Moonwalker - Adventures of a Midnight Mountaineer

WE travelled more in hope than expectation, and even that hope was that we would possibly be granted a fleeting glimpse of the hills through the incessant rain.

All the forecasts were dire: torrential downpours, thunder and lightning, flash floods, less than ten per cent chance of any views. The only variance between the weather sites was in the timing and intensity of the deluge.

It's always a difficult call whether to go ahead when the forecast is this bad. Several of the party called off, and as the remainder headed up the A9 with the rain hammering on the coach windscreen that seemed the more sensible choice. We had already agreed that the planned long traverses of the Grey Corries and the Aonachs were non-starters due to the possible dangers with water crossings. Even low-level options looked dodgy. 

The collective decision was that we should shorten the day, stick together as one group and find the least hazardous and most straightforward mountain route. The ascent of Stob Ban from Corriechollie seemed the best bet: a long track walk in, a handy bothy to offer a break from the elements, a bridge over the only possible river problem and a very short, sharp climb then fast descent. 

The rain had ceased by the time we arrived at our start point but it still felt oppressive, ominous, a mere lull in proceedings, so we put on full waterproofs in preparation for the inevitable soaking. Ten minutes later, after sweating our way up the early part of the track in stifling heat, they were off again. Suddenly, the threat had retreated and the sun was fighting to break out of its grey prison. We could clearly see the tops of the surrounding hills. Even the Nevis Range summits were bursting through static blotches of cloud.

We passed the Wee Minister, a carved wooden figure lurking in the trees which is said to bring good fortune to climbers and walkers. A replica of a crumbling stone statue which used to sit nearby, his sudden appearance can be an eerie experience for the unwary, especially by torch light.

My first encounter was 15 years ago, a month or two after his inception. Heading up at 4am with the sun rising, I saw a figure ahead on the horizon. As I drew nearer, I was puzzled and slightly unnerved by the lack of movement, but at least I could watch him all the way until the mystery was solved. The rapid tree growth since means he's no longer visible until the last minute and, combined with his now weather ravaged look, there's always the potential for a jump scare even if you know he's there.

We continued through the Lairig Leacach between the Innses and the main Grey Corries peaks without any hint of a single drop of rain. Only when we reached the bothy did we feel a few spits in the wind. Above the tiny shelter, Stob Ban was clear, but the skies to the south were heavy and laden suggesting the storms were on their way, definitely a case of when not if. We crossed the water and pushed on up the hill path at a good rate. It seemed everyone had the same thought – maybe, just maybe, we can get to the summit before the weather closes in. 

Stob Ban is an ideal mountain in that sense: steep and direct, no messing about – the height gain is fast and constant. We were at the summit within an hour of leaving the bothy and the reward was perfect visibility all round. The Grey Corries, the Mamores, the Easains all clear. The distant cloud wave didn't seem to have made much progress. We were still ahead of the rain. I'm not sure who had the rabbit's foot in their pocket, but our luck was holding. Now it time to get down before it ran out.

We made it back to the bothy just as the rain hit and sheltered for 20 minutes or so. It eased to a drizzle and we set off back down the track. After a little while it stopped altogether and as we got nearer the trees it was time to get the waterproofs off again. Seven hours out and we got 20 minutes of rain – mostly while we were indoors – with the unexpected bonus of perfect summit views. We had fallen into the less than ten per cent category while most of the country was getting hammered. A couple of concerned friends had even messaged us as they watched the downpours from their windows.

The very nature of thunderstorms is unpredictable: they can be sparked and unleashed in seconds, one minute a clear sky, the next torrential rain. Yet that intense concentration also means a hit and miss pattern, sometimes from one glen to the next. It seemed we had been lucky enough to be in the eye of the storms all day, a strange inner circle of calm.

It brought to mind a day on the Strathfarrar Munros many years ago when we managed to keep dry the whole day, watching with bemusement the rain curtains moving in every direction as they swirled around us yet never made any inroads. Not once did we ever feel moved to put on waterproofs.

The drive home this time was one of satisfaction and probably relief, even more so as we encountered the monsoon conditions we believed we would be facing when we set off. 

Maybe this was the Wee Minister's gift but more likely we just got lucky – the only concern is that we may have used ours up for the rest of the year.