On any given weekend, somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, a walker will pause beside a summit cairn, take a photograph and quietly cross another mountain off a list.
To outsiders, the appeal can seem baffling. Why spend years battling midges, navigating through cloud and trudging across bog soaked ground simply to stand on top of 282* mountains?
Yet for generations of hillwalkers, ‘Munro bagging’ has become far more than a physical challenge. It has evolved into one of Scotland’s most enduring outdoor traditions; a pursuit that combines adventure, personal challenge, history and a deep connection with the landscape.
Few stories capture the emotional pull of the Munros better than that of Nick Gardner. When Gardner turned 80 in 2020, most people would have been content to slow down. Instead, the retired physics teacher from Gairloch set himself the goal of climbing all 282 Munros within 1,200 days. The challenge came during one of the most difficult periods of his life. His wife Janet had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and osteoporosis, and had moved into full-time care. Feeling powerless in the face of her illness, Gardner sought purpose in the mountains he had loved all his life. Two years later, aged 82, he stood atop his final Munro having walked around 2,000 miles and climbed more than 500,000 feet. Along the way, he raised tens of thousands of pounds for charity. His achievement was remarkable, but what resonated with so many people was the reason behind it. The mountains gave him a goal, certainly, but they also gave him a way forward.
Nick’s story helps explain something important about Munro bagging. While the challenge is often measured in numbers, the real attraction is rarely the list itself.
The Munros owe their name to Sir Hugh Munro, who in 1891 published a catalogue of Scottish mountains over 3,000 feet. More than a century later, thousands of walkers have followed in his footsteps, aiming to climb every summit and earn the title of “compleator”. Yet statistics alone cannot explain why so many people become enthralled by the challenge. Part of the answer lies in the extraordinary variety of the mountains themselves. Completing the Munros takes walkers from the familiar landscapes of Glencoe and the Cairngorms to some of the most remote corners of Britain, let alone Scotland. To bag all the Munros is to experience almost every facet of the Highlands; from vast plateaus and sweeping ridges to hidden corries, sea lochs and lonely glens where you can walk for hours without seeing another person.
For many people, the mountains provide something increasingly rare in modern life: simplicity. A day in the hills strips life back to its essentials. The focus narrows to weather, navigation, movement and the next summit. Success depends not on status, wealth or background, but on preparation, resilience and putting one foot in front of the other. In a world dominated by screens, deadlines and constant notifications, that simplicity can feel immensely restorative.
The mountains also offer perspective. A difficult week at work, a personal setback or a lingering worry can appear very different when viewed from a ridge thousands of feet above sea level. Many walkers speak of the mental clarity that comes from spending time in the hills. The challenge may begin as a physical one, but the rewards are often psychological.
However, Scotland’s mountains offer something deeper still. Every Munro sits within a landscape shaped not only by geology but by centuries of human history. Beneath many popular routes lie old drove roads once used to move cattle to market. Empty glens, that now appear wild and untouched, were once home to thriving communities before the Highland Clearances transformed the region. Ruined cottages, abandoned townships and crumbling stone walls can still be found across the Highlands, reminders that these landscapes were once places of everyday life rather than wilderness.
photo credit @hollyahaldane
The mountains also preserve one of Scotland’s oldest cultural treasures: the Gaelic language.
Many hillwalkers and mountaineers quickly become familiar with words such as beinn, sgùrr, coire and gleann. The names on the map are often far more than labels. They describe shapes, colours, weather patterns and local stories passed down through generations. Ben Nevis, or Beinn Nibheis, is often translated as “the mountain with its head in the clouds”. Sgùrr nan Gillean on Skye means “Peak of the Young Men”. These names offer glimpses into how earlier generations understood and interpreted the landscape around them.
Folklore adds another layer. Long before modern mountaineers arrived with GPS devices and technical clothing, the mountains occupied a place in Scotland’s imagination. Peaks and glens were associated with heroes, warriors, spirits and supernatural beings. The jagged Cuillin ridge on Skye is forever linked to the warrior Scáthach and the legends of Cú Chulainn. Elsewhere, mountains, lochs and corries became settings for stories that helped people understand an often harsh and unpredictable environment.
Whether or not one believes the legends, they remind us that the mountains have always been more than physical features. They are places where stories, culture and identity are woven into the terrain. Perhaps that is why reaching a summit rarely feels like the end of the experience.
photo credit @hollyahaldane
Anyone who has spent time among Munro baggers will know that conversations often begin with numbers. How many have you done? Which is your favourite? What’s left on your list? But beneath those questions lies something more meaningful. The shared understanding is not really about counting mountains. It is about the experiences gathered along the way; the friendships formed, the challenges overcome, the sunrises witnessed and the memories created.
Indeed, many compleators describe a surprising sense of loss when they finally finish all the Munros. After years, and often decades, of planning adventures around unfinished summits, the list is complete. The objective has gone. Some start again. Others move on to Corbetts, Grahams or new mountaineering challenges. Most, however, simply continue walking.
Because in the end, Munro bagging is not really about collecting mountains.
The list may provide the motivation to begin, but what keeps people returning is the landscape itself. Scotland’s mountains offer adventure, solitude, challenge, beauty and connection in equal measure. They connect us to nature, to history, to culture and, perhaps most importantly, to ourselves.
And so, on any given weekend, another walker will stand beside another cairn somewhere in the Highlands. They may take a photograph and tick off another summit. To an outsider, it might look like the completion of a simple objective.
In reality, it is participation in a tradition that has endured for more than a century; one that continues to inspire, challenge and transform those who answer the call of the mountains.
* Editorial note: the article currently refers to 282 Munros, which is the current accepted number. Historically the list has changed several times (it was originally 283), which is why both figures appear in Munro literature.