When Hillwalking became Munro Bagging

When I stand on the summit of my final Munro this week, I am expecting a familiar blast of wind and rain in my face obscuring any views, before taking a quick selfie and getting ready to head back down through waterlogged peat bogs. The Munro summits haven't all been like that of course, but in these days of Instagram-ready photo opportunities, I feel that it is important from the get-go to be honest that a lot of the time this is exactly what you can expect. 

In Scotland we have the right to responsible access to all of the land, a right people campaigned hard for many years ago. Taking advantage of that to the full has led to me zig-zagging across the country climbing Scotland's highest peaks. I have loved every minute of it.

An inquisitive deer, in Glenfinnan

What are the Munros?

The Munros are a list of the Scottish mountains higher than 3000 feet in altitude, a list first drawn up in 1891 by Sir Hugh Munro. The list has been redrafted a few times as heights have been more accurately measured, and the interpretation of these being the highest peaks, separate and apart from any immediately adjacent summits changes with time. This means that the current list, maintained by the Scottish Mountaineering Club, currently stands at 282 summits. For the obsessives and pedants the complete list of summits over 3000 feet includes the 282 Munro summits plus a further 227 "Munro Tops", subsidiary peaks close to a higher Munro. Someone who has reached all 282 Munro summits is called a Munroist, or a Compleater. The archaic spelling is used, as found in e.g. the 1653 book The Compleat Angler. 

Finishing all 282 of Scotland's Munros is an achievement that will test your endurance and resolve, and it will absolutely test the patience of your friends and family. Even when not away on a walk, your time will be filled poring over various weather forecasts or route suggestions, planning the next trip. From Ben Hope in the north, Ladhar Bheinn the most westerly Munro on the mainland, in Knoydart, Ben Lomond to the south, and Mount Keen in the east, it is a great way to see all corners of Scotland north of the central belt. And then of course there are the islands, with 12 Munros on the Isle of Skye, and Ben Hope on the Isle of Mull. 

1980s hillwalking gear, in the Kilpatrick Hills

I have been hill-walking for 40 years, ever since some school friends and myself used to hitch-hike up Great Western Road on weekends and summer holidays, seeing where we could get to. Like many people in Glasgow we started off in the Kilpatrick Hills and the Campsie Fells just outside the city, before graduating to Ben Lomond and the Arrochar Alps, the steep, rocky mountains at the head of Loch Fyne such as Ben Ime, Ben Vorlich and the Cobbler. We walked the West Highland Way a few times in the days when you could camp anywhere along the route, and this introduced us to the mountains in Glen Coe, and to Ben Nevis near to the end point of the West Highland Way in Fort William. In those pre-internet days we were researching planned trips from books, and borrowing OS Maps from the library. The West Highland Way book at that time came with a good map that had enough hills on either side of the route to let you use it for further trips along that strip. This meant that some of the routes that we devised were a bit unconventional, joining up peaks along easier looking contour lines on the maps, but it was how we learnt to navigate. When I was 17 years old I got my first car, and Glen Etive and Glen Coe were our usual targets in those days.

Glen Etive and my pal's lovely classic Vango tent

Hillwalking with Diabetes

One challenge that I have had when hill-walking is that when I was 17 years old I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. In the 1980s this meant drawing up and mixing insulins for twice daily injections. Living in Scotland cool bags were never going to be necessary on our camping trips to keep the insulin fresh, but the early blood glucose testing strips were pretty tiresome. After two minutes you had to compare the coloured strip with the side of the bottle, to get a rather vague idea of what your sugar levels were doing. The large drop of blood these strips required is easy enough to extract in a warm room, but harder to get out of cold fingers on a Scottish mountaintop. My friends always knew how to deal with me, and what the signs were of my likely hypoglycaemia if I hadn't noticed it yet. On our first walk up Britain's highest summit, Ben Nevis, I was unfortunately ignoring their advice, obstreperously refusing to take the Mars bar they were trying to force upon me because "I can't eat those fucking things, I'M DIABETIC!". 

