It’s 19 years since I walked up Ben Nevis with my old schoolfriend John McCormick. He was then 57 years old, I was 56, and although safely equipped with the correct boots, anoraks, first aid accessories and food, we suffered a torrent of remarks from other walkers who were mocking us for wearing neckties.
I attempted no expedition of that kind again until recently, when I visited Sweden. A couple of illnesses had intervened for me: one concerning my heart; and another involving a misbehaving cerebral blood vessel, which required a brief stay in hospital. But the sense of achievement gained by reaching that Scottish summit came back with a rush of nostalgia as I gazed up at one of Sweden’s highest peaks.
I was feeling superbly fit again after the bouts of illness, the result of regular morning exercises in my bedroom and vigorous daily walks around London. I felt ready for anything.
On the map, Areskutan, in the northern region of Iamtland, is about the same height as Ben Nevis, though with a dearth of reassuring footpaths. As with Ben Nevis, I was properly equipped but had been recommended to take the ski-lift, which would deposit me about a kilometre short of the summit hut. Up there, I was told, you had the finest mountain views in Sweden. The weather was fine and the severe lady who sold me my ticket advised me not to be afraid of the rocky kilometre up to the top; anyone in difficulties would be easily spotted.
The gondola lurched horribly every time it paused in its upward climb. At the end of the ten-minute journey, only three of the 20 passengers set out towards the summit — but what else had I come for? As I climbed, I met several young people making their way down, who warned that it was rough going.
It did prove harder than predicted, at times a pathless scramble over rock surfaces too steep for proper walking. Suddenly the sun came out and the view was overwhelmingly magnificent. It felt marvellous to be at the summit and I overlooked the fact that I had not walked up all the way, though it felt like that.
The hut had a small café counter where I drank coffee and chatted with the reticent keeper about the history of climbing on Areskutan: before the ski-lift was installed only a few score annually made it to the top. So how about walking down? It was not yet lunchtime. That would take three hours, I was advised, but the weather should be all right. “Follow the poles that begin on the right of the ski-lift terminus.”
Deciding to walk down Areskutan was the second-worst decision of my life. The worst was to ignore the hut-keeper’s advice and, instead, follow the poles beginning on the left of the terminus. I chose that route because the first two or three poles in sight seemed to promise a well-defined track. For a while I delighted in the weather and the panorama of mountains, forests and lakes, even the queer musical note made by the wind whistling in the red 6ft metal poles. Then I started to realise that they were not following a negotiable path but setting off down slopes where walking was a continuous effort to stop myself running helter-skelter downwards, with no flat surface in sight. That sort of thing is hard on knees that have been considered osteoarthritic and fibromyalgic (a disorder that causes muscle pain). First they just hurt, then they started dismally refusing to work. I remembered, too late, that going down Ben Nevis with tired legs had been almost as difficult as ascending.
My first fall was on to a rock, after slipping on some mud, but I somehow had time to angle myself into a soft landing and it didn’t worry me too much. It was not hard to pick myself up, dust myself down and start all over again. Defiantly, I collected three huge mushrooms and stored them in my anorak pockets. But the second fall, about 20 minutes later, was faster and less controllable; I had the sensation of being unable to take any precautions about how I fell. If I landed softly, it was by lucky chance.
It was now an effort, having nothing to cling on to, to get my knees to raise me up into a standing position. The third time, soon after the second, I fell nastily on an arm and a hip, and I was badly winded. And now my knees would do nothing at all. They were incapable of lifting my hips and torso. Here, I started to think, I truly might die, and be recycled.
Although my entire body felt like a collection of unusable bones, I forced myself, after several terrifying minutes, into a standing position, and into a slow, quivering resumption of the descent. I was dizzy, the wonderful views spun and sickened, I was seeing more and more brightly coloured mushrooms, all the while telling myself that I was not delirious because they were definitely not talking to me.
