It’s hard to know why the story of our wee trip in April 2008 to the Corbett, Beinn Each, was never written.  I found it one of the most enjoyable half day walks we ever tackled, courtesy of a mere 2m of bog…one of the lowest bog counts encountered on our travels.  Maybe its omission was due to our busy hillwalking schedule or perhaps because the walk was so short it was damn near impossible to create a decent back story – something de rigeur for the Fatdog “Tails” of that period.  In those days the “Tails” appeared on the forum scottishhills.com.  It would be another 8 months before the first incarnation of Where The Fatdog Walks would hit the blogoshere.

As I brush a thick layer of dust from the cover of the huge leatherbound tome, the ornately scrolled title becomes clearer.  Where The Fatdog Walks stands out in big black letters; once shiny but now dimmed by time and faded in memory.  This near-forgotten volume of “Tails” still holds the magic of days past and a picture of places to which I may never return.

“Ugh…!” you say,

 “We don’t come here for mushy claptrap like ‘…places to which I may never return!'”

I believe, not that I’m an expert in this field, that you should always have three points of contact when climbing.  This is a useful guide for any form of awkward ascending.  At present I have four.  Sadly none of them are greater than 1cm diameter and two are much, much, less.  It is those two that are, at the minute, holding me upright.  Dave MacLeod would be impressed.