For months, we joked about the prospect of climbing up to Britain’s highest peak. For weeks, we scoffed at the thought of ourselves navigating the mountain passes as we puffed through the pretty fields of East Sussex. Even days before, it remained a mere blot on the distant horizon, barely seeming real. And yet, after a quick flight to Scotland and a two-hour drive up the shores of Loch Ness, we got our first glimpse of the mountain range amongst which nestled, somewhere, Ben Nevis itself. Suddenly, we began to understand the true scope of the challenge ahead, and we weren’t mocking anymore. At just gone eight o’clock the following morning, we found ourselves standing at the very base of the mountain, looking up at the path twisting up and out of sight high above. This was it. Time to face just about the biggest challenge this pretty little island has to throw at us.
But first, a little context as to just how and why we found ourselves there to begin with. The idea of such a trip was initially conceived a few years back, by my dad and his best friend, Frank, whose family we had been very close to as long as I could remember, sharing countless sunny holidays camping together. The trip was put on hold when Frank’s cancer returned, and unfortunately this time it came back with vengeance. A little over a year ago, Frank passed away, leaving behind a huge hole in the lives of those who loved him – and there were many. The idea of climbing Ben Nevis cropped up again soon after, only this time it was to be completed in Frank’s memory. And so there we were, a party of ten, including his three children, one son-in-law, two brother-in-laws, my parents and us. Frank’s wife, Deb, had also joined us on the trip, but had opted not to climb the mountain, instead heading out for a lovely day cruising the loch on a boat, for which I don’t blame her. Beth and I felt we were very privileged to have been included in what was, of course, such a deeply personal moment for all involved.
We set off together into what promised to be a clear and hot day, the instantly challenging path almost immediately beginning to climb at a decent, steady rate. After just a mile, we collectively paused to readjust ourselves as we settled into the day’s conditions. For me, this involved tying my old trusty bandana around my forehead, to keep the inevitable sweat from running the heavily applied sun cream into my eyes, which I find to be a regular occurrence, leaving me with burning, watery eyes. Not wanting this whilst I navigated the mountain, the choice would however have other repercussions, later down the line….
Setting off again, the group soon split as we all found our different paces across paths which were becoming rockier and uneven underfoot. Beth and I, together with Mum and Dad, very much brought up the rear as the others vanished ahead. Already, we were pausing regularly to catch our breath and sip water, however Mum particularly was suffering. She had only recently recovered from quite a severe chest infection, but was determined to try her very best. We eventually caught up with the others for a proper tea break, the first chunk of the day behind us. The world below already looked a long way down, yet as we looked at what was to come, that looked even further. This was the last occasion on which our group would be united for some time, before we set off again past a large tarn on what was by far the flattest and nicest path of the day.
Unfortunately, this smooth running did not last long, and after crossing a waterfall that tumbled across the path, we turned to finally face the steep, rocky path zigzagging its way steeply up this titan of a Munro. The surface beneath became steadily more challenging with every corner, the rock-stepped path eventually giving way altogether in favour of what was largely loose scree. For the next few hours, Beth and I made our way slowly upward, careful of our footing and pausing regularly, occasionally passing other members of the group pausing to catch their breath too. The one saving grace was that as we ascended, the air became cooler, taking away the burning heat that had taunted us earlier in the morning.
About 80% of the way up, we paused for a snack, during which time Mum and Dad caught up with us. After consulting Dad’s GPS which showed how far remained, we bid them farewell, expecting to see them soon enough, at the top if not before. However, a little while later, we received the message that Mum couldn’t manage anymore, and that she and Dad were turning back to wait for our return down by the tarn. This was obviously disappointing for all, but being the ever-faithful husband that he is, Dad refused to leave Mum’s side and was actually relieved she had not pushed herself further. And having gone forward ourselves, we can say with confidence that she absolutely made the right decision.
