Slioch

Hatched in my mind a week earlier but as usual, little prep until the day.

It was almost harder to pack light for this trip, because that involved moving most of things out of my heavier pack - so I wasn't really carrying less stuff except the stuff that dangles off the outside of my backpacking rucsac. 

Still, my little Gourdon 25L Alpkit dry pack was stuffed to the capability of it's rool-top and we made it. Then the 2 hour drive to get to the start point at the North end of lock Maree, stopping for more food supplies on the way. I made my sandwiches in the carpark at kinlochewe. 

Incheril is at the far end of the Postie Path. You can guarantee everyone you meet on trail is parked at Incheril - or getting picked up there. On the low flat walk in I met a pair of older staunch female walkers, a chatty mixed couple from Gloucester and a middle aged pair of boy scouts in knee length shorts and cable-knit socks - pulled right up to keep the midges off.  Green shirts, brown boots, full sky blue midget caps (despite the relatively low midge count). I sought a midge forecast but they reassured me it was purely a preventative measure. I'm all up for that kind of wearability in midge headgear so had to ask where they'd got those from (Mountain Warehouse!).  

Everyone was an out and back walker. At 1 pm, one even asked Lena if she'd had a nice walk? I was too ashamed to admit we'd only just set off.

Within 50m of the access gate to "open country" my dog had already pooed. I'd intended to carry it in side-pockets but they were already rammed full. Instead I hid it (very well) in some long grass by a rock by a gate, with a strong resolution to return later. Unlike my Glen Afric walk, there are no alternative exit routes here (well, they're very wet and involve water-craft).

The second poo came less than 20 minutes later so a discrete birch tree branch was commandeered as a hiding place. No one who walked this way today would realise they were walking under poo except, possibly, for the presence of some mild odour). 

On the recommendation of the Gloucester couple, we ate lunch on a rocky outcrop raised above the wood, grass land and bracken (and midges) surrounding the river delta below. We missed a turn-off onto the path that avoids the marshy bog lands. The book describes a small cairn but my guess is it was consumed by bracken. Instead we scrambled steeply up the hillside through woodland to gain the true path.

After an hour we pinged the spot to let Andrew know that was our one-hour-to-go location.

30 minutes later we arrived at a bridge over the Waterfall which marks the beginning of the ascent to higher ground. It was good to know we had a 90 minute hike out.

In following the path alonside the river, I soon diverged from my intended route and ended up working hard to follow a deer track which crossed a rocky bluff to meet the stalker's path above. A few minutes later, three people appeared ahead of us, obviously on their way down since my late start meant it was already 2:30. 

The young couple with a collie were friendly. I empathised with the woman, carrying a pair of winter gloves, dangling from her waist belt.  I was secretly intimidated for, although I had fleece gloves with waterproof liners buried deep in my pack, she was carrying what I'd normally describe as "ski gloves". 

Both the young couple and the man behind were heavily "fleeced." Clearly it was cold on top. The latter greeted me with "You're going to get wet". Wow. Nice! I said reassuring things about being well-packed and prepared for it. I was confident I was and now inwardly relieved I'd been typically conservative in bringing my tarp shelter and pegs for emergency use - as well as my Spot Tracker. 

He gave me the more detailed hour-by-hour breakdown of," it'll start raining now and be torrential by 5pm". He knows how to brighten a lady's day!  For about 20 minutes I surged ahead in a kind of rush/panic, determined to beat the torrential rain and make the summit. Then I realised there was no point in ruining our day for some bloke intent on self-satisfying himself he was being "helpful". 

I chilled out and stopped shouting at the dog to get a move on.  For a moment the slope eased into the corrie of Slioch, invisible from the road. Only those who venture up this far get to see in, thanks to a massive scar cut by the river between Slioch and its neighbour to the South. The scar is almost impressive as the mountain itself - a 100m glassy cliff face. 

We picked our way across the Corrie floor, thankful of a few nice days and dry bog and the rain that had not come yet. There were lots of lovely big boulders left behind by glaciers. We'd have no problems finding good shelter in an emergency. In amongst my musings I realised we were walking 5m from 10 head of deer. With the wind blowing from the dog's direction, they clearly knew we were there but chose to stand stock still and let us pass rather than run. I was eternally grateful because - due to that wind direction - my dog didn't even notice them and continued obediently alonside.  

