mountain

The light coming through the sleeper train window wakes me. It’s nearly time. Climbing down the ladder past the other snoozing occupants, I head into the corridor. A few hours ago there were only trees, an endless unfurling ribbon of spruce and birch. Now there is snow, vast banks of it. And sometimes, when the train roars through a big drift, great spumes of white blast out on either side, blocking any view.

In the restaurant car, I watch the map on my phone as a blue dot approaches a straight dashed line. A frozen lake and distant pale mountains appear. Then at 6.09am we cross the Arctic Circle. Forty-eight hours previously, I had been in London St Pancras station, queueing for the Eurostar. Now, five trains later, never having left terra firma, I am in the Arctic. Most of my fellow travellers are Swedes with hefty bags of skis and well-stocked sledges that look expedition-ready. With their weathered faces and lean muscle, they look intimidatingly capable.

The highest railway in the UK, which reopened in February this year after a £25million refurbishment, offers visitors stunning views of the surrounding landscape

There’s nothing quite like gazing at the stunning panorama from a mountain summit, yet not everyone possesses the ability, stamina, time or inclination to climb one. If any of those circumstances describe you, then worry not as a recently launched Scottish mountain railway offers you jaw-dropping highland views, without requiring any mountaineering whatsoever.

Digital content creator Chris Paul Lawlor, who’s renowned for discovering Scotland, posted on his Facebook page to share a brief video all about the Cairngorms Mountain Railway, situated in Aviemore in the Scottish Highlands. His footage began with a first-person perspective clip from the railway, which reopened in February this year following a £25million renovation, to demonstrate to his audience what they would witness if they journeyed on it.

Additional picturesque shots of the magnificent location were then displayed, as overlay text stated: “Did you know that in Scotland there is a railway on a mountain just newly reopened taking you to a restaurant at the top with breathtaking views.”

Besides being Scotland’s sole mountain railway, it’s also the loftiest railway in the UK, ascending to a summit station at 1,097 metres (3,599 ft) above sea level.

In addition to travelling on the railway itself, Chris mentioned you could “make a day of it” by embarking on a trek to the pyramid in the Cairngorms National Park, which lies a 35-minute drive away. Officially known as Prince Albert’s Cairn, this pyramid is a monument erected by Queen Victoria in 1862 on the Balmoral Estate to honour her husband, Prince Albert.

It’s the grandest of 11 Royal cairns in the vicinity, perched atop a hill that offers breathtaking views of the surrounding landscape and national park.

To reach the cairn, visitors can embark on a hike through woodland trails, choosing between a shorter, direct walk or a longer circular route that takes in other cairns.

While there’s no fee to visit Prince Albert’s Cairn itself, parking charges apply. Expect to pay around £5 for a car and £10 for a motorhome or van for the day.

The car park is conveniently located near the A93 road at the start of the walk.

The expert also recommended a trip to the Green Loch, famed for its unusually green water. This unique hue is due to a combination of algae in the water and the reflection of the surrounding pine trees.

However, local folklore suggests that fairies washing their clothes in the loch are responsible for its colour.

Chris also suggested a visit to Loch Morlich before heading to the railway. This freshwater loch near Aviemore is renowned for its sandy beaches and awe-inspiring mountain scenery.

It’s a hotspot for watersports enthusiasts, offering activities like kayaking, sailing, and windsurfing, with a dedicated watersports centre on site. Visitors can also explore walking and mountain biking trails in the nearby Glenmore Forest Park.

Chris’s post about the railway and surrounding suggestions, captioned “An autumn day out idea in Scotland,” was a hit with fans, garnering 4,800 likes.

One follower gushed: “Oh my God this makes me want to come back even more. We visited Scotland 11 years ago for our honeymoon. Now my 8-year-old wants to go.”

Another fan lauded the “wonderful scenery”.

A third chimed in: “Glad the railway is open again, it makes the beautiful mountain summit more accessible to all people.”

While a fourth added: “Wow, what a place and view.”

A day pass for the Cairngorms Mountain Railway costs £17.00 for an adult and £9.50 for a junior (aged 6-17) if booked in advance online. On-the-day prices are £19.00 for an adult and £11.50 for a junior. Prices are also available for seniors and students.

Why Innsbruck makes the perfect winter base

Innsbruck offers lots of options for a winter holiday. I found it’s a place where you don’t have to hurtle down ski slopes or dance like crazy at après-ski parties. In fact I was amazed when I took the 20-minute cable car from the city centre up 2,000 metres to an area where locals were sitting in deckchairs on the snow reading books and sipping hot chocolate in the strong Tirolean sunshine. You can ski to your heart’s content on slopes just half an hour from the famous Imperial Palace in the city centre. The city authorities provide some guided free walks and winter activities, including a cross-country skiing taster if you have a Welcome Card provided by your hotel. Then again, you can just sit and sample strong Austrian coffee or Gerschtnsuppe (soup with barley, smoked meat and vegetables) at riverside cafes and pubs.
Gina

Ski and hit the beach in one day in Andalucía

The Sierra Nevada range is just 17 miles south of Granada in Andalucía, making the beautiful city a viable place to stay if visiting these high mountains. For skiers the resort village of Pradollano is at 2,100 metres, from which cable cars and chairlifts reach up close to the 3,000-metre summits. It’s a fantastic ski resort, Europe’s most southerly, but is still very much under most people’s radar. There are 112km of pistes and 134 slopes, most of which are well above 2,000 metres so snow is fairly reliable. This year it’s opening on 29 November with ski passes from €38. It’s little more than an hour’s drive to Motril and the Mediterranean. You really can ski in the morning and go to the beach in the afternoon.
Stephen McCann

Peaks of the Balkans, Albania and Montenegro

Last year I enjoyed a brilliant winter trip in the Albanian Alps and in Montenegro. Highlights included the walk to and from the spectacular Grunas waterfall in Theth national park in Albania, and the hike to 1,970-metre Hrid lake in Montenegro’s Prokletije national park. We skied and walked a section of the 120-mile Peaks of the Balkans trail and spent some time in the lively town of Plav, which included a folk song and karaoke night with some locals where I taught one group a version of Last Christmas to great applause.
Nick

The Alps in infrared, Austria

We stayed at the lodge Jagdhaus (€220 a night, sleeps up to 6) at Furx in western Austria. This wonderful place has a sauna, an infrared chamber and an external hot tub from which to enjoy special views towards the Alps. There are any amount of scenic walks on your doorstep and, 100 metres below, there is the Peterhof restaurant with remarkably low prices for such a high standard of cuisine.
Kevin Hill

Twinkling lights in Poland’s Tatra mountains

I first discovered the Tatra mountains on a day trip from Kraków some years ago and returned for a mountain break last February, staying in Zakopane, which is a great base for skiers and anyone who enjoys winter mountain activities. It’s affordable (my chalet for a week was just €400) and has lovely traditional wooden and stone houses, cafes and cheap restaurants serving tasty Polish stews and filled pierogis, which kept us warm throughout. We hired snow shoes to explore the foothills by day and at dusk the twinkling lights of the mountain villages came on, adding to the wonderful scene of lakes, mountains and forests. We also enjoyed sleigh rides and husky-driven carriages through the silent forests to magical ice mazes.
Yasmin

The amazing light of Eryri, north Wales

Our favourite winter break is at Llanberis in Eryri national park (Snowdonia). It’s peaceful, dramatic, and full of charm without Alpine crowds. We love the cozy log fires, hikes up the mountain passing waterfalls and the choice of yurts and eco-lodges to stay in. It’s particularly stunning in cold weather when kissed with snow or frost. The amazing light on the Llyn Padarn recreates a mirror in a breathtaking landscape dominated by Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon). A special treat is the authentic Welsh community of makers and local craftspeople. Music, food and friendliness make this a more delightful experience than going abroad.
David Innes-Wilkin

