Climbing Ben Lomond

          “Ben Nevis were boring”, he says in his thick Yorkshire brogue. “You just zigzag all the way to the top. At least here you can actually see summin’”. This twenty something hiker and his mate have stretched out their legs and are chomping on white-bread sandwiches. Their faces are wet with the exertion of a climb of around 700 metres to the top of the Ptarmigan, a satellite of Ben Lomond. 

Ben Arthur - 'The Cobbler'

He’s right about the view. Across a plateau, a couple of hundred metres above us, ant-like figures are moving slowly along the curved summit ridge of Ben Lomond. To the west, on the far side of Loch Lomond, Ben Arthur –‘The Cobbler’ – stands out among the mountains of the Arrochar Alps, its remarkable, craggy ridge looking like a great chunk broke off in the forgotten past.  

Ben Lomond is Scotland’s most southerly ‘Munro’ (a mountain above 914 metres in height). I’ve only ever scaled one other, Ben Hope, which happens to be the country’s northernmost Munro. Like my cheerful acquaintances from Yorkshire I opted for the more demanding, Ptarmigan route up the mountain, rather than the more popular ‘tourist’ path. 

View south east from Ben Lomond

Ten minutes into the walk and I’m already feeling tired. Despite some cursory stretches in the car park, my body is as stiff as a board and I rue my decision to tackle this 974 metre behemoth without first hitting some less gruelling hills. After twenty five minutes I’m all in. My legs are lifeless, and the back of my shirt is saturated. I can’t imagine how I’m going to make it. “It’s always hard when it’s hot”, remarks a grinning Scot who passes me on his way down. I’m not sure that I consider 18 degrees hot, however. 

It crosses my mind to beat an ignominious retreat back down the narrow path, but I push on, motivated by the stirring sight of The Cobbler. Four years ago I zoomed up that 884 metre peak in pouring rain. If I could do that, surely scaling Ben Lomond is achievable. 

The hazy outline of the Isle of Arran

          Just below the summit the ascent is punishingly steep, a rugged jumble of rocks that demands some scrambling. The wind whips up and I suddenly feel very high and exposed. There is a lightness in my limbs and I’m aware of a slight dizziness: the first stirrings of vertigo. You can do this, Mike, I tell myself. Then, a familiar buzzing sound breaks my focus. I look up and see a single propeller Piper Warrior light aircraft no more than 100 metres above me, rocking its wings as it performs a fly-by. 

          After two and a quarter hours of pain, I reach my goal. I’m filled with the sense of elation that I always experience at these times. The panorama is awesome: far to the south, beyond the tip of the loch, rise dimly the tower blocks of Glasgow, while an ocean of mountain peaks, some still sprinkled with snow, is visible to the north and west. Four friends – students, I think – stand near the triangulation marker, chatting and laughing. Enviably, they look as fresh as daisies. Still, I bet they took the tourist path.

         

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