Top of the Mountain

A personal journey.

Glen Licht, Highland.

He shouldn’t have gone alone.

That is what people said afterwards, but perhaps this was something he needed to do on his own. It had been many years since he had last visited the Highlands, a long way from home. He parked the car at the end of the road where he would trouble nobody.

It was a long walk up the valley to the gulley that marked the way up the mountain, but there was a good track to follow. Snowdrops grew in wild places, the tips of wild daffodils starting to show in darkest green. Signs that spring would arrive soon in the far north of Scotland.

The man walked alone because that was how he lived. He had wanted to climb the mountain as a younger man, but there had always been a reason to put it off until next year, or perhaps the year after, and the time never came. Then he promised himself he would climb this mountain with his son, another excuse that had passed into years of things left undone, but the promise to himself was not forgotten. To not climb the mountain would be yet another failure, another part of a life left unfinished in too many ways.

During quiet moments, a commodity he was never short of, he dreamed of this place, of the climb avoided, and was increasingly aware that he was running out of years. For reasons he could explain to nobody, not even himself, this failure troubled him more than it should. It had become symbolic of too many regrets.

Beyond the track, there was no marked way up the green slopes to where the rocky outcrops began, still dusted with winter snow. He just had to follow his instincts, skirting the soft, wet ground where water seeped down to the river. A cold wind hissed through the dried husks of last year’s thistles and disturbed the rushes that grew everywhere. The soil became thinner, and more rocks littered the ground as the slope became steeper.

It took an effort to keep going, and he had barely climbed five hundred feet from sea level. This mountain was a Munroe, more than three thousand feet to the summit, and already the going was hard up the unforgiving gradient. He was strong and fit for his age, but his joints protested, untested for too many years. Thoughts of failure tried to pick away at his resolve, thoughts that he was foolish to tackle such a climb when the mountains were still in the grip of winter, when days were short and cold. To twist an ankle on rough ground or take a fall, were thoughts he did not wish his mind to dwell upon.

He should have waited, but he had spent too many years waiting, and those years had not been kind to him. He had made a good life, and had lost it at the whims of others until there was nothing more to lose. To climb this mountain was something others could not take from him, he would only have himself to blame. This had gnawed at him in unexpected moments for almost thirty years, three decades that had left him poorer in too many ways.

He drew his zip up higher as the icy wind whipped down the valley from the sea, cutting quickly across the higher slopes. The gulley cut deep into the mountain, rising high above him into a sky that was fresh and clear. If he kept to the highest side of the gulley, there was a slope that was free of the vertical rock faces and scree slopes that made other routes treacherous or impassable.

The slope grew steeper, and he had to pull himself higher with aching arms and protesting legs, but steadily he climbed until the valley floor looked small, the river reduced to a mere stream, everything looking insignificant in this vast landscape.

His foot slipped on loose stones, and it took an effort to regain his balance. As he fought his way back onto firmer ground, he felt suddenly unwell, a feeling that troubled him, not because he feared for his safety, but because he feared he had left this too late. There was still a long way to go, and already he was struggling. How much strength would he have left to draw on? He had to keep going. To turn back after all these years would be another unthinkable failure.

A chill of fear washed through him, a fear that he was not going to make it. He should have found time for this between all those demands that had been put on him by others in his life. He should have done this years ago, had made too many excuses already, and had no time left to make more. He would have to do this now, or not at all. He had to keep going.

These were the regrets that flooded through his thoughts as he was overcome by a sudden weakness in his legs that he could not overcome. He reached out for a large slab of broken rock that he could sit on for a while and recover his strength. His legs felt suddenly weaker as he sat, and a cold shiver went through him like something passing. As a feeling of weakness overcame him, his world faded into darkness.

I do not know how long the darkness lasted. Time had become something for other people to concern themselves with. The mountain had measured time beyond any one person’s imagination, time that had seen many people come and go. It had no need to rush anybody.

I looked up, and the darkness lifted as I sensed rather than heard the nearness of somebody. A young man approached up the slope, already close enough to be almost with me.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Are you going to the top?’

For a moment, I did not know how to reply, but whatever had overcome me earlier seemed to have passed. The pain and tiredness in my legs had gone, and a rest had taken away my feeling of weakness.

‘That’s the plan,’ I replied.

Whatever strange turn had come over me when I slipped on those loose stones had gone. Perhaps I merely needed a rest to recover my strength. I stood and tested my legs, and they felt good again. Had I merely allowed myself to panic, a reaction to almost falling, and realising how stupid I had been to attempt such a climb alone at my age? Now with a companion for the climb, I felt more confident of making it, or at least of not being alone if I did not.

It seemed to be left to me to lead the way, so I continued up the steep slope, my legs feeling strong and refreshed. The effort of the climb and the sound of the wind rushing across the bare rocks around us made talking impractical, so we climbed in silence. I glanced behind occasionally to reassure myself that my companion was still with me, and he returned my look with an untroubled smile that gave me the strength I needed to climb further. That is how we continued for whatever time it took. I had no interest in checking my watch, merely to set one foot in front of the other towards my goal.

The thought crossed my mind that I did not even know his name. I would ask when we reached the top, and perhaps share a dram of the fine malt I carried in a hip flask. The slope grew occasionally steeper, requiring arms and legs to traverse the bare rock of the mountain itself, then it would become more gentle again. It was sometimes necessary to crab sideways to avoid a steep bluff or a slope of loose scree, to find the next way forward.

We had left the gulley far below us, and now there was only unforgiving rock, where almost no vegetation found shelter in which to grow. Patches of snow remained on shaded slopes, and the wind that now blew more strongly still had the taste of winter within it.

The slope eased, and although I had no way of knowing, I sensed the summit was not far ahead. The sky had a lighter quality to it, and the wind blew in all directions instead of one. I looked back to see my unknown climbing companion smile back, as if he too could tell that our mission was almost accomplished.

Gradually, the ground levelled out, and as I looked ahead, a beautiful horizon came into view, of the valley on the other side of the mountain, leading northwards to Loch Duich, the peaks of the mainland overlapping with those of the Isle of Skye in a spectacular landscape of geological wonder.

The sky was the biggest I had ever seen, of a pale blue only found in winter, patterned with light clouds that felt closer to me than any sky had seemed before. The buffeting wind was exhilarating, and I felt a rush of joyful achievement, like nothing I had experienced in six decades of life.

I turned to see if my companion would share this moment with me, already knowing that he would not be there, because now I understood that the only person I had shared this journey with was myself. I was still alone, but at last I was at peace with being alone.

It was two days later when the search team found the man, sitting alone on a rock as if he had merely stopped for a rest, and at any moment would rise and continue his journey. He looked untroubled as the wind and a light rain continued around him. They could not tell if he had been on his way up, or on his way down, when he had sat on his rock. Had he made it to the summit as his last act on this earth?

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Thank you for reading.