I DIDN’T DISCOVER mountaineering; I was born into a mountaineering family, and our family holidays revolved around hillwalking. As my sister and I grew and got stronger, so did my dad’s ambitions. Walking evolved into scrambling and summer into winter.
Our first winter mountaineering trip was to Glen Coe. My ice axe was long enough to reach my shoulders and my waterproof jacket reached my knees. The week was blessed with a snowline almost at glen level, and lots of sunshine. We plodded our way up Ben Nevis to find the triangulation point almost completely buried. A wild and reckless bum slide down the Red Burn took us back to below the Halfway Lochan. This was Type 1 fun. I had fallen in love with winter mountaineering and couldn’t wait