I made no attempt at good navigation, simply pulled out my cheating Garmin and targeted the path above us that would lead to the first summit - a Corbet called Sgurr An Tuill Bhain - and the ridge beyond. Despite that, we overshot the path and after climbing straight up the Corrie face, we backtracked South towards some people standing on the ridgeline. It didn't take me much longer to realise it was actually a stag. Still, it had a good line. Lena got scent of it and pulled me up to the ridge which was helpful right up until she spent the next hour wanting to pull me 180 degree to our intended direction. It took summitting to put the scent out of her reach.  On a terraced slope, every pile of stones looked like an alternative route to venison.

At the summit,that inevitable rain arrived with some pretty hefty gusts. So far I'd survived in tee-shirt and trousers. The summit cairn bleakly made me think of a child's burial mound (without a top). A rectangular hole just big enough for us both to sit in. I ate the rest of my lunch while dressing the dog in a jumper and coat and donning my crap cycling waterproofs (which involved taking my boots off), added my wool baselayer under my coat and squirrelled my shorts away for another day - almost embarrassed I'd brought them. I was now wearing everything I had with me, short of wrapping my tarp around me which would have been a legit move.  I just hoped it didn't get any colder so I wouldn't have to resort to extreme measures. Still, sitting still in a hole not moving should be about as cold as it will get. The dog kept leaping out - wanting to get moving. I could empathise, but also, we needed to eat.

The rain was light enough for me to shoot a few photos before squirrelling the camera away in 2 layers of dry bag in anticipation of the torrential rain. 

Just as I was finishing dressing Gavin arrived. Gavin was having his best mountain day ever, having climbed "the usual" like Ben Nevis, Snowdon, Scafell, Helvellyn and the like. It sounded like he'd finally discovered real mountains. I admit that at the time, I assumed he was trying to show off but in retrospect, it was kind of sweet. He asked about the descent - what I'd just come up and I reported back, mentioning that I thought I'd have a better end to my day and also saying I'd catch up with him on the walk back. 

He was adamant that I still had a lot to do and that, "It's further than you think!" I told him his descent was steeper than he could imagine. For some reason he lingered long enough for us to pack up and part ways, with Lena and I heading off in the opposite direction. 

The ridgeline was cold and very windy ahead but nothing daunting stood in our way. I usually find that things aren't as far as they look and our clothing choices were doing their jobs. It wasn't yet rainning very hard and I noticed I'd only put one waterproof glove layer on. It didn't seem to matter. Apart from the occasional strong gust of wind causing a stumble, the broad-backed ridge was easy. We could occasionally manage to get onto the leeward side of the slope but mostly we had to suck it up in the wind. Sometimes I managed to jog to make it go quicker. I was determined to get to the summit before the weather turned bad-and get off again safely. It was such a shame to rush things after the effort of getting there but it was more important to get down alive. 

The views from the top were over loch Maree's islands and into Fisherfield lochs that I'd never before seen on my bike packing trips. At the OS summit cairn - a fine affair hewn of local stone not concrete - I hunkered down behind a rock and unearthed the camera from rucsac and dry bag, took as many photos in auto as I dared and stuffed it away again. We quickly moved onto the true summit with the rain starting in earnest. 

Sure, the big cliffs overlooking the loch and the Torridon mountains beyond were other-worldly spectacular - a little Tolkien-esque in the fading light. It was 4:30pm. I was dead on schedule for an 8:30 finish - just enough to get back without using any of my two head torches. 

The path didn't mess around in getting to the lochan on the shoulder of the East face which marks the descent to the corrie.  In the gathering wind and rain it took a lot of effort to stop the dog straight-lining down the hill. I stopped to put my second waterproof glove on before the fleece one got soaked and tied a hand loop in the long lead so Leena could walk right behind me. After a few commands she stuck behind me and even seemed to welcome the easier, more stable lines, hopping down each rock step behind.  Of course the risk was the risk that I would slide over and sit on her but in balance, the risk of me falling over at all was much lower with her behind my heels.

