I BELIEVE we have entered a glorious new era – the hillwalking era. Everyone I know has at least attempted to do a bit of hillwalking over the past couple of weeks. People who I know for a fact have previously scoffed at the very notion of traipsing up a big hill are getting a squad together and heading for Scotland’s munros.

I remember being a wee boy and watching the news at six with my maw. At the end of the weather they used to give a wee hillwalking guide on what the weather would be like at certain elevations on certain popular hills. I remember scoffing at this. “Hillwalking?!” I’d say, incredulously. “Why wid ye want tae walk up a big hill in the rain? I’ll never dae that.”

Well, look at me now. Any joy 10-year-old me would feel at seeing that I’m now a writer would immediately be quelled by the fact that I’m now a fan of going up hills in my spare time.

I may have only climbed a few, relatively wee hills, but I well and truly have the hillwalking bug. I started with Tinto Hill down near Biggar a wee while ago. Apparently, it is recommended as your first hill to climb as it is “relatively easy” and a good way to start building up your “hill stamina”. 

Full of bravado and expecting it to be a canter, me and the dug rocked up wearing shorts and t-shirt and a pair of Adidas Stan Smiths (I was wearing this, not the dug). I had a rucksack on as well, really so I’d look the part because all that was in it was a can of juice, my phone, car keys and a wee bag of treats for the dug – an incentive for him to keep going should he decide that this was a terrible idea and he’d rather just be walking round Hogganfield Loch or something.

Getting out the motor and seeing the hill from the bottom, I couldn’t help but notice it looked a lot bigger than the pictures I’d looked at online. I swear the dug got out the motor, looked at the hill, looked at me and then sighed a sigh that came all the way up from his toes.

“Well, we’re here noo,” I said to him – and away we went. It’s quite a gentle hill, not too steep but still a bit boggy and rocky in some places. Halfway up and the dug was springing about like a mountain goat while I tried to keep my balance. I was cursing myself all the way up for doing this but the higher we got, the more I started to enjoy it.

Maybe it was the altitude messing with my mind, who knows. But reaching the top was an incredible feeling. The views were amazing and on a really clear day you can apparently see all the way over to Ailsa Craig and even down to the Lake District. It was class.

Buoyed by how surprisingly easy it was and the buzz of reaching the top, I suggested to my girlfriend that we should climb Dumyat Hill in Stirling. “Here, we should take the dugs as well,” I said. The dugs in question being our wee dug, Timmy, her parents’ labradoodle, Noodle, and her brother’s cockapoo, Dora. Wrangling three, very headstrong, dugs up a hill was certainly challenging. Especially when, thanks to me, we followed the wrong path up the hill. 

The car park was bouncing when we arrived, but we soon found ourselves on a very empty side of the hill, wondering if we’d went the right way. 

I’d read online that this was also a very gently sloping hill and was questioning how I’d come to find myself out of breath, carrying one dug under my arm, pushing another one by her backside, as I tried to climb – actually climb, not just walk – up quite a sheer bit of hill. I found myself recalling the only other person we saw on the ascent: a very smug older guy, dressed in all the gear – big boots, waterproofs, walking stick and all that – who looked us up and down as he walked by us and said: “I’d turn back if I was you.”

Reaching the summit, we saw we’d climbed up the wrong side of the hill as there was a very obvious and easy path that led back down which had swarms of people marching up and back down. 

After taking in the view and snapping a few pictures we headed back down. I saw a car park in the distance and assumed it was where we had parked on arrival. Getting ready to slump into the motor after an hour or so’s descent, I quickly realised it was the wrong car park. 

Checking Google maps, we were actually another 40 minutes’ walk away from the correct car park. Looking at the exhausted dugs, and our exhausted selves, we made the executive decision to ask my girlfriend’s mum for a lift. 

I think Ben Nevis is safe from us for a good while yet.