The meaning of true love and other lessons from the summit

For more than a year, we planned our 10-day Scottish vacation of touring and hiking through the highlands. Our hike up the iconic Ben Nevis began as a quiet suggestion, what if? Hobby hikers at best, we sauntered around the idea, slowly warming to the notion of summiting the highest mountain in the UK. Straightforward but strenuous, what could go wrong?

More than 125,000 hillwalkers “bag the ben” each year. Once an active volcano, it collapsed into itself millions of years ago, leaving behind a mist-shrouded peak that towers over glistening glacial valleys. While the climb doesn’t require skillful scrambling, it’s a demanding assent, zig-zagging through mostly rocky terrain. Each year, a handful of people are airlifted to safety and, sadly, a few die up there before help arrives. Weather plays a factor in most fatalities, whether it’s failure to bring enough water or food, rain and sleet and snow at the summit or accidently stumbling off a cliff shrouded in fog.

We expected 3-4 hours to the top, 2-3 back down. A full day in weather, all kinds of weather. Mr. Safety, my traveling buddy, packed his deep winter “old man” long johns. I rolled my eyes, even though I tried not to… I took the adventure seriously – or thought I did. After all, we’d done extreme (or our version of extreme hikes) in different parts of the US and Caribbean, even Greece.

On the other side of our hike to the peak, Mr. Safety’s over-preparing saved us from becoming a sad statistic. I wouldn’t want his head to swell in over-importance but he clearly understood the risk.

10 lessons Ben Nevis taught me

1. Ignorance is never bliss

The day before our hike, we both got scared we weren’t prepared enough. Thankfully Ben Nevis is a mecca for thrill seekers and the area a hive for adventure outfitters. We bought splash pants, wool undershirts, socks and gloves, spending double what we would have spent elsewhere. While I wish we would have brought the extra warmth from home, I’m grateful we were smart enough to see past our naivety before we began our assent.  

2. Being prepared for everything means accepting discomfort as your new normal

We began our assent at 8 am, in the rain. But it was also 16C (60F) and because the initial climb was steep we got hot fast. Really hot. Shedding layers in the rain was tricky but eventually we peeled off the underlayer of sweaters and shoved them in our backpacks. The higher we climbed though, the colder it got, which meant layering wet clothes over our now sweaty underclothes – all nicely trapped inside an outer shell. At the top, we were wet and soggy everywhere but as long as we kept moving, we were able to generate enough heat to keep our cores warm. Not exactly a walk in the park but survivable.

3. Smell the roses – or watch the sheep, whichever applies

The rain alternated between a light drizzle to full on pouring, deep rivers of water traveling down our jackets to soak our gloves, pants and finally shoes – all in the first hour of the climb. We weren’t the only people on the mountain and I questioned our mutual sanity. Collective stupidity. I’d like to tell you the view made up for the physical discomfort but we were shrouded in mist, not able to see more than 30 feet around us. As we climbed though, I began to notice clusters of sheep grazing near the path. Big, puffy balls of wool punctuated with gleaming, curved horns, marking which end was the head. And crazy as it sounds, they were beautiful. Simply beautiful. And they reminded me that we were all guests on this hill, just passing by for a brief visit, peacefully happy doing our own things alongside one another.

4. Find your own beat and focus on it

At the height of the rain pouring down on us, we kept our hoods drawn over our heads. Talking was out of the question as every available breath was reserved for keeping me alive. It was anything but quiet though. As the rain pelted down on my hood, the steady cadence of one shoe after another hitting the stones matched the continuous in and out of each breath. One breath, one step, relentless rain assaulting my hood. I couldn’t think further ahead than the next step and as I settled into the rhythm of the mountain, my anxiety, a heavy, oppressive thing weighing me down, began to lighten. And I remembered what Winston Churchill said during WWII – when you’re going through hell, just keep going. Thanks for that Winston, it really does work.