First time up Ben Nevis

We did make it to the top, and thankfully the technology for managing diabetes has advanced in leaps and bounds. Electronic glucometers have come along requiring less time and less blood to work, then we now have continuous glucose monitors, that I have stuck into my arm nowadays, that send a continuous message to my mobile phone to let me follow my blood glucose. Syringes and insulin vials were replaced by pre-filled injection pens, and I now use an insulin pump that is permanently stuck onto me, communicating with my glucose monitor to make dose adjustments. No longer do I have to unwrap layers of clothing to expose a bit of flesh for an injection in the middle of a gale, I can dial up the dose on an app to deliver the insulin that way before I take my sandwiches.

Exercise affects different people with diabetes in different ways. With me, prolonged steady exertion makes my insulin have a much bigger effect on my blood glucose, meaning that I have learned to start those days with a blood glucose level a bit higher than I normally would - either a larger than usual breakfast, or a lower insulin dose with that meal. There is also evidence that starting exercise within two hours of an insulin bolus increases the risk of low blood sugars, so again that is something that it is better to avoid. Then when I am walking I will need to keep an eye on my blood glucose levels and snack regularly through the day. For me that means about three Jelly Babies (15g carbohydrate) every couple of miles. Alternatively I have found it helpful to have a high carbohydrate snack once I reach a summit, such as a slice of fruitcake with a cup of coffee. 

Lots of other things can affect your blood sugar, so I always overdo it with regards to how much food I carry with me, and a high carbohydrate lunch is essential on a long day, made up of things like sandwiches, biscuits, dried fruit or flapjacks. Also lots of sugary snacks for emergencies. Kendal mint cake is a compact sugar kick, and macaroon bars, the nearest Scottish version (basically potatoes and sugar covered in desiccated coconut) are always handy to carry. Those do taste better than I am making them sound.

If I am camping for a few days, the food packing becomes like planning a military operation. I find a lot of the expensive, lightweight, freeze-dried camping foods focus more on their protein rather than carbohydrate content, and usually have an unpleasant sludgy consistency. When camping I tend to carry rye bread, which is compact and less easily crushed than white bread, and has a lower glycaemic index meaning a steadier increase in blood sugar levels. A tube of Primula cheese spread or Princes meat paste, and that's your lunches sorted. The small plastic pots of Creamed Rice Pudding are handy, and I find the pouches of lentils and grains available cheaply in any supermarket (eg by Merchant Gourmet, and Lidl do good ones too) easy to carry and quick to heat up on a camping stove. 

Everybody with diabetes will react differently to exercise and to different foods. I only include these details here as ideas for other people to consider, but an element of individual trial and error is involved. 

The other thing with diabetes is that you need to look after your feet, due to the higher risk of foot ulcers and infection. So no blisters allowed. For that reason I spend a bit of time and effort seeking out well-fitting boots. Personally I always find it easier to maintain a good pair of leather boots, and keep them waterproof. 

The type of place where getting a drop of blood
from your finger can prove challenging

Becoming a Munro Bagger

About 3 years ago I morphed from being a hillwalker into a Munro bagger. I didn't ever plan to catch them all, but I kind of fell into it after being released from Covid lockdown. At that time I started looking for more remote mountains to walk in, still feeling a need to keep my distance from other people as I work in the health service where we were still being exposed to the virus. Like a potential plague carrier I was trying to keep away from the more popular mountain routes. 

When I had a short break with my family up in Achiltibuie in early 2022, as is often the case, I deserted them one day and walked up the nearby Stac Pollaidh on that trip. Although at 1600 feet this beautiful peak is not a Munro, while I was there my daughter bought me a wee Munro log book in the bookshop in Ullapool. Looking through this book, ticking off the mountains within it which I had already climbed I was surprised that I had actually climbed less than I thought, about 40 of them. These were all generally within 90 minutes drive of Glasgow, and I had been up and down the same mountains several times. In winter and in summer, in rain, snow and occasionally in sunshine, in proper gear, and (in earlier days) in denims and trainers. I had my favourites, such as Buachaille Etive Mòr and Ben Lomond. I had some, such as Schiehallion, that I climbed 5 times before I ever did it on a day when the clouds cleared and I was actually able to enjoy a view. There were also some areas that I had never done any hillwalking at all, such as in the Cairngorms. 

