top of page

Ben Nevis

murphree8


We arrived at the trailhead at 8am. It looked like the start of a trail race with competitors lingering about, doing some stretches, getting their gear together. I was taken back by the sight as I was not used to hiking with a few hundred people, nor was my wife.


The day before, I mentioned to Karen, “Let’s go to the Mountain Path on Ben Nevis. We will just go as far as we want and turn around. The views should be wonderful.” She agreed. She’s been on many hikes with me and likes to remind me of the time we climbed straight up the Flatirons in Boulder, Colorado and I kept saying, “We’re almost to the top.” I like to wander when I hike, so I don’t pay attention to how many miles we have gone. Now, I am not foolish. I study the route. I know approximately how far we have gone and how far we have to go, and I understand the terrain beforehand. Mostly, I like to be mindful of my surroundings and the weather. When you climb to a mountain peak, you can start the hike sunny and end it in snow and ice. I navigate my way by studying the scenery and other peaks as I walk and it gives me a sense of direction and my wearabouts. However, on this day, it looked like we would have plenty of company.


I admit, when I first saw the crowd I wanted to reconsider. Maybe go find a quieter place to explore, but mountain peaks have always intrigued me. They make me curious as to who has stood on them before and who was the first. The Gaelic name for Ben Nevis is “Venomous Mountain.” With such a name as menacing as that, how can you not want to take on the challenge of the ten and a half mile path, five miles upwards and five down?


Ben Nevis is the tallest mountain in the United Kingdom. At 4,413 feet, it can seem small compared to the highest peaks of the Rocky Mountains or Cascades. However, one has to remember that the path starts at nearly sea level and shoots up. The “Venomous Mountain” was once an active volcano, shaped by fire and ice, and now we are going to walk it.


As we began our ascent, I looked at Karen and said, “You are about to climb a mountain with a man who has a herniated disc, peroneal tendonitis, and a torn meniscus.” She smiled knowing this was an attempt at humor. Though, as I started to walk, knowing the climb ahead would most likely be difficult, I considered the fact that I have been healing from some injuries the past year or so, and that there would be the possibility of “waking” those injuries up a bit. However, I am a firm believer that we must keep moving. We must challenge ourselves and never succumb to self-pity. The pain would be temporary but the memory would last for a lifetime. This I knew.


This climb, we found out, was a “Bucket List” climb for many. There were walkers with t-shirts that held the faces of those they lost. There were others that wore matching clothes, signifying something important to their group, and then many who you could tell simply wanted to challenge themselves.


The trail started flat for a very short stint, walking by some sheep that gladly greeted us, laying in the dark green field. It made me feel bad about eating the Haggis in Edinburgh. We agreed to pace ourselves slowly because as I often tell my students, “You climb a mountain one step at a time.” It’s a metaphor for life I believe. I observed some young men rushing up the mountain, obviously excited about the adventure ahead, only to see them within a half mile resting on the side of the trail. One should never rush climbing a mountain. The steps in front of you are too important. The views from all sides, front and back, should be mindfully drunk into your pores in order to experience it fully. When ascending a mountain, you need to walk it in a way that you notice the air changing, where it becomes cooler, thinner, and starts to slowly make you take a fuller breath in order to fill your lungs. The educator in me, the mentor, wanted to talk to the young, testosterone filled men, about slowing down and taking it all in. “Pace yourselves in life,” I would tell them, “Life is not meant to be rushed.”


Karen pointed to a mountain in the distance and said, “That must be Ben Nevis.” I knew it wasn’t because when you climb the highest mountain on a continent, there will not be any trees or grass at the top. Nothing can grow at that altitude and with the extreme weather that the mountain brings, it will all be rock and nothing else. From the trail, we could not see the peak yet because we had to walk many more miles around two more mountains to finally be witness to the summit.


