On anyone’s list of Munros you will find Ben Nevis at the top (literally). It’s the highest mountain, not  only in Scotland, but the United Kingdom standing at 4,413 feet. This monster of a mountain was always on my list of hills to conquer, but to be honest, it’s kind of like the Paris in France – you know you’ll visit it someday so you prioritise the smaller cities first. 

Ben Nevis was never my priority, however, during lockdown my parents were intrigued with my Munro bagging as they themselves were feeling old and unfit. Much to my younger siblings’ dismay, my parents relocated to Donegal (Ireland) for the summer and proceeded to climb hills everyday (it’s worth noting that these hills were not of Munro calibre – I believe the tallest in Inishowen is called Slieve Snaght and stands at 2,018 feet. Nevertheless, my family spent the summer summiting peaks, gaining a certain level of fitness, and one fine balmy evening my parents came to the conclusion that upon their return to bonnie Scotland they would climb Ben Nevis as a testament to this newfound fitness. Admittedly, I had encouraged this proposal slightly by suggesting that a family Munro outing would be nice (my siblings did not speak to me for a week after this request). But my parents were the instigators, booking the Glen Nevis Youth Hostel and penciling a solid date in the diary. 

My father’s sister, S, who is a serious climber and Munro hiker, kindly offered to assist my family up the mountain. I felt slightly relieved at her presence as it meant that I was not solely responsible for guiding seven members of my family up Scotland’s tallest mountain. (my older sister avoided the excursion by the skin of her teeth only because she was studying in The Netherlands at the time). 

We had chosen a weekend in September that seemed to suit all eight of us, but we hadn’t really prioritised the weather so we did feel like lucky sods when the forecast looked half decent. My father left just after midday on the Friday, departing from Edinburgh with my younger brother and sister (twins) in tow. I followed after work with my mother and my teenage brother in Percy (My Peugeot). The drive began a little tense as my mother for some reason needed to detour to my aunt’s to collect a chainsaw. I, eager to hit the road, was not so keen on this detour and amidst our fighting to leave on time, my mother forgot her beautiful swimming supplies (she’s an avid wild swimmer dependent on her wetsuit hat and gloves). We huffed in the car for the next hour or so as my brother sat quietly in the back glancing from one woman to the other  

As things were slightly tense, I pulled into Loch Lubnaig for a swim which eventually my mother joined me for (albeit in her knickers). We were well on our merry way to Glen Nevis Hostel after the swim, having mended our riff via the calming flow of water. When we arrived at the hostel, we were greeted by the chirpy twins and my father who informed us that the hostel was lovely, but sadly had no cooking facilities due to Covid-19. A minor inconvenience! We spent the night eating fish and chips which were scrumptious in the Hostel room, but did leave a questionable smell for the duration of the stay. Was it us or the fish? We’ll never know!

The next day started slow despite the fact that we were to climb Ben Nevis –  my family are not ones for speed. We woke up, having a quick breakfast in the car park and hoping to make some hearty sandwiches for the day ahead. Naively, being 23, I had thought that my father would have provided lunch items for the whole family, but, alas, all he had brought was a lump of cheese (no knife) and some stale bread. A saviour came in the pack of Nature Valley bars I had purchased the day before, subconsciously knowing that my family would not supply food. Me and my teenage brother took a handful of bars and they were to be our nourishment for the day. My mother’s nourishment came in the form of a large whole tomato which she was adamant had “all the sustenance” she would need.

My aunt, S, who had come all the way from Inverness that morning was horrified to learn that at 9am we were not rearing and ready to climb Ben Nevis, but were feasting on breakfast bars. The twins were still in their pajamas so S urged a little more speed and we were well on our way up the Ben Nevis path by half past ten. The hostel really is amazing as you can hike straight from the hostel’s front door onto a path that takes you up Ben Nevis. You wouldn’t need a car if you were staying here, and, one day I hope to return with my bike and tackle some more hills in the Fort William area. 

We started off the day in good form but it became quickly evident that we all moved at different paces. The little twins were good sports but quite slow and my mother stormed ahead, taking breaks frequently but just putting one foot after another. My father, the loving dad that he is, stayed behind, ushering the twins up along with my aunt. 

I found a rather happy companion in my younger brother who was 16 at the time. Despite having done little exercise for the majority of his life, I was a little put out by the ease with which he glided up the mountain. Like a billy goat, he was perky and chatted away and I must admit, after my summer of climbing hills, I felt slightly deflated that my brother was seemingly fitter than I was with little to no practice. Ahh…the beauty of youth!

The hill was swamped with people, but having said that, we had a calmer day than most (due to covid and restrictions easing). It also became evident that we were not the only family that was underprepared. People were walking up in all sorts of footwear; sandals, flip-flops, heavy jackets, topless… to be fair it was a super hot day, but it’s not what you expect from Scotland’s tallest and mightiest mountain.

Half way up we got a beautiful cloud inversion and the views of the increasingly small Fort William arose. They looked beautiful and I was happy to see the hostel become a distant speck as we climbed higher and higher. By this stage my family were completely spread apart – my mother ahead, my father and twins behind, but it was all okay and spirits were high. We stopped for lunch half way up and luckily we seemingly congregated naturally. Me and my brother whipped out our Nature Valley bars – by now (having had them for breakfast and snacks) they were beginning to form a stale taste in our mouths and we quietly resented Dad from a corner. My mother feasted on her red tomato and the twins finished off their emergency supply of Haribos despite only being a quarter of the way into our hike. 

We progressed onward up the switchback pathway and I was extremely grateful that the climb was not just a steep incline but fell back on itself. We reached the summit around two o’clock, my mother arriving half an hour later, and the twins, my father and my aunt bringing up the rear. The views were wonderful, not a cloud in sight, but oh my lord….there were so many people at the top! 

It was like a queue for a Picasso painting, or a modern art gallery, there was even a queue to the cairn. It was a little disheartening having triumphantly climbed Scotland’s tallest mountain to discover that the rest of the world was already up. But there was also something lovely about it – people of all ages, sizes, ethnicities, had made it to the top, showcasing that Munros are not just for the young, Scottish, and fit. 

We spent a good hour at the top, getting a glimpse of Gulvain, The Loch Lochy Munros, and The Cuillins on Skye. You could see for miles. We were so lucky that we had happened on a beautiful day, but I do intend to climb Ben Nevis a few times, so let’s hope that my next adventure provides as fruitful a view. 

We began the descent after our hour at the top, our bones a little tired. My younger brother who had turned a little whiny towards the final ascent now had a new lease of life, skipping down the side of the mountain. My mother too had some of his spirit and they ran down ahead of us, powering through the upcoming traffic. Me and my mother stopped for a dip in Lochan Meall an T-suidhe which was cold and refreshing. It really is a lovely loch and I’d definitely recommend it, but take shoes because the rocks are incredibly spiky at the bottom.

We arrived back at the Hostel just after six, so it had been a long day, but everyone was feeling great, if not a bit smelly and sore. I finished up the evening grabbing a pint with my dad at the hostel lobby. The next day we visited the Steall Falls and went for a swim under the bridge nearby. I drove home, content that the weekend had been a success and added another Munro to the bag.

Two weeks later, both my parents lost their toenails…this isn’t as uncommon as you’d think as the pressure of walking down the hills makes toenails an absolute pain and often prone to falling off. But, my parents being the positive people that they are, saw their creepy naked toenailess feet as a nice reminder of their accomplishment and did not seem opposed to doing another Munro with me at some point (we ended up doing Ben Chonzie next). 

As for my siblings…well, they still haven’t quite forgiven me for the expedition.