the summit was not easy with spindrift blowing everywhere but despite this Ben really enjoyed his New Year's Day on the Ben. It was also exactly half way through his Munros, so a good one to mark the occasion.
A raw day which deteriorated in the afternoon, with a 50mph wind and blowing snow, which meant that we shortened the intended 4-5 Munros to a couple. Quite a contrast to the impeccable day before, but that's Scotland.
A memorable day starting with a crisp march up the track in the fog which soon cleared to reveal snow plastered hills. We had the corrie to ourselves and after testing the snow I decided that Central Gully would make a good objective as the snow was soft enough to make it safe for Ben in his instep crampons. This made it hard work for me as I broke trail through knee deep snow, but after a while the snow firmed a bit and it became easier. Once in the narrower gully, things began to look a bit more interesting, since the steep steps were clearly ice. I hadn't put my crampons on, as it had looked like I wouldn't need them, and in any case Ben only had insteps. I gave him a quick lesson on how to swing the ice hammer which he could just about lift, but fortunately he picked it up immediately and by cutting steps, we made our way up the ice, linked by a long sling. Every now and then I would stop to take a secure stance, before easing Ben up. At one place he most definately couldn't climb up because he couldn't get any traction with his insteps, so I hauled him up one handed whilst I held on to my axe with the other. We wouldn't win any prizes for style but climbing 50-60 degree ice steps in instep crampons or no crampons with one tool doesn't make for the most stylish of ascents.
The cornice was similarly testing with steeply banked soft snow overlying the ice. Understandably Ben wasn't too keen on this, but it wasn't far and I thrashed forward, with Ben slip-sliding his way up the furrow behind. I have to say I was glad on breaching the cornice, and I'm sure that Ben shared my feelings on bellyflopping over the rim.
What a sight greeted us: sun-kissed snow as far as the eye could see, with rime covered rocks glittering in the sun's rays. After a quick bite, we proceeded to the top of Ben Lui, then spent the rest of the day on top of the world - or so it seemed. The mists had rolled up the valleys yet we were above them and the dying sun made for deep blue shadows in the snow, turning to orange and red as it set. We just about made the final summit before dark in the growing cold, then descended in to the pit of the glen.
We ascended via the Ptarmigan, but Ben experienced severe stomach cramps on the way up and I thought that we might actually have to retreat. Fortunately these passed off after an hour or so and the rest of the walk was pleasant enough.
After a very pleasant car camp beside Loch Voil, we didn't see much until the final descent when the Autumn colours were reflected magnificently in the unruffled waters of the loch.
After driving up from Kendal, we parked up at Glen Turret and the ascent of Ben Chonzie passed uneventfully, but I hadn't done the Corbett, Auchnafree Hill, so I'm afraid I rather left Ben with no choice but to follow me up.
We woke to mist down to the tent, but this more or less cleared by the third top to leave a fine day. It wasn't far to the first Munro and from there it was easy going all the way back to the car, where the coach parties and a motor rally had descendfed upon the Spittal of Glenshee. I wondere what they thought of me brewing up in the car park before driving home.
We originally intended to start with Carn Aosda, but we failed to hitch a lift up the road, so instead we climbed the Corbett which made for a longer walk. Ben was swallowed by the deep heather coming off Carn Bhac and it was approaching dark by the time we set up camp at the lonely lochan under Beinn Iuthairn Mor.
The youth hostel has a midgeometer. I'd say that the morning registered midge mania. Only on the ridge were we free of the little blighters. From then on it was a good way to end the week, backpacking from the hostel to Achnashellach station. The station was a delight with a kitchen garden run by the owners of the B&B.
Finally, a good day for the traverse of Liathach. It all seeemed a bit short and Ben had no difficulty whatsoever on the pinnacles, meaning that we were down shortly after lunch, but I don't think Ben minded.
Thoughts of a complete traverse of the ridge of Beinn Eighe were quashed by winds approaching 70mph in gusts coupled by stinging hail. nevertheless we made it over the Munros and also down the tricky little scramble on to Coinneach Mhor and down in to Coire Mhic Fhearchair. At the loch, the wind was whipping up the waves, so we didn't hang around. Fortunately we managed to hitch up and down the glen without too much difficulty.
Once more unadulterated optimism was the order of the day to set out in pouring rain and mist almost down to sea level. I conveyed far more optimism than I felt to Ben, but remarkably it was rewarded with partially clearing skies and even a few shafts of sunlight on the return journey. The wind was not too fierce for the traverse of the hornsand the beauty of the gorge made for a most enjoyable walk.