Adrenaline-fuelled days in Austria

Kreischberg in the state of Styria is a medium-sized resort with log cabins and a James Bond-style restaurant in which to dine in style. We stayed at the base of the mountain in the Ferienpark cabins; each with log burners to cosy up beside. When it comes to skiing, take the long telecabin up the Kreischberg and explore blues, reds and blacks. For the best slopes head to Rosenkranzhöhe, where there are sweeping reds and blacks with expansive views over the Alps. After an adrenaline-fuelled morning, and for the best restaurant views, head to the Eagle, styled like a Bond villain’s lair.
Mark

Winning tip: Ice age roots in Sweden

There are mountain areas in Sweden where some of the oldest living things in Europe survive. When the ice retreated from Scandinavia 9,000 years ago, various isolated elevated areas were left frozen, and the root systems of ice age trees live on. Sonfjället national park in the empty Härjedalen region of central west Sweden is one such area, where the spruce Old Rasmus, grown from 9,500-year-old roots, can be found. The park is also known for its high density of bears. I return to the mountains in summer, autumn or winter. I find them incredibly peaceful; you can experience absolute silence and often you can gaze at the northern lights.
Lars

Kilian Jornet, one of the world’s most accomplished mountaineers, did something this month that left even other elite athletes gasping: He climbed all 72 summits in the contiguous United States that stand over 14,000 feet tall.

In 31 days.

That’s like climbing California’s Mt. Whitney — the nation’s tallest mountain outside of Alaska — two-and-a-half times per day, every day, for a month.

But reaching so many summits, so quickly, was only half the battle. In fact, it was “the fun part,” a surprisingly rested-looking Jornet said in a Zoom interview from Seattle earlier this month, three days after summiting Mt. Rainier in knee-deep snow to complete the grueling journey, which he started in early September.

The hard part was negotiating the spaces in between.

Spanish mountaineer Kilian Jornet treks through the Sierra Nevada range known as the Normans 13, which connects 13 summits over 14,000 feet.

(Andy Cochrane)

“If you’re driving, you see the landscape,” Jornet explained. “But you don’t feel it.”

OK, how do you feel it?

By running the hundreds of miles of remote mountain ridges, and biking the thousands of miles of desolate highway, that separate the towering summits scattered across Colorado, California and Washington.

In total, Jornet covered 3,198 miles under his own power. He biked 2,568 miles. He ran 629 miles. He climbed 403,638 vertical feet.

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Tommy Caldwell, arguably the best technical rock climber of his generation and the first to climb Yosemite’s nearly impossible Dawn Wall, followed Jornet’s progress on Instagram. When the Spaniard finished, Caldwell posted, “my mind is officially blown.”

Like many elite climbers, Jornet, 37, slips into a stoic, been-there-done-that voice when describing mountain conditions that would terrify mere mortals. But he broke character, briefly, talking about climbing the summit of Mt. Shasta in Northern California.

As often happens on that free-standing volcano, a howling gale struck just as Jornet approached the 14,162-foot summit.

Shaky video shot by a climbing partner shows Jornet’s trekking poles flailing and his feet sliding around on the ice as he struggles — and fails — to remain upright in what sounds like a hurricane.

“It was crazy,” he conceded, “probably the windiest day I have ever had in the mountains.”

Asked why, exactly, he puts himself through so much agony, he snapped back into aw-shucks mode. He sank into his comfy seat, smiled with the confidence of a man who has parried that question a thousand times, and said:

“Why not?”

Spanish mountaineer Kilian Jornet climbed 72 summits over 14,000 feet in the contiguous U.S. in 31 days.

(Nick Danielson)

In an age saturated with professional outdoor athletes competing for social media attention and lucrative sponsorships — and in a world where the most iconic summits have been climbed, the biggest waves have been surfed and the wildest rivers have been run — one fashionable way to stand out is by setting a fastest known time, or “FKT.”

Jornet’s jaunt over and between those 72 summits, which he dubbed “States of Elevation” and gorgeously documented for his 1.8 million followers on Instagram, was, by all accounts, the fastest known time. It was also the only known time. Apparently, nobody else has tried to link all of those summits together in a single, human-powered push.

“Yes, it’s hard,” Jornet said with a laugh when asked if the constant, grinding pain was worth it. But after a while, “you get used to the discomfort, it’s just part of it, it doesn’t really bother you.”

The finale of Jornet’s 72-peak feat was a 14,441-foot volcano covered with glaciers, one of the broadest and most visually imposing mountains on the planet. Few people even attempt to climb Mt. Rainier this time of year because the weather can be so brutal.

As Jornet pedaled closer to the peak, it started to rain down in the flats, so he knew that meant snow on the mountain.

Crossing the glaciers with their immense, yawning crevasses hidden by fresh snow would have been too dangerous, so Jornet chose a steep and challenging rock route known as Success Cleaver. But even that was buried in knee-deep snow.

After summiting Mt. Rainier, Jornet posted that his U.S. journey was, “never about just the numbers, but rather a deep connection to wild places, and true test of resilience in body and mind.”

Anyone else claiming that might have been met with eye rolls, but Jornet is one of the few outdoor athletes who probably doesn’t need to pad his resume: He cemented his legacy as one of the all-time greats long ago.

Spanish mountaineer Kilian Jornet hikes in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado in September.

(Nick Danielson)

Born just outside of Barcelona in 1987, he grew up in a ski area in the Pyrenees where his father was a mountain guide. He climbed his first mountain over 10,000 feet when he was 5.

At 20, he won the first of six titles in the Sky Runner World Series, an international competition consisting of long, high-altitude foot races that test speed and endurance on steep mountainsides.

At 26, he set FKTs for climbing Switzerland’s Matterhorn and France’s Mont Blanc, the tallest mountain in Western Europe. A year later, he broke the speed record climbing the bitterly cold and deadly Denali, in Alaska, the tallest mountain in North America.

A few years after that, he climbed Mt. Everest twice in one week without supplemental oxygen.

In addition to all of the technical mountaineering, Jornet has been one of the most successful ultramarathoners in history, winning the prestigious Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc, a 100-mile race through the Alps, four times.

After his early career dominating distance races in relatively cold climates, Jornet showed up at Northern California’s Western States ultramarathon in 2010. It’s a 100-mile race that starts near the shore of Lake Tahoe and descends to the Sacramento suburbs in late June, when the sun and temperatures can be unforgiving.

He was comically unprepared. “I didn’t do any heat training,” Jornet recalled, “so when I arrived I was like, ‘Should I have brought water for this race?’” Still, he came in third, then returned the next year to win.

In June, he went back to the Western States 100 for the first time in 14 years. The event has evolved since then: The field is fitter and more professional. But even at his relatively advanced age, Jornet came in third, dropping more than an hour off his winning time in 2011.

Back then, he relied mostly on raw talent, Jornet said. “I train much better now, I know I need to prepare specifically and put in the work.”

But does he ever just kick back and spend a weekend sprawled on the couch, a remote in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other?

“For me, that’s not relaxing,” he said, recalling the time he and his wife, Emelie Forsberg, also a world champion runner and skier, tried to take a normal vacation.

They had just completed a race on Reunion Island, off the coast of Madagascar, when they decided to spend a week on the nearby tropical island of Mauritius.

“We said we’d just sit on the beach and read books, and that’s all,” Jornet said. But by the end of the first day they looked at each other and wondered if they should change their flight to get back to running and skiing in the mountains. “It was like, yes, yes, yes for both of us,” Jornet said.

Spanish mountaineer Kilian Jornet in the Sierra Nevada range known as the Normans 13, which connects 13 summits over 14,000 feet.

(Andy Cochrane)

After years living in Chamonix, France, a hard-partying resort in the Alps regarded as the mountain sports capital of the world, Jornet and Forsberg moved to a house by a remote fjord in Norway. It’s a quiet place to raise their three young children, grow their own vegetables and train in the surrounding mountains, some of which have no names.

