Just Another Mountain

Sarah Douglas found an unusual way to channel her grief and sadness

- Bess Browning

I was just three when I first climbed to the roof of my grandparents' house, looked out above the treetops and saw Glen Strathfarrar in the Scottish Highlands. From that moment, I was utterly mesmerised. But as an adult, these magnificent peaks would not just be something beautiful to look at, they would become my greatest comfort during some of the toughest times of my life.

Growing up an only child in my grandparents' house in a sleepy seaside village, I spent my youth running through the fields and miles of beaches, exploring every corner of their vast gardens.

My mother, Jennifer, had been the same, and she was the one who first took me to the Scottish hills. Dad wasn't around, so it was just us and my grandparents.

I saw how comforting walking the Scottish Highlands could be when, in 1975, Mum lost her fiancé Gerry six weeks before they were due to get married. An Army mountaineer, Gerry had fallen from mount Nuptse in the Himalayas while training for an Everest trip. Mum was inconsolable but every morning she'd force herself out of bed and go for a hike. 'Let's go for a walk and clear our heads,' she'd say, taking my hand. She was so low, but after those walks I’d see a little glimpse of her smile.

Later, aged 20, I joined Gray's School of Art – and while I was there, in December 1993, Mum faced even more heartbreak. She told me she had breast cancer.

Watching her go through a lumpectomy followed by radiotherapy was tough. But, through it all, she'd still go for those walks.