We survived the descent to the lochan. At least the descent to the main Corrie was across the gradient. and as things eased near the bottom, most of the bogs were still dry.  I was being careful about where Lena could paddle to get water so she didn't get her fleece layer caked in sopping bog mud. As we crossed the Corrie floor I looked out for Gavin on the other path - hoping to see its true course for future reference. There was no sign of him. Maybe he was right - he was much further ahead on his day than me and I'd not see him again.

Our next stage was to descend from the Corrie lip through the rocky bluffs on - what I hoped would be an obvious path on the return route. As we moved over the lip of the corrie we said our "adieu" to Sloch's summit then saw Gavin about 100 m down the path. There was no hot pursuit though. The boulder-scrambles that we had gladly tackled in the dry were now soaked and slippy. I leaned heavily on my pole and kept the dog close. As my legs began to stiffen I had to use my hands to lower myself down. A great test for my gloves.

Gavin was really useful as he showed up where the main path went so when a short-cut through the bracken presented itself we took it. The pathlet led us all the way back to the bridge direct and was probably the route described in the book as initiating from "a small cairn".  None of which I had found today!

Gavin was at the bridge, packing away his fleece layer for the hike out. I was going to need to keep moving to stay warm. The exertion of the descent had done its job but I was a bit worried I'd chill on the easy bit. We hurriedly compared notes about the severity and longevity of the descent and discussed the hike out. He was bought into the indoctrination it was a long way. Lena and I thought it short compared to the 13km trail out of Glen Afric. We left Gavin to his packing and set off into the steady rain at a clip, keen to be back to get some dinner and to complete the hike without needing to use my headtorch.

There were plenty of milestones to count down the 90 minute trek back to our pickup point. After 30 minutes we stopped so I could ping TSk to indicate we were 1 hour away. At this point I had a slight wobble about Gavin. He was in no difficulty when I saw him and put his slow progress down the hill down to being a bit bored of it.  I kinda get that-it did drag on a while (though I found it quite exciting!). It occurred to me though - if he really was new to munroes and wary of the 4.5km exit hike, did he have a head torch and enough food to get back? 

That said, I was enjoying the solitude and patter of rain on leaves and didn't want to ruin it with chatter. I was sure I could wait long enough at the carpark to make sure he got out alive.#

Then the treasure hunt started - to relocate the two poo-bags I had stashed on my way out. Given the windy conditions I was slightly nervous about the first one stowed in the leaves of a tree branch above the path. Would it still be there? Would it have fallen onto some unsuspecting thru-hiker? I got a little worried that in a woodland I'd struggle to find the right tree but there was only one other decoy candidate and one branch that I hit my head on as the breeze caught the bough just as I'd started my search.

When I arrived at the tree I knew it was the one and the bag was still there, tucked away out of sight and if you didn't know it was there, you d never see it. I stuffed it into the side pocket of my backpack, too tired to care if the bag split and I stank of dog poo for the next 40 minutes. This time there was no getting lost in the river delta, we simply stuck to the high path which I now recognised from an early HT reccee that included the Postie path. 

When I dropped down to the final bridge over the river, I saw where I'd gone wrong-yet another rocky cairn consumed by 6ft tall bracken. Talking of tall things, the path then followed the deer fence that keeps them out of Kinlochewe graveyard and grazing lands. Our second treasure was stashed by a rock by the deer gate and my fear of the grasses being blown aside to reveal the brown stash were unfounded. Another bag was stuffed into the inventory: 2 number twos for 2.

Only metres from the car park, my next hope was that we'd be able to see the van through the trees and the fading light. It wasn't immediately visible when we reached the deer gate but also, there were other vehicles there and plenty of space for me to pitch my tarp in the trees to wait. I needn't have worried. Sensibly, Tsk had parked in exactly the same spot as my drop off and as the clearing opened up, we saw the silver bus come into view.

I wiped and dis­robed the dog and settled her in the van then set about removing my own revolting waterproof layers - boggy gaiters and trousers. The boots were tossed in the back and replaced with plush comfy trainers. My coat was half hung up and replaced with a soft, warm cotton shirt and then, much to our relief as the light truly got tenuous, Gavin emerged from the deer fence too. He'd almost lost the way into the car park in the twilight but was otherwise happy and just a bit hungry. As soon as he found his car keys we did a runner and headed back to our own base camp for pasta leftovers. 

Job done.