Moonwalker - Adventures of a Midnight Mountaineer

IF variety really is the spice of life then our club's annual May week away this year turned out to be on the level of the California Reaper chilli pepper.

We have enjoyed this get-together in one form or another for 25 years now. It used to mean seven days full-on in the mountains. Not any more.

Age and changing priorities – plus a desire for more luxurious bases – has seen a seismic shift in the way the week unfolds. While once it was all about targeting as many Munros as possible come rain or shine, now it's a much more chilled affair where everyone does their own thing and the group make-up changes day by day.

This approach suits my long-running farewell tour down to the ground. I'm not planning to pull the plug on my walking days for a long time yet, but there is an acceptance that any visit to the higher hills is likely to be the last.

The priority is to complete a second round of Corbetts but a final round of Munros isn't out of the question either. The result is that every time I summit one of the remaining hills on these lists, I say hello, wave goodbye. I'm not going to be the Frank Sinatra of the mountains, no comebacks this time. All my friends have been warned: if you are planning on inviting me to a completion party on any of the summits I've now finished with, you'll find I shall be busy ironing my hair that day.

The first farewell of the week from our base in Taynuilt was a double header, an ascent of Beinn Sgulaird and its neighbour Creach Bheinn at Loch Creran. This was part of a deal struck with Andy, the now lone Munro bagger of the group: I would accompany him up the Munro if he continued on to the Corbett with me. When I last did these two together it was the other way round, a clammy 4am clamber up Creach Bheinn to emerge in the middle of the ridge where I spotted the trig pillar sticking up out of the early morning mist. The route onward that day remains a bit of a mystery, another example of my former ability to sleepwalk the hills.

We met three young women at the top of Beinn Sgulaird who asked more in hope than expectation if there was any way of avoiding all the re-ascents along the ridge. Alas no, this is a single Munro that makes you work for your tick.

Next day Andy was dropped off to traverse the Ben Lui group and three of us then headed round to tackle two of Corbetts near Bridge of Orchy. Once again, memories of Beinn a' Chaisteil and Beinn nam Fuaran were scant, probably because it was 25 years ago, possibly because it was the middle of the night, but most likely that I had tried to block the steepness of their slopes from my mind.

Five of us took our chances in the standby queue for the short ferry hop to Mull the following day to tackle Ben More. We made the first crossing and our lucky streak continued as the subdued, pewter skies cleared at a similar pace to our upward steps opening up the classic summit view over to A' Chioch and my Grahams completion hill, Beinn Fhada.

While Andy powered on with his Munros quest, the rest opted for a change of pace, a visit to Seil and the slate island of Easdale. Ironically, this turned out to involve the steepest hill climb of the week, a near-vertical grass slope to reach the top of sea cliffs. The descent was particularly interesting – in wet or icy conditions this would defeat even the best of the cheese chasers.

Andy's plan to do the traverse of the Munros above Bridge of Orchy from west to east gave me the opportunity to help him out with transport while doing a bit of mopping up by ticking off Beinn a' Chreachain for the fifth and final time. I've always found this mountain one of the tougher ascents, a real slog after emerging from the maze of Crannach Wood. The better route is to avoid the wood altogether by following the track out from Achallader Farm towards Gorton bothy then crossing the Water of Tulla. On wet days however, that's not always possible.

With different goals, once over the river Andy shot off ahead. I watched the tiny figure making the brutal push to the left while I sat at the lochan drinking in the perfect reflections, then sneaked up the slope to the right. We met again on the path loop just as he was coming off the summit, then went our separate ways.

On the way down the ridge, I encountered a heavily laden party from Finland who raved about their wonderful experience in the Scottish mountains. They had picked the ideal time to visit – I wondered if their enthusiasm would have the same had they endured a week of constant rain and wind ie. what we Scots call normal conditions. Our decision to start early was proved to be a wise one going by the stream of walkers now toiling up in the midday heat, some no doubt victims of Crannach Wood syndrome.

Andy finished his week with 15 Munros. Mine was more of a pick n' mix – three Munros, three Corbetts and a couple of island jaunts, all bookended by bothy walks in Glen Duror and in the swathe of moorland between Loch Awe and Loch Fyne.

Add in the bonus of a streak of blazing sunsets and you can see why we thought it was the perfect seven-day variety show.