I turned up at the campsite at half past ten, just after sunset. "There’s seven of them, and they’re in the pub," said the warden. The pub was full. Could I spot a group of seven? Could I coco. This is my first Mensa trip ever, having joined a month ago, and all I had was a contact name. I talked to the pub band. "Is there a Stephen Nelson in the bar?" he shouted into his microphone. "The debt collectors are outside." [Nothing left to collect. All gone on riotous living - Ed] No Stephen Nelson. This is wasting valuable drinking time. Could they be in the lounge bar? Unprecendented. (I’ve never been in the Clachaig lounge, full as it is of the sort of people who change their underwear after coming off a hill (what, you mean I’m the only one?!)) [They wouldn’t feed us in the normal bar - Ed] No groups of seven in here either. I choose a group at random. "Any of youse know a Stephen Nelson?" Finally, I find the group! And they are just about to leave! So, only one pint before heading to bed. Surely not the best preparation for the Aonach Eagach, with its reputation for being the narrowest and most exposed ridge walk in the British mainland. Far better to stumble up the hill in a hungover haze, started on the thing before having the chance to realise what one has gotten into. Always an excuse for another pint.

I’m up later than planned the next day, but that’s okay. There’s a slow start to the day. In fact, the whole day goes slowly, an inevitable result with a large group as proven by Einstein* in his famous formula:

       E=Nc2         where  E = time elapsed
                            N = Naismith's rule
                            c = number of people in group

The Aonach Eagach is good, though. All scrambly bumpy (Photo: 17K). The sole of my shoe falls off - fortunately Brian offers his gaiter strap to keep it in place. Adrian reaches his 100th munro (Photo: 19k). But how can he celebrate when he doesn’t drink! The apocryphal tale goes that when the first munro completionist, Reverend Robertson, finished the first ever round on the Aonach Eagach, he kissed first the cairn and only then his wife! Poor Mrs Robertson! No wonder she had an affair with Dustin Hoffman. (Erm .... Roberston? Robinson?) A bug with tickly feet joined us.

The scrambly bits on the edge are about a mile long, and can leave those unused to four points of contact and the sight of tiny cars beneath their feet with a feeling of ‘a good thing while it lasted but I’m glad it’s done.’ Even I was feeling we had done enough for the day, and a few jars in the pub were anticipated. The teatime sun on the last summit of the day floodlit the twisting ridge we had just traversed, a special ambience with the sea-to-sky, foot-to-horizon surroundings of the mountains, from the nearby bulk of Bidean, to the stretch of Rannoch, Shiehallion, the Mamores and the Ben, Glencoe, Argour, Mull, the Cuillin of Skye and a touch of Rum. [Woods’, I daresay - Ed] It could almost be a poem if one could get it to rhyme.

The Sunday everyone split up, had their own agendas. The Mamores and the Buchaille were tackled. Being a regular visitor to the area I was probably less excited than the others by the prospect of another ascent, and, instead of a scramble on the Ben I’d planned, decided on impulse to have an away day on Ardnamurchan, swimming in the sea off Castle Tioram, climbing Ben Hiant (all 500 metres of it) in the scud and dozing off on top. Ah, the pleasures of just being outdoors on a sunny day. R&MSIG is good. The people are friendly and I will be back.

Love,

        Craig

PS. I met a friend from Glasgow on my way home. He had been climbing in the area and was having such a good time he was going to take a sickie and go climbing on Monday as well. But the weather on Monday was awful!

* Bob Einstein

[A note for English readers: The hardest moves on Aonach Eagach really felt no worse than the chimney at the Helvellyn end of Striding Edge; it’s just that there are a lot more of them and they’re much more exposed. The section below Am Bodach where the SMC guide suggests a rope might be prudent is no worse than the descent of Stirrup Crag on Yewbarrow, just somewhat on the airy side.]