Moss on the rocks eventually gave way to bushes and grass. Grass slopes could be worse than rocks and muddy paths: they were as steep and more slippery. If I was destined to tumble on to it anyway, why not go now, under the wires of this different ski-lift, all the way down on my butt? In short, I did that, full of shame, rising only to walk when the slopes flattened into paths. And finally these tracks were leading to buildings and I was stumbling through the garden of a villa to reach a road.
Out of nowhere came the woman who had sold me the ticket, walking her dog in the evening sunshine. She was concerned: I had taken five-and-a-half hours to come down. I offered her one of the mushrooms, but it had blackened in my anorak pocket and looked as disgusting as I did, so she declined it.
I told her exactly what I had done and how it had felt. I told her my age, 75, with pride, but her look conveyed more reproof than congratulation. Her final words were: “But you’re glad you did it at your age?” “Oh yes,” I said; hypocrite that I was. I was merely glad to have survived an episode of irresponsible, hubristic stupidity. Later, my Swedish friend who had lent me his home in the area said: “Those mushrooms could have been the most dangerous part of the adventure!” They were not. I made three excellent meals out of them.
To read a review of Alan Brownjohn’s Collected Poems visit www.timesonline.co.uk/books
BREATHING SPACE
You might not need crampons, harnesses and altitude sickness tablets to go on a mountain walk in Britain, but you will need a good level of fitness, a compass and the ability to read an Ordnance Survey map. Some mountain trails can take up to a day to complete and are often physically demanding.
GUY PROCTER, the editor of walking magazine Trail, chooses the best ascents, ranked in order of difficulty.
FAIRFIELD HORSESHOE
Lake District
The Lake District is famous for its user-friendly, circular walks and the Fairfield Horeshoe is one of the most satisfying. It allows you to keep most of your initial height, as you surf from summit to summit, high above Rydal, the former home of William Wordsworth. You return to civilisation in Ambleside, pub and grub capital of the National Park.
Map OS Landranger map sheet 90.
Starts/ends Rydal Hall, Rydal, nr Ambleside, Cumbria; grid reference 364063.
Distance 15km (9 miles).
Time 5 hours.
Difficulty rating This is a long but relatively leisurely walk that’s suitable for all the family.
THE COBBLER
Southern Highlands
A short drive from Glasgow is one of Scotland’s most iconic peaks, Ben Arthur, nicknamed the Cobbler. Its snaggle-toothed profile could make Shane McGowan look orthodontically correct. This is a favourite for children as well as grown-up mountain enthusiasts. The walk is relatively easy, and takes in the well-known “Narnain boulders”. The adventure playground of a summit has three towers of rock that are fun to scramble around, if you still have the energy.
Map OS Landranger map sheet 56.
Starts/ends Succoth, in Argyll and Bute, just north of Arrochar; grid reference 294048.
Distance 10km.
Time 4 hours.
Difficulty rating This is suitable for sure-footed trekkers and children over 10. The steep initial climb is followed by easy, but adventurous, walking.
YR ELEN AND CARNEDD LLEWELYN
Snowdonia
The Carneddau, to which Yr Elen and Carnedd Llewelyn belong, form the highest tranche of continuous land over 2,500ft (762m) in England and Wales. Yr Elen was off-limits before the Right to Roam Act was passed in 2004, and provides an exciting means of ascent into this most atmospheric of Snowdonian ranges. The trail is long but not technically demanding.
Map OS Landranger map sheet 115.
Starts/ends The edge of Bethesda, in the Ogwen Valley; grid reference 634669.
Distance 19km.
Time 5 hours.
Difficulty rating This is a long trail across little-trodden grass paths and you will need to pay close attention to the map in misty weather. Provided that your children can cope with a day’s walking, this is suitable for all the family.
GREAT GABLE VIA STY HEAD AND THE GABLE GIRDLE
Lake District
Great Gable is the mountain whose picturesque profile forms the logo of the Lake District National Park. It also has the looks that Scafell Pike, England’s highest peak, wishes it had. It is best climbed via Sty Head and the Gable Girdle, on the southwest side. This partial circumnavigation of the mountain will take in all its famous landmarks, including the awesome pinnacle, Napes Needle.