A very windy and wet day, starting with a bus journey from Achnasheen. The bus driver seemed to think we were mad went getting off in the deluge with a large pack which I hid in the undergrowth before sloshing toward this fine peak. The waterfalls made for a surprisingly enjoyable ascent and as the rain cleared away, my optimism proved well-founded. A quick hitch hike to the youth hostel completed a good day.
After a long train journey, we just had time for a quick sortie up Fhionn Bheinn. Ben found the hill one of the dullest and I have to say that I agree with him, its saving grace ebing that it is short, so the dullness is not too drawn out. The only remarkable bit of the walk was Ben's fascination with bog weed which he aptly named 'goblin snot.
The much longer day of the weekend, with a fine traverse or should I say, up and downer, of the Munros of the Arrochar Alps. With sunshine pretty much all the way and fine views it couldn't help but be a good day and the fish and chips tasted good at Arrochar. It felt sad to have to depart the twinkling ocean, but it was late enough for the drive back home.
A bit of a monster day to end our week. Spurred on by almost cloudless skies and the promise of a hot day, I coaxed Ben up the unyielding grass slopes leading up to Ciste Dubh, then on to his 100th Munro. Having got our feet wet in the river, they proceeded to burn on the rocks in the heat of the day. en started to wilt a bit in the heat and the final descent was somewhat tortuous in the heat. At 8:30 pm we set off for the long drive back home, finally arriving as the sun rose for Ben's 7th birthday at 3am.
On another drizzly day, we made short work of the high Affric ridges, before retiring to the hostel which had become a real home from home with new-found friends.
A wet morning made Ben happy because we played games with fellow hostellers in the snug environs of the hostel. It wasn't until 1:45 that we set forth for two of the more remote Munros, where once again we saw precious little and no people. It did however serve to break the festering and build up an appetite for dinner.
Having spent 3 mights at the comfortable Ratagan Youth Hostel, we left for a 3 night stay at the remote Glen Affric hostel. Most folks seem to walk in along the valleys, but our route lay along the summit crests that lead North from Loch Cluanie. After a much more promising start, we were again subjected to violent hail squalls, albeit with much lengthier sunny periods and we could finally see something!
Having done the final peak of the South Glen Shiel ridge the previous day, the other six beckoned. ben polished them off easily, ending the walk by running the last two miles. Without the wind of the previous day it was pleasant despite not seeing anything for a third day running.
A pretty good effort on a pretty bad day. It started well with an enjoyable ascent of the Forcan Ridge with all other parties seemingly having been detered by the forecast. We more or less reached the top before the rain started and the wind rose, then it just got worse with driving hail scudding across the hills. I think a few parties were probably surprised by the sight of a 6 year old beetling along in the tempest and it was satisfying to have bagged the three Munros and single Corbett in fairly atrocious weather.
It was clearly going to be a damp day from the start so we delayed getting wet by having hot chocolate in the idiosyncratic little tea shop at Corran. A friendly deer made an appearance in the tea shop to the amusement of all. Finally, we couldn't delay any longer and had to slog up the mist-bedecked slopes to this fine viewpoint from which we could see nothing but grey. All inall it was one of those days where you are glad you've been out, but wouldn't necessarily set out to repeat.
Despite a much poorer day with stiff winds and mist we set off for the traverse of An Teallach starting from the East. I mistakenly took the wrong trail off Cadha Gobhlach and judging from the small path am not the first. It didn't take much to decide that the pinnacles weren't for us given the strong wind and damp rock, but the traversing path and subsequent ridge walk to the final top of Creah nan Eich were most enjoyable. I wish I could say the same for the second half of the descent to the loch which was steeply inclined deep heather of a height that threatened to swallow Ben up. Despite this, it didnt last too long with gravity acting in our favour and the walk along the loch, playing in the little beaches was a delight.
After lugging the pack over Creag Raineach to Shenavall the previous day, we embarked upon the classic round of the 'Fisherfield Six'. I had never been here before and immediately fell in love with this wild area, with its juxtaposition of sea, crag and boulder strewn hills. The river was little more than ankle deep, and the slog up the first hill was soon forgotten once on to the white rocks of Sgurr Ban. We met a solitary fellrunner on the Mullach, then no-one until near the bothy. The round made for a tough outing for Ben after the previous few days, especially on the long return to the bothy, so a few lusty renditions of Ilkley Moor Ba'tat, Ten Green Bottles, etc were needed to jolly Ben along.