I was still skeptical of the hike as so many others were around us, and for me, crowding the trail. I was used to getting lost in deep thought while walking in nature. Being alone on a trail is one of the greatest gifts that being alive has given me. Yet, here we were, climbing a mountain with what seemed like a few hundred people. However, as the hike continued upwards, we started to notice something. There was a camaraderie among the walkers. It was as if we were sharing the experience together. There was no competition, no egos (Even the young men who moved too eagerly seemed to calm a little, as young men do when they are humbled), and the realization came to me that the people I walked among were out here appreciating nature as I am. They were challenging themselves and encouraging their fellow travelers to keep going. There was a politeness that I rarely have seen elsewhere. When passing or being passed by a walker, they would give a smile or nod and say, “Cheers” or “You go mate.” I loved being on a path where I was the visitor with the foreign tongue. Still, it seemed like we were all visitors to the mountain that day.


The further up we went, the more it became silent. People were cheering less. The conversations became few. We started to see some walkers turning around saying, “I have reached my limit.” There were others that sat on the side of the trail, trying to catch their breath and take in some food to fuel their enthusiasm. There was never any judgment in any of this. The only time I heard anything that leaned towards judgment was a young man and woman talking about their friend who left the mountain and went back to the trailhead, “He just needs to have more grit. The fucking guy never pushes himself.” Still, there were many “Cheers” in Scottish and British accents. There were constant smiles and “Well done” as everyone scrambled the rocks. I have missed that type of comradery. I experienced it in trail races to a certain extent and when running the Tough Mudder, but what I found traveling to Scotland as a whole was the difference in courtesy compared to my homeland. The Scott’s and everyone who called Scotland their home, were courteous, especially on the mountain and in Edinburgh. It is something that stood out and something I miss since being back. The United States has become a frustrating and angry place to be, with division, angst, and hostility. It’s amazing the awareness a walk up a mountain will offer.


I had a student ask me last spring why I like to climb mountains and do some of the activities that I do? My reply, “To see if I can.” I believe we must challenge ourselves. Building physical resilience also builds mental resilience. It goes hand in hand. I looked back at Karen as we passed a Loch and then started a steeper ascent to the peak. I knew we still had an hour and a half of climbing or so, and I knew we were both committed at this point to reaching the top. I have seen Karen push herself before and I know her grit, so I wasn’t worried about her, but I also know her posture and the look on her face when she is starting to dig deep, getting tired. There are times when one needs to enter a new and different zone, where they are dipping into the pain in their bodies and have to go to a place in their minds where they commit to keep moving forward no matter what. It happens in endurance sports all the time. I walked ahead of her a little, maybe fifty yards, and let her look inside herself and speak to the pain she may be dealing with. We all need to walk alone at times. At each ridge I would stop and check in and I knew very well the place in her mind that was telling her to stop and the place that was saying keep going. Many on the mountain were entering this place. The difference is, some will listen to the voice that is saying, “Stop. Quit. It has become too much.” Karen brushed that voice aside and took a step at a time. As for me, I am always humbled by mountains but I enjoy the push. I know my limits and I was far from them. However, I anticipated what coming down may feel like. If I experienced pain, it would most likely be the descent.


I have been on mountains where I have had to look inward before and decide whether to continue or not. One was running the Dipsea Trail in Marin County, California, and another was climbing South Sister Peak in Bend, Oregon. I have had moments in the woods where I have gotten turned around and added miles to my hike, knowing to survive I must get back to my truck, so I had to compose myself and keep moving. There was the time I ran the Tough Mudder Obstacle Course in a sling after being hurt. Every step, every time I ran, and climbed, I was in horrible pain, but I wanted to finish. Then, there was the time in Colorado, climbing over 13,000 feet on Mount Audubon. I was close to the summit. It was a clear morning and then all of a sudden, as mountain peaks can do, a whiteout of snow and ice came pouring in. I quickly threw my coat on and tried to protect myself from the ice that was pelting my exposed skin. With the wind, it was like being shot by a hundred BB’s. I hovered down, got my composure, knowing that a rock shelter was a short scramble away, and that I could not stay where I was. I could only see a few feet ahead of me, so I tried to get my bearings and kept moving. Eventually, I found the shelter and put one leg over and dropped in. The snow and ice flew across the top of the shelter but I was relatively safe to wait it out. What I have found is that one must look deep and keep moving in order to survive. There was a time last year when I was in a bad mountain bike crash. My tire folded inward, and the rim was bent, leaving my bike unrideable. I was also concussed after my head slammed into a downed log and my ribs were bruised, knocking the wind out of me. I had little choice, either lay there or move and walk out of the woods and back to the trail and get myself to the emergency room. Again, one must move forward.