Buachaille Etive Mòr

I still did not think that I was planning to do them all, but once I had been handed a list I inevitably enjoyed ticking them off. In the high Cairngorms plateaux you can manage a round of four or five peaks without much ascending and descending. The Ring of Steall in the Mamores traverses four Munro summits in one 10 mile walk. Then a day spent walking along the glorious South Glen Shiel Ridge means that you have reached seven Munro summits in a single day. Quite quickly the numbers rise and it begins to look achievable. Once your friends and family notice you may be gifted a few mountaineering books and a scratch-off map of Munro summits (I got two). You then have another visual list to work through. You start to see the points on your map within the excellent Walkhighlands website turning from red to blue, the small rewards that feed your addiction start to kick in. So instead of having walked 40 Munros, I quickly reached 100 Munros. Then 150 became achievable. Once I reached 182, there was "only" 100 left to go.

I knew that I had some challenges ahead. I tend to go walking alone. For me it is a fabulous way to unwind and think about where you are putting your next footstep, rather than fretting about the day to day worries of life. Usually walking alone meant that I wanted to be better prepared for some of the exposed ridges ahead. I booked myself onto a scrambling course at Glenmore Lodge at Aviemore, and then the next weekend took myself off along the Schoolhouse Ridge at Ballachulish to tackle Sgòrr Dhearg and Sgòrr Dhòuill.

Sgòrr Dhòuill, above Ballachulish

This opened up a list of some of the more challenging Munros I had been avoiding, but there were still the 12 Munros on the Isle of Skye, particularly the 11 on the Black Cuillin Ridge that definitely required a bit of climbing. You can't complete a round of the Munros without facing this. I took a week off work in May this year, and with fingers crossed that the weather gods would smile upon me I booked a guide to help me traverse the Cuillins. (Many guides are available but I used Abacus Mountain Guides, as they are involved in training other guides, and I would highly recommend them.)

 

The Cuillin Ridge, viewed from Elgol on the Isle of Skye

In amongst the Cuillin summits

In preparation I started attending an indoor climbing wall, and took a two session beginners course in roped climbing at The Climbing Academy's Prop Store in Maryhill. This meant that when I came to the Cuillins I was confidently able to tie myself on to a rope and had a basic understanding of what was required. With four nights booked at the Glenbrittle Campsite I knocked it off with the weather. Unbroken sunshine, blue skies, and next to no wind meant plenty of midges at the campsite, but dry rock and glorious views across the sea to the islands lying below us once we were up on the gabbro rock of the Black Cuillins. Climbing the resplendently named Inaccessible Pinnacle (the "In Pinn") had been something I had imagined as completely impossible ever since I was about 14 years old and we used to joke about doing it when we started hillwalking. It was an absolute joy to actually manage it, and to then have my first go at abseiling to descend from it. 

The Inaccessible Pinnacle on Skye

Abseiling off the In Pinn

Once I had overcome all the most difficult mountains it was the practical aspects of getting to the remaining mountains that became a challenge. A few days in Gairloch with my wife was meant to give me the chance to tackle the Torridon mountains, but absolutely miserable weather meant we instead enjoyed being tourists again in a part of Scotland we had not visited together since we were students. 

Ben Hope in Sutherland is nearly 6 hours drive from where I live in Glasgow, and once I had got there I was not for coming back another day. So it was attacked in gale force winds and horizontal rain. Weather forecasting websites became my most visited sites. I find the Mountain Weather Information Service useful for planning ahead and its "chance of cloud free Munros" a helpful indicator. The Met Office mountain forecasts tend to be best for predicting summit conditions as these, such as wind speeds, can often be very different from nearby sea level conditions. The Norwegian weather site is helpful in providing actual numbers for expected rainfall or snowfall, which I find more helpful than just one, two or three raindrops shown under an image of a cloud on other websites, although its summit wind speeds are always wildly inaccurate.

