A strange year: with an enormous hiatus in the summer, I didn't really feel that I'd achieved very much, so come the end of the year I was surprised at just how much bagging I'd done. May, June and July were completely written off, as I was helping organise the Scottish six-days orienteering festival, each day of which is bigger than any other UK orienteering event. One bonus was that it enabled me to spot Richard Webb entering, so I was able to nobble him for a thoroughly pleasant ascent of the mythically elusive Hill of the Wangie. In August and September I more than made up for lost time with a glorious week in Caithness and Sutherland, followed by a week in mid-Wales after the drive-by tick-fest that was the Ludlow meeting. The highlight of the year, though, was a long weekend for my last Corbett, Sgurr an Airgid, on Easter Sunday - though as it happened, I nearly didn't make it.
There were to be eight of us in Willie's tremendous hostel in Camus Luinie - a group of orienteers from Edinburgh plus some Nisbets from up north. The forecast caught on the drive up was perfect for the next day, and Good Friday didn't disappoint; no cloud, no wind, and no question that the runners would want a big day out. We agreed on a round of Ceathreamhnan and Dheiragain from Carnach, which satisfied the aspirant Munroists and the one recently-promoted-top collector. We were slightly more than one bike short, but it proved almost as quick for two of us to run down the glen anyway. Neither were we shabby on the first big climb, and got to the summit shortly after midday. We then headed down the east ridge, where most went out to An Socach, whilst the tired or satisfied contoured round to Mullach na Dheiragain. The descent was a pleasant run until the final steepening. I'd just said to Helen 'I think this will go', when it did - from underneath my feet, and I was away. I'm sure it was only a couple of bounces, but it seemed like more before I stopped. I looked up to see Helen aghast, put on my best cheesy smile, and pretended it didn't hurt, though it certainly did. Lots of random cuts and bruises, but nothing broken. I was lucky. And on a practical note, the red running kit I had on didn't show the blood. Once down to Iron Lodge it was still a long way home. I jogged off slowly, hoping to prevent stiffening, and got back just as dinner was served. A day I won't forget in a hurry. Saturday was a day for various short walks, very gingerly in my case. And then the main event on Sunday, sunny but very windy, complete with wine and cakes in a sheltered neuk near the summit. Finally another quick bag on Monday then home. A memorable weekend.
