I’ve struggled with anxiety and bouts of depression on and off for many years, particularly after experiencing post natal depression, a period of my life which I find difficult to look back on. I try to block out the darkest thoughts, and the guilt that came with them. At the time mental health simply wasn’t talked about in the same way, it was stigmatised and when I did try to speak up, I was told I should be more grateful for what I had. I was even called a ‘psycho’ due to my uncontrollable crying and bouts of anger - after hearing that sort of thing often enough you begin to believe it. I felt confused, out of control, worthless, misunderstood and unloved. Over the years I’ve learned ways to manage my thoughts and cope with the inevitable dips in my mental health… talking has never really helped, perhaps I choose the wrong people to reach out to, I don’t know, but desperate to feel some sort of normal I began to do my own research and the more I read, the more I realised I wasn’t crazy or a ‘psycho’. I started to slowly put coping strategies I'd read about into action, getting outside walking, making lifestyle changes, practising mindfulness and reframing thoughts. It was a very gradual process and I slowly built up a ‘tool kit’ that helped me bit by bit. Years later and the same things that helped then, help now – until suddenly they don’t! I had been really focusing on my nutrition, sleeping well, and spending plenty of time outdoors, then, seemingly out of nowhere an episode of anxiety hit me and for weeks on end I struggled to regain any sense of control over my mind. After a highly embarrassing incident when I had an anxiety attack when meeting up with a group for a walk, I decided enough was enough and felt the need to escape, not from life as such, but from the noise in my head. I packed up the van and set off on a solo trip to the Highlands with Nala – this was the first time I’d taken the campervan that far on my own – beforehand Snowdonia had been my limit. I was full of anxiety and nearly changed my mind numerous times. The thought of the traffic through Glasgow particularly filled me with dread – and finding a place to park – but I went anyway, knowing I needed to do this. I'd wing it! I could always drive home if things didn't work out.

I arrived at Inveruglas Visitor Centre in the dark, parking up amongst the trees in a small overnight spot that costs just under £5. I climbed into bed and slept until the alarm went off early in the morning. The plan was to climb Ben Vorlich, my first Munro of the year. Up until this point I’d climbed 24 Munros over the years, just when the opportunity arose with no plan to tick them all off. But this year I had decided to climb them with intention, to seek them out and see how many I could reach. The hope was to go from 24 to 50 by the end of the year.

I awoke early, ready for the day ahead, packed my rucksack, making sure the Scotch Egg I’d bought from Tebay services made it in, and set off. Some oystercatchers were perched on a wall by the roadside beside Loch Lomond. As I approached they took flight, calling loudly as they went, a sound I’ve always loved. I stopped for a while, watching them skim across the water, it was a beautiful morning, full of promise. I was already feeling the weight of anxiety leaving me.

There was a short stretch of walking along the busy road before I needed to turn up the reservoir road that leads to the foot of the path up to Ben Vorlich. It was a long walk in on tarmac but the views soon opened up and being bathed in the morning sun along with the excited anticaption of the day ahead made it a joy rather than a chore. Eventually I reached the start of the pitched path that climbs the side of Ben Vorlich. It looked steep – and it was! – but that made for quick progress. The views expanded as I climbed higher and soon the waters of Loch Lomond stretched out behind me in all its glory. Nala as ever was loving it, trotting ahead, then turning to check I was still there, never far away. When I reached the summit ridge the gradient eased, I passed a small tarn which was iced over and before long the summit trig appeared ahead of me. “Oh I’m here!” I said aloud, surprised at how quickly I’d arrived.

I spent time wandering around the summit, as I always do, using the map to identify surrounding peaks and lochs. I was completely alone up there, there’s something special about being in the mountains alone – although I never feel alone – I can feel more alone in a room full of people if that makes sense! I eventually started to head back down, stopping beside some rocks with a view to eat my scotch egg and just take it all in. By the time I reached the reservoir road again it was still only midday. I looked across to neighbouring Ben Vane and thought “should I?” It was right there! I decided to go for it, turning right over the bridge on the way back instead of continuing on.

My decision to take on another Munro seemed like a good idea at the time but as I climbed steeply upwards I started to flag, feeling nauseous and unsteady on my feet. I sat down for a while, drank some water, ate an apple and gave myself some time. I started to feel better and continued upwards, the climb was steep, rocky and scrambly with a few false summits thrown in for good measure but the more I headed up the more I got my second wind. It was quite icy at the final summit scramble and it was quite a relief to reach the top, a flat top marked by a cairn, with views across to the Arrochar Alps and back to Ben Vorlich which I’d climbed just a hours earlier. Once again I was completely alone and didn’t see anyone until I was around half way back down. I passed a couple of people battling their way up, cursing the steepness! Despite being the smallest of the Munros, Ben Vane certainly packs a punch, a great mountain by any measure!

I'd hoped to make it back to the visitor centre at Inveruglas before it closed so I could have a meal, and I would have had it been normal opening hours. Sadly, as it was out of season, it was shut entirely but I had food in the van so I sat by the loch eating my dinner, watching someone on a paddleboard in the middle of the water, soaking up the sunshine. What a wonderful feeling that must be, I thought.

