Perhaps Richard Kendrick had been soaking up the drinking habits of his sixth form pupils, because his first act coming off the hill at 4pm was to "soak up" a pint of cider. Inexplicably, the quick pint turned into a quart, followed by curry & Wine & Wine & Wine.

The location of Killin had just seemed to come naturally; since Mr Kendrick was of the party. Sadly however the promised ridge of high pressure had slunk away to England, leaving forecast 85 mph winds, heavy rain, low cloud, trolls, hobgoblins and so forth. We had cunningly decided to look at the country south of Loch Tay, and from Ardtalnaig we'd spent six happy hours traversing the ridges of Shee of Ardtalnaig and the rocky escarpment of Creag Garbh, which gave a pleasant day mostly at 750 metres and just comfortably below the bad weather. Our companions Miss King and Mr Bridge, being utterly devoid of any vile "bagging" ambitions, found it delightful to stroll together through the quiet hollows of this deserted countryside.

But can absence of ambition lead to lack of discipline?

At any rate, the cider, beer, wine, wine, wine, and curry was followed with three pints in the Falls of Dochart and at least another two in the Fisherman's Friend (or whatever) before I lost count and successfully located the bunkhouse. Richard enjoyed similar success, whilst Lesley and Gethin made haste to finish their conversation before 4.00 am so that they could curl up before the cold ashes of the Bunkhouse log fire.

Sunday dawned bright and clear. On this perfect morning, a well-structured Situation Conference at 07.30 hours decided that we should split our force. One team would perform Hill duties; the others would look after the bunkhouse and make sure that the soft furnishings were working properly. So Richard and Andrew headed off to the Blackmount, discovering upon arrival at Victoria Bridge that Richard's boots were still in Killin.

By mid-morning, though, we had (our part of) the show on the road, boots and all, heading up past the Clashgour hut into Coire Toaig. We pushed on in weak sunshine to the very head of the Coire, then steeply with some scrambling up 300 rocky metres onto the Notched Ridge, the Aonach Eagach of Stob Ghabhar.

This is a horizontal spur, generally about 4 feet wide with some occasional hand holds, which connects in a Striding Edge type way to the main summit of Stob Ghabhar at 1087 metres. Gentle wisps of mist brushed the ridge and enfolded the summit, but below the air was beautifully clear.

Lochain Dhearbhadh glistened a deep green, a thousand feet below. The dark Summit Gulley fell forbiddingly towards it, and Rannoch Moor glowed golden in the sunshine with its twinkling pools. At the end of the narrow ridge, I trotted quickly up to the summit cairn and got a snowball for Richard from the few shreds still tucked by the boulders. Then we headed off down and down and down, past the plunging waterfall to ford the stream and finish our shortish day with a rendezvous at the Bridge of Orchy.

The Indoor Team were already there, having completed their assignment. So with another page written in the Book of Days, it was time to head homewards and start to plan our new year Resolutions.

ANDREW E.