“Sometimes when you’re climbing Everest, or Mont Blanc, or Mt. Whitney, it’s like you’re climbing the famous name,” Jornet said. As he matures, he prefers climbing mountains simply “because they’re beautiful.”

But he still craves big challenges.

Last year, he climbed all 82 summits in the Alps over 4,000 meters (13,123 feet) in 19 days, traveling the 750 miles between them on foot and bicycle.

“This was, without any doubt, the most challenging thing I’ve ever done in my life, mentally, physically, and technically,” he wrote on social media. “But also maybe the most beautiful.”

That got him thinking even bigger, trying to imagine the most “aesthetic line” for a similar expedition in the United States.

After landing in Denver last month, he went straight to the trailhead for 14,256-foot Longs Peak. “But I really felt like crap,” he said, blaming a combination of jet lag and the air being so much drier in Colorado than in Norway.

For the first week, he wondered if he should just quit. But then, somewhere along the way, his body switched, “from fighting to adapting,” and he settled into a comfortable rhythm.

After summiting 56 mountains in Colorado, Jornet hopped on his bike and pedaled 900 miles to California, where 15 more high peaks awaited. At times, the headwind was so brutal he slowed to a maddening crawl, even when going downhill.

He’d also lost 10 pounds in the mountains and, at 5’7” and about 130 pounds, his slender frame has nothing to spare. So he spent much of his time on the bike shoveling calories — even spiking his water bottles with generous helpings of olive oil — to replace lost fat.

His long slog on the bike ended in Lone Pine, a dusty town four hours north of Los Angeles, where the Eastern Sierra rise 10,000 feet, like a solid granite wall, from the desert floor.

Jornet had covered nearly 200 miles that day, and faced a 6,000-foot climb to the Cottonwood Lakes trailhead, where he would sleep before starting the toughest part of the whole trip.

The road up to Cottonwood Lakes is 23 miles of harrowing switchbacks, with vertigo-inducing views of the valley below at almost every turn. The drive, alone, freaks out a lot of people.

“It was cool that I arrived there in the dark,” Jornet said, undaunted by the prospect of pedaling off the side of a cliff. “Nice to do the climb when it wasn’t so hot.”

The next morning he started running “Norman’s 13” — a baker’s dozen of 14,000-foot summits along the Sierra Crest between Lone Pine and Bishop, the most remote and punishing alpine terrain in California. He made astonishing time: cruising over 14,032-foot Mt. Langley and 14,505-froot Mt. Whitney like they were speed bumps.

But for all their imposing altitude, the standard routes up Langley and Whitney don’t require any special skills, they’re just long hiking trails with very little exposure to deadly falls. Things changed when Jornet reached a section called the Palisades Traverse, just up the hill from Big Pine.

There, a ridge of jagged granite rises like an upside down saw’s blade over one of the last remaining glaciers in California. There are no hiking trails, just daunting towers of shattered and jumbled rock, where seemingly any misstep can lead to a thousand-foot fall.

Only the most committed mountaineers go there, and they tend to take their time, waiting for good weather and climbing with ropes and harnesses.

But when you’re on a mission like Jornet’s, you don’t get to “choose your weather,” he said. You just start and then you’re committed, you have to take what comes.

What came the day he reached the traverse was a surprising, early-season blizzard. It covered the usually reliable, grippy granite with about 4 inches of snow and ice. The storm made climbing “more complicated,” Jornet said, and more miserable.

It was cold and “I was completely soaked,” Jornet said. But with the help of Matt Cornell, a well-known climber from Bishop, he was able to keep going and finish the 100 miles of Norman’s 13 in 56 hours, shaving more than 19 hours off the previous record.

He only slept once during that span, he said, for about an hour and a half, lying in the middle of a trail.

When speed climbing over peaks, Jornet traveled light, carrying only the bare essentials to stay nourished and protected from the weather.

When possible, he was accompanied by photographers and videographers, most of whom had to be exceptional athletes to keep up.

He also stayed in contact with his press team and social media producers, and he sometimes slept in a support RV at the trailheads.

But after the frigid Palisades Traverse he indulged in a bit of luxury, pizza and a glorious night in a hotel bed in Bishop. The next morning, he hiked 14,252-foot White Mountain and then hopped on the bike for the 500-mile ride to the unexpected ordeal that awaited him on Mt. Shasta.

Having survived that with no serious damage, he biked through Oregon, finally with a tailwind, and then surmounted Mt. Rainier.

When he finally descended, instead of popping champagne in front of cameras and an adoring crowd, he and a few close friends spent a quiet night in an RV, swapping stories from the road and sharing shots of pickle juice — an inside joke that started somewhere during the trip.

“I’m not a big celebration guy,” Jornet explained.

He wouldn’t say what his next project will be, but several times he returned to the idea of climbing without crowds or fanfare.

“I do these things because I love them, because they bring me joy and happiness, not because I think they’re very important.”

One place he can sit quietly is at home in Norway, looking out the window, across the fjord to the nameless, snowcapped mountains in the distance.

He lets his eyes linger on their faces, settling on pretty lines to climb up or ski down.

Nothing beats the magic of the mountains in winter but not all of us want to hurtle down a black run on a pair of skis or spend our nights partying in apres-ski bars. We’d love to hear about your favourite mountain resorts and villages in Europe that offer a more authentic and low-key experience than the big, purpose-built ski resorts.

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That it took until Sunday’s three-wicket win over India for them to complete their first ODI chase over 300, taking back their record for the highest in the women’s 50-over format, is, in truth, a compliment to the bowlers that have worn canary yellow (OK, Australia gold) over the past 50 years.

It is hard for their batters to hold a record if never given the chance.

Ultimately, the result of Australia conceding 330 was captain Alyssa Healy being given an opportunity to produce her latest masterpiece.

Then best known as the 19-year-old niece of renowned former Aussie wicketkeeper Ian, she debuted in 2010 after her nation failed to win either of the 20 or 50-over World Cups held the previous year and has seen it all through 15 trophy-laden years since.

A T20 World Cup win came three months after her bow and seven world titles have followed from 10 attempts across formats.

The gritty keeper was also there in Derby in 2017 when a semi-final defeat by India briefly halted the run of success.

That loss “drove us to rethink our standards,” Healy said this week.

At the next 50-over World Cup in New Zealand, Healy made 170 against England in the final and was named player of the tournament. She ensured her country would not fall short again.

Whether this latest epic knock topped that previous effort can be debated.

Some will argue the case for the pressure of a final. Others can counter with the challenge that comes when facing a record target and a raucous India-supporting crowd of 20,000.

What is certain is this century was far harder to see coming.

The Christchurch carnage in 2022 came as she topped the run-scoring charts, but this knock followed six innings in India since the start of last month in which she had failed to pass 30.

“If you’ve been watching me in the nets, it’s been a frustrating experience because I feel like I’ve had no rhythm whatsoever,” said Healy.

“But once you step out on the field, your competitive instincts kick in and you just lock into the contest.”

‘So, it’ll be like a DofE camping expedition, but without any of my friends?” Lying on his bed in our stone gite in Lescun, a picturesque mountain village beneath a towering glacial cirque, it’s fair to say the 15-year-old isn’t leaping with enthusiasm for our bivouac hike. He and his 13-year-old brother would rather have stayed at the beach, where we spent the first part of our holiday.

My husband and I last hiked with the kids in the French Pyrenees when they were five and three, yet they barely fussed on that trip despite walking for two full days. Back then we had a secret weapon – a donkey called Lazou who carried our packs, and the youngest when he got tired, and proved a great distraction.

On this trip I’m hoping our local guide, Gilles Bergeras, will have a similar effect. He doesn’t speak much English – good French conversation practice for school, I say, to a barrage of eye rolls – but he’s funny and expressive in a way that transcends language.

