It was a year of lower hills; 71 of my 84 new Marilyns were below 600 metres. The year started badly, on Red Screes and Stony Cove Pike (34C). I slipped on some ice, fell and broke my phone. Things could only get better. I decided to finish climbing the English P600m summits, having started on Scafell Pike in 1987. In February, Skiddaw had not a patch of snow in sight, whereas the previous week the A66 had been blocked by snow, with many motorists trapped. In April I climbed Helvellyn in a white-out, which I found rather scary. In between I had a long weekend based in Crianlarich. Despite the almost incessant torrential rain, I managed to bag four hills including Fiarach (1D), a wee gem with great views.
On a weekend trip in May I enticed Sarah, my non-hillwalking girlfriend, up two hills. I thought Whitbarrow was a lovely hill, with interesting limestone formations, while Sarah enjoyed Gummer's How. The highlight of May was Skye, where it was sunny nearly all week. I ignored the Cuillin in my eagerness to climb as many hills as possible (22 in the week). I had gazed up at Beinn na Caillich on every trip to Skye, so it was good to finally climb it. Highlight of my week was Bla Bheinn, on a blisteringly hot day. The views to the Cuillin were amazing and I even had the energy to climb Ben Meabost afterwards.
Ben Meabost from Sgurr na Stri (photo: Alan Dawson)
Another great day was on Macleod's Tables with Iain Brown. We finished it on Biod an Athair, looking out over the Western Isles in the setting sun. Ben Tianavaig and Sithean Bhealaich Chumhaing were also fantastic hills by the sea. On SBC I sat watching a golden eagle swoop over the sea and met a local man who was amazed to see me, as he had never met anyone else up there before. I informed him about Marilyns. The best view was from lowly Ben Geary, looking out over Trotternish and the Western Isles. Brent organised a trip to Scalpay, which caused him a lot of hassle and he wasn't even going. Those of us who went on the trip were grateful for his persistence. The walk up Ward's Stone (36) the following week seemed tame after such a fantastic week on Skye.
June brought the Marhof weekend and a rare foray into Wales. I teamed up with Chris Watson to save on costs and we joined Jonathan Woods for his 1000th Marilyn on Carneddau. Later on we met Richard Tibbetts for his 800th on Allt yr Esgair. Myarth is a hill with no merits whatsoever and I didn't enjoy it at all. Charles didn't enjoy it either, as he'd just changed into his shorts. The waist-high nettles and brambles must have been painful. There wasn't even a view when we got to what we thought was the top. In contrast, Tor y Foel and Allt yr Esgair were lovely hills with beautiful views. Thanks go to Iain Brown for organising an excellent dinner and especially for sorting out vegan options with the hotel.
Later in June I joined Mark Trengove in Yorkshire for three hills. The weather got worse and worse; we ended up on Kisdon in driving rain and gale-force winds. We repeated the experience two months later on Birks Fell and Aye Gill Pike, so I now associate the Yorkshire Dales with wind and rain.
In July I went to Norway for 12 days, where I climbed six summits on a hut-to-hut tour of the Dovrefjell-Sunndalsfjella national park, including Snøhetta, the highest mountain in Norway outside Jotunheimen. I narrowly failed on Drugshøe, where I turned back on an arete near the summit, thinking that if I slipped I was dead, as nobody knew where I was. Many of the mountains I climbed had summit log books, but none had recent British ascents. Much of the walking was difficult due to the melting snow bridges and extensive boulder fields. Finding a way down precipitous snow slopes and across raging rivers was tricky. Another problem was the Norwegian maps, which do not show the complexity of the landscape. Several times I saw mountains that looked walkable from the map but were much more serious on the ground.
Later in July I finished a family holiday based near Edinburgh by climbing White Meldon and Cademuir Hill before driving to Hamilton to watch the Accies lose to Hearts. I also decided to finish off regions 41 and 42, as I was annoyed that I hadn't done that when I lived down there. A trip to see relatives in Portchester gave me the spur to blitz region 42. In one day I drove 300 miles; in the 13-hour trip I climbed Wilmington Hill, Cheriton Hill, Detling Hill, Botley Hill and Crowborough. The highlight was the bag of chips I had in Crowborough.
In September, Hutton Roof Crags proved to be far more complex than the map indicates, and the clints and grykes took careful negotiation. If I hadn't heard some children playing near the trig I may not have found the top. In mid October I bagged another four in a day; it was so clear that from Shining Tor I saw all the way to Liverpool and north Wales. Around this time that I started a blog about bagging, which is at marilynbagging.blogspot.com.
In November I had a trip north with Chris Watson, on what was originally the Baggershambles weekend. Roan Fell (28B) was freezing cold but a dusting of snow made things more interesting. Carleatheran (26) took longer than expected but had great views of the Southern Highlands. On the Sunday our original plan of climbing Pressendye was scuppered, for the second day running, by snow in Aberdeenshire blocking the roads. We had a good walk on Windlestraw Law instead, and I enjoyed the views of the Eildon Hills and The Cheviot, but the wind was so strong and bitterly cold that I don't think my face has ever been as cold as it was that day.
In December I had my most memorable day out of the year. I chose to go up Baugh Fell (35A) from Rawthey Bridge, which is a long way from the summit, and I didn't start until 10:45. This was far too late and it was inevitable that I was in for an epic, as the snow was knee-deep and soft, so movement was slow and took a lot of effort. I got to the summit at 3:35pm, just before sunset, and was exhausted. The moon was up and there was plenty of light for walking, but the deep soft snow made the descent hard work too. I didn't get back to the car until 8:45pm, and my boots had frozen on me. I had to drive into Sedbergh with boots on and let the car heater thaw them out enough for me to get them off. I also phoned my girlfriend to let her know I wasn't dead.
The year ended on the heady heights of Wendover Woods, on the way south for Christmas. Sarah thought I was mad to make a long detour from our route and then pay £3 to park to get to the top of a hill that I thought was a wee shite. Such is Marilyn bagging, and so ended my most prolific year ever.
