These were my first post lock-down Munros of 2020 and I think it’s safe to say that I was not at my fittest or my most experienced. My friend J had pulled together a group of girls and, spotting a hot summer day in July, she suggested climbing the three eastern Fannichs; Meall a’ Chrasgaidh, Sgurr nan Clach Geala, and Sgurr nan Each. My Munro climbs had remained minimal up until this point so eagerly I said yes to the expedition.

We arranged lifts for the following day and I vowed to turn in for an early night to ensure the preservation of my energy for the imminent hike. However, unbeknownst to me, my flatmate had been shopping that day and returned home with two large bottles of Prosecco to celebrate…God knows what. Not wishing her to dine alone, I tentatively offered to stay for one glass.

After we popped the second cork I knew I was committed for the evening and around two in the morning our deep chats tailored off and I regretfully begged my leave, reminding myself I did have a Munro to climb early the next morn. The next day (a few hours later) I awoke, feeling less than good. I managed to shove down a piece of toast, assuming I’d be able to pick up a sandwich prior to the hike or stop off at Tescos for a good ol’ meal deal. After thinking twice, I packed a packet of Maoms that had survived the previous night’s shenanigans, feeling spiritually that they would be a means of sustenance during my climb.

As I lived in Cawdor at the time, the drive to Inverness took half an hour. However, after almost reaching the city’s suburbs I realised that I had forgotten my hiking shoes in my hungover state. I circled back and picked them up but, by this stage, I was running very late. I reached J’s house roughly forty minutes later. J was understandably a little disgruntled but taking in my rough and ready state, she sighed and hopped in the car with no further comment. Thank-god she was driving as I still felt a bit sketchy from the night before. 

We miraculously arrived on time at the bottom of Meall a’ Chrasgaidh where we met the other girls. They looked young, fresh and keen – everything that I was not. I took a swig of my water which was less than a litre (this was back in the days when I would not bring enough water on hikes) and we set off. To be honest, any other day these Munros would have been a struggle but the sun was shining and we took a leisurely pace, with J stopping every five paces to take a photo. I embraced this flaneuring approach, nursing my increasing headache… caused by the sun or the alcohol, I will never know. 

About an hour into the hike we were confronted with the slope of the first Munro. After little debate we decided taking the bird’s eye route would be best. The sheer steep slope of the hill was daunting, but knuckling down, I stared at my feet and plundered on. Afraid of being the slowest due to my slightly intoxicated state, I was eager to progress and not be the last one up the hill dragging everyone back. It was only after half an hour that I glanced back and realised I had left my fellow climbers a few hundred metres below. It seemed my Prosecco-fueled blood had given me a new strength (nothing to do with the fact that the girls stopped regularly to take photos). We reached the first Munro with a big humph and I sucked sparingly on the little water that remained in my bottle. 

Halfway to the second peak, we reached a natural viewpoint and everyone decided that this was the place for lunch. I sighed, my stomach now perhaps ready for some nourishment…nourishment that never came because I realised we had never stopped for that Tesco’s meal deal. I had no lunch. Cursing myself, but too embarrassed to tell the others my forgetful ways, I remained silent with the exception of the occasional rumble of my tummy. 

Do not fear, I did have some sustenance in my bag….the wonderful Maoms!!! I sucked on a couple of the little rubbery chew sweets to see if they helped. They were no sandwich, but they did tame my hunger slightly.

It was with great relief that lunch came to an end and we climbed to the next summit which was relatively close, lending beautiful views of Am Burach and Carn na Criche. I vowed to come back to these hills and do the western ones someday with a fuller stomach. In high spirits we skipped down the mountain, encountering a scree slope along the way. It was with slight disappointment that we realised the final Munro was further away than expected, tantalising a small drop before the ascent of the final summit. This final climb was gruelling and, less energised and feeling malnourished, I just wanted to go home. I was now suffering from indigestion too having finished the packet of Maoms which had begun to disagree with me. When we finally descended the third Munro, it was with great relief. We took a dip in the stream at the bottom, allowing the sun to dry our clothes on the walk back to the car.

Indeed, it had been a lovely day out and the views were to die for, however, never again will I climb hungover (this may be a white lie) or on an empty stomach (this is definitely the truth). As for Maoms, I will always be tempted by their sickly sweet ways, but I did struggle to eat them for a month or two after this climb. 

Onwards and upwards!