Driving up to our start point in his van, he throws up his hands and says, “C’est quoi ce bordel!?” (“What’s this chaos!?”) every time we see another car. It’s not remotely busy – we pass six cars at most – but his exasperation with these tiny holiday crowds makes us laugh.

He also gets the measure of the boys quickly, letting the youngest choose our route – he opts for dramatic pointed peaks instead of rolling hills – and giving the eldest more to carry when we divvy up the tents and food supplies for our backpacks, sensing he needs to be slowed down.

We set off west along the GR10, a long-distance trail that runs the length of the French Pyrenees from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic, following the painted red and white striped marks through a thick forest full of moss-covered boulders.

The next canicule, or heatwave (increasingly common here due to the climate crisis) won’t hit for a few days, but the air still feels close, even though we’re at altitude – our start point was 1,439m – and we’re glad to be shaded from the sun.

Bivouacking, or overnight camping in the wilderness, is allowed in the Béarn Pyrenees, says Gilles, as long as you camp at least one hour’s hike from parking areas, leave no trace and head off early in the morning. But one of the biggest challenges in high summer is finding water sources, so Gilles suggests we camp near a shepherd’s hut, which has a natural spring where we can fill up our bottles.

When we arrive at the hut, Gilles is greeted warmly by the shepherds, a young couple who graze sheep up here for three months in summer, while we fuss over their friendly sheepdogs. They let us stash our backpacks in their hut while we leave the GR10 to climb a nearby summit.

Hiking without packs is a great relief, as the trail quickly steepens. Our target is the 2,507m (8,225ft) Pic d’Anie, the kind of perfect pyramidal peak a child draws when depicting a mountain. Before long, the grass gives way to loose slates and spiky, angular rock formations, save the odd patch of bright violet thistles and dark purple ancolie (columbine) flowers.

Gilles urges us to tread carefully in parts, where gouffres, or chasms, can run for hundreds of metres below the surface, like crevasses in a glacier. But mostly he walks swiftly, and the boys have been right behind him all day, treating the hike as a race, instead of pacing themselves like their less fit but ultimately wiser parents. They won’t admit it, but I can tell they’re beginning to flag when Gilles suggests we stop for our picnic lunch.

Gilles points out two izards, a local species of goat-antelope, on a precipitous ridge above us, and we watch them pause and then deftly make their way down the slope. By the time we reach the summit, around four hours’ climb from our start point, we’re all quite broken. We bring out the high-energy snacks and Haribo, and enjoy the panoramic views that stretch across the Spanish border and towards the Atlantic coast.

We start our descent with a spring in our step, but we’re glad to eventually reach the hut, quench our thirst in the fast-flowing natural spring and drink in the incredible view.

This area is often called the “Dolomites of the Pyrenees” and it’s easy to see why. To our left is a long, high ridge of vertical rock, above a forest; while to our right the slopes are rounder, with the same mix of grass and rock that fills the U-shaped valley below, and the Pic d’Anie peeking out in the distance.

We set up our tents, while Gilles gets dinner together – a circular bread, which we tear off in greedy chunks, mountain cheese and ham, followed by a beef stew from a tin for the meat eaters, and lentils and couscous for the veggies.

We had met a French couple in the gite the night before who live near the Alps but always come to the Pyrenees to hike in summer with their 10-year-son. “It’s wilder than the Alps with fewer people,” the dad told me when I asked why, and I get that now. Apart from the shepherds and a French couple whose tent we don’t notice until the morning, we have this huge valley to ourselves. And as Gilles uncorks a bottle of local red, and golden light floods our makeshift campsite, even the boys seem awestruck.

The next morning, Gilles sings to wake up the teens, or “les ados anglais” as he’s taken to calling them, and after a quick breakfast of brioche we pack up the tents and get on our way. We take a different route back, this time crossing a series of small rivers and rock gardens that fan out across the hillside, eventually rejoining the GR10 in the forest where our walk began.

Getting tired teenagers to concede that they have enjoyed something is as tricky as getting them to smile in photos, but I took it as a win that mine didn’t just want lots of pictures with Gilles throughout the hike, but actually looked cheery in most of them.

When I asked the eldest how it compared with his Duke of Edinburgh expedition, he said: “Obviously the landscapes were better; my DofE was in East Grinstead … ” But the youngest perhaps best summed up their experience when he said: “At times it felt like homework, but at the end it was like we’d handed it in, and we felt happy and proud.”

An overnight bivouac hike with Gilles Bergeras in the Béarn Pyrenees is €400 for a family of four, rando-bike.fr/randonnée. Tours run year-round, with cabins and equipment (snowshoes/touring skis) used in winter. Sam Haddad writes the newsletter Climate & Board Sports

You might not have heard of the idyllic lake surrounded by a forest, but it has been named the best walk in the country

North Wales is a hotspot for stunning walks and breathtaking vistas – and there’s one hidden haven that offers a tranquil atmosphere in a place you might not expect.

Located in the Snowdonia National Park, Llyn Elsi is an incredible, peaceful spot perfect for a walk. You’ll have to earn the views though, as it’s located amidst the mountains that this area is famed for.

The reward is without a doubt worth the effort, as the Llyn Elsi circular route has been deemed the best walk in the country according to online fashion retailer Damart. The “easy” two-hour stroll around the picturesque mountain reservoir within woodland provides vistas across to Snowdonia.

Situated above the picturesque village of Betws-y-Coed, Llyn Elsi is a lesser-known reservoir within Gwydyr Forest that emerged from two smaller bodies of water, Llyn Rhisgog and Llyn Enoc. In 1914, with consent from Lord Ancaster, a 20ft dam was constructed to supply water for Betws-y-Coed in Eryri National Park.

Despite this, the lake only has a maximum depth of nine metres. A path round the lake provides excellent views towards the mountain ranges of the Carneddau and the Glyderau, reports North Wales Live.

On the lake itself, a small island provides a breeding ground for its most notorious residents, black headed gulls, once blamed for polluting the local water supply. The spot is so secluded, journalist Liam Ryder came across it by accident during a holiday in the area.

He said: “Llyn Elsi is an incredible spot that my partner and I actually found by complete accident. When in holiday in North Wales, we set out with the aim of climbing Yr Wyddfa itself.

“But of course, a lack of planning on my behalf meant I’d overlooked the need to book the Snowdon train up the mountain. I’d also managed to get us in the complete wrong place thanks to a mixture of ignorance and naivety, so we settled with a shorter hike and make the most of an entirely avoidable situation.

“In some ways, it worked out for the best. While Snowdon remains on our bucket list as adults, we’ll never forget climbing and walking through the clearing to see Llyn Elsi and the surrounding peaks in all their glory.

“Despite visiting Eryri in the peak of the school summer holidays – which meant the weather while climbing was absolutely punishing – the place was deserted. It made for the most tranquil, peaceful experience of my life to date.”

Hikes typically starts from behind the Grade II-listed St Mary’s Church in the village, with a dog-friendly path that features benches and woodland streams. It’s a bridleway, so it’s suitable for cycling, although some parts can be steep.

The 6.5km (4 miles) circular walk to and from Betws y Coed has racked up 1.7 million Google searches and 63,073 Instagram hashtags. With a 4.4 rating on AllTrails, the route is considered “easy”, making it “ideal” for hiking and mountain biking.

When you live in a town where the ocean is just around the corner, it feels almost wrong to spend a sunny day anywhere but the beach. As a lifelong Santa Barbara resident, my favorite way to savor those golden afternoons is by doing exactly that: toes in the sand, waves crashing at my feet, a turkey sandwich in one hand and an Agatha Christie novel in the other. Honestly, does it get much better?

I’m here to tell you it does. Santa Barbara is a place of dual delights. And while the coastline tends to steal the spotlight, I’d be remiss if I didn’t also shine some light on the other side of town that visitors often overlook. Because here, we’re not just flanked by sea; we’re also cradled by mountains, which means that in under 20 minutes, you can go from your beach towel to hitting the trail.

