Just A'another Day
5:35am. I've managed to beat my alarm by almost two hours. Well, it's always that way when I have a hill to climb. A quick peek between the curtains reveals a dry morning and a neighbour with a similar sleeping problem. I tiptoe across the bedroom, hitting every creaking floorboard in the process.
My wife stirs but doesn't wake.
I gather my clothes and get dressed. It is still dark when I leave the house and quietly pack my car in the crisp -1°C air. I've got a bloody day off, and I'm planning on using it! A quick shopping trips nets me a sandwich, water, and car park change, and then I'm off. The previous evening, I had firmly decided on a trip to Ben A'an. The "mountain in miniature" just west of Callandar, and nestled firmly within the Trossachs. It's also a non-too-taxing 454m, which is partly the reason I chose it, based on my lasting Christmas Layer™.
The journey west across Scotland is a fun one. It rarely feels long, thanks in part to the great views from the Kincardine Bridge, the soaring skylines north of Stirling that are juxtaposed with the Wallace Monument, followed by the looming mountains of the Trossachs; Bens Ledi, Lomond, and Vorlich to name but a few. Ben A'an, being a little 'un, is relatively hidden until you near your destination.
Thing is, the slowly rising sun is beginning to reveal a glorious morning, and my intended arrival time of 8am becomes quickly pushed back as I skirt along the edges of Loch Venachar.
Naturally, I stop the car and sneak across a garden that may or may not have been private. A man pokes his head out of the adjacent building, but says nothing. His loss; the scene is sublime. The still morning has yet to generate any breeze. Loch Venachar is a glassy mirror, reflecting the abstract clouds above. Now, if you know me, you know I love a reflection. Within seconds, I've fired off about 100 shots (of varying quality...).
I realise then that not only have I left my car running, I also left the No Man's Sky soundtrack blaring out across this otherwise peaceful scene. Explains the scarcity of wildlife. I hop back into my car, stopping a couple more times for more photos before tearing myself away and getting on to the intended destination. Eventually, just before 9am, I arrive at the Ben A'an car park. £3 to park. I slide my newly minted £1 coins into the ticket machine and see them dumped unceremoniously out the bottom.
Unrecognised tender.
I try again, taking quick glances at the remarkably steep peak of Ben A'an behind me, realising a small queue is starting to develop at the machine. I've only brought three £1 coins, I don't have anything else. To buy myself some time, I let the guy behind take a whack at it. Fortunately, he has new pound coins too, and is met with the same problem. Now that I'm not alone in this, it becomes a lot easier to make the decision not to pay. Despite that, I leave my £3 offering on the top of my car, just in case a yellow-hat comes knocking. I decide that in this post-brexit world, £3 likely isn't going to appeal to your common-or-garden thief.
Classic me, I realise that I need a piss the very moment I set foot on the slopes. There aren't many folk around, but there is a sizeable hotel to my right, and enough windows to be worried about at least one person watching. The initial start to the Ben A'an walk takes you up a steep road, where Forestry Commission work is ongoing. To the right is the trail I intend to take, to the left is the toilet of the wilds.
Every. Bloody. Time.
Red cheeks cooling, I return to the path after expending a decent chunk of effort just climbing the remarkably steep path for a secret wee. Immediately, the steps begin, a bit of a theme for Ben A'an. Plenty of hills feature a sizeable staircase, but I think Ben A'an may take the crown in terms of step to height ratio!
Fortunately, I chose to arrive early to Ben A'an, and the hill traffic is yet to reach its zenith at just before 10am. Breath stops are masked by an apparent desire to take photographs, though none of those actually turned out alright, so at least it is reaffirmed to myself that I really was waning. Despite the burning thighs, this is still a delightful climb. The steps are wonderfully unique, coming in all shapes and sizes, and offering small jumps across the Allt na Calliche stream that trickles down the hill. Despite the decent population of trees on the ascent, the views are never hidden from the climber. Ben Venue looms, seeming all the taller for being adjacent to the miniature mountain, Loch Achray glistens in the morning sun down below. All the while, the pointed peak of Ben A'an looks ridiculously high thanks to its close proximity. Many of the hills of Scotland offer numerous false summits, hiding the full walk ahead. Not Ben A'an. It shows itself right away. What it does hide, though, is one of the most awe-inspiring views you are likely to find on a hill of any size.
I message my brother just as I reach the lower section of the peak of Ben A'an, take one quick look ahead and reply with "Fucking hell!" At that point, my signal cuts out (a frequent benefit of climbing hills), leaving my brother wondering what on earth had just happened. Ben A'an commands a view that immediately shot to the top spot in my all-time favourite scenes. To the west, Loch Katrine stretches off to Stronachlachar, flanked by the awesome presence of Ben Venue. To the east, Ben Ledi rises above the numerous ridges (which had been my previous winner).
It was at that point that a brief blip of mobile signal returned. "What happened?", "Is it raining?", "Are you alright?" I quite like the idea of me firing off a full message as I fall to my doom, but I answer simply, with an image not too dissimilar to the colour photograph above.
The sun is shining, the clouds fluffy and well-spaced, the wind absolutely minimal. The result is a glorious offering: Loch Katrine so still that it resembles a mirror, showing an upside-down view of the surrounding hills and the winter-blue skies. I'm then alerted by the cawing of a raven behind me, hopping up and down on the pointed rocks. I'd seen photos of (what I presume is) the same bird before heading up. If Ben A'an belongs to anyone, it is this glossy-black bird.
I feel like I could remain atop the hill for the rest of the day, but after a good ten minutes with the summit to myself, the steady of stream of the rest of the day's walkers begin to ascend to the peak. Now, I love that so many more people were getting the opportunity to witness such a scene under such conditions, but I have to admit that I feel that all-important sense of isolation is dwindling, and I reluctantly began my descent back to the car. As I drop down, back to the path, the wind begins to pick up. Clouds soar overhead, Loch Katrine's perfect silver begins to falter...
The return journey is the same route I took to the peak, now offering more consistent views over Duke's Pass and Loch Achray down below. Stops this time were down to creating passing places for those eager to reach the top, and for the first time in my life, I see someone attempting to complete an ascent in a suit. Yeah, a suit. Tie, jacket, flat-soled shoes. No idea...
The sun and clouds make the trek through the wooded section of the downward half of the climb a magical experience; the majority of the hills I have recently climbed have been utterly bereft of trees along the paths, and Ben A'an's layout made for a rather memorable walk.
The car park, which had been empty save for three cars upon my arrival, is now heaving, with plenty of folk parked in a position that makes it impossible to leave unless the group in front of them leave first. A good warning to anybody wishing to climb Ben A'an to ensure that they arrive earlier than the crowds, and perhaps make it back to their vehicle before they arrive as well. Back at my own car, my donation of Sterling remains. A quick All-Day-Breakfast sandwich and flick through my photos, and my day's journey continues: a brief walk around the eastern edge of Loch Katrine, and a fantastic drive home via Duke's Pass and Aberfoyle.