Prelogue
It's been a weird old year. September is here and yet, my planned ambitious desire to complete the munroes before I am 60 came to a grinding halt between March and September as I single-handedly failed to travel North of the border for my own needs.
I got unfit (see "Not Gairich" post) and convinced myself that to be successful I needed to train first and I never got chance. Our summer holidays were the first opportunity to set things straight and train into it.
I warmed up with some approach reccies and mianders along highland trails with my support crew (family) and generally tried to relax and cheer up. It was easily done, give or take a few midges and downpours which are all part of the experience.
Munro walk 1 - Chno Dearg and Stob Coire Sgriodain Thursday, 8th August 2024
TSK dropped Lena and me off at the carpark at Fersit near Loch Treig and after a short walk to the bottom of the route, went off to do his own thing. Every time I memorise the booky description of the hill route and I don't memorise it well so I take photos of it. I then get my camera out and read the book as well as interpreting the map. I was at a farmyard, figuring out where to go as buzzy things flew by and I hoped I wasn't standing in someone's driveway. All was quiet.
We followed the obvious path, tantalisingly labelled Corrour Station - miles away across the moorland track. After the bookish km, a faint path did indeed head out across boggy moorland towards a shoulder leading down from the main summit. We were mildly distracted by a quad bike track rather than accessing the shoulder and after quite some time bog-hopping, decided we should've stuck to the route description. We spent the next forever trying to achieve the ridgeline, giving up in the end and cutting over to a grassy slope that went up to the ridgeline at around 45 - 50 degrees incline. It was hard work but we sprinted it in a heather-bashing kind of way then sat down to eat crisps to celebrate being back on the route before the next bit.
The wind was pouring over the shoulder of the mountain and we had a great cool-down from earlier midge bites. I thought of work once - realising that there was no reception and I was missing a meeting with Aberdeen Council that I had said I would attend if I had reception. I put my phone away for the rest of the day. Even if I got reception they'd not be able to hear a word I said.
The view of Loch Treig told me TSK had no success with photographay unless he'd tried to get some gritty shots of the low shoreline. The water level was low - whethter that's its hydro status or it is in maintenance, I don't know.
Grasping at the last tangible edges of any views from the summit, we rushed to the top of Stob Coire Sgriodain, camera in hand. It was blusteringly windy and there was no shelter so the summit photo from there was rushed. Impressive cliffs pointed down towards the loch so there was a semblance of reward from a relatively simple and close-quarters hill. I won't say "easy" because the alloted ammount of heather bashing and swearing and lack of path had already put it in to the far-from-easy category which was satisfying for the proximity to a carpark.
I chose to do these two (slightly harder) peaks so that I could save their solo neighbour for another time on a weekend when I had limited hours to spare to climb a peak before heading back south.
As soon as we left the summit of Sgriodain, the clag started to descend so I took an inordinate number of photos of the view before it disapeared, and the route ahead. I got out the compas just in case. The garmin was doing fine but it was suddenly easier to work in a more analogue way and follow the guidebook's more vague "north a bit then north east a bit", and there is, indeed, a sketchy path.
I would later find out from TSK that some of the reviews of Chno Dearg describe it as "a really boring lump of a hill which no-one would ever bother to climb if it weren't a munro". That's fine by me. I'm in munro bagging as a reason to be in the hills places where I wouldn't normally go, sometimes in conditions I wouldn't necessarily choose, not to tick off the big-name items. I understand that conflict of list-ticking, it's not lost of me.
What I enjoyed about Chno Dearg was the absolute sense of isolation we got from it. Appart from it being a blustery, cloudy Thursday, it was still the middle of holiday season and we didn't see a damn soul all day. Even if they'd been up there, we might not have seen them. The sensory deprivation that came from the clag was both eerie and all-consuming. Chno Dearg did have a summit cairn and we sat on it, out of the wind, and celebrated with the second sandwich, frazzles and dog biscuits. Lena stole herself a frazzle.
The clag was still down when we set off but we were rewarded by startling a grey ptarmigan in part plumage shift - or maybe a youngster. They clattered greyly into the grey sky.
The route description changed to "North East a bit then North" but without the warning to avoid the quad bike tracks again. We descended (as described) down some slippery rocks but then the whole hillside seemed to be a batch of slippery rocks and the path quickly disappeared.
We descended below the clag again so we could clearly see the way off the mountain but the illusive track disappeared so when we found a quad track we followed it hoping it would swing around and rejoin the earlier quad track to base. We were wrong.