After a fraught journey on the train the previous day which forced us to camp at Dingwall, we had to hitch from there to Loch a Bhraoin. This took all morning, so we didn't begin our walk until after lunch. Fortunately, Ben was in good spirits and we were back at the tent in good time for tea and a session of stone throwing in to the loch which was perfectly still.
A perfect day for traversing these 7 Munros which seemed to roll by save for the last descent. Small patches of hard snow remained but really not a lot for April.
The day didn't prove to be as poor as predicted and we found a nice snow gully up Creise from the coire above Ba Cottage, and we both enjoyed the yomp down the piste to the ski centre.
A very blowy winters day meant that we did not continue to Beinn Fhionnlaidh as planned and no amount of persuasion could convince Ben otherwise. I can't blame him - once on the ridge we were battered by violent snow squalls that made us stagger in the gusts. The trees were a welcome relief.
An easy and unremarkable day up the Kilbo path, punctuated only by memories of a rather more stern tussle when I was blown upwards whilst sitting down on the summit of Mayar in winds of 130mph. This day was a gentle stroll in comparison.
A long winter's walk from Glen Clova, which was memorable for the final river crossing. The streams were in spate after a multi-day thaw, and I failed to notice that we'd passed the bridge in the dark. By the time we'd arrived at the ford, I couldn't be bothered to retrace our steps and waded in to the water holding Ben aloft. The darkness gave no indication of the depth of the water and I quickly found myself thigh deep in an icy torrent that threatened to topple me and Ben in to the black depths. Fortunately I managed to stagger the several metres to the far bank and breathed a sigh of relief. This was short-lived, however, as it soon became apparent that I was without map which I needed to consult to check the way back. I assumed that it had slipped out of my waist belt prior to crossing the river and not wanting to endanger Ben once more, I felt that I had no option but to leave him on the bank and search for the map. He was understandably unhappy at the prospect of being left on his own in the dark, but I reasoned that, unpleasant thought this may be for him, it was the safest course of action. I waded the river once more and set off up the track, shouting to ben to stay where he was and that I'd be back soon. He was clearly distressed so I just got on with it, but to no avail - the map must have fallen in to the river and was probably half way to the sea by now.
We finally departed at 11.30 after having driven up, rather toiling up the Corbett and the long ridge over to Creag Leacach, with only artic hares relieving undoubted tedium. Most of the heavy snows of the past week had departed and what remained was saturated. Indeed we waded through slush on Glas Maol. The walk down the valley was just long enough to witness a fiery sky before we gladly accepted a lift near the end from a friendly farmer.
A real treat to end the year. A few hundred metres above the dam, we rose above the fog to the brilliant sunshine lighting up the heavy hoar frost laden slopes. Lunch was taken back down at the dam before rising above the mists once more. Our reward for adding a Corbett at the end of the day was a glorious sunset; the Lawers peaks rising above the sea of mist.
This mountain must be fated for me. On the only other occasion I've climbed it, I lost an ice axe whilst bumsliding, and on this day I lost my video camera. It must have fallen out of my down jacket pocket after filming Ben heather tobogganing down the slopes off the last munro - an expensive loss, particularly as i really liked the camera. Ben maintained a decent pace on the walk itself but we never really ascaped the cloud and saw little, but until the very end when I discovered my loss, we had a very good walk with the undoubted highlight being the bumsliding down the steep heathery slopes on thick hoar frost. Its a great shame the video will never see the light of day.
A short day after a morning's drive up. Almost all of the walk was spent in the clammy fog, but we were blessed with a clearing on the summit, to look down on sea of fog below.
Having failed to reach our starting point the day before due to snow blocking the road, we stayed an extra day and completed the round of the five remaining Munros in the Ben Lawers group. Finally the wind died and we were blessed with a calm clear day, with a decent covering of snow on all the hills. Ben really enjoyed the traverse and even put me right when I proceeded to descend the wrong ridge from Ben Lawers. A fine day to end an extremely wintery few days in October.