There is also some logistics required in reaching for example the three Munros in Knoydart. Without any road access it either involves a long walk in, or the more enjoyable ferry in from Mallaig. I had this all lined up for a relaxed long weekend at the start of August, but as Storm Floris approached I had to get around these mountains in a forced march to catch the ferry back to Mallaig a day earlier than planned. Thankfully I made it as there were no ferries the following day and staying another night in a tent as I had intended would have been foolhardy.

Camping on Knoydart, before the storm

The final summit

There comes a point where you have to decide what is going to be your final Munro. Most people will aim at a single peak which is quite isolated, and Ben More on the Isle of Mull has been a popular choice. Taken by the easiest route it presents no particular difficulties, but unless you live on Mull, it is going to involve an overnight stay for most people. This makes it a good choice to celebrate completing (or is it compleating?) your round. In the last few months I have got through the remaining mountains quicker than I had expected, and impatiently unwilling to leave it until the surer weather of next springtime I arranged a few days off work in November to get over there. The other reason that I wanted to have Ben More as my final summit is that I have been staring at a print of Samuel Peploe's painting "Ben More from Iona" on my wall for the past 25 years. I bought it in Kirkcaldy Art Gallery's gift shop after seeing the original there: they have a very fine collection of paintings by the Scottish Colourists. It has been in every house I have lived in since, in an over the top gold frame that used to hold a postcard with Rembrandt in it.

Samuel Peploe's Ben More from Iona

So this weekend we came to Mull to tackle Ben More. CalMac tried to thwart us by cancelling our ferry, but we made it. Despite the low cloud and high winds meaning views from the top were not going to be happening it was with a sense of relief rather than excitement that I completed my Munro round. A curry in The Spice of Mull, and a night in The Mishnish lie ahead.

A beach on the Isle of Mull

A toast from my grandad's hip flask
at the top of Ben More

What comes next?

Having completed all of the Munros I am looking forward to not following a list. I have already gone back to visit a few that stood out on my first time around. Last week I enjoyed going back to The Mamores above Kinlochleven, re-visiting two summits that were a bit of a trial last time. I had twisted my knee on the second day of a three day trip and limped over the final summits of that trip growling and grimacing. There are also a few mountains that I have already planned to approach in the new year on a different route from last time, and a few that I would like to see in better weather. 

I have absolutely loved the way it has cajoled me into visiting parts of the country that I would probably not have seen otherwise. It has pushed me to learn new skills, as well as been a great incentive to maintain my fitness. When not hillwalking I regularly go running to maintain my stamina, and I will keep that going as well, with applications in for a couple of hill races in the coming months. I have already reached 72 of the 227 Munro Tops in reaching the Munros, but have no great urge to visit the remainder. Of course there are the Corbetts, the 222 mountains in Scotland between 2500 feet and 3000 feet. This is a mixed bag of rocky mountains and grassy hillocks and I think I would enjoy picking and choosing from this list rather than feeling an obligation to tackle them all. I have already been up Clisham, the Corbett in the Outer Hebrides earlier this year, and Askival and Ainshval on Rum would be an excuse to visit an island that I have not been to before. 

You can also register your name with the "Clerk of the List" maintained on behalf of the Scottish Mountaineering Club, a record of Munro Compleatists. With the Reverend A.E,Robertson in 1901 being the first, the official list now contains 8190 names. Will I bother to do that? Of course I bloody will, although I am not sure that I would ever wear the official pin badge of tie that I can purchase. 

The main thing I would take away from this is that we should all take advantage of the right to roam that we have in Scotland. To quote Woodie Guthrie, this land was made for you and me. So go and explore it. 