We reached the summit in good form. As we sat, taking in the views, I realized the goal wasn’t really to get to the top of the mountain. There are people who climb mountains for time, but I could care less about that feat. The journey along the way was what was important. It was the faces that were friendly, focused, and some worn out. It was the beautiful people we walked with, and it was Karen and I challenging ourselves once again. It was just a couple of days before our thirtieth anniversary and climbing this mountain was another significant moment in that thirty year journey. As we looked around, I reached into my backpack and held something clenched in my hand and held it out to Karen, “We also brought a dog on this hike today.” I opened my hand and our German Shorthaired Pointer’s ashes lay in a small, blue glass figure that Karen had made for use when he died. Karen’s eyes welled up in tears as did mine and then we walked to the ruins of an old stone observatory that stood at the peak. Payton now overlooks the highlands from the top of Ben Nevis. On a clear day, he will be able to see Northern Ireland from there and he will always feel our love. What a dog!


The Poet, John Keats once climbed Ben Nevis. As a writer, this was significant to me. He wrote a sonnet while resting on the summit:


Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud

Upon the top of Nevis, blind in mist!

I look into the chasms, and a shroud

Vapourous doth hide them, -- just so much I wist

Mankind do know of hell; I look o'erhead,

And there is sullen mist, -- even so much

Mankind can tell of heaven; mist is spread

Before the earth, beneath me, -- even such,

Even so vague is man's sight of himself!

Here are the craggy stones beneath my feet,--

Thus much I know that, a poor witless elf,

I tread on them, -- that all my eye doth meet

Is mist and crag, not only on this height,

But in the world of thought and mental might!


“But in the world of thought and mental might!” Yes, mental might is important in order to understand and survive life. It is why we should climb mountains, take ourselves out of our comfort zone, and push past our limits. We must do so in order to build resilience to survive a life that can often be harsh. However, we should climb mountains, seek challenges, enter the forest and walk deep, to know that we are truly living. Climbing a mountain is like falling in love all over again. There is excitement and wonder and curiosity all blended together, which leads to an adrenaline rush that only true love can bring. And, when I looked at Karen, staring out to the world below us, I could see my reason, my truth, my love, right before me.


There is a time one must return back to the reality of where they started from. You must descend the mountain and leave the memory of the peak behind you. Within a mile of our rocky descent, my left knee, with its meniscus tear, started to yell at me. It was screaming with four miles to go. I knew that this or my herniated disc might decide to go against me, stealing the comfort and relative ease I had while climbing. This was my test. It had come. Eventually, the pain led to me limping down the mountain, breathing deeply, with little choice than to keep moving forward. After all, we had to get back to the trailhead. “Forward,” I kept telling myself. There wasn’t anything heroic going on here, just a man who has challenged his body for the majority of his life, and after fifty-three years, there’s a little wear and tear, causing a now external and internal battle. Karen walked behind me, staying quiet, comfortable in her stride, seeing her husband once again work through discomfort.


The knee pain went away within a few hours, and within a few days the discomfort in our calves subsided. We now have another story to tell. Another challenge to reminisce on. I said to Karen a couple of days later, “I want to climb more mountains.”


Maybe in another thirty years, when we are eighty-three, if our health stays solid and our legs strong, we can take a slow climb back up to the top of Ben Nevis and see how Payton is doing. I believe we can, while holding wrinkled, experienced hands, and being guided up the trail by love. Yes love, the highest mountain of all.


















38 views1 comment

Recent Posts

See All

1件のコメント


Monique Mobley
Monique Mobley
2023年6月28日

Climbing that mountain together is something you two will remember and talk about for many years. Keep looking for challenges together, but they don't all have to be big mountains!! Enjoy the rest of your trip.

いいね!

© 2022 by Chuck Murphree

bottom of page