Technically this was an Autumn day but it didn't feel like it. Our day almost ended before it had begun. Shortly after 6am on a dark morning, we entered a rather large puddle on the A6 just 3 miles from the house. Apparently the road was shut but the sign indicating this was near kendal so I just ploughed straight in to the lake that had formed over the road and narrowly avoided stalling the car which spluttered from then on all the way to the Highlands. It was a rather exciting car journey involving a further enormous puddle on the A6 and a flooded Doune, I had wondered why people were staring at the car, but couldn't see anythign obviously wrong having stopped and peered at the undercarriage for the source of a highly irritating scraping noise. This finally became unbearable on the road over to Glen Lyon and it wasn't difficult to discover the source of the noise. The numberplate had clearly been yanked off the car body in one of the puddles and it had trailed on the road ever since. After 220 miles of this there wasn't much of the number plate left, so I yanked the remainder off and continued.
We finally arrived at our starting point, with me feeling a little bit frazzled by the journey. If we thought that the walk would be easy after the trials of the journey, we were quickly put right. once out of the shelter of the trees, the wind started to whip us and it wasn't too long before we entered a white world. I managed to persuade Ben to continue past the first Munro and by dint of taking one top at a time and hanging on to Ben to stop him being blown away, we eventually made it round. The final descent was made in a full blown blizzard in the gloom and then the dark. We met one other man who I think was glad of our company to find the way down as conditions were truly horrendous. By the time we arrived at Weem, the underfloor heating was much appreciated.
At last the weather finally deteriorated to more normal conditions of mist, rain and a bit of wind. We had fun on the bouncy bridge and I enjoyed the long rough ridge between Meall Bhuidhe and Beinn Bhuidhe. the descent of deep heather, tussock grass and rocks was less enjoyable as was the midge fest in the valley. On arrival at Inverie there was no respite from the pesky midges, so jouneys between the kitchen and the bedroom became frantic dashes to escape being devoured.
Another day of sun and hard-baked ground in one of the wettest places in Britain. Ben loved his 'baby Matterhorn' (Sgurr na Ciche) and a day unencumbered seemed child's play in comparison with the two corbett day before. We had fun in the bothy hammock and by the shore making sandacstles.
I as glad to leave Corryhully Bothy after a night disturbed by a large party of Poles with whom I finally lost patience at 2.30am when I went out to relieve myself and pointedly asked them when they intended going to bed. This seemed to do the trick, but I was not at my best the next morning when they slumbered on. Ben was unaffected having slept through everything and it was hard not to enjoy such a fine morning. We made steady progress before traversing the much less travelled tops of Beinn Garbh and An Stac. The latter is a testing Graham top and my heavy load contributed to the laborious descent to the twinkling loch. After the hard graft of the rough miles, Oban Bothy was a delight, a carpet of bluebells leading down to the lochside where ben engaged in the time-honoured pastime of stone throwing. The loch is a fjord set amongst the craggy mountains of Morar that rise straight out of the sea and sports it's own monster going by the name of Morag. we didn't see the monster but we did see a magnificent sunset to the west. After the disturbed night at Corryhully I was glad to have the run of the bothy to ourselves.
After 10 days of almost continual testing weather, a perfect dawn promised a fine day ahead. Mindful of the need to return home we needed a short outing so opted for an ascent of the monarch of Glencoe – Bidean nam Bian. We were the first up to Coire nan Lochan which I have never seen looking batter. Clothed in a deep blanket of snow under an azure sky, the buttresses looked spectacular and as the snow seemed stable, I was inspired to take Ben up his first gully climb – Broad Gully. Kicking steps was an exhausting process in the deep fresh snow, Ben mounting my steps just a sling’s length behind. With the corrie to ourselves, brilliant sunshine to warm our bodies, and pristine snow, I think that we both felt a real sense of wonder and privilege. These moments when everything comes together don’t happen that often and I told Ben that if he lived to be 99 he wouldn’t have a better day in Glencoe than this. On unblemished snow we travelled like Gods in an Alpine heaven. On the ridge to Bidean the way became an exquisite wave of snow that required the placing of one foot on one side and one on the other. With no tracks or sight of anyone else this was a truly special moment that I hope I never forget. On the summit we just stared at the galaxy of snow-bedecked peaks all around. It was reluctantly that we descended and even an uncomfortable breakable crest on the steep descent to Coire nam Beith couldn’t spoil our exhilaration. Ben didn’t break through the crust so I struggled to keep up with him as I plunged through the icy crust up to my knees. The sunshine continued to beat down and it was Springlike when we arrived at the Clachaig where Alison was lapping up the rays. A perfect day.
