First thing in the morning, we were joined at the bothy by a chap who had cycled the very technical route up through the valley. This didn't bode well for my standard 8.30am morning poo. I sulked. We started the day with a steep but short climb up to Loch Etchachan. We dropped our bags and continued up the south side of Beinn Mheadhoin.

First thing in the morning, we were joined at the bothy by a chap who had cycled the rather challenging route up through the valley. This didn't bode well for my standard 8.30am morning poo. I sulked.

We started the day with a steep but short climb up to Loch Etchachan. We dropped our bags and continued up the south side of Beinn Mheadhoin. Like Ben Avon, the top is defined by massive rocks - three this time - and I climbed up onto the smallest to show willing. Tom, of course, had to immediatedly out-do me and claimed the largest. A tiny part of me anxiously wonders if this technically means I didn't successfully bag Beinn Mheadhoin... But I think I'm going to allow myself to be blissfully ignorant. 

Once back at the loch, we briefly followed the main mountain path, swinging off it to the south at its shallowest point to head towards Derry Cairngorm. We dropped our bags again and hopped up the rocky side. My balance was definitely improving by this point and I moved more quickly and confidently across the rocks. Although still partial to a comedy scream whenever I stepped on a surprise wobbler!

Two Munros down by midday. Easy.

As we ate our lunch back on the main path, the wind picked up, rain began and fog closed in. We continued along southwestward, all the way up to Ben Macdui, the second highest mountain in Scotland (after Ben Nevis, obviously). It was marked on the map as a "viewpoint". Yeah alright, map. I'll take your word for it. 

There was a pretty cool ruin though, that looked wonderfully bleak and mysterious in the mist. Back to using the compass, we hiked slowly down the south side. We followed a cliff edge for some way before the mountainside opened out into a gentle enough slope to continue right down into the valley. The fog suddenly cleared and we had a great view of the Carn a Mhaim ridge, and beyond it, the rather dramatic Devil's Point.

The going was slow since the whole slope was covered in boulders. After an hour or so of concentrating hard on footsteps and tensing my body to maintain balance, I was feeling really quite sick. By the time we reached the valley, I had pretty bad stomach cramps.

The plan had been to climb up and over Carn a Mhaim and camp on the far side, but it was getting late in the day. We decided to steer further down through the valley on the east side of the ridge instead. But I had my Munro-bagging mindset nagging at me. We had talked about getting this last peak the next morning, but I was concerned about time. We already had a long final day planned to get back to Cairn Gorm Ski Centre some eighteen kilometers away, and a deadline of 6pm to catch the last bus.

I put this to Tom as we approached the shallowest point on the slope up to the ridge. He wasn't super-keen to climb Carn a Mhaim today, but agreed on the premise that we would do it bag-less, and that we could camp as soon as we got back down. Deal! 

It was still pretty steep in places, and also a bit slippy. There were tonnes of little frogs hopping about, and I felt it necessary to let out a gleeful girly squeal each time I spotted one. About an hour later, we reached the ridge, and the peak was just 100m or so northwards. The sky was darkening, so we quickly shoved our celebratory Nutrigrain bars in our mouths, and got the hell out. 

It was about 6.30pm when we arrived back at the bags, perfect time to set up camp for the night. But for some reason, I convinced Tom to continue down the valley for another half hour to make the following day easier still. Unfortunately, by the time we wanted to stop, there was absolutely nowhere to camp. We had joined a path and all of the surrounding terrain was both steep and very - erm - bushy. We set our sights on a wooded area in the distance. 

At 8.30pm, we arrived at the wood, and it was still crappy camping. We spent the next 30 minutes scouting around for somewhere - not even pleasant, but just possible - to pitch the tent. It was becoming pretty stressful. There was a lot of heather around, which, for me, isn't just off-putting due to its lumpiness. It always brings back memories of an adder that a schoolfriend and I stumbled upon while hiking in the North York Moors when we were 18. Nothing happened. It's just that seeing heather reminds me that snakes exists. And that puts me off camping. Big time.

