Preface
(Why I did the Munros)
Asthma always got the better of the little sporting talent I had. From the age of two I was hit by three to four severe asthma attacks a year. Incapacitating me for around four days at a time I was unable to walk across a room without assistance or manage the stairs without either being carried or just taking one step at a time.
Being academically bright did not spare me the scar of the school playing fields. Asthma, eczema and severe hay fever, differentiated me the most. The sadistic regimes of team selection would leave me stood alongside a rather tubby lad - the games teachers relishing in our humiliation as the two captains decided which would be the least disadvantage. I would be put in goal where paradoxically I had some talent. Quick reflexes enabled me to pull off the odd good save but shattered confidence would see the ball to trickle between my legs. To the sounds of my jeering class mates the games teachers would write me off as a "no hoper."
This was back in the 1970s when I was one of a very few asthmatics. The disease was little understood and I was exposed to triggers such as cigarette smoke and dogs. The medical profession prescribed tablets to take during an attack that would induce immediate vomiting to rid me of asthma. At other times I was placed in a steam filled room to try and drive my asthma out. Both approaches simply caused more breathing problems.
photo © Steve Smith
By the late 1980s I had graduated, had a good job but yearned for a sport that I could do. I found a group of friends that were interested in hill walking and I organised the booking of a holiday cottage for a week of walking. I bought the OS map covering the area of Scotland, Loch Mullardoch in Glen Cannich, where we were due to visit. In a quiet moment I made use of the company photocopier to copy the details for my friends. Back at my desk a work colleague, John Pennifold, started taking an interest in the map and what I had copied. Still being relatively new to the company I was a bit nervous of telling him all in case he took a dim view of this misuse of works property.
Instead, as ever, my fears were groundless and he started to ask me if I was off to climb Munros. I had to admit that I did not know what a Munro was, he told me that they were Scottish peaks over 3000 feet and there were 277 of them in all. For some reason, that I have never been able to fully explain, I knew instantly that I was going to do them myself.
So that's how my road to conquering my childhood demons began. Twelve years, 1700 miles of walking, 570,000 feet of ascent later, soaked, blown over, frozen, lost and scared more times than I care to remember I compleated (sic) and became Munroist number 2599. I'm sure that the previous 2598 souls that broke the trail before me have just as interesting stories. But this is my account of all those wonderful views, challenges and interesting people that I met along the way.