Photos
Looking up from the hut it was obvious that the Buachaille was plastered in fresh snow. Mindful of Coire na Tulaich’s reputation as an avalanche trap, we took the first opportunity to climb the ridge on it’s right. We passed a classic icicle fringe in deep powder snow overlying neve beneath, to emerge in brilliant sunlight to the upper ridge. A pattern of vigorous snow showers and sunny spells continued from then on throughout the day, with frequent curtains of spindrift assailing us on our high mountain perch. This was a vibrant mountaineering day of some length, where the only other party seemed to descend before the second Munro leaving us to continue alone. Ben seemed up for the traverse of the Buachaille Etive Beag, so after making a fine snowman, we descended all the way to the Lairig and it was almost 8pm before we returned to the hut, elated to have shared such an exhilarating winter’s day together.
Our weekend at the Lagangarbh Hut started in disappointingly wet fashion. We set off from the Ballachulish forest car park in the pouring rain that soon turned to sleet. Needless to say, there were no other takers for this popular horseshoe. On leaving the forest the snow began in earnest and we were soon wading knee deep with a blizzard raging. Fortunately I had brought the piece de resistance for the occasion – a pair ofswimming goggles for Ben – which were brought in to action on the summit ridge across which the spindrift was being hurled at over 40 miles an hour. Ben did not enjoy the final 10 minutes when I had to hold on to him quite tightly to stop him from being blown away, but once off the most windy spot, the spindrift was less painful and I managed to persuade Ben to take a look at the next Munro which I reasoned would be less windy. My optimism was rewarded with a fine crest in relatively benign conditions, which we both enjoyed. In buoyant spirits we descended in lunging steps down the increasingly slobbery snow to the forest below where a late lunch was had and the precipitation ceased.
A short walk with Alison from the car park up the steep flanks at the end of the road. Ben was the proud recipient of ‘bear of the week’ who you will see appearing in some of the photos and here, at the top of Ben Tulaichean. With fair weather I was looking forward to adding Cruach Ardrain but Alison was more interested in the tea and scones at the Monachyle Mhor and Ben followed his mother. The tea and scones were very good.
Tempted by a slight easing in the storm force winds of previous days, we set our sights on the Ben Lawers group. The wind may have lessened but it still ripped across the tops driving spindrift in its wake. This was Ben's first exposure to such conditions and I considered descending from the first Munro after struggling to hold on to Ben on the top and being knocked to the ground more than once.However, conditions eased a bit and I rightly calculated that the route to the second peak would benefit from a little shelter if we took a devious route. still, the summit was fierce and this was a full-on, very snowy, high -windchill blast. I wouldn't want to have pushed it any further with Ben.
The morning seemed a breeze after the toil of the previous afternoon with fine ridge walking being followed by a steep descent then a grade I gully on to the ridge. Ben managed very well in my instep crampons, although the steepening slopes near the cornice made him a little fearful and I had to cut steps for him. Unfortunately, with little distance between me and him (I use a sling attached to a climbing belt to secure him), I spiked him in the head with my crampons, but it doesn't seem to have doen him any lasting damage! he was elated on reaching the ridge, on what for him was a real climb. we looked forward to great ridge-walking in the sunshine, but much to my disappointment the cloud rolled in and we spent the rest of the day wreathed in mist.
The ridge to Cruachan provided reasonable sport in the conditions, with one step proving decidedly awkward for Ben. We were clearly going to be late for the scheduled meeting with Alison at the Falls of Cruachan Car park so I left a phone message saying that we'd be an hour later than the scheduled 4.30 rendezvous, having previously texted to amend the original meeting time of 12.30pm. In the event it took us even longer than that as Ben tired on the final steep descent to the car park. So at 6pm on a cold winter's evening we arrived at the car park to find it completely devoid of cars and no Alison in sight. having looked forward to meeting his Mum after four exceptionally arduous days, Ben promptly burst in to tears and sobbed out where was she? i could only reply that I had no idea whatsoever. We had no mobile reception; no-one was around and the only civilisation for miles was a lone house by the station. I extracted the last donut from the rucksack in an effort to raise ben's spirits, waited 10 minutes then walked over to the house. Fortunately someone was at home and I explained our predicament. I tried Alison on their phone but only got a message on the answerphone. In desperation I phoned my Mum and Dad to see if Alison had contacted them but only succeeded in worrying them. As I sipped the welcome tea that our kind hosts had provided, I couldn't share ben's apparent acceptance of the situation as I was beginning to worry that something serious had happened to alison. What else could have prevented her from meeting or even contacting us? I was just about to don my boots again to try to hitch down the road at 7pm on a dark winter's night with a 6 year old, when Alison made an entre and promptly burst in to tears. Apparently she had never picked up my text from the previous day, nor either of my phone messages so Alison had been waiting and worrying herself to a frenzy since 12.30. The car park was closed with a barrier but Ben and I hadn't seen this as we'd taken a short-cut to the corner of the car park. We didn't therefore walk down the road to where Alison had been waiting in a lay-by, nor did we see her as it was dark. She had to try 5 miles up the road to get any reception but didn't want to leave her parking spot in case we arrived and mised her. Eventually she had driven to Dalmally and had picked up my last desparate message from the house. The moral of the story - don't rely on mobiles!
