Munro bagging with my dad

Karen Murray

1979

My dad is fanatical about Scotland, about mountains and about encouraging others to enjoy Scottish mountains. He has therefore dragged my brothers and I up many a hill, Corbett and Munro in our time with cries of 'just over this hill' to try and goad us on. There are many stories to tell, but the most memorable is that of our trip up Ben Nevis. It had to be done - we just had to climb Scotland's biggest mountain, bagging the tallest of the Munros, didn't we?

To set the scene, it was summer 1979; I was 14, my brothers were 12 and 5 and we lived in Shropshire at the time. My mum was visiting my sick grandfather in Shetland and we were to collect her from Aberdeen airport so my dad decided a trip up Ben Nevis could be fitted in en route. We drove for what seemed like forever, arriving at a campsite at the bottom of the mountain at dusk. We set up camp in a very small and cramped tent and needless to say, in the pouring rain. My dad insisted on cooking up some form of disaster he called dinner on a small stove and then it was bed, ready for an early start in the morning as dad assured us it would be a hot day the next day and we would want to avoid climbing in the real heat of the day. ... (continues)