That unique geography is what makes our mountains stand out. Unlike most of California’s coastline, where mountain ranges tend to stretch north to south, the Santa Ynez Mountains run east to west. This rare alignment creates dramatic, side-by-side views of both the Pacific Ocean and the mountains — especially breathtaking from higher elevations during sunrise or sunset.

And if that doesn’t convince you to trade your beach nap for an uphill trek — and you happen to be a nature enthusiast — know that Santa Barbara is one of the most biodiverse regions in the state, boasting a variety of breathtaking flora and fauna. Take the Matilija poppy, for example: visually striking and curiously reminiscent of a cracked egg. Or consider the California scrub jay, whose vibrant cobalt feathers never fail to turn heads.

While it’s hardly a novel take, I’ve always believed that the best way to explore a place is by immersing yourself in its terrain. Sure, the beach is tempting, and I don’t blame anyone for choosing the comfort of the sand over a sweaty excursion. But as someone who’s hiked every trail on this list, I urge you to give the mountains a chance — if not for the stunning views, then for the adventure.

Aug. 15 (UPI) — A 26-year-old man was found dead on a mountain of Japan’s northernmost island on Friday, one day after the hiker was reported missing in a brown bear attack.

The body was found in eastern Hokkaido, the Asahi Shimbun reported. Police said rescuers found his shirt with bloodstains earlier in the day. Hokkaido, which is bordered by the Sea of Japan, the Sea of Okhotsk and the Pacific Ocean, is the second largest, but least developed, of Japan’s four main islands.

The victim was identified as Sota Keisuke, a company employee from Tokyo’s Sumida Ward, NHK reported.

The man and a friend, also in his 20s, were descending the 5,450-foot-tall Mount Rausu on the Shiretoko Peninsula, when a bear approached.

The friend said the man was walking ahead of him.

“He was trying to fend off the bear but was dragged into the forest,” NHK quoted the man.

Fearing the bear dragged his friend away, he called the police.

Authorities then closed the trail.

Seventy-one people were airlifted out of the area.

A man’s body was found on Friday morning, and his identity was confirmed at 3:20 p.m.

Hunters searching for the man shot and killed three brown bears at 1 p.m. Friday in the area where the body was later found.

On Sunday, another hiker was followed by a bear. A 68-year-old climber from Shikoku said he encountered the bear while hiking down the mountain. He said he was about 16 feet from an adult bear with two cubs.

He said he retreated with other hikers, but the bears returned to the trail and followed them uphill. When they reached the entrance to the Osawa area, they disappeared.

“It was the first time I encountered a bear on a hiking trail,” said the man, who has climbed mountains in Japan and elsewhere, told The Asahi Shimbun. “Although they didn’t show any signs of attacking, I felt tense.”

Fifty-five people have been attacked by bears in Japan between April and July this year, according to the Environmental Ministry by the Japan Times.

Mount Rasau has a high population density of brown bears. The mountain was given World Heritage Status in 2005. The mountains straddle Rausu and Shari towns.

If people encounter a bear, the Hokkaido Prefectural Government advised them to slowly and quietly step backward.

“Don’t throw rocks or shout and run way since it may provoke the bear,” it said on its website.

The Guardian reported that experts said attacks increased last year because of the scarcity of acorns and other staples. In addition, bears have traveled farther because of development.

But incidents dropped in March as food became more plentiful

In April, the government allowed bears to be shot in urban areas.

‘Do you think I’m going to be cold?” asks my friend Ellie as we navigate the winding roads of Mosedale, on the north-eastern reaches of the Lake District, while rain batters against the windscreen. It’s a fair question. Both the Met Office and Mountain Weather Information Service are clear – being in the Lakeland hills will not be pleasant this Friday night, due to a sudden cold and wet snap. But there’s another reason she’s asking. I’m taking her to stay in her first bothy – that’s a mountain shelter left open, year-round, for walkers, climbers and outdoor enthusiasts to use, free of charge, with no way to book.

Unlike mountain huts in other parts of Europe and the world, they weren’t built for this purpose. They are old buildings left to ruin in wild places – former coastguard lookouts, gamekeepers’ cottages, remote Highland schoolrooms – before the Mountain Bothies Association (MBA) began to maintain them, offering shelter in a storm. And during this particular storm, shelter is definitely needed.

Before we left, Ellie was worried about what to pack, and well she might be. Despite a bothy having four walls, a roof, windows and a front door (they range from tiny, one-room affairs to sprawling, multi-bedroom structures), they are still very basic. There is no running water (there’s usually a stream nearby for this), no toilet (each has a bothy spade so you can dig your own) and no electricity (tealights and a headtorch are a must), and the one we are heading to, Great Lingy Hut, doesn’t even have the usual bothy stove for warmth.

Yet it’s precisely for these reasons that I’ve chosen it to be Ellie’s first. I know that because of the bad weather it’s unlikely we’ll have to share with anyone else. We park at the base of Carrock Fell, where the River Caldew is now a raging torrent. It is past dusk; the rain has eased to a mere mizzle and we can just make out the shape of the building on the skyline. With backpacks shouldered we begin uphill, keeping our eyes open for signs of walkers who may have potentially beaten us to it.

“Visitor numbers have definitely gone up in recent years,” the chair of the MBA, Simon Birch, tells me when I speak to him the night before. “Of course, back in the day they were kept a secret – some old documents I was going through have ‘confidential’ written across them. But people can’t keep secrets like this.”

It was in 2009 that the MBA decided to publish grid references to its 100-strong network on its website – despite some internal protests. After that, the “cat was out of the bag”, says Birch. When the MBA celebrated its 50-year anniversary in 2015, I asked and was granted permission to write the first guidebook about bothies – as a love letter to them, rather than a definitive guide. There was a lot of pushback, though. When The Book of the Bothy was published, I experienced online trolling (from MBA members and others), abusive emails, complaints to my publisher and even threats. But at the same time, one of the MBA’s co-founders, Betty Heath, told me how much she loved my passion; Birch told me that younger members began to sign up (when there was a real danger of membership ageing out); and now there is even a female thirtysomething trustee.

Out of the 105 bothies they currently look after, only two are owned by the MBA. All the others are on leases. “Ultimately, we could lose all our bothies, if the owners decided to take them back,” says Birch – which proves just how special the network and ethos of bothies is.

The hut we head to in the Lakes was originally used by miners at the nearby and now disused Carrock Mine (which dates back to the 16th century). It was relocated to its higher location on the moor as a shooting box. During the 1960s it was leased to the “Friends” Quaker boarding school in Wigton as an outdoor base and was fitted with a sleeping platform. When that school closed in 1984, it became an open shelter, and eventually the Lake District national park took responsibility for its maintenance before handing it over to the MBA in 2017.

We pass the mine workings under a starry sky, so they appear only as silhouettes. We ford the stream with the help of walking poles and mutual words of encouragement. Finally, we reach the door and experience the anticipatory few seconds that anyone who’s ever stayed in a bothy will know – when after hours of walking you knock on the door with mild trepidation, to discover if anyone else has beaten you to it. The door swings open. It’s empty. We have it to ourselves.

“The biggest change has been the impact that the growing popularity of long-distance trails has had on the bothies,” Simon tells me. “Some of the spots are incredibly well used, and we now have a sanitation officer in the MBA.”

I give Ellie a brief rundown of bothy etiquette. Put candles and the camping stove in the designated area so as not to cause a fire risk. Use the spade for the toilet – well away from the building and any watercourses. Set up a bag for waste. As a countryside girl, she has a good idea of the code – but Birch says a problem the MBA is facing in its 60th year is that content creators are showing people the bothies on social media but not teaching good practice. As such, in a very modern move, the MBA is seeking creators to collaborate with it, to demonstrate responsible bothying.

We settle in, heating a pre-made tagine and making hot chocolates to keep us warm. I also fill hot-water bottles. We chat for hours, me regaling Ellie with stories of previous bothy visits – including the time I inadvertently crashed a stag party in Scotland.