Day three of our backpack started cold - minus seven degrees, so despite sleeping with the gas cylinder in my sleeping bag it required much coaxing to inexorably heat the porridge. Disaster was only narrowly avoided when I knocked a full pan of boiling water over inside the tent inner and the flaming stove fell on to the tent. fortunately the water extinguished the flame and the down sleeping bags were mercifully spared. I used a shirt to mop up the litre of water in the tent and threw it outside where it promptly froze like cardboard. After this excitement at 6.30am we left the tent standing and had a pack-free ascent of Ben Starav before returning to the tent for a brew and renewal of the shoulder-crushing hauling. The descent of ben Aighenan almost to sea level was rough and hard-going for both of us. The level grass by the river would have made a pleasant camp site but we had too far to go to stop so early. The initial slopes leading up towards eunaich are pretty evil - deep heather and tussocks with no trods. Ben coped remarkably cheerfully as his legs were repeatedly sucked up by the man-eating tussocks. I also struggled to avoid collapsing under my load in the ankle twisting morass and the deer fence provided a serious obstacle to a 6 year old and a 42 year old with a house on his back. The obstacle was only overcome by levering the pack over the top of the fence and hoping that nothing broke on impact as it thudded down the other side.
After this there was nothing to relieve the snail-like stagger all the way up to the ridge. The ground did eventually improve but I wouldn't call it good - just less bad. I had intended to camp at the Chochuill/Sotb Diamh col but that was clearly not on, so we were forced to stop on top of the ridge before Ben Eunaich. Unsurprisingly it was a windy and cold spot on a mid February night and I had to descend 100m to find unfrozen water. All in all, a full-on day after a similarly taxing day before. It didn't take long to get to sleep.
Day two of our backpack commenced frosty and misty, but we soon emerged from the clinging fog in to the brilliant blue skies above. the snow patches that remained were bullet proof neve, but we managed to slither our way upwards. My pack with winter gear for the two of us and lots of food was very, very heavy making for a bit of a haul. We passed one person on Glas Bheinn Mor who later met alison and reported that he had seen a small boy and a man with a huge rucksack. It must have made an incongruous sight. We finally arrived at the camping place half an hour after dark when the temperature plunged. I had to hug the gas cylinder for half an hour before we could commence cooking such was the cold.
An easy day at last for Ben, albeit the last of this trip on our way home. Another fine day of weather, with dazzling sunshine and snow. Mountain hares and ptarmigan enlivened the ascent which we had to ourselves, only seeing the weekend walkers on the way back down. 
We woke to mist down to the tent, but this more or less cleared by the third top to leave a fine day. It wasn't far to the first Munro and from there it was easy going all the way back to the car, where the coach parties and a motor rally had descendfed upon the Spittal of Glenshee. I wondere what they thought of me brewing up in the car park before driving home.
An easy and unremarkable day up the Kilbo path, punctuated only by memories of a rather more stern tussle when I was blown upwards whilst sitting down on the summit of Mayar in winds of 130mph. This day was a gentle stroll in comparison.
Tempted by a slight easing in the storm force winds of previous days, we set our sights on the Ben Lawers group. The wind may have lessened but it still ripped across the tops driving spindrift in its wake. This was Ben's first exposure to such conditions and I considered descending from the first Munro after struggling to hold on to Ben on the top and being knocked to the ground more than once. However, conditions eased a bit and I rightly calculated that the route to the second peak would benefit from a little shelter if we took a devious route. still, the summit was fierce and this was a full-on, very snowy, high -windchill blast. I wouldn't want to have pushed it any further with Ben. 
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