Amelia Fryer

18th November 2024

Being around the mountains and hills, whether from the top or the bottom, has always been where I have found my comfort and where I am the most mentally sound and collected. After annual trips with my parents to the Highlands 2006, the smell of the mountain air and the towering heights of the hills is where my heart has resided. After growing up in a city – there was never anything I looked forward to more than going to Glencoe even if all I did that week was sit on the veranda where we stayed and stared longingly at the top of Bidean Nam Bian, not knowing that it was reaching the summit that I wanted so badly. I always stared and thought to myself how impressive it was that there were people that actually had the skill and knowledge to actually climb these mountains; and I knew I wanted to do it too.

Mountaineering/hillwalking was never something that I considered to be a club sport, or even registered it as a sport at all, all I knew was that watching people come into the pub in their cool looking hillwalking gear was something that I always felt that I wanted to be a part of, and while I did not look like them at six years old, I felt that on a subconscious level, that was who I would grow up to be. Sports (especially team ones) have never been my strong point; PE was the worst part of my week and the thing that in both my primary and secondary school life was the thing that gave me the most anxiety. I’m not physically gifted, I walk slow and my stamina could be better – I do a Philosophy and English degree for a reason – but when looking through the lists of sports and societies to join when I joined my university’s undergraduates in September 2024, I stopped the search immediately once I saw the word ‘mountaineering’. I somehow knew that was what I undoubtedly wanted to do, no matter how hard it seemed. Though the day I realised that this was what I was going to do was not my start line, it wasn’t even close.

The first proper hill walk I did was one organised by the club’s hillwalking coordinator, on a trip to the Glenshee area to do three Munros: Càrn Aosda, Càrn a’ Ghèoidh, and The Cairnwell itself. This was, at the time, by far the most mentally and physically challenging day of my life – I was quick to realise how much I had either overestimated my own abilities, or underestimated the sport I so quickly fell besotted with. The first part of the ascent was steep and (to me) arduous. I realised how fast and well-paced everyone else was and how slow and inexperienced I was, I remember calling out to my friends as I struggled to breathe with anxiety as I realised that I may not be cut out for the thing that I was in love with. Though I thought to myself that no matter what, I would get myself up this mountain, even if just the first or two of the Munros.

By the time we reached the top of the first Munro I stopped walking to admire the view, and quickly a rush of nausea rushed through me and I scrambled to get one of my plastic bags (that I was using as a dry-bag) out so I could be sick – this was until a lovely young couple asked if I could take a picture of them, I was called for a group photo, and I ate an orange – then all was well again. I realised that I was going to be walking behind everyone else for the rest of the walk, and I very quickly became okay with that and realised what hillwalking and mountaineering meant to me. For me, it is a chance for me to think about things and let my mind travel to whatever it needs to go to process certain aspects of my life, it’s a chance for me to be connected to nature on another level, and it is a way to keep my mental health balanced and clear when I am so far away from my horses. I can do something difficult but enjoyable while being with my friends and getting more out of it than what I put in.

After a long and difficult ascent that felt never ending, we reached the top of all three Munros and ate some amazing homemade banana bread that one of the members made together while we were all perched sat at the top. We chatted and were happy of our joint accomplishment before we decided to start the descent down to the cars. That day taught me a great deal about mountaineering and the USMC (my uni mountaineering club), but it also taught me a great deal about myself and how intact my tenacity was, and how intact my ambition and will to throw myself out of my comfort zone would have to be – and to the person who left this message in the bathroom stall of the ski centre, thank you:

The Cairnwell had made me realise that I had a long way to go to reach the confidence level I wanted. Then, the day came that they announced the need for a First Year Rep and a Bookings and Transport Secretary. I thought the latter role seemed perfect as I had experience in emails and carrying out similar tasks in a role in high school. Though it took a lot of thought as to whether this was something I wanted as everyone already on the committee were either doing degrees in an outdoor-related field, or were already pretty pro on terms of skill and fitness which was intimidating. Never the less I saw it as a great and ideal way of meeting some people and getting to know the committee members, it was also a bonus that I would be able to push myself out there further as I would be prioritised on trips, which meant more experience.

