Southwest England isn't the most convenient base for a keen Munroist, but Rob Horler (username foinhaven) hasn't let that stop him. Having completed a 10 year-plus round of Scotland's 3000-footers in 2013 he looks back on the good times and the hard, and the many characters met along the way.  

The sky is dark and wet snow is in the air. It is Sunday the 16th January 2011 and I have just walked into the Drovers Inn on the banks of Loch Lomond, wet through and attracting strange looks from the Sunday afternoon punters who are locked into battle with pints and giant plates of food. Coffee is ordered and I begin to gently steam by the log fire while the punters drift back to their meals, no doubt wondering what on earth has just walked in. But I am not bothered as another Munro has been bagged and the 2011 campaign is under way, despite the fact I was introduced to my Coccyx on the way down. Ouch!

So where did it all begin? Well, back in 1996 and the height of my hazy party days someone challenged me to walk the West Highland Way and as I was getting bored with all the socialising I decided to give it a bash. A great week followed and was crowned by an ascent of Ben Nevis. Not that I even knew anything about Munros back then, I would probably have thought it was the name of a Scottish barman! Gradually the partying fizzled out and walking and mountains became my passion.

Usually joined by a couple of lads from the pub I began to explore the walks and scrambles in Wales and the Lakes but quickly realised that the big playground was Scotland. A trip was arranged and a few of the classics climbed  - Liathach, Beinn Eighe and Slioch.

By 2004 I was keeping records of my hillwalking and I had done over 20 Munros. Work was not very enjoyable at this point and with the summer looming and a few quid in the bank I told my bad boss that I had had enough, and packed the car for the journey north. Life is too short to waste time.

"Soon my tally was nearing fifty and I was hooked, well it certainly beats staying at home watching TV"

As I drove up the A9 I noticed a sign for Linda’s “Pottery Bunkhouse” in Laggan, which looked a good location to strike out from. There turned out to be a good group of hill walkers and climbers staying, and good craic was guaranteed. One guy who stood out was Jim, a sprightly 75 year old ex shipyard foreman from Glasgow who used to get his mates to make metal pegs for him in exchange for fags. He used to work Saturday mornings, play rugby in the afternoon then head to Fort William on his motorbike in all weathers to get a days climbing on the Ben the following day.

Soon my tally was nearing fifty and I was hooked, well you have to do something don’t you and it certainly beats staying at home and watching the telly. By talking to other outdoor folk you learn a lot, a sort of handing down of acquired knowledge and a couple of things Jim told me had stuck in my mind. One was the tip off of cheap accommodation in Glen Affric in the form of the wooden building which used to house hydro dam workers in the Fifties - just the ticket for a Munro bum watching his pennies. The other was simple. Get on your bike son!

Glen Affric was fabulous and one of the most enjoyable periods I have ever had in the hills. The old wooden bunkhouse had a collection of great characters staying and I am still walking with one of them to this day, my good friend Howard. We hit it off straight away and I have learnt so much from him over the years. The area poses some interesting logistical challenges, being remote and without many metalled roads. We found out that an old guy called Carl who originally hailed from Denmark ran a boat up Loch Mullardoch so along with another six walkers we chugged up the loch to be dropped at the start of our walk. I love novel ways of doing things.

"Until you experience the worst a mountain can throw at you I do not think you have seen its true nature; you learn nothing by always picking perfect days to go out"

Another guy staying at the bunkhouse was Rab, a Black Cab driver from Glasgow who had completed them all and was bagging Corbetts. 'How did you get on with the In Pinn Rab?' I enquired, knowing that he'd expressed a fear of heights. 'Well Rob' was his reply, 'the guide I went with was also interested to see how I would cope so I simply told him that compared to driving a taxi in Glasgow on Saturday night it should be a breeze.'

Glen Affric was also where the legendary beast of Affric was captured by a local farmer. Iit turned out to be a puma and was named Felicity and lived for many years at the wildlife sanctuary in Kingussie. She was stuffed after her death and is now on display in the museum in Inverness. The moral of the story is to always take a tin of cat food with you on the hills.

Shortly afterwards I negotiated a two-month period off work every winter without pay, which really opened the door to some serious time in Scotland, but also meant much of the action would take place during the most testing conditions. With other hobbies such as skiing and easier winter routes to fall back on I was very pleased. Until you experience the worst a mountain can throw at you I do not think you have seen its true nature, you learn nothing by always picking perfect days to go out on.

After one really bleak week in January I found myself going into the local garage in Ullapool to strike up a conversation with the girl on the till. I had not seen another human for three days and it felt a bit weird. It reminded me of Alan Partridge and the Geordie guy who worked at the garage that he befriended but that can be Scotland in January for you.

It was also in Ullapool that I managed to combine a week on the hills with a festival, the fantastic Loopallu headlined by one of my favourite bands,The Stranglers. So I got to see a great band and my objective for the following day at the same time, as the mountains dominated the background of the festival site. Rachel and her mad dog joined me the day after the gig and despite my protests, she unleashed the creature onto the hill. An altercation with some stalkers followed which I managed to smooth over. I am not sure it was the dog that needed taking care of.

On the subject of stalkers I have generally found them to be fine; they do what they do and we do what we do - you have to make it work. Several times they have given me lifts when I was cold and tired including the time I walked out of Beinn Hesagarnich, the only problem being I was in the back of the truck with two carcases. Still, beggars can't be choosers.

