Ben Nevis: Conquering the UK's Highest Peak
Ben Nevis had been on our list since day one. Like, seriously, THE list. Dad had a whole whiteboard with mountains drawn on it, and Ben Nevis had a massive gold star next to it. At 1,345 metres, it's the highest mountain in the entire British Isles, even taller than Snowdon, and we knew it would be a proper challenge. Hugo said it looked like a giant’s lump of porridge, which made me laugh. We packed our rucksacks super carefully the night before, checking our headtorches were charged (just in case!), stuffing in extra layers, and making sure we had enough energy bars – and of course, chocolate. You can't climb a mountain without chocolate!
We started at the Glen Nevis Visitor Centre at 7am, when it was still a bit misty and cool. The early start meant we got to see the sun slowly lighting up the valley, painting the hillsides with orange and pink. The Mountain Track (or Tourist Path as some call it – though there's nothing touristy about 4+ hours of pure, relentless climbing, my legs can tell you!) zigzags up through green hillside at first. We strode past babbling brooks and little waterfalls, the air smelling strongly of damp earth and pine trees. The path was wide and fairly even back then, but we knew that wouldn't last. Mum kept telling us to save our energy, but Hugo and I were practically bouncing with excitement.
Then, as we climbed higher, the cheerful green gave way to a boulder-strewn moonscape. It was all grey rocks and scree, like some enormous construction site. Above the cloud line, it got properly chilly, and the wind started to pick up. We pulled our hats down tight. Everything looked alien and mysterious. There were these amazing cairns – piles of stones – to guide the way, because when the mist rolls in, it’s super easy to get lost. Dad kept pointing them out, saying, 'follow the cairns, boys, always the cairns!' We saw patches of snow even in August, which was so cool!
The hardest part? Definitely the seemingly endless scree field just below the summit. You could see the top – well, sometimes, when the clouds briefly parted – but it just didn't get any closer. Every step felt like you were sliding backwards half a step. It was exhausting! Hugo wanted to turn back at one point, his shoulders slumped and he looked like he might cry. 'My legs are jelly, Jasper!' he whined. But we kept going, fuelled by handfuls of chocolate raisins – Dad calls them 'tiny nuggets of awesome energy' – and the promise of massive portions of chips in Fort William after. And maybe an ice cream. Or two.
When we finally reached the summit plateau, a huge, flat, stony area, the clouds magically lifted again, just for us, it felt like. We could see all the way to the Inner Hebrides, those far-off islands looking like tiny smudges on the horizon. The summit cairn is massive – like a small building, honestly, you could probably live in it! We added our stone to the pile (it's tradition, apparently, to make the mountain even taller!) and took about a hundred photos, pulling silly faces and pretending to be superheroes. The wind was absolutely roaring up there, trying to blow us off our feet, but we felt invincible!
Coming down was almost harder on the knees, even with our awesome walking poles. Every step sent a jolt up our legs, and we had to be super careful not to slip on the loose scree. But we made it back to the car park in just under 8 hours total, tired but totally buzzing. My legs were definitely jelly by the end, but it was the best kind of jelly. The Ben Nevis t-shirt was designed that very evening in our cosy B&B living room, with the contour lines of that magnificent, giant lump of porridge still fresh in our minds. We drew all the squiggly lines and the big flat top, trying to capture that epic, windswept feeling.