February 2015, I descended Kilbo path deep in snow, left ice-axe on roof of car, in a light blizzard. Noticed it was missing six days later, searched, never handed in, and never seen again.
Easter, Corrour to Tulloch over Meall Garbh (old GR) was the plan. Genuine whiteout. May have made it, for all I know. Came down onto estate track leading to west end of Loch Laggan. Next morning, went to get ointment for severely sunburnt face. Not encouraging when chemist takes one look and exclaims 'oh my god'. Tried for Carn Dearg north top (old GR). Visibility again too poor to confirm.
August, missing a glove in poor conditions below the Forcan Ridge. Assumed I had lost it, I had. Climbed Meallan Odhar later in the week to search. Nothing. Lost partial use of several fingers for up to three days after traversing Beinn Bhan in torrential rain and 130 kph winds, without gloves. Traversed Biod an Fhithich the next week to search. Nothing. Found glove three days after that down the back of a seat cover. Later that day, brother lost camera on Beinn nan Caorach. I sent him on to continue traverse to Beinn na h-Eaglaise while I searched, on the understanding I would descend to meet him when I saw him reach that summit. Began one last sweep when he got there. Found camera under a rock less than a minute later.
September. Scotrail Club 50 offers £10 returns anywhere in Scotland. Decide to see how far north I can go, climb a Marilyn and return to Dunkeld and Birnam in a day by rail. Answer was Kildonan, the Marilyn was Beinn Dubhain. Only 96 passengers alight at that halt all year. Then station to station over Beinn a'Bhragaidh and Beinn Lunndaidh en route to Achnagarron standing stones and Rogart. Then station to station from Rogart over Ben Horn. This was going so well that we took in a hill fort to the north, diverted to Brora from Dunrobin Castle, missed the last train south by five minutes, took two hours to hitch a lift and overnighted at my least favourite youth hostel, Inverness.
My memories are many, too many, as the average song goes. There was the twenty hours plus overnight coast-to-coast triple completion in June 2006 (Grahams, Corbetts, Munros and Tops). There was the 25 new Marilyns in 24 hours epic of insanity in April 2007. There was the Kinloch to Harris traverse of the Rum Cuillin when I had the ridge to myself above a Rum-only cloud inversion for six solid hours.
One word, though, sums up what the extended Marilyn family is capable of and that word is Coraddie. When Jennifer Thomson went missing in March 2007, nobody could have predicted that 59 Marilynists and associates from as far afield as Stafford, Newcastle and Peterborough, as well as from civilised parts of the globe, would spend over 800 hours over the next three months searching on that sprawling hill. No formal club could have organised that, no formal club did. However, the Marilyn family just got on and did it and it was a privilege for all of us. Jennifer finally turned up, in thick commercial forestry, four years later, but it did not matter that the Marhof searchers did not find her. We tried. We gave something back. As far as I know, it was unprecedented that such a largely independent search took place at all. It is the people, individually or collectively, that give the hills meaning, and people like these more than most.