I have done a few mountains before, and two years previously Beth and I had done another Munro, Schiehallion. Ben Nevis however, is in a league of its own. It is a serious mountain. As we traipsed slowly higher and higher up the difficult path, Beth’s knees began to complain and still, the summit was not in sight. We began passing patches of snow, and it had soon been some time since we had seen anybody we knew. Eventually we reached a patch of snow which required me to borrow one of Beth’s walking sticks, before trudging on toward what we thought was the top, only to find yet another false peak laughing at us. After this, Beth received three ‘nearly there’s’ in a row from people coming back down past us, and we thus concluded that she must look like poop by now. You can imagine therefore that as we crossed another rocky false peak, the relief we felt at the distant sight of what was undoubtedly the snowy peak of Ben Nevis finally waiting for us ahead.
The top thankfully levelled out into a large area and so we made our way through the mixture of snow and shingle, looking out at the stunning clear views of the surrounding mountains, to reunite with the others who had very kindly waited for us to start lunch. This naturally vanished quickly, and was followed by a few sips of some alcoholic beverages, to of course celebrate our success, but more importantly to raise a cheers to Frank. Afterwards it was time for a quick picture at the trig point, before finally came the moment that we had come all of this way for.
What can I say about Frank? In all honesty, not half as much as the others who stood on the mountain’s peak that day, but I can tell you that he was one of the kindest, funniest, most well-loved people I have ever met. He had a way of making everybody around him feel comfortable and welcome. Frank liked a drink and a laugh, but what he really loved was his family and his friends. I don’t suppose I’ll ever meet anyone quite like Frank again, but I can hand on heart say it was an honour to have known him.
After selecting an appropriate spot (and checking the wind direction), his son said a few simple words. Frank had finally made it to the top of Ben Nevis, and had had ‘the easiest ride up’, having been carried in his son’s backpack. With a final ‘love you Dad’, everyone took a turn scattering a little of his ashes, with Beth and I there to represent Mum and Dad. Apparently, Frank had once said that when his time came, just to leave him at the top of a hill and he would be happy. At Britain’s highest point, I think he will be very happy indeed.
And so, the return journey began. I often find the trip back down immeasurably easier, and not just because of gravity suddenly being on your side. However, Ben Nevis being the beast that it is, the treacherous winding paths stretched on and on before us once more. True, we stopped far less often, but it was still quite the challenge, almost twisting an ankle on several occasions. Nonetheless, we eventually found ourselves back across the waterfall, feeling what I can only imagine the hobbits felt when they returned from their adventures to Rivendell. Soon after we were reunited with mum and dad, who had enjoyed a leisurely couple of hours by the tarn, and the group was finally back together once again. Very thoughtfully, they had also saved a little of Frank’s ashes for Mum and Dad to scatter beside the tarn, which I am sure would have meant an awful lot to them.
This was more or less where we had stopped for tea break that morning and for some reason my memory had tricked me into thinking that the way back from there was easy running (perhaps because what had come after had been so chuffing difficult) and so I took a good glug of our remaining water and set off with optimism. A few minutes later, and the real memory began coming back to me as we made our way gingerly down a steep, rocky-stepped path. These last few miles were slow, with Beth’s knees now painful, and seemed to stretch on forever in the rapidly increasing heat as we descended with next to no water remaining. As we made our way down the last few slopes, the day’s exercise really began to catch up with us and we were hugely relieved to see the finishing line finally visible. Crossing down a field with a few cute lambs, we finally made it to the awaiting Ben Nevis Inn, where we grabbed a well-earned pint and met up with the others in the sunny beer garden. We weren’t quite the last back, as a few ligaments had apparently fared worse than Beth’s, but soon enough we had all made it.
During our venture, Deb had spent much of her day learning a little about Ben Nevis. Apparently, the top is only clear about twenty-nine days of the year, the rest it is shrouded in cloud, meaning we had been extremely lucky to see the clear views that we did. Deb had also learned that the average time for a round trip to the top and back is ten hours, and seeing we had done it in about nine, we were feeling quite pleased with our achievement.
Pints one, two, and three all tumbled shockingly quickly and after pulling off my bandana, realised the scale of my burnt face (I swear I put sun cream on – TWICE) in comparison to my now shockingly white forehead. Now I am sitting here two days later, and the terrible tan line is thankfully fading, although my calves are still burning, and yell at me every time I stand up and attempt to move stiffly about my day. But there we are, we did it. And how does it feel? Well, to quote the dearly departed; “BOOMSHAKALAKA!”
Matthew G. Huggins 
A lovely way to remember.
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