The biting easterly wind that has been with us for the best part of the month had veered to the south on Monday night and had given us a fine spring day yesterday. But this also brought Atlantic weather patterns. This morning, St George’s Day as our token Englishman reminded us, was wet and miserable and we were for Ben Lomond.
Five of us gathered at Alan’s place in Kilmarnock for coffee and bacon rolls before the journey north. (The rolls were much appreciated, Alan). Peter had commitments, Robert was in France, Johnny was recovering from a break in France (we hope it doesn’t keep him out of action for too long) and Holly was ill. So only five made the journey north through the rain.
The wimps suggested that they would be happy with a low level walk in the rain but Paul, who had been studying the weather radar, assured us that the rain would go at eleven o’clock and the intrepid wanted to go to the hill. So the hill it was.
We reached Rowardennan at ten forty-five. It was raining. It was warm enough but it was raining. The waterproofs were donned a
nd the path through the visitor centre was taken towards the Ben. It was five to eleven and it was raining. We were beginning to doubt Paul’s forecasting ability. We reached the forest road at eleven o’clock on the dot and the rain stopped. On the dot! The waterproofs came off. Paul is to be our weather man from now on. On the whole the rain was to stay away for the rest of the day but the dampness persisted and sweat failed to evaporate.
Today was Rex’s wife, Barbara’s birthday (it would be indelicate to tell her age here but Rex did announce it to everybody) and he had a schedule to keep. He set the pace upward. And almost from the off it was upward, with only the occasional flat to break the slope and relieve the tiring legs. The pace was brisk. Jimmy struggled, excess food and ale the night before taking its toll. The cuckoo was heard, the first of the year. Jimmy, Alan and Paul halted to listen and found themselves well off the pace as the fit pair walked on. There was no halt to look at the view either for there was no point. The landscape was dismal, damp and grey and the sky hung low, clothing the hills in fog. Though Ptarmigan showed itself briefly under the clag, the Ben kept itself well hidden. But the forecast was for brighter weather coming in early afternoon so we walked onward and upward. And Rex kept the pace high.
We met the fog around the fifteen hundred contour and the group split into two with the faster pair going on ahead and the slower, seeing the sense of letting them go, adopting a more sensible pace. Drizzle hit around the two and a half thousand contour but lasted no lo
nger than a few minutes, the last rain we were to see for the day. The last of anything much we were to see for the day, actually, for the fog thickened as we reached the climb to the summit ridge. Dirty patches of rotting snow lay on the eastern side of the ridge but we were to avoid these for the path hangs more to the west. Not that you would know which direction was which for the fog was thick and disorientating. We thanked goodness for the path.
The fit pair reached the top at one o’clock, barely two hours after leaving Rowardennan. The slower three arrived around fifteen minutes later and we all rested on the top for lunch and took in the view. ‘It’s just like the view from Merrick and Ben Ime and Windy Standard’, said Davie for we could see no further than we could on these tops. The fog was thick. Rex captured the scene with his own and then Jimmy’s camera.
But Rex had a schedule to keep and was ready for the return. So, at half past one, we set off. Along the ridge Jimmy spotted the Snow Bunting, a small white bird of Arctic regions and higher Scottish mountains and he thought it a good spot for the time of year. The group was split again for Rex set a fair old pace. T
he excesses of the previous night must have worn off Jimmy for he was to keep Rex company on his fast descent. The view was not any different now than it was earlier except that the fog hung lower so there was no point in hanging around to admire the scenery. We did come out of the fog at the top of the trees but the gloom still hung over the visible landscape and there was still no reason to hang around.
The first group reached Rowardennan at three o’clock and the second fifteen minutes behind having stopped for a drinks break. Two hours to two and a quarter hours up and an hour and a half to an hour forty-five on the descent. Twelve kilometres of walking and nine hundred and twenty metres of ascent and descent. Not a bad day’s exercise for us old fellows.
