Schiehallion was the first mountain I ever climbed, with my dad and sister, when I was 9. It didn't give any of us a love of hillwalking. Maybe it was the number of false summits, but I don't think Dad ever climbed another mountain after that, and it was a long time before my love of hillwalking really developed.
What I do remember from that long-ago holiday was the beauty of the countryside that surrounds this landmark mountain.
Schiehallion, a Munro at 1083m (3553 feet), is one of the most popular mountains in Scotland, despite its remoteness. It's a relatively easy climb for its size, starting at an altitude of almost 400m, which means you only have to climb about 730m to reach the summit. It has a pretty good path almost all the way up, but there is a major hurdle as you approach the summit, in the form of an extensive boulder field.
I took this photo when I climbed the mountain back in August 2016.
Most high mountains in Scotland have some sort of boulder field or rocky area near the summit, but Schiehallion's summit boulders are huge, and require great care when walking over them. To an experienced hillwalker it's either a minor irritation or an enjoyable challenge, but less experienced walkers can really struggle with the boulders.
This photo is also from August 2016:
One reason why I wanted to climb Schiehallion in winter was that I'd heard the boulder field is much easier to cross when it's submerged in deep snow. I climbed the mountain in August 2016, but low cloud that day meant that we didn't see any views at the top. I really wanted to see the summit views that I was too young to appreciate when I was a child.
The first big challenge of the day was actually getting to the car park. The main path up Schiehallion is accessed from the remote Braes of Foss car park, at an altitude of 330m, and to get there you have to drive along some very narrow roads. This is a fairly easy, if slow task, for most of the year, but in winter these back roads at high altitude can be unpassable. I felt quite a sense of achievement when I managed to get my car into the snow-laden car park with hardly any trouble at all (though the man in the neighbouring car had to give my car just a little push to get it properly into the space).
Schiehallion has several claims to fame, many of them mystical. Its name, Sìdh Chailleann in Gaelic, means "Fairy Hill of the Caledonians", and there is said to be a "fairy well" on the side of the mountain, and a network of magical caves inhabited by the little people.
In the Statistical Account for Scotland in 1845, the Rev Robert MacDonald wrote of a “remarkable cave … called Tom-a-mhorair [which is believed to be] full of chambers or separate apartments, and that, as soon as a person advances a few yards, he comes to a door, which, the moment he enters, closes, as it opened, of its own accord, and prevents his returning.”
And in 1891, Malcolm Ferguson wrote of a “long series of mysterious caves, extending from one side of the mountain to the other.”
The geographical centre of Scotland was traditionally believed to lie on Schiehallion's shoulder, although the actual centre point of Scotland when its islands are taken into account lies just off the A9 near the Drumochter Pass. And in 1774, the mountain was used in an experiment to estimate the earth's mass.
Hillwalkers often joke that if there's an unidentified mountain in the distance, it "must be Schiehallion". Maybe that's because of its distinctive conical shape. Growing up in Glasgow, I used to sometimes see a little pointed peak jutting out over the Campsie hills to the north of the city. For a while I was convinced that it was Schiehallion - maybe because I'd climbed it as a child. In reality I think it was a much closer and lower peak, probably Meikle Bin.
Schiehallion is such a popular mountain that the original path became badly eroded and in 1999 a new path was constructed by the John Muir Trust, which owns the land around the mountain. Even the best paths often get buried in deep snow, but the sheer number of walkers constantly walking up this iconic mountain in almost all types of weather keeps the path clearly visible and easy to follow most of the time.
The temperature in the car park was -8C, and my hands and feet quickly got cold. To warm up, I set off up the hill at a brisk pace. I think the excitement of finally getting to climb this wonderful peak on a beautiful sunny day kept the adrenaline coursing around my body, and I made quite a rapid ascent, pausing at times to catch my breath and take photos of the glorious views.
The snow was soft and powdery, but not too deep on the path, so walking was relatively easy. It wasn't too long before the summit ridge came into view. I could hardly believe we were already so near the summit, partly because I'd been so unfit the last time I'd climbed Schiehallion, 18 months before, and partly because I remembered the lengthy process of clambering over the boulder field during that climb, before we even glimpsed the summit.
I passed two men heading back down the mountain with their dog, and asked them if I'd reached the boulder field yet. I wasn't sure if I was walking over it. They said no, it hadn't started yet.
They were wrong, and it was easy in retrospect to see why they'd made that mistake. We were at that moment walking over the boulder field, but the deep snow had filled in all the gaps between the boulders, covering them with a snowy carpet so that they were almost invisible.
I was utterly astonished therefore, when I skipped up a small incline and saw lots of people just standing looking at the view. This had to be the summit, as there was nowhere else higher to climb! I asked someone - "Is this the summit?" "Yes!" they laughed.
The summit cairn and trig point were invisible, draped in snow among several other indistinguishable lumps. It was quite a surreal scene.
The views from the top were glorious. This is Loch Rannoch, to the north west:
This is me with Loch Tummel in the background:
I was surprised at the number of people on the mountain - certainly a lot more than had been in the car park that morning. They must have parked along the roadside. Some people were on skis.
Video of views from the summit.
Schiehallion must be the only Munro that is actually easier to climb on a sunny winter day than in summer.
I sat down to enjoy my flask of hot soup, and then made my way back down. A couple of men were setting up paragliders.
About 10 minutes later, I spotted a pair of ptarmigan with distinctive white winter plumage flying overhead. Shortly afterwards, I saw about six more ptarmigan flying off in a panic. They had clearly been disturbed by the enormous strange birds which had suddenly drifted over their nesting ground – the paragliders were off on their silent trip to the foot of the mountain.
I watched them drift down to the trees with admiration and quite a bit of envy. A fleeting pleasure maybe – worth lugging all that gear up a mountain in a backpack? I would think so.
Video of Schiehallion paragliders here.
Although I didn't have access to paragliders, I got back to the car park with enough time to enjoy coffee and delicious cakes at the Watermill cafe and bookshop in the nearby town of Aberfeldy.
I often do hillwalks in very challenging weather conditions. That brings its own joys (though it can be hard to convince non-hillwalkers of this!), and it helps me stay fit for days like this – sunny, fun days on a mountain playground.