Map OS Landranger map sheet 90.
Starts/ends Seathwaite, valley of Borrowdale, Cumbria; grid reference 235121.
Distance 13km.
Time 6 hours.
Difficulty rating The mountain’s southwest side is littered with boulders, which children may struggle with.
BOW FELL AND CRINKLE CRAGS FROM MICKLEDEN
Lake District
Bow Fell has the presence and patrician profile of a Himalayan peak. Complex and remote feeling, in terms of mountain walking, this is Britain’s gold standard. There are stellar views in all directions and a steep, but rewarding, ascent. Take in Crinkle Crags en route and this is a trail that you will never forget.
Map OS Landranger map sheet 90.
Starts/ends Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel, Langdale; grid reference 285061.
Distance 13km.
Time 6 hours.
Difficulty rating The steep ascent and rocky ground means that you will need to be sure-footed. But as long as the children are fit and watched closely, they will love it.
BEN NEVIS, CARN MÓR DEARG ARÊTE
West Highlands
Britain’s highest peak can be its most enjoyable or most difficult to climb, depending on how you do it. For walkers, it doesn’t get better than following the trail to the Carn Mór Dearg arête, a terrifyingly exposed-looking blade of a ridge on the side of the mountain. In fine weather, at least, it isn’t nearly as hard as it looks.
Map OS Landranger map sheet 41.
Starts/ends The North Face car park, Torlundy, Fort William; grid reference 144763.
Distance 19km.
Time 7 hours.
Difficulty rating This should be tackled by adults only, although strong walkers with confidence in their navigation skills will love it.
BEN MACDUI
Cairngorms
In the heart of Britain’s only subarctic plateau, Ben Macdui, once thought to be Britain’s highest peak, offers remoteness and a wilderness landscape that is more Mongolian than British. A mountain walk here is only for those with a firm grip on their navigation and sanity.
Map OS Landranger map sheet 36.
Starts/ends Ski Centre car park, Coire Cas; grid reference 989061.
Distance 16km.
Time 11 hours.
Difficulty rating This is wild country, suitable for adults only. The trail is high, featureless and lonely, requiring close navigation at all times.
TRYFAN, BY THE NORTH RIDGE
Snowdonia
Tryfan is the most striking mountain in North Wales and the North Ridge is the most exciting route by which to climb it. The terrain is stark and rocky, so a considerable amount of scrambling is involved. Expect occasionally to use your hands and knees to reach the summit. The rewards are striking views over the Glyders and Carneddau mountain ranges.
Map The trail is marked on OS Landranger map sheet 115.
Starts/ends Llyn Ogwen lake car park, Conwy, North Wales; grid reference 662603.
Distance 5km.
Time 3 hours.
Difficulty rating Not suitable for children under 10, inexperienced walkers or vertigo sufferers.
CRIB GOCH, BY THE NORTH RIDGE
Snowdonia
The most memorable mountain on the Snowdon horseshoe, Crib Goch’s east ridge is a traditional coming-of-age scramble. Much less well known is its North Ridge, which is significantly easier to climb, but still suitable only for adults. The initial ascent from the Pass of Llanberis is a slog, but then you get into an otherworldly landscape, with a scattering of rocks. The sense of eerie isolation makes this a magical walk.
Map OS Landranger map sheet 115.
Starts/ends Pass of Llanberis, Snowdonia National Park; grid referencee 634669.
Distance 8km.
Time 5 hours.
Difficulty rating A tough route for adventurous adults only. The ascent is steep.
Off the beaten track
Mountain walking isn’t something that can be taken lightly: last year in England and Wales alone there were 800 call-outs to Mountain Rescue and 39 fatalities on the peaks. Here are a few do’s and don’ts:
For more information on walks in your area, and safety tips and advice, check out www.thebmc.co.uk and www.trailroutes.com