We replaced essential salts and minerals in the Rowardennan Hotel, a pleasant bar with an open log fire. Rex could only wait for one pint of fluid replacement for he had an appointment to keep. But we sat and as we did so the hill fog cleared and the sun broke through. B*@@%# typical!
Five of us gathered at Alan’s place in Kilmarnock for coffee and bacon rolls before the journey north. (The rolls were much appreciated, Alan). Peter had commitments, Robert was in France, Johnny was recovering from a break in France (we hope it doesn’t keep him out of action for too long) and Holly was ill. So only five made the journey north through the rain.
The wimps suggested that they would be happy with a low level walk in the rain but Paul, who had been studying the weather radar, assured us that the rain would go at eleven o’clock and the intrepid wanted to go to the hill. So the hill it was.
We reached Rowardennan at ten forty-five. It was raining. It was warm enough but it was raining. The waterproofs were donned a
nd the path through the visitor centre was taken towards the Ben. It was five to eleven and it was raining. We were beginning to doubt Paul’s forecasting ability. We reached the forest road at eleven o’clock on the dot and the rain stopped. On the dot! The waterproofs came off. Paul is to be our weather man from now on. On the whole the rain was to stay away for the rest of the day but the dampness persisted and sweat failed to evaporate.Today was Rex’s wife, Barbara’s birthday (it would be indelicate to tell her age here but Rex did announce it to everybody) and he had a schedule to keep. He set the pace upward. And almost from the off it was upward, with only the occasional flat to break the slope and relieve the tiring legs. The pace was brisk. Jimmy struggled, excess food and ale the night before taking its toll. The cuckoo was heard, the first of the year. Jimmy, Alan and Paul halted to listen and found themselves well off the pace as the fit pair walked on. There was no halt to look at the view either for there was no point. The landscape was dismal, damp and grey and the sky hung low, clothing the hills in fog. Though Ptarmigan showed itself briefly under the clag, the Ben kept itself well hidden. But the forecast was for brighter weather coming in early afternoon so we walked onward and upward. And Rex kept the pace high.
We met the fog around the fifteen hundred contour and the group split into two with the faster pair going on ahead and the slower, seeing the sense of letting them go, adopting a more sensible pace. Drizzle hit around the two and a half thousand contour but lasted no lo
nger than a few minutes, the last rain we were to see for the day. The last of anything much we were to see for the day, actually, for the fog thickened as we reached the climb to the summit ridge. Dirty patches of rotting snow lay on the eastern side of the ridge but we were to avoid these for the path hangs more to the west. Not that you would know which direction was which for the fog was thick and disorientating. We thanked goodness for the path.The fit pair reached the top at one o’clock, barely two hours after leaving Rowardennan. The slower three arrived around fifteen minutes later and we all rested on the top for lunch and took in the view. ‘It’s just like the view from Merrick and Ben Ime and Windy Standard’, said Davie for we could see no further than we could on these tops. The fog was thick. Rex captured the scene with his own and then Jimmy’s camera.
But Rex had a schedule to keep and was ready for the return. So, at half past one, we set off. Along the ridge Jimmy spotted the Snow Bunting, a small white bird of Arctic regions and higher Scottish mountains and he thought it a good spot for the time of year. The group was split again for Rex set a fair old pace. T
he excesses of the previous night must have worn off Jimmy for he was to keep Rex company on his fast descent. The view was not any different now than it was earlier except that the fog hung lower so there was no point in hanging around to admire the scenery. We did come out of the fog at the top of the trees but the gloom still hung over the visible landscape and there was still no reason to hang around.The first group reached Rowardennan at three o’clock and the second fifteen minutes behind having stopped for a drinks break. Two hours to two and a quarter hours up and an hour and a half to an hour forty-five on the descent. Twelve kilometres of walking and nine hundred and twenty metres of ascent and descent. Not a bad day’s exercise for us old fellows.
We replaced essential salts and minerals in the Rowardennan Hotel, a pleasant bar with an open log fire. Rex could only wait for one pint of fluid replacement for he had an appointment to keep. But we sat and as we did so the hill fog cleared and the sun broke through. B*@@%# typical!
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