The wind whistles through the cables that hold Great Lingy Hut down, but despite this, as mothers of young children, we both sleep well away from the madness of our day-to-day lives.

Recent figures put the MBA membership at 3,800 – with many more users who don’t pay the annual £25 donation to join. We’re staying at one of the newer buildings in the network, but Birch tells me there are no plans to take on any more.

We enjoy our breakfast beside the window, where a lifting fog offers tantalising views down this little-visited valley.

As we leave, I feel hopeful for the next 60 years of bothies in Britain. We pack not only our own rubbish but empty packets and used candle holders left by others. “I love it,” says Ellie, “leaving it better than we arrived.” She may have begun this adventure worried about feeling cold but, thanks to the magic of bothies, is leaving as many do, warmed by the whole wild and wonderful experience.

For more information visit the Mountain Bothies Association. The Book of the Bothy by Phoebe Smith is available for £12.95 from guardianbookshop.com

July 29 (UPI) — An international team is trying to rescue badly injured former Olympic biathlon champion Laura Dahlmeier from a peak on Pakistan’s Karakoram Mountains.

A falling rock struck and seriously injured Dahlmeier, 31, on Monday while she was scaling Laila Peak in the Karakoram Mountains in northeastern Pakistan, according to Explorersweb.

“Dahlmeier was climbing with her mountaineering partner … when she was caught in a rockfall,” her management team said in a statement to German broadcaster ZDF.

“The accident took place around noon local time at an altitude of approximately [18,700 feet],” the management team said.

“Her partner immediately called emergency services, and a rescue operation began immediately,” her management team explained.

“Due to the remoteness of the area, a helicopter was only able to reach the site of the accident on the morning of July 29.”

An international rescue team of mountaineers is trying to reach Dahlmeier, who is “at least seriously injured” and showed “no signs of life” when observed by the helicopter crew.

Her climbing partner has joined the other mountaineers and might have reached her already, but the rescue effort was halted when darkness fell on Tuesday evening.

The rescue attempt will resume Wednesday morning, ZDF Heute reported.

Dahlmeier is one of Germany’s most successful biathletes of the past decade and won two gold medals during the 2018 Pyeongchang Winter Olympics in South Korea.

She was the first athlete to win two gold medals during the 2018 games when she triumphed in the women’s 10km pursuit with a time of 30:35.3.

Dahlmeier also won a gold in the 7.5km sprint and a bronze in the 15km individual event during the 2018 Winter Olympics.

She won a total of seven gold medals in the world championships and eight other medals before retiring at age 25 in 2019.

The biathlon combines cross-country skiing with rifle target shooting, which tests athletes’ ability to ski long distances and shoot accurately while their heart rates and breathing are elevated.

Queenstown is the most tranquil destination in the world, thanks to its low levels of noise and light pollution, cleanliness rating and quality of green spaces

If you’re seeking a holiday where tranquillity, breath aking scenery and utter relaxation are the order of the day, then one destination should be at the top of your list.

Tucked away on the other side of the globe, nestled between the crystal-clear waters of Lake Wakatipu and the majestic Southern Alps, is the New Zealand city of Queenstown. Recently crowned the most serene spot on earth by TravelBag, this enchanting city is a pristine paradise waiting to be discovered.

It offers an unspoilt environment that encourages you to truly unwind, disconnect, and immerse yourself in nature.

The travel experts analysed 26 locations to identify the most peaceful, using key indicators such as noise and light pollution, cleanliness, and the quality of green spaces, with Queenstown emerging victorious.

Queenstown scored an impressive cleanliness rating of 91.7, outshining all other destinations, and a high green space quality score of 94.4.

With relatively low traffic congestion and minimal light pollution, Queenstown is an ideal location for stargazing, reports the Express.

It’s also a fantastic destination to visit throughout the year.

During the winter months, visitors can enjoy superb ski fields and cosy eateries, while the summer sees the city transform into a sun-drenched haven boasting numerous hiking and biking trails, as well as stunning swimming spots.

For thrill-seekers, there’s bungee jumping, ziplines and paragliding.

And for those who prefer a more tranquil experience, there are hot pools with breathtaking views over the alps, as well as spas and wellness centres.

If you fancy visiting this stunning location and experiencing all it has to offer, bear in mind that it is somewhat off the beaten track.

A flight from the UK to Queenstown takes approximately 25 hours, but departures are available daily.

If you’re after a winter getaway, the optimal time to travel is between June and August, whereas for a summer holiday, December through to February is the best period to visit.

The Snaefell Mountain Railway on the Isle of Man is the only electric mountain railway in the British Isles and is steeped in history, culture and pure imagination

The only electric mountain railway in the whole of the British Isles is rich in history, culture and sheer wonder.

The Snaefell Mountain Railway climbs from Laxey to the peak of Snaefell – the highest mountain on the Isle of Man – standing a staggering 2,036ft above sea level, serving as the enchanting gateway to seven mythical kingdoms.

Constructed in 1895, the service typically runs from March to November and takes about 30 minutes for a one-way trip.

Travelling along a five-mile track, it uses electricity from overhead wires at approximately 550 volts to operate, remaining faithful to its original Victorian-era infrastructure, ferrying passengers who come from all corners of the globe to catch a glimpse of this world wonder.

Upon reaching Snafell, or ‘Snow Mountain’ as it’s often called, visitors will make their way into five wooden electric railcars. Each of them are numbered from one to six, though you’ll soon notice that number three is mysteriously absent, reports the Express.

It appears it was destroyed in an incident where the car derailed back in 2016. Whatever remained of it has been gathered and is reportedly due to be rebuilt at some stage, so stay tuned.

The main station on the line is the interchange with the Manx Electric Railway at Laxey. The only stopping place is Bungalow, the halfway point where the line crosses the A18 Mountain Road, notorious for the perilous and deadly Isle of Man TT race.

A stone’s throw away, visitors can find the Manx Museum in Douglas, a treasure trove housed in an ex-hospital with exhibits featuring Viking silver, Celtic crosses and the Tynwald – the world’s oldest continuous parliamentary body.

The museum’s creation aimed to revamp the Isle of Man’s image following tough times in the mid-19th century.

Sir Henry Brougham Loch, the lieutenant governor, played a pivotal role by initially promoting Douglas as a spa destination, triggering a seaside holiday surge.

An impressive 1,500 hotels were established to accommodate roughly 350,000 summer tourists. Yet, Loch recognised most visitors lingered only in the capital, prompting the construction of a railway network that would transport them across the island.

Andrew Scarffe, technical support officer at Manx Heritage Railways, told the BBC about the impact of the railway: “When the railway opened, it was like science fiction. Droves of people came over on the ferry just to see its electric technology and innovation.”

Scarffe shared a little-known fact: “What’s rarely spoken of is we were 130 years ahead of the rest of the world with green travel. We began generating our own power back in the 1890s to run the railway, and the electric tram cars are still doing what they were built to be doing.

“Slow travel by electric train? It all started here.”

In its heyday, the railway service boasted a million passengers annually. However, this grand Isle of Man tradition has seen a decrease in recent years, though an estimated 200,000 people still board the train each year, soaking up the immense historical splendour this small island has to offer.

Where is the finest mountain panorama in the UK? As a nine-year-old I was taken up Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) and told it was the best. Even in those days, it was a struggle to see much except the backs of other people. The following summer Scafell Pike got the same treatment and the next year we climbed Ben Nevis. I disagreed on all counts. For me, Thorpe Cloud in Dovedale was unbeatable, despite it being under a thousand feet tall. What convinced me was the diminutive Derbyshire peak’s shape: a proper pointy summit with clear space all around, plus grassy slopes that you could roll down. The champion trio could not compare.

