Sunday, August 27, 2006
I'm waiting for my man to return home. He's away after organising a Stag weekend on the banks of Loch Lomond near his parents' home. It is an idyllic spot on a good day. The weather however was not particularly good. Considering DH didn't pack any camping gear to come over from Canada he did remarkably well to scrounge up a couple of tents and sleeping bags. His wee brother gets married next weekend and this was the stag weekend he'd chosen over the usual pub, paintballing, stripper scene (although who knows what went on on the shoulders of Ben Lomond?).
Ben Lomond is the mountain above--the only Munroe I have ever bagged (that's what they call climbing the Munroes of Scotland). If I remember correctly, Munroes are Scottish mountains over 4000 feet. When I climbed it, ten years ago, I was dragged all the way up moaning and groaning. DH was telling me how good the view is from the top and I was telling him I liked it just fine from the bottom. However as I was passed by a 79 year old granmother I kicked my own butt and got up the hill.
It was gorgeous, but I still prefer the view from the bottom--maybe it is the painter in me?