The call of Scotland. In the beginning... and then there was light!

My first trip ever to Scotland was by steam train from Blackpool to Aberdeen with my Grandmother.

The year was around 1950 when I would be 11.

As a trainspotter I spent the entire journey getting smoke in my eyes, and a black face, from standing with my head out of a corridor window (then openable!) so as not to miss an oncoming train.

We stayed a week in the Granite City with friends. Most of my days were spent spellbound on Aberdeen railway Station. The locomotives were very old, you could see under the boilers and thick smoke belched from their very tall funnels.

Ian Allan's books (the Bible of spotters for many years), listed all the locos. You underlined the numbers you saw, much like underlining a Munro. This book was seldom out of my sight for the next 5/6 years.

You may wonder how this story connects to the Munros and Scottish Hills.

Well, firstly, although much of the journey to Edinburgh and then on to Aberdeen, was Munro free, you did get a sense of the many remote ranges of large hills (especially large to an 11year old) whilst ploughing through the Southern Uplands. We also spent time visiting Balmoral by Coach, and here we were of course in real mountain country.

Since aged 4, I had already spent several holidays in the Duddon Valley, and much time walking there. I won a 10 pence prize at the 1945 V.E. (Victory in Europe) valley sports. My first mountain, not counting Walna Scar Pass to Coniston (headline picture), was Harter Fell (here), at around 2500ft. The magic of a Mountain View was instilled into an impressionable mind.

I was also a postcard collector and had hundreds of tartan bordered cards of the Highlands. I felt that I had more chance of going to the moon that going there in person and climbing one!

My first “proper” connection with Scotland's hills was in 1958 when I purchased a half share in an old Morris Box Motor Car with a friend, Brian. The car had large gangster style running boards, headlights on stalks (not very effective and tending to move about) and of course a starting handle.

The choke was operated by pulling a piece of string, and the car had set us back £5 each. Our total wealth in those days! Brian's father was an ex lorry driver and now a butcher. We stripped the thick polythene sheeting from an animal carcass to cover the car's roof to make it more waterproof. I now needed to learn to drive.

My friend had partnered me on many visits to the mountains of the Lakes (we hadn't yet heard of Wainwright or Munro, although both were known to the addicts).  We now decided on a camping road trip to Scotland with myself driving most of the time, sporting “L” Plates.

Being connected to Blackpool St Marys Scouts, as Leaders, borrowing a large “Icelandic” Tent and gear was no problem. YHA Cards were also taken as a fall back (still a member today!).

Taking in the somewhat tricky narrow and winding road (especially for a learner) around Loch Lomond, and passing the awesome space and hills of Rannoch Moor, we gazed in awe at Glencoe before arriving at Ballachulish Ferry (no bridge in those days).

Then it was on to the Kyle of Lochalsh Skye Ferry, (again no bridge). Most of the roads were single track, and on Skye even the “A” roads had grass growing down the middle. Apart from leaving a large red phone box with a bit of a lean, my learner driving went well, and I was enjoying the experience. I am not so sure about Brian!

The  road down to Shiel Bridge was a real eye opener for its mountains, and Skye left you speechless. No straight speedway tracks then. I knew then that Scottish Mountains would always light up my life and call me back.

Walking wise we got half way up Ben Lui before having to abort in thick cloud with no map (we were sensible in those days). On Skye we could only gape at the Cuillins but wandered round the Quiraing and on the way home, as do many Sassenachs, climbed Ben Nevis by the tourist route.

This was our first Munro, although we didn't learn that name until over 15 years later!   Next we added Cairngorm and Ben MacDhui in poor visibility. We were thankful for our compasses.

Near Tomintoul the steepness of the road was too great, so we had to reverse up the hill. Reverse, apparently is a lower gear (or something).

Later in 1958/9 I did manage a few short sorties to the Highlands, adding Bidean nam Bian, Buchaille Etive Mor and the scary Aonach Eagach ridge to my list of hills climbed.