I finally gave up on the bog hopping through quad sinks when I caught sight of the forest and reservoir road below and the farm buildings where I'd looked at the book first thing this morning. A suitable "paralell road" feature appeared in the hillside. Not actually a road but a natural phenomena of ice-age deposits - an old shoreline - that was half way up the valley side and long-since abandoned by receeding water levels. We attained it then followed it Eastwards aways before rejoining the Northerly direction across more bogs and moorlands to get back onto the Corrour Station trail.
I'd been in my shoes all day which were new and very comfortable and successful. My feet were still dry in them but I no longer had the energy to keep them that way with the car park only 1km away. I trudged straight through the last river and instantly regretted it as the cold water seeped into my new shoes. It made my feet feel lovely and refreshed but I could forsee days of waiting for the shoes to dry out again before I could wear them.
Back at the road through Fersit, I marvelled again at the remote yet beautiful houses lining the road side. There was more to it than met the eye and for my next trip I recognised that leaving the van to nip off for a wild camp would not be an issue. We were still the only ones in the car park in August. Midges abounded, even as we moved and I started to formulate a plan to get us into the car as quickly and midge free as possible - involving dumping my rucsac, getting the dog towel to wipe the dog then bailing her in while I removed my layers and boots. TSK helped. Then I did a lap of the carpark on foot to wipe off the last of the bitey wee bastards.
In the car, I set about a killing spree before turning on the cool air conditioning while Andrew drove my tired feet back to the tent.
Rest day
The next day we had a sunny rest day trip to Mallaig to look at the sea and have seafood. It was too windy for swims or walks and we had a townie day.
Geal Charn, Cairngorms National Park, Laggan Saturday 10th August, 2024
TSK was keen to do a mountain with us so I scoured the book for one that I could drag my arthritic old man up. We stepped outside the local area a little but it was worth it to find something that should be doable in 3 hours or so. Particularly pertinent since we'd been lazy about the prep (and I wasn'st really rested enough to do another one but hey) and it was getting on for lunchtime by the time we got to Laggan.
We stopped in the cafe in the village, a little too early for lunch and were restrained since I had put sandwiches together. We had coffee and cake then set off up the hill.
After a short drive, I realised where I was. I had not recognised it due to the slightly bizare approach and I'd rarely driven in the East of Scotland but I found myself driving along the Highland Trail route... or rather my comment to TSK was, "I have cried my way up this hill many times" - and this is just the first day! We were on the road that turns into General Wade's Military road and "the Coireayrick Pass". We passed the bizare waterway which looks like a dutch canal dyke in the middle of the scottish highlands and it suddenly makes sense that it's part of a larger fishery and hydro network of waterways.
I looked at the farmyards I have dreamt of tresspassing in for a sleep or some shelter and, usefully, knew to bypass the over-prescribed car park and continue over the bridge to additional parking... also right on the bottom of the approah path to Geal Charn. It's necessary to state where your Geal Charn is, for there are 6 munros called Geal Charn and 3 of them are in this area.
The day started bright, sunny and warm and we shed layers and I considered a swim in the natural river but decided to save it for the way down. I did not want to burn my family mountain passes with frivolity at this early stage. The going was good as a path (which was intentional) and took us over minor hillocks to the start of a more substantial climb up the hillside. We stopped to take in lunch at a point that was out of the high winds but sufficiently breezy to keep bitey things off. People count on the way up was two sets of hikers, a pair of fell runners and some muddy dog walkers... then we had the place to ourselves except for a few sheep.
The summit plateau reached, I took heed to the guidebook's warning that the first cairn was not actually the summit but it was a litte further along. I also took the opportunity to walk to the right to avoid the breeze coming from our left. I say breeze, I mean, "stay upright". I shepherded TSK to leave the cairn alone and follow the well trodden breeze-avoidance path that had formed over the years. At one point he had to whistle to me to avoid getting lost in the clag as Lena and I strode out to get the wind flapping done with asap.
I can't remember if there was a cairn or no cairn but we had a spectacular view over the wind farm at the top of the C-Pass and the hills around and beyond. It felt odd for me to be near somewhere so familiar and yet somewhere so new to me - at the top of one of the peaks I have so regularly wondered at when I ride by, underneath, on my way to something much bigger. I marvelled at the difference between my historic self and my self, now - clinging on the edge of one-day trips and reminded myself to get in shape.
We ate snacks and I stuffed a sandwich into my pocket to get us off the hill quicker. Me and Lena strode ahead and then sat on a rock to eat marmalade sandwiches while TSK caught up and laughed at me, "you're going to get fat if you start eating a sandwich every time you have to sit and wait for me". It's photography and dank humour that will get us through ageing.