I was so pleased with this little parking spot which I had all to myself, right by the loch, it was just perfect.
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The following morning I woke to an absolutely glorious day. The peaks I’d climbed the day before were now covered in snow. I drank my coffee by the side of the loch, looking across at a snow capped Ben Lomond. I decided to head for Glen Coe with the idea of possibly climbing Buachaille Etive Beag. I hadn’t brought my map for that area but I’d already done my research previously and knew where the start of the path was and knew it was pretty straightforward. I’ll just go and have a look, I told myself. I can always turn back.

On the way I stopped at the Green Welly Stop for a sandwich and cake for later, then continued on. Driving along the A82 was a dream with snowy mountains rising up around me. The road from Rannoch Moor towards Glencoe always takes my breath away with Buachaille Etive Mor standing proud. I’d climbed ‘the Buckle’ with Gary back in 2020 on an incredible weather day, and the memories of that day flooded back , the steep, rocky ascent up onto the ridge, the easier, undulating walk between the peaks and the brutally steep descent back into the glen alongside lovely waterfalls, finally ending the day with a swim in the river. Days like that stay with you forever!

But back to today!

I parked up under Buachaille Etive Beag and set off up the path, Nala trotting ahead, and it wasn’t long before we reached the snow line. The snow was soft underfoot and didn’t require spikes, I’d already decided if it turned too icy I’d turn back, but it stayed perfect, soft and not too deep, easy walking. Visibility was excellent and the path easy to follow so despite not having my map (not something I’d normally do), I carried on.

There are 2 Munros here. When you reach the bealach between them you make the decision which to do first by turning left or right, then return and do the other. I went right first to the highest Munro, a steep climb but without difficulty – the views from the summit were insane, Loch Etive stretching away in the distance, and Bidean nam Bian drawing me in – my nemesis – I’d been wanting to do it for years but had heard it’s a very long day and quite brutal so kept putting it off for the perfect day – but somehow it’s become a bit of worry doing it alone – although it’s probably not as difficult as I’ve made it out to be in my anxious mind!

I headed back to the bealach, where a few other walkers had gathered, and stopped to eat my sandwich – a cheese and red onion sandwich which was lush! I then started up the second Munro which didn’t take long at all, once again the views were superb and I sat there for a while taking it all in under the winter sun, feeling incredibly blessed, grounded, calm and exactly where I needed to be. After a wander around the summit taking in different view points, I started to head down, taking my time and turning around often to absorb the scenery. At one point I came across a perfect shaped heart rock on the pitched path – I come across them occasionally and they always make me smile. Back at the van I drove round to another familiar parking spot which has lovely views for sunset and sunrise. I made something to eat and settled down for the evening. It had been a perfect day, starting with no expectations, just checking out the route and seeing what happens, no pressure just me, Nala and the mountains – and it worked out perfectly.
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I awoke the next morning to a van that was absolutely freezing. The heating had been broken for some time and while the previous two days hadn’t been too bad, this morning was on another level. Every breath came out like dragon breath and Nala’s water bowl had frozen over. It was bitterly cold and I knew the best thing to do was to get dressed quickly and get moving. Walking would warm me up!

Id already decided where I was going – the nearby Corbett, Beinn a Chrulaiste, knowing it gave superb views into Glencoe. From my parking spot I walked up the road to the foot of the Devils Staircase and joined the West Highland Way which led me to the start of the path up the hill. Once I started walking and the morning sun did it’s thing, I soon warmed up. By the time I was climbing, I was shedding layers as quickly as I had piled them on earlier. Frozen water bowls and dragon breath were long forgotten!

The views from this Corbett were every bit as good as I'd been told. I couldn’t take my eyes off the sweeping view down into Glencoe, with Buachaille Etive Mor stealing the show. The summit was further away than I expected and it was a bit of a slog but I was delighted to find a cylindrical ‘Vanessa’ trig point waiting for me at the top! I was alone for a short time before I was joined by a couple who had come up from the Pink Rib route. We chatted for a while and I learned that they had compleated all the Munros – and all the Corbetts and Grahams – quite an achievement! When I told them I lived near Snowdonia, the man said Snowdon had been his very first mountain and the one that had inspired him to go on and climb all the mountains in his own country of Scotland. I loved that, a little connection between my Wales and his Scotland!

He was carrying a large Scottish flag, which they photograph at every summit they do and he kindly allowed me to have my photo taken with it attached to a walking pole. I’m a bit of a solitary soul and an introvert but I do love meeting random people on hills, brief but often meaningful encounters that stay with you long after you’ve parted ways.

There was a sad story too. They were clearly fond of dogs as they gave Nala such a fuss. They told me they had had many dogs but no longer take them walking with them after one chased a bird and ran straight over a cliff to its death. The thought of it was absolutely horrific and made me feel quite sickened. What an absolutely awful tragedy. After lingering a while longer, admiring the views and talking mountains and dogs, it was time to descend back to the van, but not without several stops for a brew and to take it all again and again. It was such a stunning day.

I spent another night parked up in the same spot and had planned another walk for the following day but awoke knowing it probably wasn't going to happen. I struggle with IBS and occasionally am hit by a particularly nasty episode, normally brought on by stress – this was probably brought on by my recent anxiety – I knew that sadly it was best that I headed home. The drive back was long and uncomfortable, stopping at every service station along the route. It wasn’t pleasant but it didn’t diminish from the delight of the last few days – days of movement, quiet challenges, beauty and calm. I was proud of myself, proud that I’d gone and proud that I was finding my way back to myself step by step, away from the anxious, depressed state of mind that had wrapped itself around me out of nowhere.