I had been climbing almost one year to the day when we started the early walk in to the bottom of Tower Ridge. This was my idea and luckily my partner was an experienced climber so really I had no one to blame but myself. After climbing on my local, single pitch, crag and one other scary but memorable multi pitch route in Torridon, I had been shocked to learn that I was about to be dragged, encouraged and shouted up Britain's longest rock climb (if you include Douglas Boulder). The butterflies were mounting.

After a quick cuppa at the CIC hut we scrambled up to the bottom of the first pitch. Climbing in Scotland and good weather rarely go together in the same sentence. This being early November we had even less of a chance of harmony.

We kitted up with drizzle and mist falling from the sky. Being told not to pack my 'stickies' had come as a shock, "aren't we going rock climbing?" Two hours later I was glad of my woolly socks and boots as the drizzle had now developed to slowly and coolly running down my back.

Throughout the day the mist had risen and fallen. Occasionally we had caught glimpses of walkers, standing on the summit watching our progress and no doubt in agreement as to how mad we seemed. The wind had picked up so by the time we reached 'the gap' it was blowing a true 'Scottish hoolie'. My partner, at 6ft 3' easily, quickly and with style climbed round, down and across the gap and set up belay at the bottom of the next pitch, where he could offer me advice and encouragement...

Me, at 5ft ¾, struggled, crawled, with bum sticking out and the odd "tight rope", no I mean "tight bloody rope" made my way down, across and over Tower Gap. For me this was definitely the highlight of the climb, though it took a few beers in the pub four hours later for me to recognise it.

After about 6 hours of effort we arrived at the summit where a small gathering of Gortex clad walkers were sharing chocolate. To say the comments from some, did my ego some good would be an understatement. I was truly proud of myself and beaming. Then in true hero style we departed, made our way down the path, where, again in full view I promptly fell over, twisted my knee and ended up slowly hobbling down with the mere walkers overtaking me. Oh well, that's life!

Tower Ridge is a true mountain route. It has everything, true clean rock, the odd scramble, a good ridge walk, a top out meters from the summit and on Britain's highest mountain, well, you don't get much better than that. Even now three years later and many more climbs under my belt Tower Ridge is still my favourite. With being in a grade (difficult) that even your granny could get up, it's a must for any mountaineer.