'Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
       And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost!
       Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!...'

Watching the weather forecast on the Friday morning was not an encouraging experience, as wave after wave of wintry showers were predicted to sweep across the Highlands over the weekend. Even the forecaster cautioned against munro-bagging in that sort of weather. Which of course, is precisely what some of us set out to do on the Saturday morning after breakfast.

Andy and Sheila went to the station to catch the train for a day in the fleshpots of Fort William.

Ray and I had climbed all three of the immediate Munros in the past and decided to reconnoitre the attractive Corbetts to the west of the railway, Benn a' Bhric and Leum Uilleim (William's Peak). We were joined by Iain.

Adrian, Dorothy, Ros and myself set out to climb Carn Dearg and Sgor Gaibhre, the two munros south of Loch Ossian. After scaling the lower slopes, Dorothy decided not to continue and went back down towards the hostel. However, we were shortly to be joined by Jim B, who soon had the rest of us scurrying in his wake. Jim has an amazingly economical walking technique, which means that he can cover a lot of ground with seemingly little effort. It's almost as though he switches into cruise control, and maintains that pace whatever the gradient.

From the top of the first munro, the view was of...snow. Lots of it, being driven by a sub-gale force wind. Photo: AT THE SUMMIT OF CARN DEARG (20k) Underfoot, the going was icy; not quite needing of crampons, but decidedly sans friction all the same. Taking lunch in the relative calm of the connecting col, the ascent of the second munro began in indifferent visibility. But not all was icy underfoot. Jim, leading the way as usual, stepped into a still-soft peat bog which made insistent claim of his right boot. Lacking any solid ground around him, Jim had to be pulled out. Fortunately, his boots came with him. Descending from the second summit back to the col brought us into direct opposition to the wind and driving snow. Successfully negotiating the ice-sheets brought us back down alongside the Allt a'Choire Creagaich to the road round the side of Loch Ossian, and back to the hostel where Jean and Janet were soon in control organising everybody for the night's banquet, after a little wine tasting.

My party made good time to the railway and up towards the ridge of Benn a' Bhric. Soon we had snow underfoot, and by the time we reached the ridge it had begun to snow quite heavily. Before the levelling out of the ridge we entered the cloud. My altimeter indicated our upward progress was very good. We decided to miss out Benn a' Bhric and head instead for the col between the two peaks and concentrate on Leum Uilleim.

After a few minutes the gradients started going all wrong. For the first time ever, my altimeter had led me astray. I had set it before breakfast but had omitted to reset it on setting out or at the station. We decided to head south for a couple of hundred yards and then turn east. The wind had strengthened and started going round, adding to the disorientation. We were sometimes walking in near white-out, with no features breaking the surface of the snow and no horizon. When it was my turn to break ground I appreciated just how confusing this is and how easy it would be to walk out onto a cornice or even straight over the edge. We knew that on both sides of the corrie the walls fell steeply, with the probability of cornices in this weather. It was becoming potentially dangerous. After another 50 metres of south we decided we were probably on the eastern side of the summit pyramid of Benn a' Bhric and that by descending to the east we would come to the col. Gingerly we started to descend steepening ground. I had just about decided that this could not be the slope I thought it was when a brief gap opened in the cloud below and before me to reveal the floor of the corrie. We had been heading for the edge.

Chastened, we climbed back up to leveller ground. At least now we had a good idea of where we were and Iain suggested that by traversing southwards we would either reach the col or come out above it on the side of Benn a' Bhric. This was sound advice and I led off southwards. After what seemed an eternity but was in reality less than half an hour the lie of the land indicated we were approaching the col, probably about 30 metres below its level. I rechecked the map for the umpteenth time and noticed that the slope from the col to the head of the corrie was fairly gentle. However, first of all we had to be sure we were at the col and to do this we had to be there. At the col we found a snow scoop by a boulder and settled down in its shelter for a late lunch. The wind had abated and we were fairly comfortable.

I reset my altimeter. The vertical error had been 65 metres. On that flat plateau this represents an awful lot of horizontal error. We had lost time and tired ourselves. I was a bit worried about Ray who seemed to be flagging. We looked at the map again. We were only a hundred metres from the top, but would almost certainly now descend into the corrie from the col in any case. The originally intended descent via the east-facing slope of the ridge of Leum Uilleim now looked very steep, and being so exposed might be covered in large sheets of ice of the type we had already encountered. Did we want to go up to the summit only in order to have to return to the col perhaps an hour later, tired and with the late afternoon setting in and a strong chance of worsening weather? On balance, no.

Down we went. The slope steepened but the angle remained friendly. A sheet of ice gave an opportunity to practice an ice-axe arrest. Once in the corrie snow-bridges over streams coming down from the cliffs now thankfully above us had to be negotiated with care, but otherwise we came back to the station without further incident.

At the station we met a party of Germans who had walked from Rannoch via the Youth Hostel. It was still three hours before the next train and we invited them to return to the hostel. They said they would think about it but that was the last we saw of them. In contrast to the morning, the walk down from the station was now through a good settling of fresh snow.

That evening we had a Burns supper. Haggis were addressed meatily in the words of Burns and veggiewise in the style of the Dundee poetaster; Tam O' Shanter had his brush with the devil; the lassies were toasted and made appropriate response; Holy Willie prayed his prayer. The next day there were sore heads (or should that be heids?) and a late start.

Some hardy soles braved the elements. Most of us stayed in and made the kettle feel useful. The weather was so bad that Adrian was unable to get to the top of Beinn na Lap, probably one of the easist munros to bag (weather permitting). A general air of torpor filled the hostel. Hangovers stayed in bed. I probably would have got more exercise that day if I'd stayed at home and walked down to the paper shop to get the Sunday papers.

Our lot took a lower option. We reached Loch Treig in a clear period. The return via the path along the railway was very wet. During the clearer spells we saw plumes of snow blowing off Benn a' Bhric and Beinn na Lap. On reaching the hostel for a late lunch we found Dorothy and Adrian tucking into their stroganoff, having been beaten back by the extremity of the conditions at altitude.

The wandering explorers returned, and lunch was had without the left leg of my overtrousers dipping into the soup every time someone lowered the drying rack. That's only because soup wasn't on the menu. Eventually, the time came to trudge up the mile-long track to catch the evening train, and home. With most of the provisions we'd brought either digesting comfortably inside us, or thoughtfully left behind as processed waste in the chemical loos, this was an easier task than the inward journey. Next time we might even remember to bring the powdered water.

Back in Glasgow, after showers and baths, we headed for a local pizzeria. A copy of Scotland on Sunday was there for customers to read while waiting. As the paper went to press on Sunday morning 3 had died and 29 had been helped down. I'm sure luck plays a part. I'm equally sure that decisions to turn back or not to go out in the first place were correct

Despite the arctic conditions (and that's inside the hostel), this is probably the best time of year to appreciate the wild beauty and remoteness of the area. Deceptively benign in the summer, this place is to be respected in the winter. The open moorland has no interest in holding up the wind from battering against the solitary mountains. This must be the place Burns had in mind when he wrote the lines quoted above. In winter, the land is in thrall to the elements, and man would be best advised to stay at home. Whether or not we get the chance to go back to that snow-mantled landscape; whether or not Windswept will still be there, coming into the hostel for his mars bars, bananas and carrots, negotiating his antlers through the narrow doorway, doesn't really matter, for the memory will surely remain.