Deal with it, Lucy. We are camping in f***ing heather. End of story. 

I picked the most sparse, tent-sized patch I could find, while Tom refilled our water bottles to make the now well-overdue dinner. We settled down around 10.30pm - the first time it had actually been dark before bed!

Up at 6.45am, Tom makes me porridge for breakfast while I pack the bedding away... Okay, I sleep a bit more. Until he asks me how I'm getting on. Then I pack the bedding away, while Tom puts coffee into our flasks to take with us. As with the evenings, the morning pack-away is now routine, with set responsibilities. However, it still always takes us at least TWO HOURS to execute!

I was beginning to flag at this point. Little exercise over the last couple of months, plus a rekindled relationship with tiramisu, means that my body isn't quite at its best level of fitness currently.

We took regular breaks and I moaned plenty as we scrambled over rocky patches. It's one of those mountains where you think you're about to hit the top, and then a new higher point pops up a few hundred metres away to taunt you.

A mini celebration at the cairn. All three Munros claimed according to plan today. An unusual feat! We continued down the tame, shallow south side onto a huge plateau, where we would set up camp for the night. There is little shelter here, but weather conditions were very favourable.

I set up the "bedroom" - blow up airbeds, arrange sleeping bags, liners and pillows - while Tom filters water from a nearby stream or lochan, and cooks up the dinner. 

This isn't so bad when I really pull them up around my waist. 

But...

By New Zealand-based pattern company Papercut, the Rigel is a clean, modern and loose-fitting jacket. It comes with two versions (the second has a subtle patchwork detail on the shoulders) and can be made in various fabric types - silk, cotton, or in my case, quilted jersey, and moleskin.The jersey was quite a find actually, hidden in the murky depths of Classic Textiles on Goldhawk Road, London and priced at FIVE POUNDS A METRE.

I almost fell at the fist hurdle though. I didn't buy a lot of it (I know, even at THAT price. What an idiot.) so I spent two hours nervously arranging - and rearranging - the pattern pieces, until I finally successfully squeezed all of them onto the fabric. Phew! Then, somehow, as soon as I picked up my scissors, I cut straight through one of the front panels. F***'s sake. And I was quite amusingly and disproportionately despairing. Much disbelieving head-shaking and swearing ensued. It went on for quite some time.

Eventually, I got over it. I rearranged the pieces again, dividing the least important ones in two. So I have a little seam on each of the lining strips. Not the end of the world.

For the most part, the Rigel pattern is straightforward. The trickiest bit comes right at the beginning, when you create the pockets. I've had quite a few goes at welt pockets in the last few months, but I still can't get my head around the process. I had to unpick this pocket twice, since I kept making the welt wider at one end than the other. I think really the key is just practice and patience. It makes for a beautiful pocket in the end! I did all the finishing by hand. 

The pattern says to use ribbing for the collar too. But I found that there was enough stretch on the bias of my quilted jersey to execute it neatly with that. I worked hard to get the seam allowances of the collar exactly the same on each side. Any small differences become surprisingly obvious when zipped up. And then of course I had to put the zip in as perfectly as possible too (I always baste a zip first). I was pretty proud of the symmetry on this one.

I didn't make a single alteration to the fit of this jacket. Sleeves are the perfect length. Shoulders are loose enough to lift my arms up in the air. There isn't any unnecessary bulk. It doesn't ride up. Pockets are well positioned. Collar sits perfectly on my neck. I really am massively impressed!

I'm so pleased I didn't give up immediately after that initial problem with my pattern cutting. It's turned out to be my absolute favourite homemade garment. In full-on white, it's a bit of a statement, and obviously rather impractical for a lot of situations (it is never coming to the pub with me, for example). But it's tasteful and flattering, and I'm not being TOO precious about it. Much coffee has been drunk and biscuits nibbled over it. No spillages so far. 

It has even had a trip to the Arctic Circle!