Scotland has always conjured up images of horizontal rain, old castles, haggis, men in kilts... not to mention Braveheart, Mike Myers and the very dashing Ewan McGregor (*sigh!*)... Scotland now takes on a meaning much more significant than unusual Scottish fashion and gastronomic tendencies....
The Glencoe Hills and Ben Nevis provide some of the best winter walking and climbing conditions in the UK suitable for the beginner and the expert alike. Scotland provides the perfect training ground for Everest and this past week, under the excellent leadership of our guide Zac Poulton working for Adventure Peaks, was no exception. We were subjected to every conceivable weather and rock – from freezing rain, to 80mph gusts of wind; from snowy sturdy rock to crumbling slippery rock that wouldn’t hold an axe let alone my white knuckles set off by perfectly manicured nails. I started each morning with the aim of pulling of mountain glamour like Claudia Schiffer pulls off haute couture during London Fashion Week. Sadly, about an hour later under the weight of a sopping wet pack, bathing in 3 wet layers of down and gore-tex with scraggly hair tamed under a bright orange helmet and an axe dragging behind me I looked more like Bob the Builder… but my ascent of Everest is still a month away… I’ve just ordered some waterproof mascara, bobby-pins and a new hat to match my very stylish pink jacket… so there is hope.
Surrounded by heaps of snow we started the week slogging through some fine Scottish boggy ‘muck’ up to the base of the east ridge of Beinn Chaoarainn. I was unimpressed by the ‘muck’ particularly as I’d just finished cleaning the blue-suede on my lovely and very stylish Scarpa boots. Through some strategic puddle-jumping acrobatics that would make me a prime candidate for SAS selection, I managed to escape more or less unscathed with boots staying relatively clean. The route was a popular option with other teams in the area and provided a very sociable and enjoyable climb. We kept the difficulty high climbing each of the towers on the east ridge direct giving plenty of grade III (more technical, exposed) ground. We had an accidental grade V moment early-on in the route during which my short but quite enjoyable life flashed before my eyes as the rope slipped from around a rocky outcrop to provide a sheer, slippery and fully exposed ‘climb’ (aka. hanging on for dear life with sheer panic). Through some careful maneuvering (sweating, screaming, gasping, panting) I managed to drag myself to the top of the ridge, provided a million-dollar smile, adjusted my harness and announced, ‘easy-peasy’. I think that the fact that my knuckles were white and my legs were still doing the ‘jail-house rock’ may have given my true feelings away…
On Day 2, the avalanche reports confirmed it had snowed throughout the night which provided an unusual situation – blue skies but dangerous and therefore potentially unclimable conditions. From the comfort of our ‘team van’ we were given a scenic tour of the Scottish countryside while aborting various climbing plans on account of the amount of snow being moved around by the strong south easterly winds. After ditching plans A and B, we opted for plan C and the east ridge of Sgorr Dhearg, one of the two Munros on the Ballachullish Horseshoe. Andrew provided us with an advanced lesson in the fine art of ‘faffing’ (defn: FAFF v. & n. (Brit Colloq); -v.intr. (often followed by about, around) fuss, dither.-n. a fuss.). The art of ‘faffing’, as any skier, hill-walker or climber will know, is an exceptionally fine art and one that requires significant amounts of time and training… When we were finally ready to conquer the Munro, Andrew cleverly realized he forgot his backpack at the hotel about 15 miles back (which we’d passed on about 3 occasions during our plan A, B and C negotiation). A perfect opportunity for me to put together an appropriate wardrobe for the conditions, swear profusely at my annoying ‘twist’ system Lekki trekking poles and eat my sandwich while looking on in amusement as Andrew struggled to explain how he could have forgotten his backpack (with the rope, lunch, crampons, axe, mitts, extra layers etc.). 
Due to Wednesday’s high avalanche risk we opted for another east facing ridge. This time it was the classic North Buttress of Stob Ban in Glen Nevis. The ride to the ridge nearly ended in disaster as the winding road navigated by the Porsche Boxter (stylish mode of transport when climbing) was met with some ‘big-horned cattle’ (note the scientific taxonomy) for a morning stroll. After our 3 hour slog up to the grade III route, I managed to burn about 1000 calories freezing / shivering uncontrollably while the lines were set and as I nervously looked up into the foggy abyss. The guide’s emphasis was on moving efficiently over exposed mixed terrain which was slightly overridden by my own personal emphasis on survival. After yesterday’s crampon trashing incident, I was sporting some shiny new 12-point crampons which resembled a razor sharp bear trap more than crampons. Visibility was poor but the route was in good condition and after a surprisingly quick ascent we opted to continue to the main summit of Stob Ban to bag yet another peak before descending. The cloud cleared on the walk out giving a great view of our days efforts. A very satisfying day..!
Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you look at it) our guide Zac knows my strengths and weaknesses and given his excitement at the prospect of ‘challenging us’ with Castle Ridge on Ben Nevis I suspected that I was in for a bit of a ‘beasting’ on Thursday. The route provided the perfect opportunity to ‘perfect’ crampon technique on mixed terrain with a large dose of my favorite thing – extreme exposure. We walked into the Ben in the sunshine while Fort William was still hidden below the cloud inversion – the view and fresh air confirmed why I thoroughly enjoy mountaineering (particularly under perfect conditions). The day was going seamlessly as I spent the morning imagining that I was George Mallory trudging through the knee-deep virgin snow slopes of Everest in the 1920s under a clear blue sky. My imagination soon turned sour when I was faced with my biggest fear about half way up Castle Ridge and was abruptly reminded that George Mallory I was not. It’s never a good sign when the guide leaves me clinging to a rock, disappearing to set the route… and about 25 minutes later appearing about 50 feet directly above me smiling and saying ‘enjoy!’
OMG. It wasn’t pretty. Botox would be a recommended investment after sharp crampons. Even if one looks incredibly stylish in one’s raspberry pink jacket and one’s Bob the Builder helmet and fancy axes, it’s hard to look like a ‘true mountaineer’ when one drags oneself grunting, whining and whimpering over ledge after ledge with the crevasses ones forehead deepening exponentially with each foot of exposure. What made it worse was that while I was holding onto the ridges for dear life, Andrew was taking photos of the spectacular views and discussing options for lunch. Arrgh!!Overall, the ridge was in good condition although the upper crux was a little dry and easier without axes. It was so easy without axes that Andrew ‘decided’ to leave one of his axes at the top of the Ridge (realizing it only as we descended directly to Half Way Lochan – see definition of ‘faffing’). We were back at the hotel in enough time to practice climbing ladders in crampons and mitts, an interesting exercise which removed some of the fear of the unknown regarding the Second Step on Everest's north east ridge.
Friday…! With a plane to catch we were under a strict timetable so opted for a quick slog up to the very popular Stob Coire Nan Lochan and an ascent of Dorsal Arete. The slog up to the Arete involved a lot of ‘steps’ and some strategic maneuvering around the other groups who had similar plans. With a bit of devious route finding thanks to Zac’s ‘internal compass’ (eg. getting lost in the fog and taking a few short cuts) in the clag we were able to get to the front of the queue and make a quick ascent in four pitches, only shaving about a month off of my life expectancy as I pressed my body, paralysed with fear to the ‘fin’ while my entire body weight rested on a .2mm ridge of ice and 4 stainless steel crampon points with a 500 foot drop behind me. The route provided plenty of entertainment, certainly did much to put me in my place, and provided a fitting climax to a truly fantastic week. 
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