Ladies Day / Brothers Ridge

During the intra-lockdown period in the way-back-when of early January, I headed out for a mountain day with a difference.

I often hit the hills alone. I like my own company on the mountain – I like the space to think, look, roam and wander/wonder. Often, especially when climbing, I head into the hills with men. There simply aren’t as many women as men who have the skills, free-time or motivation to take on the bolder mountain adventures.

Researching Women in Mountaineering, an important study by Dr Jenny Hall and Dr Adele Doran makes clear the gender differences in mountaineering. In 2017, just 19% of those completing national mountaineering qualifications were women. Of the Winter Mountain Leaders, 91% are male. Women make up the tragically modest number of 9%. 

So when the opportunity comes to take on a sturdy winter mountain adventure in the company of just women, it’s pretty special.

Setting out with my friends Anta and Joy, we headed around to Kintail to venture up Brother’s Ridge which features the three Munros, Sgurr a Bhealaich Dheirg, Saileag and Aonach Meadhoin. The day was stunning.

The sun rose as we arrived, brushing the peaks pink and yellow.

Deer flowed across the hill, leaving their prints in long lines and creating pockets of disturbance where they stopped to browse.

The snow was deep: hard-going. I led the charge, breaking trail, leading us up the steep hillside to the sky-line overhead.

On the ridge we met the wind. Brutal, cold, penetrating. We layered up and kept moving.

The snow was deep. Feet sank in to shin, to knee, occasionally right up to the thigh. We plodded on, breaking trail to the first top, Sàileag and onwards, dropping down to head across to Sgurr a Bhealaich Dheirg.

No path, no footprints, no distant black specks away across on another hill marking another human being. There is something magical in venturing out onto the empty snowy peaks. A blank slate; a new world.

But breaking trail is also incredibly hard work. We padded over steep snowfields, swapping lead, thighs gasping with the strain. Traversing over soaring drops, ice axe at the ready; providing balance, braced to arrest.

Eventually we reached a point where the ridge narrowed and steepened. Big drops on either side: snow laden rocks to grasp and lower ourselves over if we were to proceed. We scoped it out. I padded forwards, cautiously, examining the snow and rocks to see how it looked.

I scuttled back and we talked it over. A group decision was made. We would turn back.

Our labour earlier in the day now eased our passage back. I was grateful to follow our steps back through the snow, returning over the blazing white-blue skyline.

As the sun sank lower, bum sliding, sledging, laughing and flying, we slid back down the slopes to the van waiting in the valley below.