Around this time I joined the Avon Mountaineering Club (AMC) and quickly found out I was not alone in my passion. New friendships were formed and I was itching to have a bash at rock climbing after completing several courses, as it would open up so many more possibilities. I'd soon climbed my first Scottish mountain route on the superb Buachaille Etive Mòr and others followed like Lochnagar's Eagle Ridge. Not a bad way to bag a Munro. Also memorable ascents of Squareface and Mitre Ridge, high up on Beinn a'Bhuird where again, the use of a bike was essential.

It was with friends from AMC I experienced my only lighning storm to date on Beinn Mhanach (we called it Beinn Maniac afterwards!). Another time I was staying in this area, I befriended a rather sprighly elderly gentleman called Robert Mcdonald and we remain friends. Robert is a remarkable guy who started walking when he was 41 and is now on his 9th round of the Munros at 73. He is incredibly fit and very interesting and although some people question his dedication to the hills I just respect him. I was very pleased when he joined me on my last one.

A crack team of AMC took on the Fisherfield hills in 2010 during a glorious period of weather. These are probably the remotest hills in the UK. There were a few sniggers when they saw my supplies for the trip, six snickers bars and a pot noodle. Ask any of them who had the last laugh. ALWAYS have a midge head net, would you agree guys?

Time and again the bike was proving an invaluable tool, not least in the Cairngorms where I managed to turn around potentially long days even in the depths of winter, with the added buzz of a fast ride out at the end of the day, as you generally follow glens uphill to the start of the walking. Sometimes I would doss in my van in the car park behind Aviemore's premier “nite spot” to be awoken by rowdy clubbers leaving the establishment. How the tables had turned, poacher turned gamekeeper?

"By talking to other outdoor folk you learn a lot, a sort of handing down of acquired knowledge "

The only thing that ever really stopped me was the weather - particularly deep snow or wind. I think there were only four occasions when I failed to complete my objective but a windy Ciste Dhubh was one of them. Do not try to go out in 80mph wind, it is a brainless action.

Skye can be the nemesis of the hillwalker, with its narrow jagged ridges. On a week of stunning weather one June we did, among others, the Clach Glas Traverse to Bla Bheinn and the Dubh Ridge via the boat from Elgol, a great trip. The skipper even stopped the boat on the return journey to let me fish. We climbed the In Pinn, bete noire for many nervous hillwalkers, then the following day did the Coire Laggan round, an excellent day finished with a lock-in at the Old Inn at Carbost where a local guy “Bam” helped us sample the local produce. He had his name tattoed on his knuckles in case he forgot.

Not a million miles away is Knoydart, which is very rough remote country, and Inverie is a good base to strike out from. There are some great characters here and an eight mile stretch of road which is not subject to UK highway law, so the locals drive up and down it in old junkers with no tax or MOT, a bit like deliverance country but friendlier. I stayed on the beach in my tent and cooked fresh mussels every day for breakfast. It was June and you could read without light at midnight. One night there was a céilidh and they stopped the music at 1am and everybody went outside to watch a meteor shower. You could hardly do that on Park Steet could you?

Another remote place is Sutherland and I have spent a lot of time here. There are a few Munros including the most Northerly Ben Hope and Ben More Assynt, a geologist's wet dream. Every hill here seems to rise from the sea and seems more detached than mountains in other areas. We'd usually stay at the Inchnadamph Hotel where we befriended the owners, leading to several new year parties including the obligitory new year's day loch swim. The hotel has no television and a fantastic atmosphere at the bar and attracts all sorts of randoms.

Well my Munro score got to the point where I was very much nearer the end than the begining and I found that my procrastination had caught up with me, leaving some tricky missions ahead. Starting a walk at 4am is not my cup of tea; anyone who knows me is aware of my dislike of early alarm calls but needs must. The South Kintail ridge was one I had put off for a long time so when I awoke early in the Kintail Lodge Hotel and gazed out at a starlit February sky, it had to be done. The hotel were great with me and it has a fab bunhouse with private rooms. The girls were very chuffed that Brad Pitt had rolled in there on a Harley the previous year while he was having a break from making a zombie film in Glagow, and ordered a beer.

"My Munro score got to the point where I was very much nearer the end than the begining"

I got to the Clunaie Inn at 4am and started walking in the eerie stillness. Hundreds of green eyes stared at me as my head torch lit up a herd of deer. Arriving at the second of seven Munros at 7.30am as the sun rose was something I will never forget. I finished the round by hitching a lift from a nurse, up the glen to the starting point. Hitching is always an option and always a good laugh, I have had lifts from all nationalities and I even sat with two dogs in the back of a camper while their dope smoking owners ferried me along the glen.

A few more long weekends and the end game was close. Shona kindly drove up for one weekend and I finished the Mamores and we stayed in a super bothy up the River Nevis, complete with a golden eagle bang on cue as we arrived at our home for the night. Shona has completed the Munros but that is no suprise as few could match her energy and enthusiasm.

The most challenging one? Probably Beinn Bhrotain in the snow last year, I had to give it my all. The easiest? Carn Aosda (or Carn Asda if you are Bristolian) the twenty nine minute Munro. It took us 25 minutes to push our bikes up and four to descend what is a red run in winter. And the most fun? Ben Cruachan which was my last and to this day the only one I have had the pleasure of consuming a high quality bottle of malt on the way down.

All in all it has been a great crack, I have met some great characters and had a lot of fun and also experienced some hard times. What next? Maybe the Corbetts of which I have done a good few. As Magnus Magnusson famously said "I have started so I will finish"

So if you are sitting in a bar in Scotland one day and a dripping wet figure walks in, maybe you should buy them a coffee or something stronger; after all they may just have a story to tell.

Here's a short film of Rob and friends on his final Munro: