author, mountaineering writer – books, blog, opinion
Another Christmas, and another cottage in Scotland for a week. What would the weather hold in store for us this year, and would we get up any mountains? The forecast wasn’t promising, but one good day in the hills could make it all worthwhile.
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You wouldn’t believe what happened next! It’s that time of year again, when I delve into the wonders of modern technology and ask AI (that’s artificial intelligence, not insemination) to help make sense of the world’s great mountain questions.
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The weather had been good for the best part of two weeks, but the rain gods were preparing for the last dance. We were about to cross the Spasimata Slabs, the most dangerously exposed section of the trek, and we were going to cross them at the worst possible time.
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When I signed off the last post, I was enjoying a delicious pork rosti and a pichet of vin rosé at a palatial hotel tucked away in the forests of Corsica. How on earth did I prise myself away from that luxurious setting and get on with the hardest section of the GR20?
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I’ve lost count of the expedition accounts where the hardest route to the top is the only one worth considering, or where stronger climbers are cast as heroes and weaker ones clowns. All of these accounts were written by men, so it’s always refreshing to read a woman’s perspective.
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I’ve known about the GR20 for over 20 years, but it slipped to the back of my mind as I focused on peak bagging in the greater ranges. I sensed that long-distance hiking in Europe was something I would enjoy later in life. I guessed I must have reached that stage now.
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The trustees of the world’s most prestigious mountain book award have announced updated rules for entries following new research alleging that hundreds of historical mountaineering books have been published without reaching the true end of the story.
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My visit to Knoydart with Edita that I wrote about in my previous post, was so different from my first visit in 2007 that I could have been walking in a different world. I thought I would dig it out my diary of that first trip for a laugh, so here it is.
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Sixteen years ago, I set out on a 5-day winter backpacking trip to climb three Munros in Knoydart, a remote peninsula in northwest Scotland. It turned into an epic that I was lucky to survive. Earlier this year, unexpectedly, I found myself with a chance to make amends.
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It was with great shock and sadness that I learned of the death of Dave Fowler on Aonach Eagach earlier this month. Dave guided Edita and me on the Cuillin in 2020. He was a great character, ever talkative and cheerful, and extremely careful as a guide.
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