Only a month after my last trip I found myself up in the Highlands again this weekend, bagging munros. So far this year I have managed to get out of London and into the mountains with much more frequency than in 2013. Last Thursday I made the short trip from Limehouse down to City Airport on the DLR. City is an absolute gem of an airport. Check in and security, even during the evening rush hour, is a breeze. In no time at all I was sat down in the oddly named “Rhubarb” restaurant, tucking into a tasty and well prepared (though ridiculously overpriced) pasta supper before my gate was called. My plan for the long weekend was to spend Friday at Arrochar, Saturday in the Crianlarich hills and then on Sunday bag Ben Vorlich from Ardlui on the way back to the airport.
Arriving at Glasgow I immediately embarked upon what would without doubt turn out to be the scariest stage of the weekend’s activities: getting behind the wheel of a manual transmission car for the first time in roughly 14 years. In 2000, I sold my little 1.0 litre Austin Metro and had hardly drove at all in the decade that followed, living for the most part in towns and cities where a car is not exactly a necessity. In 2010, I returned to driving while living in the US where every rental car I used was an automatic. Back in London in 2011 I bought a new car and went for an auto.
So on Friday evening, in the dark and driving rain, I trundled out of the Avis parking lot and sped down the M8 towards Inverkip, where family friends had kindly offered to put me up for the weekend. I’m pleased to say that I only stalled the car once, but boy did driving a manual after all those years feel like a terrifying experience – for the first few miles at least. Naturally, over the course of the weekend, clutch control returned to me, just like riding a bicycle. I have to say though, I’d never willingly go back to driving manual cars – what a chore they are. Plus, for anyone reading who cares about this sort of thing, avoid the Peugeot 107. Fine around town no doubt but not built for weekends in the wild. Cramped, awful steering, noisy, zero boot space, tinted rear window that makes it virtually impossible to see the traffic behind you. Anyway, you get the picture, and this isn’t Top Gear, so back to the mountains.
The weather forecasts for Friday (MWIS and Met Office) were poor. High winds and rain were forecast. So I was pleasantly surprised on pulling into the parking lot at Succoth to see the sun out (though unpleasantly surprised to find I had to pay for parking – only a quid for the whole day mind you). Starting the march up to Ben Narnain I passed some French tourists heading for the Cobbler. I then had the mountain pretty much to myself, before encountering two American students who, like me, had Narnain and Ime in their sights. The final stretch up to Narnain’s summit was a little scrambly, though nothing too taxing. Heading on towards Ben Ime, something in the landscape (I think it was the trees creeping up the lower slopes) really reminded me of vistas near the Tokositna glacier in Denali NP that I’d seen in 2011.
Ben Ime, May 2014 – Echoes of Alaska
Heading back down the smooth, if boggy, southern slope of Ben Ime the scene was idyllic. Green grass, warm sunshine, spring lambs jumping about the place and birds singing. Committing the cardinal munro bagger’s sin, I’d resolved not to climb the Cobbler on this occasion, as I wanted to save my legs for a big Saturday near Crianlarich. As it transpired, I ended up almost at the top of the Cobbler anyway. At the Bealach a’ Mhaim I met a concerned looking lady from Great Barr, Birmingham. She asked me if I’d seen her children who had apparently wandered up the south east slopes of the Cobbler alone and were going to descend the north ridge path and meet her here at the bealach around 3pm. By now it was almost 6pm, so she was understandably worried. I was mildly reassured when she explained that her children were in a group of four and were teenagers but I was still a bit surprised at the situation. Letting a group of inexperienced kids wander up a pretty serious mountain on their own defies all common sense.
I offered to head up the north ridge path to see if I could see her lost party. Near the top, I met a pair of climbers on their way down. I asked them if they’d seen for children and was hugely relieved when they told me that they had seen a party of four retreating, apparently lost but heading for the Narnain boulders where, half an hour or so later, mother and children were reunited. The kids had simply got lost near the summit and had decided to turn back, unable to stick to their original plan. None appeared to be carrying any sort of navigational aid. Though no one was injured and the episode was far from serious, it’s left an impression on me. I think people really do underestimate the physical and navigational challenges that a day in the British hills can present. I hope the kids from Great Barr get back to the Cobbler and make it to the top – but I also hope they learn how to use a map and compass!
Saturday morning I was in no rush. Again the forecast was not brilliant, though indications were that the weather would improve throughout the day. I pulled into the lay-by at Derrydarroch, just south of Crianlarich around 12.30pm. The sky was heavily overcast and there was a steady drizzle. I set off around 1pm through the farmyard and onto boggy terrain. The mountaintops ahead of me were still covered in cloud and at first I had some difficulty identifying my target – Garbh Bhealach – that would lead me up to the summit of Beinn Chabhair. Before long I picked up the Allt a’ Chuilinn and crossed the stream just as it forks into the Coire a’ Chuilin. By now the clouds had broken and the sun was out. A mixed blessing. Forgetfully (only a month ago I was on Buachille Etive Mor in crampons) I’d neglected to bring a hat, shades or suncream. I’d already caught the sun a bit on Friday and only had a little over a litre of water with me.