After some hillwalking training up the small hill near uni and some serious and unexpected money spent on whatever kit I thought I needed to startout, I started to see somewhat of an improvement. I’ve seen the peak of that hill four times and counting, excluding the two navigation training sessions and a bonfire social for Bonfire Night halfway up in the woods. My nav also improved and soon I felt confident that I could have a much easier hill day than The Cairnwell.

The first club trip back in November both proved and negated this point. I have always found the planning of important things and the ability to just ‘go with the flow’ to be incredibly difficult and things that I find stress inducing, however since joining the USMC I have certainly more than learned how to go with things and how to adapt when five separate made plans are thrown out of the window and rearranged last minute. On the first day of the trip, everyone who attended decided to summit Ben Nevis in one way or another, some went via the CMD or the Ledge Route, some climbed, and three (including me) took the North Face Route that joined up with the Tourist Path (those zigzags will never see me again, evil things). This day began as a relatively easy and welcoming one that I was excited for, we got a group photo before we all went our separate ways and then a slow and steady paced ascent began up the tallest peak in the UK.

The ascent was relatively simple considering we were simply following a path (mostly), and I began to question the irony in the fact that the tallest mountain in the country felt easier than the other Munros I had done, this was until I reached the dreaded steep and seemingly never ending zigzags that came along with quite a few tourists, most of which were lovely, encouraging and I held inspiring and uplifting conversations with. After being informed on every leg of these excruciating zigzags that “If you’ve managed this one you can manage them all” and “’Oh you’re nearly there keep going!” –  (was I nearly there? No absolutely nowhere near) – I finally reached the point of the hike where the ascent was finished, and all I had to do was clamber over some rocks to reach the trig point, and the summit of Ben Nevis.

I cried three times over the course of the day; once when I was alone and could hear nothing but my own staggered breath realising where I was and the work I had put in to get to this point (something I had never imagined myself able or capable of doing), once when realising through the pain of climbing the zigzags that I had climbed above the clouds, and once when finally realising how close I was to the trig point and that after everything I had given the mountain of myself that day, I had summited the highest mountain in the UK. We met up with the group from the CMD route and made the descent down, after a very long and very challenging 10 hour hill day we reached the car park, and admittedly I nearly cried for a fourth time that day.

I had never been so proud of myself and so exhausted but exhilarated at the same time, the feeling of knowing that you had managed to climb the highest mountain in the country along with a group of people you looked up to and admired for their skill was indescribable. However, my celebratory mood was short lived as it came to planning the second and final hill day of the trip, and I realised how difficult it was to make a plan to suit everyone’s needs. I had the perspective that it was me as a factor that was making the planning process so difficult, and that I was making it harder than it had to be just by wanting to go, though I now realise that this was not case and I had every right to be on the mountain as everyone else.

It took around two hours of planning with a large group of us and support from my friends when I got overwhelmed and emotional, along with emotional support garlic bread to come to a final plan for which Munro we were going to do: Stob Ban. When the morning came and it was time to get up to climb what would have been my fifth Munro, I hadn’t even left my sleeping bag before realising how stiff and in pain I was from the day before. Standing up was painful, and I knew that day was going to be incredibly hard, if not impossible, especially due to the fact that I was so nervous about the entire trip that I had neglected to eat as much as I should have, which I knew would come to have a large impact as I had felt the effects during the descent of Ben Nevis.

I had let my friend know about my concerns and that while I understood and felt incredibly bad that we had planned the entire day around me being able to join, I did not think I’d be able to make the summit safely without the risk of either having to bring the entire group back down before the summit, or worse case scenario, Mountain Rescue having to be called. I well and truly was not in a position physically to be doing a large hill day and as angry as it made me, I knew I had to turn back. We convened as a group and made a plan that most would continue to the summit, and my friend and I would walk a slight bit more at our own (my) pace, have lunch in the emergency shelter (due to the wet and cold) and make our descent down. It also happened that my feet were gaining some horrible blisters due to the state of my boots, so my friend was pretty happy to get some first aid training and I was honestly just happy for a break.

Once we made it to the car it wasn’t long before the others did too, and we began the drive back to Stirling, this trip had been a great experience for me as I got a taste of when things go right, and when things go slightly wrong. I learned a lot and appreciated the support I received, and despite having my confidence knocked and feeling pretty defeated after Stob Ban, I knew I wanted to keep climbing new Munros and continue going on club trips.

Featured image credit: taken by Amelia Fryer

Article first published on ‘Brig Newspaper’.