This panorama question is in my mind as I begin hiking up Slieve Donard, Northern Ireland’s highest peak (at 850 metres), but a mountain often forgotten by those listing their UK hiking achievements. And a proper peak it is too, with a great sweeping drop to the sea and loads of space all around, guaranteeing, I reckon, a view to beat its more famous rivals.

Slieve Donard’s relative obscurity outside of Northern Ireland is not difficult to understand. During the Troubles, visitor numbers plummeted and many locals gave up country walks. “We never went to the mountains,” one tells me, from Belfast, which is only an hour away to the north. “A road sign replaced with a sniper image is not very welcoming.”

Since that tragic period, the Mourne Mountains have made a terrific comeback, appearing in several episodes as parts of Westeros (along with other locations in Northern Ireland) in the Game of Thrones TV series.

I set off from the eastern side, at a spot called Bloody Bridge – named after a massacre in the 1641 rebellion – where there are crystal clear pools in the river before it tumbles into the sea. The path steadily racks up, passing through a quarry then reaching a saddle at over 500m, where a massive stone wall heads directly up the mountain. This is the Mourne Wall, a 22-mile miracle of human labour, crossing a total of 15 peaks in the range. It was constructed between 1904 and 1922 to keep sheep out of the central Mournes, where several important reservoirs supplying Belfast were located. Now it’s the site of an annual race and a handy landmark on misty days. It’s also a stiff climb. I deliberately avoid checking the view: it’s going to be magnificent.

The maximum distance you can see from any peak can be roughly calculated by multiplying the square root of the height in metres by 3.57. That, however, is not necessarily the final answer. Distant peaks beyond the horizon will poke their tops up and variability in light refraction around the Earth means the maximum distance can sometimes be extended significantly. The official record for a ground-to-ground distance view is 300 miles, between two Argentinian mountains in 2023. My own record was a glimpse of Monte Cinto in Corsica from the Alpes-Maritimes, around 155 miles away.

I pause on the climb, puffing a bit, and bang the numbers into my phone’s calculator. At 850m, Slieve Donard’s potential view distance is around 65 miles, which should mean that most elements of the British Isles are visible on a blue-sky day like this one.

I reach the summit and climb over the Mourne Wall to stand next to the bronze age cairn. I look east. Nothing. No Scafell Pike or Yr Wyddfa, not one bit of Scotland, or the Isle of Man either. Sea haze, the curse of the hiker who didn’t get up early, is the problem, particularly frustrating on an otherwise clear day. Having said that, it is a fabulous summit, perched high above the rest of the Mournes, with superb views south and west over the whole of County Down and on into the Republic of Ireland.

I come down via the Glen River, another sparkling stream that leads me right back into the town of Newcastle, where I go directly to the beach and dive in. The view might have failed, but where else can you start by the sea, climb the highest peak, and finish four or five hours later with a sea dip?

A quick change and I head for the Percy French Restaurant in the Slieve Donard Hotel. The front door, I’m told, has a Game of Thrones connection, but it’s really Percy French that intrigues me. An Irish songwriter and wit, French was one of those characters that light up their age. A contemporary of Oscar Wilde and WB Yeats, he regularly performed in Newcastle in the late 19th century and wrote the song The Mountains o’ Mourne, but never achieved much fame outside Ireland. There’s a bronze bust of the man on a side table, and I resolve to take one of his comic couplets as my motto in the quest for the finest panorama. “I’m not as bold as lions but I’m braver than a hen/And he that fights and runs away will live to fight again.”

Next day my goal is Slieve Binnian, at 747m the third highest peak in the range, and arguably the most beautiful. It’s another blue sky, so I am hopeful for fine views.

The track to the summit follows the Mourne Wall the entire distance (about two miles) and at the top I see why locals favour this peak: the summit and ridge are lined with stunning towers of granite, the Back Castles. I scramble up to the highest point. Sea haze. Loads of the stuff, a thick purple porridge all across the eastern horizon. Slieve Donard to the north-east is impressive and the panorama of the Mourne Mountains could not be bettered, but I’ve missed that 360 once again.

I head down the coast to the town of Rostrevor, a place whose dramatic setting inspired the writer CS Lewis to dream up the world of Narnia. “I have seen landscapes,” he wrote, “notably in the Mourne Mountains and southwards which under a particular light made me feel that at any moment a giant might raise his head over the next ridge.” In the Kilbroney Park, next to the town, there’s a good cafe, Synge and Byrne, and a Narnia trail. The town itself boasts a fine high street and some stalwart traditional pubs, one of which I choose for a post-panoramic failure pint.

I ask the barman if the undertaker’s business next door is part of the pub. “It used to make the wakes easy to organise,” he laughs. “But it’s closed down now. Mind you, we kept plenty of ghosts. There’s one who throws things, but is rarely seen.” Like England, Scotland and Wales, I reflect.

Next day is my last chance. The neighbour to my cottage advises on trying Knockchree, a hill of Thorpe Cloud dimensions at 306m. “It stands a bit separate and that makes for a lovely view.” Exactly what my nine-year-old self understood. But my calculator says capable of only a 37-mile range.

Cuckoos and stonechats are calling as I make the climb through pine plantation then up heathland. At the summit I sit down. A magnificent panorama of fields and Mourne Mountains is spread all before me in vivid colour and the sea horizon is perfectly clear. I think I can make out the summit of Snaefell on the Isle of Man, a full 60 miles away, which is a triumph, but England, Scotland and Wales have certainly ceased to exist. There are, however, two ancient kingdoms within my grasp: Westeros and Narnia, and they will do.

Accommodation was provided by Sykes Holiday Cottages, which has various properties in the Mournes area, including Carol Cottage, which sleeps up to eight, from £727 for three nights. Stena Line ferries sail to Belfast twice daily from Liverpool and six times daily from Cairnryan (near Stranraer). Return fare with car from £149

Rory McIlroy says he is looking forward to climbing “another mountain” by winning an Open Championship on home soil after ending a frustrating US Open on a positive note.

The Northern Irishman has struggled since his career Grand Slam-clinching victory at the Masters in April, but carded an encouraging three-under 67 to close out his week at Oakmont on seven over.

The 36-year-old says he will play in next week’s Travelers Championship before taking a couple of weeks off to “get myself in the right frame of mind” for July’s Open Championship at Royal Portrush, where he missed the cut in 2019.

“I climbed my Everest in April, and I think after you do something like that, you’ve got to make your way back down, and you’ve got to look for another mountain to climb,” said the world number two.

“An Open at Portrush is certainly one of those.”

The five-time major champion added: “If I can’t get motivated to get up for an Open Championship at home, then I don’t know what can motivate me.

“I just need to get myself in the right frame of mind. I probably haven’t been there the past few weeks.

“But getting home and having a couple weeks off, hopefully feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, will get me in the right place again.”

