Munro Bagging – Stob Binnein

There is always a strange mix of trepidation and excitement before attempting to bag a munro. Unlike in some other countries, there is usually no ski lift to take you to near the top. Although, it must be said, the mountains are a little lower than, say, the Swiss Alps. Still, for a middle aged, unfit male, the thought of ascending 2000 metres can be a little daunting.

Stob Binnein is a mountain in the southern Highlands of Scotland. It is attached to Ben More, and so often, hikers will ascend both peaks. However, we were approaching from the South, a steeper, and more difficult ascent, but chosen as we could ignore Ben More. One peak was going to be enough I thought, and I was right. 

I made the ascent with a fitter, more sprightly friend, and 15 mins in, he was already waiting for me. This was going to be tough. I don’t remember much for the next hour, hour and a half, as it was all up steep incline. But finally the trail flattened out a bit, and my legs took on a renewed vigour. The landscape also changed at this point, with the grass taking on a red to mauve colouration. It was quite beautiful, and also motivating. Eventually we were taken to a crest where over the side, we could see the splendour of Loch Voil. A rewarding sight, and we stopped for a number of photos. This is what munro bagging was all about.

Further on, and we were treated to an intimidating view. The mountain began to rise once more, disappearing into billowing mist. The weather was turning up here, and I felt privileged to experience a moment that only the mountain can bring; a feeling of isolation; transportation to a more primitive time; vulnerability mixed with awe. Truly, there is nothing else like it. 

The next passage across the ridge was so pleasurable that I forgot about the incline. We peered down into valleys below, where the height was so great that rivulets and lochans formed abstract patterns on the landscape.

It was then time for the peak. The mist was great, so much so that it was impossible to see more than 5-10 metres into the distance. Mysterious shapes appeared in front, revealing themselves to be hard rock formations, springing out from the mountain. This last stretch was almost too much for me. My energy supply was depleted. However, I managed to wearily summit. Due to the mist, there was no view to speak of, but I was satisfied. I ate my lunch in silence, drained of speech as well.

The drama did not finish there though. Returning back the way we came, we lost the trail. An argument arose, probably due to our fragile states, and we made the mistake of choosing to split up. I went my way, my friend, his. My path eventually took me to a fantastic spectacle that we hadn’t seen on the way in, a tiny lochan on the mountain, with red reeds sprouting out of the surface. It was truly beautiful, hidden away off the trail, and I felt that I was seeing something that perhaps most missed, whether due to the trail being elsewhere, or indeed due to the season being wrong and missing those red reeds. It was a special moment.

My friend and I eventually reconvened, and we made our way to the car park, ready to head home, our need for high vistas satiated, until another day.