Scaling high above the eastern shores of Loch Lomond, resides Scotlands most southerly Munro. Ben Lomond.

Now, for any West Highland way walker, or Munro bagger hoping to summit Ben Lomond you will know about the wonderful Scottish Youth Hostel, Rowardennan Lodge. Easy to walk to – you can even take the Water bus crossing over from the A82 to the hostel, ideal for hikers and cyclists alike. – Not for cars though. You’ll have to make the hour long journey around the entire loch like the rest of us.

Todays forecast; far from ideal – moderate-to-high winds followed by immense rain fall – you’d be forgiven for leaving this hill for another day, but it’s just about time I suck-up to the true Scottish outdoors and stop being a fair-weather hill walker.

And after that drive round the loch, I was going to walk this hill wet-or not.

Taking the Ptarmigan route up, named after the red-listed ground nesting bird, the Ptarmigan. This is first started by a stroll to Ben’s Bakes tuck shop on the west highland way. An absolute sugar-energy level life saver for anyone looking to get their day off on the right foot!

Don’t hang around for long though…

As for every keen-walker there is, the midges are even more. They’re ready and waiting for a quick snack as you hope to get a quick one yourself. – A hurried selection, tap of your card and head off – before you get more than what you bargained for.

A short while on, turn off the path, and head up the Ptarmigan path and head off into the woods. I quickly felt the fatigue of 2 nights hostelling in shared quarters. I think I need that sugar boost now.

Never underestimate the power of fatigue, be that in work, in the gym or in social interactions. It is all the same. Fatigue masks your true ability – and boy did I really not want to hike when I got into the early part of that ascent.

However this battle in the mind always fades away with a good view and as I entered the low lying cloud separating me from the visuals of Loch Lomond – it reminded me why I enjoy walking up the Hills so much, the silence, the lonesome feeling – it was nice to get my head down and march onwards for the sake of bagging Munro no.10

That was until the thick cloud gave way to howling winds and face shredding rain. My head was so fixated on the ground that I barely knew about my first summit of the day, in fact – I didn’t even know about it. I just kept on walking. This weather front wasn’t letting off.

With the weather, the sheer stubbornness I had to fight through to get started on the walk with me now flirting on the side of madness – I began to laugh. This was quite the turn of attitude. – Or had I simply entered my first stage of that mental state?

This reminds me, I have never been phased with harsh weather – I often find it quite funny to be in and I certainly don’t shy away if I have to be in it.

For example, back in 2018 when the Beast from the East thundered in, I was living on a Boat in Brighton Marina.

We were moored up on the first jetty closest to the mouth of the harbour. Little use those walls were that night – I tell you.

The wind howled in and sea surfed over the harbour defense’s, our little boat was taking a battering.

The bow persistently smashing against the wooden jetty in front of us, stripping her freshly blue paint bare to the fibreglass – I was so sure I was going to get wet feet that night as I rested in her fore-cabin.

However the real test came as she was being pushed and pulled, tossed and fro’d so much so that the ropes that held the outboard onto the back of the boat loosened and with a mighty thud it’s engine smashed into the stern and fell partially into the water. She had half detached herself and I rushed out to stop her of from slipping in and going under.

Hardly appropriately dressed for such an event, I heaved the boat up laughing up at the wind “this is ridiculous”, hands sore from the wet rope, trying with all my might to not let her go, my uncle arrived home, like a hero-in the night, tying her up with the miraculous slack I had produced.

What a brilliant memory.

The British sea-faring nature runs through all of our veins. You just need your chance to use it.

And the memories of being outdoors in such weather never fails to amuse.

Well.

Sometimes.

But the hill, this one sucked.

With no views, or many photos to report back on, I turned to face the wind and rain when I bumped into a few brave hill walkers on the return route.

“You’re so close!” said a fist bumping Eastern European, you can always bank on their joyful optimism when acknowledging the effort you have taken to complete such a task.

His warmth and energy was exactly what I needed, because today, I thought, had been quite ridiculous and as if by magic, unbeknown to me for the second time today – I had reached a summit, this time, Ben Lomond’s peak.

Touching the Trig point as one always must upon completion. It was as if I had touched the weather-reset button and the cloud lifted. The rain stopped. And the wind calmed.

Perhaps I could have chosen to start later? And had a more visually pleasing hike?

Whatever the weather, today was simply about getting Munro no.10 done and not having to return to this side of Loch Lomond, not because I didn’t like it, I love Loch Lomond and the Trossachs, but because the journey took longer than what was probably worth my time for such a short stay.

So I leave with no regrets and next week, I take on another isolated Munro. Discovering what it truly means to walk off the wrong side of the hill.

-That Wandering Rhys