I helped myself to skipping down the rocks on the descent to practice a bit of running and fast descending. Back at our lunch spot I sat near the river then we skipped on through the heather. It warmed up but not much, the wind getting a better grip on the day. The draw of the water had waned with the increasing cloud and we re-traced tired, praying that the van would appear around the corner and hadn't been stollen or moved out of (it wasn't in) the way.
It was there. A hiking pole was left behind. I propped it up for its owners to return for it.
We re-traced down the road. The cafe was now closed, we'd been up late and were back late. We retreated to the increasingly blowy tent to cook and easy dinner of pasta and sleep off the days wonders.
Recovery day
The recovery day was, as often happens in Scotland - packing up to depart in glorious sunshine. We packed our bags and disassembled our dry (hallelujah) tent and drove on up to Lairg.
Thanks to TSK, we punctuated the trip with a visit to Dundregan Trees for Life, a Scottish charity "fattening up" saplings for planting out on rewilding projects, giving nature a helping hand to re-establish the ground cover of history, lost to the clearances and deer stalking for recreation. It's likely that their results will save your children's lives. Climate drama asside, they have a lovely cafe, visitor centre and shop and some nice walks to do - some of which take you up to the highest points on their estate, overlooking Ben Nevis, Glen Garry (site of March's holiday fail) and Knoydart beyond (on the list).
What a difference 24 hours makes to the weather. We sat by waterfalls in shorts and dangled our feet then I walked through bogs in my sandles and returned to the car happy and with soaking feet - and a full belly of delicious salad after 30 minutes watching the pond skaters and swallows, whilst I ate ice cream.
Lairg camp site is incredible. It's run by a couple whose grandma ran the campsite before. They're still working multiple jobs to make ends meet, having sunk all their money into the toilet block and kitchen. The campsite spots are a free-for-all so we picked somewhere flat with a bit of breeze to keep the midges off but prepared ourselves to move the van should it get windy and feisty (which was the forecast).
On our first morning I was awake at 5am - symptomatic of a day of driving and restless muscles which haven't quite recovered yet. The sky was dark but the sun was on its way so I watched it on my way back from the luxury toiletblock then stood around some more. We got up and ate breakfast, faffed and did some short walks nearby to recover from Geal Charn and a day in the car. At the end of the day I walked out on to the campsite and did yoga into the setting sun, pressing my face and body into the dry grass. I never thought I'd be doing that this far north. When I checked the weather here the week before we travelled it had been 4 degrees C over night. On our day out, we had investigated the next few days weather. In the evening, we sat and watched the sunset which was cloud-filled and equally as crimson, the layers and intensity drawing across the whole sky until suddenly it was just dark and dull with a faint orange glow beyond the horizon.
Ben Klibreck Tuesday, August 13th 2024
Although I'd not had much rest or long sleeps, I joked with TSK that if I was awake at 5am the next day, I was going to pack my rucsac and go for another munro. In my head, it was still a bit iffy. The weather forecast was for high winds - upland gales I think is the technical term. Tuesday was to be the better day before things deteriorated.
From Lairg, I really have two choices - Ben Hope or Ben Klibreck (excluding the high number of other hills in the area that I want to walk on / past because they look good and are in a cool place). With a solid weather prediction for mostly clear skies, I wanted to do something and I was ready for something a little challenging. Although Ben Hope is the most Northerly Munro and has a reputation for being bleak and monsterous, it's actually an easy walk with a big path and not much time required. in fact, the guidebook quips, you can walk both hills in the day - not together - but using a car to drive between the two - three hours in the morning, three in the afternoon? I don't think so!
I decided to honour Ben Klibreck with the pleasant weather and do the longer, harder route. That way I could attend to Ben Hope at my leisure, at the whim of tenuous weather and preferably out of season when there were fewer people on it... I have something in mind!
I had the route for Ben Klibreck plotted on my Garmin plus the book author's recommendation of an easier exit to the Cluannie Inn, at a different pickup spot to the drop off point. I set my alarm for 7am and drifted into a sound sleep, uninterupted by the normalcy of city life - banging car doors, alarm sirens, streetlights and barking dogs.
At 1:30am my bladder spoked to me and, rather than try (unsuccessfully) to ignore it, I decided to deal with it and get back to sleep as quickly as possible. There were too many on the campsite to wee in the field so i set off towards the toilet block, checking up at the sky which was awash with stars, the milky way being particularly prevelant. This far North, there's very little difference between sunset and sunrise locations this far north so roughly where the sun set, to the North, streaks of cloud remained from the sunset and then I realised that they were curved and streaked and was it... was it really the Northern Lights? I stared. It wasn't moving. One thing was for sure, I wanted to enjoy this in silence for myself but also, if I didn't fetch Andrew and the thing kicked off properly, I'd be gutted. I woke him from his sleep, told him not to get his hopes up (it was, after all, very faint and very still) and dragged both him and the dog out of bed to look.
