Bagging a big Munro: hiking Ben Nevis (1345m)

A couple of weeks ago Steve and I met up with our friend Tom for a long weekend in Scotland. We were supposed to be seeing Billy Joel (or, if you’re Irish, Billy Jo-el for some reason) but with the gig cancelled and our flights were already booked, we turned our attention from Bill to Ben and set out to take a hike up Scotland’s highest mountain.

Scotland’s mountains over 3,000 ft (914.4 m) are called Munros, after the man who made the first list of these hills and mountains, and Ben Nevis (Beinn Nibheis) is the tallest at 4411 ft or 1345 m. Side note: this is 306.4 metres higher than Ireland’s highest, Carrauntoohil, but who’s counting?

Hiking up one of these mountains is called “bagging” a Munro, and there plenty of folks that have made it their mission to bag the whole lot (all 282 of them). We’ll start with this one, anyway, but given how much I absolutely loved my short time in the Highlands (I’d only ever been to Scotland once before, on a brief weekend trip to Edinburgh when I was studying in London years ago), I’m sure it won’t be the last.

After picking up our rental car at Edinburgh airport, we started on the drive up to our base of Fort William. Although google maps will tell you that this should take three hours, if you’re following this route you’ll want to give yourself an entire day, as we did, for stops at the lovely Ben Lomond, the gorgeous Glencoe, and every random beautiful pull-off and viewing point in between.

The next morning we started bright and early on our trek, driving a quick ten minutes from our accommodation to the visitor’s centre and trailhead (parking £6 for the day — there’s space for about 80 cars but it was already filling up quickly when we arrived just before 9am on a Friday morning).

The path is wide and well-marked throughout; while it’s always important to be well prepared and it’s good to have some orienteering skills in case of low visibility, it’d be a difficult one to get lost on, especially given that there were a decent number of fellow hikers throughout the journey.

The hike is fairly cruisey at the start, taking you up past some farmers’ fields and a few turnoffs to hostels and guesthouses for those who want to stay super close to the mountain the night before. But after a kilometer it starts snaking its way up the side of neighboring mountain Meall an t-Suidhe. The weather was beautiful for us at this point, a mix of clouds and sun but dry and with a light breeze that kept things cool even as we began to climb.

I’d read prior that Ben Nevis only gets an average of 14 clear days on the summit per year, though, so I kept my expectations low. Similar to Carrauntoohil, I figured the top of the mountain would likely have its own little microclimate, meaning you could have clear skies and sun on the way up, and the complete opposite as you reached the top.

Around 3.5 km in, we passed a small and beautiful lake and then turned up on to Ben Nevis proper. Another kilometer took us to the halfway point, according to the map at the trailhead that said however long it took you to reach the stream crossing at Red Burn you’d spend the same time again reaching the summit (and then approximately 3/4ths of that time descending).

From here it started to get tougher, with a series of switchbacks heading up through the rocks and scree. And the weather started to change as well, with the clouds thickening into a misty fog and the visibility ahead lessening into a haze of grey and white. We spotted the first patches of snow on the ground as well, apparently leftover from a heavier fall a few nights before. This was only a few weeks ago, in June, remember.

Around 7.5 kms, near the summit, when the snowfall on the ground was thicker and the hikers ahead of and behind us quickly disappeared into the whiteout conditions, we passed a couple of steep gullies — slightly unsettling given the low visibility. You wouldn’t want to stray too far off the path here. But a series of rock cairns built up along the route kept us in check, and just past 8 kms we reached the summit!

The trek back down takes you the same way, and as we descended the skies began to clear and the air began to warm again. True to the trailhead map’s guidance, the hike that took just over 3 hours on the way up took about three-quarters of that on the way down, and we found ourselves back at the trailhead in a bit under 6 hours total.

In terms of strenuousness, I would put Ben Nevis as being comparable to Carrauntoohil, despite being a bit higher. It was longer (~16km compared to ~14km) but there were a few flat(-ish) stretches near the top that gave a bit of a break compared to Carrauntoohil’s final push through a steep field of scree. While it was definitely tough on the knees and I wished that I had been able to bring my hiking poles (we were traveling carry-on only so it wasn’t an option), Steve and I did manage to shuffle through a slow 5km jog the next morning at Fort William parkrun, if that tells you anything.

After another night in Fort William, toasting our achievement over a few pints at Black Isle Brewing, we left for a drive up along Loch Ness to Inverness the next day, and then headed back to Edinburgh to fly out on the Sunday.

I’d been dreaming of visiting the Highlands since my small trip to Edinburgh 14 years ago, and between the things we knew we wouldn’t have time to do (namely the Isle of Skye) and the things I heard about while we were there or looked up since we’ve come home, I am eager to return again. Maybe to bag a few more Munros!

The big question in Cairns, Queensland

Last night Steve and I landed back in Melbourne after 11 days in Japan for sightseeing around the Rugby World Cup (COYBIG!) and while I have a lot to say about that (I promise, everyone who has asked for recommendations, I have heaps to provide!) I also haven’t even written about our last trip yet. And, well, it was kind of a big deal, so I don’t want to just let it pass by.

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So here’s the story about my trip to Queensland with my now-fiancé:

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Falling with style

What’s the most daring thing you’ve ever done? Did you move to a new country? Go on a blind date? Quit your job? Jump out of a plane? As of last month, I can say I’ve done all of the above, thanks to my experience skydiving over the Remarkables mountain range in Queenstown. 