When you're going hillwalking in the morning, and you've got a Bryan Adams gig to go to in the afternoon. Circa 1990

Bert Dobbie

Bert Dobbie - engineer, mountaineer and Scottish Skiiing Pioneer, 1924 - 2018

Bert Dobbie

This is a fuller version of the obituary for Bert Dobbie, that appeared in the Glasgow Herald, 26 February 2018.

Robert Dobbie, known as Bert, was an engineer, mountaineer and skiing pioneer. He died last Saturday in St Margaret’s Hospice, after a short illness, aged 93. The last time I saw him he was watching the opening ceremony from South Korea, where the world’s best skiers were gathering for the Winter Olympics. In Scotland Bert was one of the people who built the early ski tows and ski huts for a fledgling sport, and for many years led the team that ensured the safety of skiers and evacuated the injured from Glencoe.

He was brought up in Maryhill, close to the Maryhill PublicBaths and Wash House, in a large family with nine brothers and sisters. He was born on 12^th July 1924 to Robert, who worked as a leerie, and Margaret. As well as running the home she worked in a chip shop, out in the morning to peel potatoes, and again at night to sell fish and chips.

Bert Dobbie, skiing in Glencoe, 1945

He started his working life as a boy in Maryhill delivering newspapers to the soldiers in Maryhill Barracks, earning tips by discreetly smuggling in cigarettes amongst their more mundane supplies. After leaving North Kelvinside School, aged 14 he began working in a grocer’s shop in Cleveden. He played the bugle in the local Boys Brigade, and early climbing experience for Maryhill boys could be found on the high dykes or on the rough walls of a local stable, the dung midden at the bottom providing a soft, if unappealing landing if you fell.

Bert Dobbie as a young man

It was in the 1930s that working-class men and women from the cities of Scotland started to take to the hills for recreation and Bert was part of that unofficial movement. Their pioneering spirit established the rights to roam in the Scottish countryside that we take for granted now. The ethos of these people was encapsulated by those that sat around the Craigallian fire, on the Carbeth estate. Discussions around the fire would range from walking and climbing tips, to debates on Socialism and the Spanish Civil War. Bert would sit as a teenager with these older men and listen to their stories and songs whilst a “drum” of tea was kept going on the fire. He was recently delighted to attend the unveiling of a memorial to these people near Strathblane. It was around the fire that the Lomond and Creagh Dhu Mountaineering Clubs were formed.

Hillwalking in Scotland, always big groups of men and women out in the hills together

As a young man he started walking in the Campsies andKilpatrick Hills, where in 1938 he met his lifelong friend Tom McGuinness. Together they would cut their teeth as rock climbers on the walls of The Whangie. Other favourite walks were around Balmaha where, as a strong swimmer, Bert would often head out into Loch Lomond to retrieve a boat to take him and his companions out to the islands. Ever practical, he and his friends would later build their own kayaks to spend weekends out on Loch Lomond. He was a great lover of sleeping out in the open air and told me of numerous dry nooks and crannies to doss down in on many a Scottish mountainside.

At the top of The Cobbler, early 1940s

Later he became a member of the Lomond Mountaineering Club and on Saturday mornings, with members of the Creagh Dhu Club, they would often clamber onto the back of a Bryson’s milk lorry at Anniesland Cross, as it headed towards Campbeltown. Getting off near the Rest and Be Thankful, TheCobbler and the Arrochar Alps were soon within their reach. Sleeping out overnight, they would catch the lorry on the road back on Sunday night. The driver would get a shilling for his trouble and in the back of the lorry they could dip their tea cans into the tanks for some fresh milk.

During the war Bert worked as a boilermaker on the Clyde, at the Clan Line Steamers Repairing Workshops. Occasionally this would involve passage on the ships as they went up and down to Liverpool or further afield. At weekends he was always back in the hills. Whilst his friend Tom could discreetly cut and fashion metal at his work in Barr and Stroud’s, to make nails for their climbing boots or create his own version of a carabiner, Bert would fashion ice axes and crampons in his workplace as their climbing abilities grew.

