Moonwalker - Adventures of a Midnight Mountaineer

THE rain had passed over a few hours earlier, but less than 20 minutes into the ascent my feet and legs were soaked through.

The track was a swamp of cloying mud and heavily waterlogging. Moisture coated every blade of ankle-deep grass, every leaf and branch, creating a continuous localised monsoon below the knees.

Just four days earlier we were on bone-dry paths and vegetation that crunched under the boot in Glen Shiel with temperatures touching 30C. But that's the reality – and the beauty – of mountain walking in Scotland: the weather never stands still.

As is often the case when the heatwave breaks, the rain came with a vengeance that lasted a few days. The best weather window now seemed to be to the west, so I headed for Beinn a' Choin, a lone Corbett which sits above Inversnaid on the eastern shores of Loch Lomond.

The terrain in the Trossachs always provides a rough outing and this hill is also one of the more awkwardly situated. The journey requires a succession of road switches ending with a single-track rollercoaster beyond Aberfoyle along to Loch Arklet and the final stretch offers little in the way of parking options. 

My last visit was on a freezing January day in 2003 when I asked, and was kindly permitted, to park at Corriearklet farm which facilitated a direct descent of the south-east shoulder from the road. It also the meant the whole horseshoe became a more attractive prospect. The suggestion now is to tackle the climb from the RSPB parking area further west, and it was one that suited my narrative of taking a fresh approach to every Corbett second time round.

The nature reserve is a rare Atlantic Oak woodland which stretches from the shores of Loch Lomond to the summit of Beinn a' Choin. It is often referred to as temperate rainforest and with the diaphonous apres-downpour mists clinging dreamily to the tree canopy as I set off, that description seemed perfectly justified. The volume of rainfall over the past couple of days was evident by the state of the track, the ground having been unable to absorb the deluge. I turned uphill into the trees by a lively burn on what I thought was a faint path, but it soon vanished into the undergrowth.

In recent years there has been extensive mixed planting on these mid slopes and the woodland is healthy and thriving. The way ahead was now a case of picking the best line through the deep grass, heather, bracken and young trees. There was plenty of birdsong and a wealth of insects and butterflies amongst a vivid palette of wildflowers, yellow, white and pink swathes complemented by the burgeoning bloom of the heather gearing up for its autumn spectacular.

But it was also very, very wet, and there were a lot of deep holes to watch out for. With the battle to keep my feet dry long already lost, I reverted to waterproof trousers to mitigate further ingress despite the building heat.

As I climbed out of the woodland to reach a deer fence and clearer ground, I began to think about mountain access and whether natural barriers may mean some walks becoming harder work in future as these infant forests take deeper root.

Another example is Carn Dearg Mor in Glen Feshie where tree felling work has wiped out a section of track and path leading on to the hill making the ascent much more awkward and unpleasant. The path off the other side has also been swallowed by the vegetation, so much so that it's now a waist-deep wade through unpredictable terrain to reach the floor of the glen.

This is all a minor niggle in the greater scheme of things. The lush and lively natural reset already seems to be moving us in the right direction, albeit we shouldn't get too carried away just yet. There seems to be an increase in the number of butterflies and insects this year, the vegetation is thicker and more verdant and there's a healthy rise in many of the songbird populations. Nature so often comes with its own solutions to problems that even the greatest human minds can't solve.

The final rise to the top of Beinn a' Choin was more straightforward, following an old fence line except in places where it scaled outcrops and sheer rock faces. The summit was as I remembered, the views sensational all round, a rugged patchwork of mountains and lochs in every direction. I also had it all to myself, somewhat surprising for a fine day bang in the middle of summer. It seems Beinn a' Choin wasn't high on the must-do list for the midweek crowds.

Of course, what goes up must come down so the consideration quickly switched to the descent and the looming battle back through the greenery where slow and steady was the only way to go.

I'm glad in a way that this will be my last visit to this fine peak. I suspect any attempt to climb it in another 20-plus years will be a totally different story.