I’ve always considered myself a relatively adventurous person. My living-in-four-countries-in-four-years (soon to be five-in-five) lifestyle bears that out, and I’ve never hesitated to try new things. Skydiving is something I’ve always wanted to try, and after hearing from so many people that Queenstown jumps have some of the best views in the world, it was firmly in my mind that when I went to Queenstown, I would skydive. 

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Steve and me on the way up

What I didn’t expect was that I wouldn’t be skydiving alone. I’m not referring to the tandem master, the skydiving pro who actually does most of the work—obviously I wouldn’t be jumping by myself—and I was pretty sure that I could convince Steve to give it a go. No, I was surprised that skydiving in Queenstown became a family event.

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Abel Tasman Adventures: Crossing Awaroa Inlet

Remember how in the Oregon Trail computer game when you reached a river you were always given a choice to ford it or not, and you always chose to ford it thinking “Yeah, it’ll probably be okay, and it’s so much faster,” and then you and/or your oxen always drowned? That choose-your-own-fate decision screen was at the forefront on my mind on the first night of last week’s tramp in Abel Tasman National Park. I’ll write about my whole four-day hiking adventure later this week, because it was one of the most amazing experiences I’ve had here in New Zealand, but there was one moment on the trip that is worthy of its own post as the most terrifying experience I’ve had while travelling to date.

For the most part, the Abel Tasman Coastal Track, one of New Zealand’s Great Walks, is a fairly relaxed hike, with well-defined paths and only a few hundred metres of elevation climb over it’s ~60km (we did about 50km due to our schedule and a slip that made the trail north of Anapai Bay inaccessible). However, there is one section that is far more than a leisurely walk in the park: the Awaroa inlet crossing.

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Anapai bay beach

Immediately to the north of Awaroa hut is a river mouth that can only be crossed two hours either side of low tide… unless you want to swim. I checked the tide tables for the day we were beginning our hike from Totaranui campsite, about 7km north of Awaroa, and believed that low tide was around 5pm, meaning we could cross sometime after 3pm. Unfortunately, I was informed by the water taxi operator who was transporting us from Marahau to the start of our tramp that I had actually misread the table; the low tide that day wasn’t until 9pm. No worries, we thought, we’d do a couple of side trails and when we reached the start of the crossing we could easily chill out for a few hours on the beach until it was time to cross.

At first, things went according to plan. We arrived in Totaranui and hiked north to Anapai beach. After returning to Totaranui and stopping for lunch, we continued on for two hours or so until we reached the Awaroa inlet shoreline around 4:30pm. When we arrived, we thoroughly understood why crossing before the allotted timeframe was not going to happen:

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On the Road: One Year Later, What I’d Do Next Time

One year ago today, Steve and I left our apartment in Vancouver, moved into a 2003 Ford Windstar, and began the most amazing experience of my life so far. After we convinced the US border officer that yes, even though Steve was arriving with no job, no visa, no ties to his home country, all his belongings, and his American girlfriend, he really *would* be leaving on the flight to Ireland he had booked for 88 days in the future (a few days short of the 90-day maximum to account for any potential flight delays), we began our three-month road trip around the United States.

Now, I’ve talked plenty about this trip, here and to pretty much anyone who will listen, and I’ll probably continue to do so for the rest of my life. Mostly I’ll be sharing the highlights–the amazing moment when we saw the Grand Canyon for the first time, the beautiful sunset we watched from a BLM campsite on a hill in northern California, how surprisingly nice and clean truck stops actually are–with a few of the lows (how inevitable it is that you’ll fight on the road, for one). Today, with the benefit of a year’s hindsight, I’ve been thinking about a few things that I’d do differently if I ever had the chance to embark on such an amazing journey again (and since we’re planning to go on the road in New Zealand at some point, I’m hoping to get to use these tips in the future).

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Keep Calm & Drive On: Minimizing Conflict on Your Road Trip

Picking the ideal copilots for an extended road trip is important. Whether it’s your partner or your BFFs, you want people with whom you can spend hours in a car without wanting to kill them. Choose the perfect travel companions and your trip will be an incredible bonding experience, full of amazing adventures and special time spent together. Well, 95% of the time it will be. The other 5% of the time you’ll be tired and hangry and whoever’s driving will have just made the fourth wrong turn of the day and you’ll be all-out shouting at each other over the hellfire-and-brimstone religious radio station you’re being forced to listen to because someone forgot to charge the phone with the music. That’s just how it is. But there are some important steps you can take to ensure that percentage stays at 5% and that you still all love each other when you reach your destination.

Get out of the car

On our road trip, we tried to limit our driving time each day to five or six hours, but some days we had to spend nine or more hours in the car and on those days we definitely got more antsy and more argumentative. Obviously the conditions of your road trip may dictate how long you have to drive each day—if you’re trying to make it across the country in a week as opposed to our 2+ months you’re going to be forced to have much longer days on the road—but even if you know you’re going to be driving 12 hours don’t be tempted to try to push through without pitstops. Even 15 minutes’ break outside the car to stretch and get some fresh air and explore a town or a nature area makes such a difference in everyone’s temperaments.

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We stopped at this beach for lunch on our way through California, a nice and relaxing break

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