Golden hour in Italy’s Dolomites

After a gruelling journey from the UK, arriving at Alpe di Siusi during golden hour felt like stepping into a dream. Farmers turned hay in some of Europe’s highest alpine meadows, framed by jagged Dolomite peaks glowing in soft evening light. We can recommend staying at the Hotel Schmung, a family-run gem with delicious northern Italian food and direct access to scenic hikes. Rifugios provide great lunch stops along the trails. The peaceful setting, breathtaking views and freedom to explore on foot without needing a car make this a perfect base for the Dolomites.
Louise

Panoramic meals in eastern France

The Vosges mountains in Alsace offer relatively gentle walking with fantastic way-marking (shown on IGN maps, the French equivalent of the Ordnance Survey Explorer maps). Panoramic views punctuate the walking through a mixture of pine woods and open pastures. Most Brits seem to keep to the valleys and the beautiful villages and towns but among my highlights of the area is the opportunity to compare the fare at the various fermes auberges that are scattered over the hills. Sharing a table with French and German visitors and locals, the short menus offer food that has to be mainly grown by the farmer/owner. Glasborn-Linge in Soultzeren has a four-course hearty lunch at just €27.
Tony Eginton

Donkey trails up Corsica’s highest peak

A spectacular train ride from Corsica’s seaport of Bastia to the small mountain town of Ponte Leccia provides access to the island’s highest peak, 2,706-metre (8,878ft) Mount Cinto. It can be approached from the dramatic Asco Gorge. For hikers, a network of donkey trails reveals arresting views, river pools and lost worlds, such as the abandoned village of Sepula. There are a couple of remote campsites off the gorge. There’s a ski resort halfway up Mount Cinto where the more challenging cross-island GR20 mountain hiking path can be joined. Late spring is the most enchanting time to visit.
Didier

A perfect chalet in heavenly Montenegro

We spent a heavenly week in Gornja Brezna, Montenegro, a peaceful village 1,000 metres above sea level, surrounded by mountains and with a turquoise river canyon (the Piva) to explore. Days were warm and nights cool. We pootled about on rusty bikes, got coffee at the Etno village restaurant, befriended local dogs, went on herb walks and ran about naked in the birch woods, as well as making bigger excursions to Durmitor national park. We stayed at Nikola’s beautiful Brezan Lug chalet, in its own private woodland, with hot tub, barbecue, fire pit and all mod cons.
Beth

High campiing in northern Albania

My partner and I had a magical time in the northern Albanian mountains. From Shkodër, we made our way to the Valbona valley national park via a two-night stay on (and boat across) Lake Koman. Once in Valbona, we camped with permission on the grounds of Hotel Rilindja, where the owner offered a wealth of hiking tips. From our base, we embarked on a series of spectacular hikes, including a three-day circular to Çerem. The first two days we saw no one apart from shepherds (and a few vipers, which were given a wide berth) before hitting a slightly more travelled section, where we encountered a handful of fellow hikers. The views were breathtaking; the hospitality, affordable and welcoming; and the experience, incomparable.
Alex

Mountain cabins on Sweden’s King’s trail

The mountains and glaciers surrounding the mountain hut at Nallo in north-west Sweden were so spectacular last year that I’m returning to stay for longer in July. It’s roughly seven miles off the popular Kungsleden trail (King’s trail) that winds its way through Lapland. There’s no mobile phone reception, or food, so bring your own supplies. These can be bought at the trailheads, three days’ walk away, or at other mountain huts along the way. What you find at Nallo is a welcoming cabin with a host (£32 for a bunk bed), cozy bunk beds and peace.
Catherine

Across the solar system in Switzerland

This exhilarating four-mile stroll across our solar system starts, appropriately, at an enormous sundial next to the Observatoire François-Xavier Bagnoud at Tignousa in the Val d’Anniviers. As you walk away from the sundial, the planets are revealed sequentially in large metal sculptures, informative panels and a hand-cranked audio track. Each one appears at its proportionate distance and size from the sun, so Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars and Jupiter are soon ticked off on a shallow climb. Twenty minutes later, a striking silver-ringed Saturn overlooks magnificent views of the valley and down to the Rhône a kilometre below. Uranus presages a refreshing paddle in a mountain stream, good preparation for a steeper, but manageable, 30-minute scramble to Neptune and lunch at 2,300 metres, distracted by panoramic views of the Swiss Alps from the deck of the 19th-century Hotel Weisshorn.
Bryan Conway

Rare flowers high in Italy’s Apennines

I hiked through the Maiella national park in Abruzzo, just two hours east of Rome, where marsican brown bears, Abruzzo chamois and wolves roam while griffon vultures soar above. The drought-tolerant vegetation and steep-sided valleys conceal caves that were once inhabited by hermits – it was amazing to imagine what it must have been like living there. Flowering plants galore, with rarities such as the Apennine edelweiss, Apennine gentian, Alpine aster and dryas (a glacial relic) on the high peaks. Exploring ancient pathways and clambering up rocky slopes rewarded me with far-reaching views over the Adriatic Sea.
Monique Gadella

Risqué mountain, Germany

Rather than ascend the expensive and crowded Zugspitze (Germany’s highest mountain at 2,962 metres), during a summer visit to Garmisch-Partenkirchen we instead opted for a cable car up the magnificently named Mount Wank (1,780 metres). We were rewarded with lush mountain meadows, superb views of the valley below and peace and quiet. A cold beer on the sun terrace at the Sonnenalm restaurant is a must. If you have the energy, you can walk the well-marked trail back to the town or head down on the Wankbahn.
Travis Roberts

Winning tip: Going with the flow in Spain’s Sierra Nevada

Walking the acequias of the Alpujarras in the southern Sierra Nevada, following 1,200-year-old irrigation systems built by the Moors while the snow-capped peaks above soar to almost 3,500 metres. Acequia Baja from the forest track above Capileira, curves round into the Poqueira valley, into a basin below the three highest peaks in mainland Spain while booted eagles ride the thermals. There are views across the Mediterranean to the Rif mountains in Morocco in clear conditions, framed by the deep valleys funnelling year-round snowmelt waters down steep gorges, yet the walk along the acequia is quite easy-going given the altitude.
Jeremy

AN influencer and extreme sports enthusiast died after “tumbling through the air” in a 60ft plunge off a British mountain

Maria Eftimova, 28, went hiking up the 3,000ft peak before slipping on rocky ground and tumbling down the mountain to her death.

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Maria suffered fatal head injuries and, despite the best efforts of medical staff, was tragically pronounced dead at the scene.

The influencer, with more than 10,000 followers, was tackling the notorious Tryfan mountain in Snowdonia, North Wales, when she fell to her death.

An inquest into her death heard she was climbing the mountain’s notorious north ridge – a popular but dangerous scrambling route.

Maria was an experienced mountaineer and had completed an ice-climbing course in Norway shortly before the horror unfolded.

The inquest has heard how she posed for a “Mexican wave” with friends before she fell to her death.

Fellow climber Harry Jones said the group were going up the face one-by-one when he witnessed Maria’s tragic fall.

He added: “I could see on one particular ledge Maria stopped in order to get a handhold to pull herself up, I was six ft below her, to the left.

“She swung her right leg up to pull herself up. I asked ‘Got it well?’ and she said ‘I think so.”

He said moments later he witnessed Maria “flying over me” and down the mountainside.

The 60ft plummet left Maria with horrific injuries, including a fractured skull..

Coroner Kate Robertson returned a conclusion of accidental death and passed on her condolences to Maria’s family and friends.

Maria, of St Helens, originally from Sofia, Bulgaria, showcased her outdoor lifestyle online.

Following her tragic death a fundraiser was set up by friends to help cover repatriation costs.

Maria’s tragic death on February 22nd came less than a week after Dr Charlotte Crook, 30, also died while climbing in the same region.

An inquest heard Dr Crook plunged 30ft to her death while walking on Glyder Fach with a fellow medic.

Both women were attended to by Ogwen Valley Mountain Rescue Organisation.

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Speaking of Maria’s accident, the Ogwen Valley Mountain Rescue team said: “A group was ascending the north-ridge when one of them fell 20 metres into steep terrain.

“Passers-by with climbing equipment abseiled down and made her safe, and a team member already nearby made his way down and started CPR.

“Colleagues from Welsh Ambulance Service stood by at base while the Coastguard helicopter dropped team members onto the mountain.

“Unfortunately, the casualty had not survived her injuries, and she was brought down to Oggie base.

“The thoughts of all involved are with the casualties families and friends, thank you to all the members of the public who tried to help.”

Neil Oakes, who was on a slightly different route up the mountain at the time Maria fell, told of his horror at witnessing the tragedy unfold.

He said: “I turned and saw Ms Eftimova tumbling through the air below me. She was already in freefall.

“I knew there was going to be an impact on the rocky outcrop below so I turned away for a split second. I was shouting ‘No, no, no, no.’

“When I turned back she was on the ledge below. I knew that it was serious.

“I said ‘She’s gone. She’s fallen.’ I was in shock.”