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Ben Nevis: The Climb
- Geoff Green
- 2 days ago
- 5 min read
Updated: 1 day ago
Fog, Snow, Five-Finger Shoes and No Turning Back
The Morning After the Night Before
After a night of wind, rain, and several unidentified snorers, most of us woke up tired, stiff, and questioning our life choices.
Ben Nevis was there somewhere. We could see the bottom of it, but the top had completely disappeared into thick fog. Not nice scenic mist. Proper fog. The kind that says, “You’re getting no views today, sunshine.”
The Dutch Sat Nav Incident
I led the convoy, with Karen in the driver's seat and Otto in the back. For reasons still not fully understood, we decided to take directions from the Dutch sat nav in the back seat.
Otto confidently insisted we should not turn left at the first roundabout.
This led to a lively debate, several unnecessary roundabouts, an increasingly disorientated other-half, and a convoy behind us, probably wondering whether the challenge had already started. Eventually, with Otto still defending his decision to misdirect everyone, we reached the car park.
Into the Fog
This was where we were meant to meet Mark and Michelle. We waited around for half an hour, but there was no sign of them. I decided Mark had probably already set off and was halfway up Ben Nevis by now, which would not have surprised anyone who had seen him sprint up Scafell. The man does not climb mountains. He hunts them down.
So, we set off without him.
The fog was thick from the start. We could see our own boots, which was handy, but not much else. No sweeping views. No dramatic mountain scenery. Just fog, stones, boots, and the occasional person coming past us at marathon pace, probably doing the Three Peaks Challenge - or trying to prove something to someone!
There was also plenty of questionable footwear on show, but nothing came close to Otto and his five-finger, nude-foot trekking shoe look. He insisted this was a carefully considered approach. He had done his research, he was comfortable, and he knew what he was doing.
The jury was out — especially as the top of Ben Nevis was covered in snow.
Mark and Michelle Appear
The climb started to bite fairly quickly. Calves were burning, hamstrings were tightening, and there was a fair amount of heavy breathing from people pretending they were fine. But the humour kept everyone moving. The insults were flying, the mickey-taking was constant, and that helped more than any energy gel.
Then, out of the fog, Mark and Michelle appeared. Mark was barely out of breath, the annoying sod. Michelle, on the other hand, looked like she was breathing out of her backside.
Let me explain - Mark served in the same regiment as me, which means he's fully qualified to give me grief without hesitation.
He asked why we had not waited for him. Apparently, he had been waiting at the tourist centre for over half an hour. Why he was at the tourist centre is still unclear, but he wasted no time reminding me about military protocol i.e. the 7 P's:
Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance.
Fair point. Although standing in the wrong place for half an hour while everyone else starts climbing the mountain may not be the finest example of military planning ever recorded.
Probably one to save for the battlefield...
The Summit Lie
We pushed on for the next few hours, stopping for breaks, photos, snacks, and the usual abuse. The higher we climbed, the colder it got. The fog stayed with us, and the snow became more obvious as we got nearer the top.
Then came the classic mountain lie. People coming down, smug because they had already “peaked”, started with the usual nonsense:
“Keep going, not far now.”
“Ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Nearly there.”
Lies. All lies.
It was closer to another hour, with snow underfoot and legs that were starting to question the chain of command.
Meanwhile.
Mark and Michelle had carried on ahead by this point. Mark was clearly bored of moving at a human pace and wanted to get to the top before Ben Nevis shut for the day.
While they waited, Michelle needed a wee, so Mark went into full military mode and built her a storm shelter.
Eventually, we all reached the summit. Cold, foggy, snowy, and with absolutely no view whatsoever. But we had done it. Five minutes for photos, proof of life, and the kind of smiles you only get when people are freezing, exhausted and secretly quite proud of themselves.
The Descent
Then came the descent.
A few of us decided walking down through snow was overrated and chose the faster option: backside sledging without a sledge. Very efficient. Very dignified. Also a guaranteed way to spend the rest of the day with wet underpants.
Every expedition has a price.
Halfway down, we had our first proper injury.
John.
Our ex-Royal Navy Matelot had twisted his ankle, or pulled something, or generally discovered that mountains do not behave like ships. Naturally, he received immediate sympathy and concern.
For about thirty seconds.
Then the Navy jokes started. Clearly, his sea legs had failed him. Someone suggested the mountain was too far above deck level. Someone else wondered whether he had tripped because there was no handrail, bulkhead or lifeboat drill. There may also have been a comment about altitude sickness kicking in at anything over ten feet above sea level.
In fairness, John took it well. Mostly because he had no escape route and we had his rucksack.
As guide and qualified medic, I checked his ankle and re-laced his boot to give it more support and George offered his walking stick.
The jokes continued, obviously. We are not animals.
But so did the support. And that was the important bit.
Why It Mattered
By then, we were not just a group of people climbing a mountain. We were a team. Everyone was checking in, slowing down when needed, watching each other, and making sure we all got down together.
Further down, the fog and cloud finally lifted. After hours of seeing almost nothing on the way up, the scenery opened up around us. We even got a bit of sunshine, which felt like the mountain had stopped bullying us for five minutes.
After nine hours, we reached the bottom. Tired, damp, sore, and probably smelling like wet kit bags, but in good spirits.
The ice had well and truly broken. People had walked, talked, shared stories, laughed, struggled, helped each other, and kept going.
That is what MindfulStep is about: not forced conversations, not sitting around being told to open up, but getting outdoors, taking on a challenge, moving side by side, and letting the conversations happen naturally.
Walking, talking, sharing, joking and opening up. Good for the mind, good for the spirit, and something we all agreed we should do again very soon.
Although next time, we may double-check the sat nav, the meeting point, the weather, the food situation, and possibly Otto’s footwear.
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