My latest Christmas ghost story, The Old Man of the Black, is set in the Scottish Highlands – an area I first began exploring in my early twenties while studying at Stirling University. The first mountain I climbed was Ben Lomond, coaxed into it by a group of mates who were keen hillwalkers. Unfortunately it was midwinter, thick with snow, and I’d been out on the tiles the night before. I quickly discovered that walking uphill for more than a few minutes is really, really hard. Doubly so when you’re hungover and the route has vanished into thick fog.
After the first hour, I didn’t think I was going to make it. I was seriously considering heading back down alone. But one friend, hanging back from the others who were all taking it in their stride, kept me going. And then, just as I was about to give up, the clouds broke. Loch Lomond appeared below, dazzling in the sunlight. That sudden glimpse of immaculate silver gave me the push I needed to reach the summit.
It might well have been my last hillwalking experience – mentally filed under “stunning views / too much hard work” – but a few weeks later, I let myself be persuaded to try again. This time it was Ben Ledi, supposedly an “easier” mountain. I hadn’t been drinking the night before (or not so much 😉), and the weather was glorious. We hiked through pristine pine forest to one of the most breathtaking views I’d ever seen, the land rippling out below us like a desert map. My mates, probably recognising my greenhorn status, didn’t push me too hard (they burned off their excess energy by timing themselves on sprints up sections of the trail).
I’m so glad I went on that second trip. It’s almost as if something in me knew how valuable hillwalking would be for me, and tricked me into giving it another go. From then on, I was hooked – heading out into the Highlands most weekends in the clapped-out old bangers of my hillwalking friends. Highlights included the Cuillin on Skye, Beinn Alligin in Torridon, and of course Glen Coe. One friend was a particular inspiration, full of stories about the hills and their names. We soon realised that if he didn’t know a story or translation, he’d just make one up – but it never mattered.
When I began writing novels back in 2014, I always knew I’d set at least one in the Highlands. Now, with The Old Man of the Black, it’s job done!
A blizzard. A haunted house. No way out. Get your copy of The Old Man of the Black: A Christmas Ghost Story here.
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As you can probably tell, these photos weren’t taken with a phone – they were taken with an old Canon print camera back in the 1990s. Here’s a few more from that year:
