I've wanted to climb Buachaille Etive Beag, a distinctive mountain in Glencoe, Scotland, for so long. So when I had a Friday free, and the weather forecast looked fantastic, I contacted all my hillwalking friends and asked them if they wanted to join me.
Unfortunately, none of my friends were available that day. It looked like I would have to go alone.
Buachaille Etive Beag means "The little shepherd of Etive". This mountain is far from being little – it has two summits connected by a ridge, and both of its main summits are "munros" – peaks at an altitude of at least 3000 ft/914m.
Buachaille Etive Beag is overshadowed both in altitude and in distinction by its famous next-door neighbour, Buachaille Etive Mor, which is one of Scotland's most iconic mountains.
Most hillwalkers refer to these mountains as "the big Bookle" and "the wee Bookle".
Buachaille Etive Mor means "The great shepherd of Etive." I don't know how it got its name, but my guess is that this magnificent mountain has probably been a landmark for travellers through the ages, and that long before the A82 highway was constructed, if you were lost, the sight of Buachaille Etive Mor could help you get your bearings and find your way back home.
I've climbed many mountains on my own before, but not in winter. Winter mountain walking in snow is a different ballgame. I only bought crampons and an ice axe a few weeks ago, and I've done just a few winter walks.
I thought Buachaille Etive Beag would be a good mountain for my first solo winter walk because not only is it a relatively easy Munro to climb – it's also a very popular hillwalk, so I knew there would probably be lots of other people around on a sunny winter day. I was unlikely to find myself totally alone on the mountain.
I wanted to start my walk as early as possible, to get as much daylight as I could. However I didn't want to be the first person on the mountain that morning. I felt quite nervous, especially about walking along the ridge, so I was hoping I could follow in someone else's footsteps!
My luck was in. I arrived at the car park just as some other walkers were setting off.
By the time I'd got my boots and gaiters on, there were at least four walkers ahead of me. The path up the hillside soon disappeared under the snow, and by the time the bealach (lowest point between two peaks) was in sight, the snow was knee-deep and quite difficult to walk in. Yet this walk was considerably easier than the other winter walks I'd done.
As I walked up the hill the early morning sunshine threw a beautiful pastel glow on Beinn Fhada, a mountain in the Bidean nam Bian massif.
The Aonach Eagach ridge was basking in a golden glow.
I had intended to walk to Buachaille Etive Beag's most south-westerly summit, Stob Dubh, first, as the clear sunny weather wasn't expected to last beyond midday, and I wanted to see the views out to the west.
When I reached the bealach and looked up the steep incline to the start of the ridge leading to Stob Dubh. It looked so beautiful, but terrifyingly steep to me, with not one single footprint in the snow.
All the other walkers were heading up in the other direction, towards the slightly lower northeastern summit, Stob Coire Raineach, so I decided to follow in their footsteps.
I wondered if I'd need to put on my crampons. The gradient was very steep, but not icy, so the crampons stayed in my backpack.
It was surprisingly easy to walk on the thin, powdery snow, and I reached the first summit two hours after leaving the car park.
There were dramatic views north up Glencoe with Loch Leven in the distance.
This is a close-up of Loch Leven with the hills of Ardgour behind.
Views to the east with the sun on the Mamores:
And over to the west, towards the ridge I would soon be walking along:
After taking in the glorious views, I headed back down to the bealach. By this time a group of people on a winter skills course had arrived. They were learning about avalanche awareness. Buachaille Etive Beag is a popular location for winter skills courses.
I climbed up to the unnamed peak that marks the start of the ridge, at 902m. It was so, SO much easier to climb the steep incline than I had feared. I had imagined slipping and sliding all over the place, but the snow was much more stable than it had looked from below.
This was the view I was greeted with at the top:
This was the view looking back in the other direction, to Stob Coire Raineach, the peak I had just climbed:
The wind strengthened significantly as I reached the start of the ridge, and I put on my balaclava.
The ridge was much broader than I'd imagined when I was tossing and turning the night before, imagining myself being swept over the mountainside by a big gust of wind, or stepping onto an unstable snow cornice and tumbling down the steep southwestern face.
I felt completely safe, and it was easy to see which bits to avoid.
There were a few tricky sections just before the second and highest summit, Stob Dubh, where deep snowdrifts made climbing up the final steep bit quite difficult, and getting down even worse! But every slip had a very soft landing.
Luckily the weather stayed clear, and there were stupendous views at the top, west to Loch Etive:
and north towards Bidean nam Bian:
I felt elated to have reached the second summit in good time, as walking in snow can really slow you down.
By this time the other walkers were all out of sight and I thought I was the last walker on the mountain. Then I saw a man walking towards me, and he stopped to admire the view.
On the way back down towards the bealach, I stopped in a sheltered spot and sat on a rock to have my lunch of home-made soup.
Then I headed back down the mountain to the car park, admiring the mountains I'd passed earlier, now bathed in late afternoon winter sunlight.
I took one last look back at the gorgeous "wee Bookle". It's definitely one of my favourite mountains, and one I will climb again someday!