5. Ask for help – it will make you stronger in the end

By mid-morning the weather cleared and the mist thinned, allowing us to see the hills surrounding us and the sheep traversing them. For a while, things got easier – my breathing, the cold, the wet. But as my adrenaline evened out, I began to stumble. Mr. Safety would stop and ask if was okay, did I want to rest for a while. No, keep going, I’m fine. But after the third or fourth stumble, he declared it snack time and weird little gel packs were fished out of the backpack. I felt like a kid, squirting pudding into my mouth, swirling the velvety feel of chocolate around my tongue. Within minutes, the shaky feeling I’d been fighting dissipated. Even though we’d started our day with a full Scottish breakfast of fried eggs and haggis (vegetarian haggis for me), I’d used up all that energy in the first leg of our journey. I should have asked for help but I’m glad Mr. Safety knew what I needed before I did.

6. True love is taking a soaker for someone

A frantic stream of ice-cold water, rushing and gurgling past rocks and crags sliced the mountain at the halfway point. There were shockingly few places to step without landing in the drink, even for someone with long legs. Mr. Safety though bounded across the stream and landed on the other side, pretty darn proud of himself. In the middle of the stream, I balanced on a rock big enough for both feet but I was surrounded by rushing water on all sides, water that felt strong enough to pull me in. I froze. I couldn’t go back (pride) and couldn’t move forward (fear). If Mr. Safety hadn’t come back for me, I probably would have given up, turned around and declared defeat. But he did come back, giving himself soakers in both shoes to match mine. He laughed; I wanted to cry.

7. You might think you need a break but maybe you need to keep moving

When we eventually reached the summit, we sought out a shelter we’d heard was up there. Built 50 years ago and perched on a cairn, the little cavern of a shelter offered protection from the rain but nothing else. We climbed in and ate our lunch with another hiker. While we munched on our squished sandwiches, which felt like a 5-star meal, I began to notice an odd cooling, like someone had turned on the air conditioner suddenly. Within minutes, my teeth started chattering and my feet felt strange. I was slowly losing feeling in them. The first stages of hypothermia were settling in and I knew I just entered a race against time. If we didn’t start moving soon, I wouldn’t have the coordination to get myself off that mountain on my own steam. Mr. Safety kept telling me I was overacting, that I’d be fine, just take your time and eat your lunch, he said. But I was leaving that mountain, with or without him. Turns out that the only time we sat down that whole day was the hardest thing I did.

8. Competition is a healthy motivator

As we began our descent, my fear felt like a chokehold and even though I struggled to wiggle and feel my toes, I raced across those slick, wet rocks. We were ahead of a couple half our age and a hundred times more fit. And they were gaining on us fast. Mr. Safety kept urging me to slow down, let the kids pass. But I ignored him and kept the frenetic pace, despite the couple clipping at our heels. The speed helped my body generate the heat it needed to keep going. When I eventually stepped aside and let them pass, I silently thanked them.

9. You thought the climb up was hard but the climb down is always worse

Non-hikers often think the climb up is the challenge but experienced hikers know that getting down is often trickier. After hiking uphill for hours, drawing on all your inner resources to focus and, let’s be honest, stay alive, your body and mind conspire against you on the descent. Your muscles are depleted, which leads to shaking and tripping if you’re not careful. You get giddy that you’ve actually done it and you lose focus, which can also lead to tripping. While we walked up without conversing, the walk down is all about the talking. You keep each other focused on the work still ahead but the talking is also a communion of sorts. You’re in this together and getting each other to the bottom safely is the most important thing in the world.

10. Pizza is always appropriate

The prize for finishing the hike is a beer at the base of the mountain, with other crazy climbers. As we shed our outer clothes and drank our beer we exchanged stories, reveling in our joint success. And afterward, a shower that felt like heaven and clean, dry clothes that have never felt so good before. And then dinner, which called for pizza – hello carb loading. Pizza is an oddity in Scotland but we found a pizza place, more of a hole in the wall take-out joint. But that pizza and a bottle of wine back at our boarding house was one of the best meals I’ve ever enjoyed with Mr. Safety.

For some people a hike like this might be a slick accomplishment. For me, Ben Nevis has become a pivot point, the before and after, a crossing from one world to another. In this new world, I approach struggles with a more focused eye, understanding that success is both closer and farther away than I imagine. The climb was my classroom and each step forced me to embrace the synchronicity of my strength and vulnerability, co-joined twins that can’t live apart from each other. Success or failure matters less than whether I’m willing to even try, to bare myself to the possibility of what lies ahead.

I may have climbed the highest mountain in the UK but I’ll never say I bagged the Ben. I’m actually still climbing…