It was in 1959 that an acquaintance, Joseph (Joe), approached me. He was usually blunt and to the point. “You have a car” he said. “You know your way around Mountains” he added. “I want you to take me up a Scottish Mountain”. Was his final statement.

He was brusque to a point. My immediate reply, not unreasonable I think, was, “What's in it for me?”. Joe then egged the pudding: “I will pay for your petrol and I will pay for your accommodation”.

The deal was done. “Which mountain do you wish to to climb?” I asked.

“What's the biggest?” he replied. “Ben Nevis” I said.  “That's the one” said Joe. Typical Joe. Always start at the top. This was my second Nevis climb.

A month or so later Joe phoned me. “I am in Glencoe” he said. “There is a Mountain here I want to climb”. “I can come up tomorrow” I replied. It was a Saturday.

At 5.30am next day I left Blackpool, non stop to Glencoe. We climbed Bidean Nam Bian, rescued a walker who had slept on top all night, not knowing his way down. A quick couple of pints in the Kingshouse, then I was back to Blackpool for Sunday Football.

So started a 66 year friendship with Joe who now lives in Belgium.

In May 2025 he came over and I took him on a two week tour to Scotland, taking in Loch Awe's 'Kintail Bird of Prey Sanctuary' and 'Cladich Highland Cattle Farm', Oban, Mull, Fingal's Caves, Glencoe, Rum, Skye, Glenelg Ferry, Inverness, Aviemore, 'Speyside Wildlife Hide', Newton Stewart Highland Museum, Stirling etc. We celebrated his 85^th birthday en route, and he was introduced to Bunk Houses and Youth Hostels! He was now only a year behind me, and I was still putting my 1958 driving skills to good use!

From 1959 to 1976 my walking activities were very much English Lake District orientated, with a number of forays into Wales. In 1961 my diary shows 80 Lake District Hills ascended. I had now finished studying and had time for football, walking and scouting (and, apart from work, little else).

In 1966 I married and, surprise surprise, our Honeymoon was a driving holiday in Scotland. We were both heavily into Scouting, and we had the coincidental pleasure of meeting the then Chief Scout, Sir Charles Maclean, (Head of Clan Maclean), at Oban Pier.

In 1968 I decided that as my Blackpool Scouts had plenty of fell walking experience under their belts then perhaps we should try something a little more ambitious such as the Three Peaks Challenge, the highest mountains in Scotland, England and Wales. We therefore decided to climb Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon within a three day period, using my car, and camping.

I selected just three of my troop, ages 13/14 and set a target of getting from the summit of our first peak to the summit of the third peak within a 48 hour, two day, window. We would be accompanied by Malcolm, one of my 'Queen's Scouts' who would eventually accompany me on the Munro and Corbett Rounds.

We were not going to set any records, just have a great experience. There were no motorways to speak off, and aids such as the Ballachulish Bridge did not exist.

Setting off in April 1968, Ben Nevis was first. At 2000ft visibility became poor, and soft snow was encountered. By 3500ft the snow became firmer and deeper and only the Cairn and Trig Point told us that we had finally made it.

The climb had taken about 4 hours. Descent was much quicker, as cycle capes were used to glissade down the slopes, avoiding rocks and big drops. We were down in one hour and twenty minutes.

By Snowdon summit we had just beaten our 48 hour target.

It had been a great experience with snow, poor visibility and lightning paving our way and sharpening our memories.

In 1973 I was to be involved in another Ben Nevis/Scafell Pike/Snowdon Walk. This time, it was in my role as Deputy Mayor of Blackpool and I was raising sponsorship for a Variety Club of Great Britain Appeal. But that's two other stories... one on this website and one on my other website normalneville.com where I share stories about being Deputy Mayor of Blackpool.

My serious encounters with Munros were not to start until 1980, which is yet another story called Come By The Hills, A Diary of a Munroist. My eyes still light up to this day at the sight of a Scottish Mountain, especially a Munro.

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