We stared for ages, postulated that it was just clouds and went for a week. When we re-emerged from the indoor lighting, the streaks across the sky were still visible. We watched a few shooting stars from the summer Perseids meteor shower, stared at the "clouds" a bit longer then went back to bed - thinking there was no point to getting out the camera.
Again, I was awake at 5:45, this time being punched in the head by a dog who wanted to tell me that outside was on fire. Actually, it was the sun making it's (now accusstomed) firey appearance on the Eastern Horizon. I kept my word and ate breakfast with the kids from an Edinburgh Academy whose teacher confirmed the presence of the Aurora Borealis in the night and we cursed not getting the fancy cameras out. As promised, I packed a rucsac and was dropped off beyond the Cluannie Inn at a carpark turn-out. I turned the GPS on and followed a combo of the route description in the book and the pink line on the map which was plotted from info in the book. I thought I was on the route as I took great strides across the heather and tussocks of a headland past some small tarns and headed for a headland that led to the larger slopes of Ben Klibreck.
After quite some time and effort I realised something was wrong. I lookked for the easy way back so that I was informed later, when I would be more tired. Unfortunately, the way back seemed to be exactly the way I had come and there I realised it. Rather than starting from the hard start and finishing with the easy way out, I had actually made the easy way out difficult (by heather bashing instead of following the obvious path to the Cluannie Inn) and was going to have to walk out the hard way. I had also missed the new appearance of a perfectly good path up from a new wind turbine centre where there was a perfectly good carpark giving perfectly good acess to this Northerly Munro. I was a bit pissed off with my (old) book but also kind of smug because I like doing things the hard way and it was good training. I sat by a spring and had snacks and watched the dog face-plant into the heather and blaeberries, smearing the purple juice across her forehead and legs so I had a multi-coloured dog.
Once we reached the big path from across the heather we had a sit in a sheep shelter to eat early lunch and change out of the early morning waterproofs. I didn't even bother to change out of shorts and into long trousers. The weather was holding out nicely. Again the dog waved her feet in the air and I looked out across the flow country to Ben Hope and the sea beyond.
For a good 2 hours I strode across the ridge which led to Ben Klibreck and the route up that I should have taken. Eventually I was beaten by the wind to start walking along a sheep-trod-turned-footpath which ran along the leeward side of the hill to get respite. Second lunch was consumed in another sheep shelter, changing into those long trousers and adding my waterproof coat for warmth rather than rain proofing.
I tried to reccy the route down on the way past but "straight up there" (or now, "straight down there") just seemed like a mental concept. I decided I'd make the decision later and was thankful for my Spot which would actually let TSK where to come and meet me at the end of the day.
When we got to the end of the leewards path, we finally had to come to terms with the full force of the wind as we made our way over a number of rock bluffs, exactly where the wind was tearing over a low col. The path to the summit set off in the wind and never got out of it. Only my legs, below the knee, were safe from the breeze and the rocky path disappeared into a bit of a rut in places. I decided to ditch my rucsac to summit. I don't usually like to leave my safety kit behind but the bag was making my progress more difficult and dangerous as the wind snatched at it sideways, pulling me off ballance even more than necessary.
A convenient boulder emerged and I hung my rucsac off it upside down, using the waist strap to secure the bag to the top of the boulder. I took my camera and one pole because the other was useless and merely served to blow in the wind and try to trip over my left foot with every step.
The top was truly beautiful - even on the leward side. Inside the shelter cairn, the trig point lay on its side - presumably blown over by decades of gales. An attempt had been made to errect a post of some kind but that was gone too. I ate something then dared, momentarily - to stand up and photograph the rest of the scene. I should have stayed longer but I was concious I was already going to be late for my pick up and I didn't want someone to find my rucsac and worry that I was gone or lying inured somewhere. I'd seen one couple walking on the hill - quite some way behind me.
Still, when I turned to descend, I found quite a troupe of people on their way towards us.
Lena and I recovered my rucsac then, still being blasted by the wind, we took to the leeward side of the hill again and rather than use the windy path, I staggered down a moss-covered boulder-field, carrying my rucsac in my hand, from time to time dragging or heaving it against the breeze instead of wearing it on my shoulders where it got blasted and blew me off my feet. It was embarrasing. At the bottom of the steep descent, everyone else looked so composed. A couple smiled, an elderly couple (seriously, they looked about 70!) waved hello and proceeded like lightening. At their age, I'd be worrying about my capacity to stand in the conditions I decided I was incredibly out of shape and as a solo mountaineer, didn't regret my over-packing in the slightest.