Dressed in tweeds and clambering up a rockface

On the night of the Clydebank Blitz, Bert and Tom were staying in a caravan at Halfway and became aware of the extent of what was happening the next morning as they came across families fleeing their homes. They gave up their caravan to some of them and spent a week off work helping the Scouts organisation set up tents and fires for those made homeless and forced to live under canvas for the first time in their lives.

Skiing in Glencoe

Preparing the equipment

En route to Skye, 1945. Left to right this is Ian Martn, Grace Morris, Bill Forrest, Margaret Morris, Rod Urquart, Willie Gordon, Anne Williams, Cath Simpson, Bert Dobbie and Tom McGuinness

When heavy falls of new snow made climbing unsafe, members of the mountaineering clubs became the first people to ski regularly in Glencoe. The favoured spot was on Meall a’Bhuridh, above Ba Cottage on RannochMoor. Ba Cottage was a substantial empty building over two floors, owned by the Black Mount Estate and it became a regular “doss” for the mountaineering clubs. After the Second World War ex-army skis, boots and other equipment meant that more working-class people from the cities took part in the climbing and skiing, and their popularity as recreation grew.

Climbers from the Ba Cottage were known to poach the occasional deer, and in 1948 the gamekeepers decided that they had had enough. Occasional poaching was not unusual, particularly as the war years had led to an increase in deer numbers. However, Bert remembered that things came to a head after one of his companions did some poaching with a German machine gun that he had brought back as a souvenir from the war. In response the estate gamekeepers felt a line had been crossed and burnt down the Ba Cottage.

The famous Ba Cottage, before it was burned down, skis at the ready

Camping in Glencoe, though to avoid carrying excess weight most nights were spent bivouacking, rather than under canvas

Undaunted, temporary camps of climbers grew up three miles further up into Glencoe. Using salvaged material from the Ba Cottage, and some tarpaulins from a railway yard in Tyndrum, Bert supervised his colleagues in building a new doss for the Lomond Mountaineering Club members from an old sheep fank, at White Corries near to where the Glencoe Ski Centre car park now sits.

Building the "sheep fank doss" in Glencoe, left to right Archie McFarlane, A.N.Other?, Bill Forrest, Andrew Wynd, Hugh Forrest, Ian Martin, Andrew Pryde, Tom McGuinness. Photo taken by Bert Dobbie

Bert Dobbie re-visiting the site of former doss of the Lomond Mountaineering Club in Glencoe last year

As an accomplished skier he travelled all over Scotland. He was spending a few days on Cairngorm with friends one time when famous hills man Tom Weir came clambering up the snow with his skis on. Amazed at the lack of polish on his wooden skis that had allowed him to do this, Bert lent him his expertise. After drying the skis by the fire, they were waxed up for him. Afterwards as Tom Weir whizzed down the hillside at a rate of knots, his red woollen hat and his gloves flew into the air as he disappeared over the horizon. Bert recalled that his immediate thought was "My God, I’ve killed Tom Weir."

Loaded up with climbing gear on the old Bergans backpacks and heading out on the motorbike

Looking towards the Hornli Ridge on the Matterhorn, 1949

After the war Bert started motorbiking on an old Triumph, and as well as giving him the freedom to go further afield in Scotland, he undertook some expeditions into Europe. One of my favourite photographs of his, from July 1949, shows him eyeing up the Hornli Ridge and the north face of the Matterhorn. As well as the Matterhorn, with the Lomond Club he also tackled Mont Blanc, the Eiger, and Picos de Europa in Spain. On one of his trips to Europe on the bike, he was refused entry to a restaurant for not wearing a tie. He went back outside and returned having ripped up an old cloth to fashion into a makeshift tie. When he found himself being admitted, he tore it off in disgust and walked out. This attitude of walking away from stuffiness and rules was a lifelong characteristic.