So despite these very pleasant conditions, I found the going up to Garbh Bhealach pretty hard. The terrain on this route up Beinn Chabhair seemed complex – at least compared with the previous day’s easy going on Ben Ime. The ground is boggy and constantly undulating and the Allt a’Chuillinn is fed by dozens of little burns that carve down the slopes and require regular leaps to dodge. Closer to the col the ground steepened and my lungs more than my legs were feeling the strain. Finally, I made it to the col, plonked myself on a rock in the sunshine and enjoyed my lunch taking in the fabulous views. On the way up to the summit of Beinn Chabhair, around 3.30pm I met a large party of walkers coming back down. On reaching the summit an hour later I realised that my day’s progress had not been rapid. The original plan had been to take in Beinn a’ Chroin and An Caisteal as well in a big horseshoe. I realised now that if I pressed on, I might be ending my day in the dark. I admired the splendid views from the top of Beinn Chabhair and pondered my next move.
Having made such a late start my head was telling me to turn round and not be greedy. But the slog up from Derrydarroch was really not that enjoyable and I was determined, if I could, to avoid retracing my steps. Looking at my watch I figured I had about 4 hours of daylight left, which ought to be enough to get to the other two munros but would probably require walking in the dark for some of my descent. As the conditions were now so good – warm sunshine and no wind – I decided to go for it. I knew that I couldn’t just head in a straight line from Chabhair’s summit to the 619m spot height that roughly marked a halfway point between Chabhair and the other munros. The terrain in between was far too steep and rocky. Instead, I descended south, first on a path that seemed to peter out quite quickly. Route finding safely through the corrie was pretty difficult and I don’t think my navigation skills would have been up to it in poor visibility. I resorted to the GPS a couple of times to check my precise location and was able to pick a route through that avoided the steep crags.
On my way up to Bealach Buidhe – the col that separates Beinn a’Chroin and An Caisteal I slipped on wet grass and grazed my left knuckles across a rock as I braced the fall. The cut didn’t seem very deep but was bleeding quite a lot. I reached for my first aid kit to get a wipe to clean it, then bandaged it up to get some pressure on it. Annoyed at myself for slipping (I took it as a sign of tiredness) I pressed on. I found the climb hard work and in the warm sunshine wished I had more water with me (by now I had less than half a litre left). At the bealach I stopped to eat an apple whose water content was extremely refreshing. Looking to the south I could see an ominous band of dark cloud creeping in. It seemed like madness to set off towards it as I began my climb from the col to the day’s second and remotest munro, Beinn a’Chroin. There was a clear path all the way up, though it times it was steep and hands were needed to cross some sections. I passed the cairn at 938m and continued to the central summit at 942m. I recalled reading about confusion as to the precise location of the mountain’s true summit and seemed to remember that it was the central one of the three tops. I continued eastwards a little, mulling over whether I should bag the eastern top at 940m as well. I soon realised that this would involve a reasonable descent and reascent though and decided against it. It was already 7.30pm and I was several kilometres from the road. (Since the walk I’m glad I didn’t bother as the SMC tables now show the summit height as the central one at 942m with the eastern 940m point relegated to a ‘top’).
The feeling of remoteness I experienced on Beinn a’Chroin was both unsettling and exhilarating. I hadn’t seen a soul for four hours (and wouldn’t see anyone until the next morning in the B&B) and daylight was fading fast. I realised that foolishly, I hadn’t left a route card with anyone so I sent a text message to my girlfriend with info on my location and planned remaining route in case I should encounter any problems. Her reply cautioned me to stay safe. Exchanging these messages, I felt a little guilty. Hills and mountains can be dangerous places and heading into them alone only increases the seriousness. Part of me longed for home.
It took me 45 minutes to reach An Caisteal so my pace must have quickened a little. It was still daylight but I knew that the clock was against me and that I was probably quite badly dehydrated. The descent from An Caisteal in the last light of the day was really enjoyable though. On the home straight I was beginning to feel a real sense of achievement. The views to the west were very moody as the setting sun slipped through gaps in the dark clouds. By around 10pm, just past Sron Garbh I finally reached for my head torch. Not far to go now. Every step that I took towards the road, I felt safer and closer to home. As darkness enveloped the mountainside my luck with the weather finally ran out though and the heavens opened. The last couple of kilometres to the track that would lead me to the A82 were in driving rain across thick bog. The light from my head torch occasionally reflected eerily in the eyes of sheep on the hillside. Finally, I made it to the road. It took me another 40 minutes to make the 2 miles back to the car at Derrydarroch, arriving there some 10 hours after my start. Even the 2 miles on tarmac in the rain wasn’t enough to dampen my mood. I was elated.
Descending An Caisteal, May 2014 – last light of the day
It was a quick drive to the B&B in Crianlarich (Dunfraoich House – highly recommended) where the owners had kindly left the kitchen open for me. I sat for a while gulping down glass after glass of water, filling my face with warm toast and thinking on the day’s walk. It had been an incredible day. Definitely one that will remain firmly etched in my memory. I was pleased that I’d decided to go for the more ambitious option and that I’d made it round safely. 22km and 10 hours with some fairly difficult route finding after the first munro, all a day after a 15k double munroer too. The feeling of exhaustion was oddly pleasant. Despite my extreme physical tiredness and the comfortable accommodation, I actually slept poorly. I think I was somehow beyond sleep by this stage. So, rising early I spent some time on the phone rearranging my flight plans for later in the day, resolving to leave Ben Vorlich and just to get home and rest.
By teatime on Sunday I was back in the big city, a world away from the Crianlarich hills. In just a few weeks I will be in Skye, joining a guided course with Paddy McGuire to try to get all the Skye munros in a week. That week will no doubt be a supreme test of fitness. Hopefully my recent weekend augurs well. I look forward to reporting back in a month or so’s time.
Incompleatist, 13 May 2014
13 down, 269 to go
incompleatist 