Back at the steep descent, I attempted to find any trace of a path described in the guidebook as "mostly pathless exept for where one has established itself near the top across some greasy rocks". At the 60 degree slope, greasy rocks didn't sound like a healthy thing. We found what we could which was probably a sheep trod rather than a greasy rock and that deteriorated into a steep stream / spring which oozed from the ground. The descent had 2 things going for it - it wasn't a 3 hour re-trace the way we had come, it was as described - a grassy slope. Not once did I find a sketchy boulder to fall over or off. It was long-winded and awkward but terrifyingly simple and its bark was worse than its bite. I constantly thought, "one foot wrong and I'm a gonner" and I constantly put feet wrong. The worst thing that happened was I fell on my bum and slid a bit. I wondered if it would be the fastest way off the hill but didn't have the guts to try.
Up the valley in the coire, I heard deer bark and huff at us. I watched them stare. Thankfully the wind was blowing the wrong way for Lena to even notice them.
We acquired the lake shore which we should have passed on the way out in the morning. It was beautiful. It had a little sandy beach. I should've stripped off for a swim but I was a bit behind my timeschedule. I still regret not doing so. The constraints of time and space were weighing down on me. I appreciate everything Andrew does for me but I have a guilty conscious which makes me try to stick to time as best I can. I suspected I'd already be 1 hour late. Future note to self - add an extra 90 minutes to all estimated trip times!
We picked our way around the loch shore following sheep trods again. Any path the writer of the book might have imagined were long gone to the convenience of the path from the wind turbines. At the edge of the Loch we followed the book to the North side of a smaller lochan before striking off up the hillside over a headland. There were tracks in the grass here - our old friends Quad bike tracks but at least here they went vaguely in the direcion we wanted and all we had to do was put up with a few bogs where they'd dropped down off the hillside at speed through stream beds.
I knew there were two headlands to clear and in between the two I was washed with depression. Effectively this was to be the last big hill day of my holiday and I was sad. Like the last day of a bike tour/race, I didn't want the simplicity to end. I needed a wee so before I got back to civilisation and watchful eyes, I dropped trou and sat on a tussock of grass to have a wee. The flow country lived up to its name and drained my bodily fluids into the ground away from my tired, damp skin. It was like a natural nappy. Tired dog lay down in the heather and went to sleep. Still not wearing any pants, I had a few biscuits then packed up my stuff, re-dressed and set off over that last bluff.
For all that I didn't want it to end, I was very relieved to see the van parked in a large carpark at the top of the main road climb. He was parked below me but my easiest way off the hill was to descend to the river directly ahead then cross it and join the road on the other side. The quad bike tracks plunged into the river there so I assumed there would be a sensible crossing point. I pinged my spot then set off down the hillside, stopping only to get the dog over some wire fencing that had been ploughed down by the quads.
I told Lena to "Go find dad" at just the moment a couple of touring cyclists were riding up the hill so she started pulling me towards them, rather than the van that I had my eye on.
Everything was as it should be. The stony bed of the river permitted easy crossing and we just about managed to scramble out of the other side to attain the road as the mercu trundled down and I indicated at the driveway to the forest land on the other side of the road where TSK dutifully parked up and picked me up. Lena crashed out in the back, I crashed out in the front and we trundled back into the village to the perdiam question of what to have for tea. Easy - pasta and sauce.
Epilogue
We had days of wind storms to follow. 2 nights of tending to the tent to ensure it didn't fail... and it didn't - nice one alpkit! As a new tent, we were unsure about how it would respond and it felt touch-and-go. At one point I got up in the night to move the van, reversed over the guy ropes then had to lie on the ground to move the peg from under the van and ensure the van didn't saw through the guys. The wind was so fierce, the ground wasn't even wet, despite it raining quite intensely. Andrew thought I'd collapsed in the night. The tent survived and we just about survived two nights of noisy flapping and intermittent sleep. At one point I thought about switching for the low-level tent and kipping in its porch while Andrew and Lena slept inside it. Might have worked but we didn't get that extreme. There was no damage to the Alpkit Axiom and it lives to protect us another day.
I thoroughly enjoyed this trip. It was everything I expected from Scotland and nothing less. I'm disappointed I didn't get to swim or take the kayak out but it will come another day.
I came away with a renewed enthusiasm for walking the scottish hills and started making plans. Those plans get put to one side every now and then in favour of the house sale / purchase and work commitments but what I need to do is make time for the hills so that I remain a happy person and keep going with my absolutely pointless quest.
Because I like it.
