Munro flagging - Boggy, foggy – but still a first

My Wester Ross trip was one of discovery. I was told, with impressive earnestness, my first night sleeping under canvas would be restless, the second night I would sleep soundly and by the third I wouldn't want to return to my own bed. Rubbish – just like my sleeping bag which, whilst perfectly fine for the cosy campervan,

was revealed to be of festival quality (ie should be chucked away with smelly flip-flops and novelty headgear at the end of the weekend).

I also discovered my Duke of Edinburgh circa 1999 walking kit was woefully inadequate yet despite this, on the kind of wet and windy day best spent playing cards in the campervan or in active support of the local pub trade, I found myself half-way up Fionn Bheinn just north of Achnasheen.

Boggy and brown were my main impressions of the four and half hours we spent conquering my first Munro. The Brahan Seer, or Kenneth to his mum, prophesied that on Fionn Bheinn a raven "in plaid and bonnet" would drink human blood for three days. The bird could have been imbibing its ghoulish refreshment that very day and we wouldn't have known as the visibility was very poor. For more prosaic reasons the rain and fog obscured apparently excellent views, the redeeming feature of a Munro often dismissed as unchallenging and uninteresting. I found it neither but admittedly my interest was getting to the top and back down again.

I had a premonition of my own whilst on Fionn Bheinn. It concerned a woman, a gin and tonic, and dry feet – and lo, at The Old Inn in Gairloch, this came to pass. The inn excels in post-Munro food and must be well accustomed to the patronage of walkers as no eyebrows were raised at our bedraggled appearance. Steaming bowls of cullen skink, platters of squat lobster and langoustines made us very happy campers. In the warm, self-satisfied afterglow of the feast I think I even declared I would be climbing another Munro – beware the false prophet springs to mind.

Leaving Gairloch at the end of the trip we headed back toward the street lighting and phone reception of Edinburgh. The rain that had drummed on the tent roof for three days began to ease but a dull ache in my hips from "sleeping" in the tent remained – a little reminder to give thanks to the campervan's rock and roll bed.