Pick a modest knoll, not a mountain

The best first ascent is a hill so modest that nobody else would bother calling it a summit. In Britain that usually means somewhere between 50 and 200 metres of climbing: a grassy knoll above a valley road, a heathery shoulder crowned with a small cairn, one of the countless Knowes, Knotts and Laws scattered across our uplands. These little hills teach you everything a big one will demand later, but they do it close to a road and within reach of a warm drink.

Start with a 1:25,000 map and read the contours. Widely spaced lines mean gentle ground; lines packed tight mean steep ground, and possibly crags. A good first hill has a clear path from a road, a fence or wall running near the top to use as a handrail, and a summit you can identify from below. Avoid anything with "Craig", "Crag" or "Edge" in its name, and be wary of routes crossing a wide blank of bog with no line features to follow. Check access too: much open moorland is open access land, but some estates close paths at certain times, so read the map key and any notices at the gate.

Check a mountain forecast, not a town one

Town weather tells you almost nothing about a hillside two hundred metres higher and a dozen miles inland. Use a dedicated mountain forecast and read four numbers: wind speed and direction, cloud base, precipitation, and the temperature at summit level. As a rough rule, air cools by about 1°C for every 150 metres of ascent, so a pleasant 14°C in the valley can be 7°C on top, before the wind chill.

Some practical thresholds. Gusts above 40 mph make walking on exposed ground hard work; above 60 mph it becomes genuinely dangerous, and turning back is the only sensible option. If the cloud base sits below your summit height, expect no view and prepare to navigate in mist. Heavy rain turns peat into a swamp and fills streams that were dry when you set off. And a clear, calm morning in April can still mean ice on a north-facing slope. Give yourself permission to cancel — the knoll will still be there next weekend.

Tell someone your route before you set off

Write a short route card and leave it with someone who will notice if you don't come back. It needs your start point and grid reference, your intended line of ascent, the summit, your descent route, your estimated time back, your mobile number, and how many people are with you. A text message is fine, as long as it contains all of that.

Estimating time is where most people go wrong. The classic starting point is Naismith's rule: allow four kilometres per hour on the flat, plus one minute for every ten metres of ascent. Then add time for bog, poor visibility, a large group, and the stopping and staring that makes a day out enjoyable. For a first hill, double whatever the map suggests. Set a latest return time and message when you're back at the car. Signal on the hill is patchy at best, so treat your phone as a bonus rather than a safety net.

What to carry, even for two hours

The British uplands punish optimism. A short list carried every time will keep a small day from becoming a long one.

• a 1:25,000 map in a waterproof case, and a compass you actually know how to use
• waterproof jacket and trousers, plus a spare warm layer
• hat and gloves, even in June
• boots with proper tread — trainers turn a wet grass descent into a slide
• food, water, and a torch or headtorch
• a whistle; six blasts is the mountain distress signal
• a small first aid kit and a lightweight emergency shelter or bivvy bag
• a charged phone in a waterproof pouch

Walking the ground: moorland is slower than it looks

Tussock grass, deep heather and peat hags can halve your pace, and a route that measures three kilometres on the map may take two hours on the ground. Walls, fences and streams are your friends; follow them as handrails rather than striking out across featureless ground. Watch for false summits, because the cairn you can see is very often not the top. On short legs in mist, take a bearing and count your paces — it is slower than following a path, but it gets you there.

Be a good guest on the hill. Keep to paths where they exist, close every gate behind you, and keep dogs on leads through lambing and ground-nesting season. Carry everything out that you carried in.

Know when to turn back

Decide your turning points before you leave, at a stile or a junction where the decision feels unemotional. Turning back is a skill, not a failure, and it is the single most useful thing a new hillwalker can learn.

Watch for the warning signs: visibility dropping, wind steadily rising, hands going cold and clumsy, one member of the group falling behind, or the clock running well past your estimate. Cold, stumbling and muddled speech mean you need to get someone warm and sheltered immediately.

If you think you're lost, stop. Eat, drink, add a layer, then work back to the last place you were certain of and navigate from there. Six whistle blasts and six torch flashes repeated at intervals will draw attention. In a real emergency, dial 999, ask for the police, then mountain rescue, and give your grid reference, the number in your group, any injuries and what you're wearing. The summit is optional; getting home is the whole point.