Skiing in the Campsies in the 1940s, past the Carbeth huts

Blackrock Cottage in Glencoe, which shows the extension they built here in the 1950s to store their ski equipment

Skiing at Ben Alder 1949

Whenever possible it was skiing he was returning to more and more often. When heavy snowfall meant the buses could not run to Glencoe, the Campsies sufficed. One highlight he remembered was in 1951 when a group of Norwegians set up a ski jump on Braid Hills in Edinburgh, though ski jumping did not seem to catch on. The Scottish Ski Club and Philip Rankin planned a ski tow at Glencoe to make the slopes there more accessible, and for this the engineering skills of Bert and several other members of the Creag Dhu and Lomond Clubs were exploited. Forming volunteer work parties and man-handling the equipment up the mountainside, the ski tows they constructed took their first passengers up Meall a’Bhuridh in 1956. His advice was later sought in the Aviemore developments.

First ski tow being built in Glencoe, 1956

In the 1960s he learned to become an accomplished seaman, sailing on a boat owned by his friend Glen Perry. Among his companions his excellent seamanship was greatly respected, whether in races or on trips to the islands. Later he was regularly deployed as coxswain on his cousin Jack Williamson’s boat. He developed an intimate knowledge of every rock, skerry and hazard on the treacherous waterways of the West coast and around the Sound of Mull. Years later in their 80s and 90s he still enjoyed an annual sailing trip up this way with old friends. One frustration in later years was that whenever they approached St Kilda, the weather turned against them and stopped them ever being able to disembark there.

Glencoe remained his true home from home, and for years he was a familiar face on the ski slopes there. When Tom McGuinness became manager of the ski resort in the late 1960s Bert was recruited to lead the Ski Rescue team at weekends. Alan Thomson’s book on Glencoe describes Bert as “the forceful leader” of the formative Glencoe Ski Rescue team, working there to ensure the safety of skiers and climbers over several decades. Their training came from years of personal experience on the hills and many of the casualties they dealt with over the years had suffered major trauma. In the early days friendly doctors would supply them with vials of morphine to give to any badly injured skiers or climbers, to help get them off the hills. The safety pin used on one occasion through an unconscious skier’s tongue to stop it slipping back and choking him as he was transported down the slope, is probably a technique that physicians no longer use.

Bert Dobbie, second on the left in the Glencoe Ski Rescue team

He married Jessie Thomson in 1950, and they shared their love of the Scottish hills, going away on many expeditions together, or further afield in the caravan he constructed for them. When her health was failing he spent many evenings up and down the roads to Ayrshire on his bike after work to visit her in hospital, and he was widowed in the early 1990s.

In his 70s he met my grandmother, Edna Climie, who was also widowed. Their friendship grew and led to them living happily together for over 20 years. The pair of them were never at home, and a morning run in the car was as likely to end up in Norwich as it was Drymen.

In later life he still took any opportunity to get into the great outdoors. A group of old friends met twice a year to stay in the GlenBrittle Hut in Skye and head to Coire Lagan in the Cuillins, or to go on sailing trips. When these outings started they called themselves the “500 Club”, the combined total of the ages of the seven men getting together, but as it got closer to becoming the “600 Club” they were still getting out to the hills together. Bert continued to keep his orthopaedic surgeon's busy, as he returned to ski again in Glencoe in his 80s after getting knee replacement surgery. 

Bert Dobbie 1924 - 2018

Latterly he became an attentive carer for my gran, after she developed dementia. Despite his own recent illness, he managed to continue looking after her in their own home until only a few days before he succumbed to the consequences of his exposure to asbestos in his early working life.

Bert is of the generation of Scottish men and women who felt that we all had a right to use the land around us. Self-taught and highly skilled, these early adventurers did not shout about their exploits, but are the people who made the outdoors great for us all. For us no family gathering will be the same now without Bert's songs, laughter and fantastic stories. 

Glencoe (1939 - 1994) from Doug Bryce on Vimeo.

Here are a couple of photos from February 2018 of the ruins of Ba Cottage, Glencoe Ski Centre and from Meall a'Bhuiridh. I went for a walk, taking Bert's old Bergan backpack to some familiar haunts. Funnily enough, the only deer that I spotted were above Ba Cottage, who obviously hadn't heard some of these old stories.