Climbing Meall Greigh and Meall Garbh, and attempting An Stùc, three Munros (Perthshire, Scotland)

Climbing Munros in Perthshire: map & data

17 km walk in 8h50 from 08:10 to 17:0 – average 1.9 km/h

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Our story: Climbing Munros by Loch Tay

We headed for the hills right after our annual two-day trip to the University of Edinburgh Firbush outdoor centre. Simon’s original plan had been to climb the Ptarmigan Ridge, but it was too windy for the craggy ridge. So, instead, we went for the eastern three Munros of the Lawers rage.

Twelve months before we’d attempted them, and had climbed Meall Greigh, the first of the three, before turning back after several hours in a snow blizzard, and with snow up to our knees. Today the weather was the best we’d had for many weeks. There was no precipitation in the forecast, so we were confident we’d be able to climb the three tops.

For the next nine hours, our hike took us along a stretch of tarmac, up a muddy farm path, over bridges, rocks, and fences; up stiles, and along narrow paths, steep paths, and invisible paths.

At the beginning of the climb we had a gorgeous view of Loch Tay. Loch Tay is where we’d been with the students kayaking, practising capsizing, walking in the woods, and chatting by the loch. Now we were on our own, walking along a solitary path, contemplating a stunningly white Ben Lawers (Munro, 1214m) and snow-capped Meall Greigh and Meall Garbh, two of our three planned Munros.

Throughout the day, the climb was at times somewhat perpendicular, then boggy, muddy, flat, and steep again.

On the ground there was more snow than we’d expected, but not much. Even then, it wasn’t easy going up those steep snowy slopes with two poles in one hand and a camera in the other, limping like the hunchback of Notre Dame, trying to keep up with Simon while scouting for the best shot. It’s positively exhausting, but worth every picture.

Climbing Munros in a gale

I took snapshots of the bleak bog, one of my favourite landscapes; of our footprints, the hills to come, our reflections, frozen fences, grassy beallachs, our wacky shadows; and, at the very end, two unforgettable teeny-weeny lambs with scruffy mommy.

From time to time, it wasn’t easy to stay on both feet in that fierce gale; but I eventually managed to take a picture of a windswept Simon, inflated like the Michelin man in his orange suit.

From the top of Meall Garbh we got one of the most beautiful views of the Scottish hills we’ve ever had: Ben Lawers to the left, with a dusting of snow on its slopes and a deep white ridge; and An Stùc in front of us, rugged, steep, defiant.

We were standing there on Meall Garbh, considering how to approach An Stùc, and getting pretty cold in that gale, when we a climber who’d just made it to the craggy top came up to us. We had to make a quick decision: attempt An Stùc or abandon it.

In the end, between the climber’s tale of a dreadful ascent through icy cracks and a worse descent, the fierce wind, and our lack of ice axes, we turned our backs on An Stùc.

Perhaps we should have attempted it, but perhaps it was true that without an ice ax we’d never have made it. I don’t mind, though, because it’s a magic spot and we’ll have to come back next year.

What I loved about this adventure was the stunning view of Ben Lawers, and the contrast between craggy An Stùc and the gentle hills around it; but, most of all, I loved the wind. That ferocious wind that makes the Scottish hills so formidable.

An unexpected twist

Sometimes fate likes teasing us humans.

As we were walking past a miniature dam on our way back, Simon spotted an abandoned object. Someone had dropped it, perhaps earlier that day, perhaps a long time ago. He laughed, picked it up, attached it to his rucksack, and we wandered off.

It was an ice axe. The ice axe we’ll use next year to climb An Stùc.

Until then, these are our snapshots of this magic spot:

Camera used: all the photos in this post were taken with my iPhone 13 Pro.