Have you ever followed a stream to its source? I did, with my brother when we were kids on holiday in the Yorkshire Dales. In 1968 I was in Borrowdale following a stream with a path. The stream ended at a tarn but the path continued upwards, and so did I, with no map, no food, no equipment, no sense or logic, but I climbed to the top of a mountain. Later I discovered its name - Great Gable.
Great Gable from Glaramara (photo: Trevor Littlewood)
On the 'grand tour' of Scotland in 1995 I drove past Liathach. 'Wow that really is a mountain', I thought. Ten years later I headed north, with a mate who had a head for heights, and climbed 'the grey one' from end to end. I returned to Liathach the next year and the next (was this the first sign of an obsessive behaviour pattern?). On the third crossing of Liathach I descended by the stone shoot into Torridon village, entered the shop to buy goodies but came out with the guide to the Munros. It would be another ten years before I found the Marilyns book.
In 1991 I replaced the front seat of my Ford Fiesta van with a six-foot long wooden board, and thus my 'minnebago' was born. Now I was guaranteed solitary and reclusive (and cheap) hill bagging sorties to Scotland (they're still going).
On 3 May 2007 I set off from the Mull of Kintyre to walk to Fraserburgh. Somewhere along the way the magic number would be reached. I didn't know which hill it would be so no celebrations could be planned, but there was method in my madness - I knew I would be alone again, naturally.
An Stac (photo: David Beaumont)
My worst hill in 2010 was when a gamekeeper caught me on Hoove. (CW: I didn't think you could get caught by a gamekeeper any more). It is a flat boring hill but it's worth going up for the views of Arkengarthdale.
The highlight of 2010 was a two-day outing to the hills south of Loch Morar, the prize being the distant and lonely An Stac. Having not met another Marilyn bagger in years, I first met Chris and Ian Watson at Callop and then passed three more on Meith Bheinn. The rest of the trip I was alone again, naturally - except I now have my dog.
After these encounters I decided it was time to come out so, three years after climbing it, Sron a'Choire Chnapanich emerged from obscurity as my 600th Marilyn, as my list was updated to join the Hall of Fame.
One man and his doggy bag (photo: David Beaumont)
