Six Months of Real Mountains

Half way through the year and with the Cuillin munros recently completed, it seems like a good time to take stock of my progress in the mountains this year. The big difference compared with 2013 is the frequency with which I’ve managed to get up to Wales and Scotland. Over 12 days since January I have covered a distance of one hundred and fifty eight kilometres, climbed thirteen thousand four hundred and fifty metres in aggregate (roughly one and a half times the height of Everest) and and added twenty one munros and six furths to my tally.

Cuillin, June 2014

My trip to Skye earlier this month (a full account of which is posted to my Walk Highlands page ) undoubtedly marks a high point in my experience of the mountains of Scotland. The exposed scrambles and roped climbs involved in attaining summits such as Sgurr nan Gillean and the Inaccessible Pinnacle will remain firmly etched in my memory forever. Sharing those memories with friends and colleagues recently (e-mailing them links to my Flickr gallery of the Skye trip ) elicited some interesting responses. All admired the photographs, many were stunned by the beauty of the landscape and a few were of course alarmed at the thought of heading into that sort of terrain for fun. The most interesting response came from an Austrian colleague. Whilst admiring the pictures, he suggested that if I wanted to climb a ‘real mountain’ rather than a ‘hill’ (which he observed was almost rivalled in height by a hideous looking Arabian skyscraper called the Burj Khalifa) then I should head to Alps where he would be happy to suggest some via ferrata for me to try.

Inaccessible Pinnacle, June 2014

It was interesting for me to see how the mountains of the UK are sometimes perceived by people who have grown up in the shadow of much higher peaks. I had no hesitation in explaining to him that while the mountains of Scotland pose no danger of altitude sickness they are certainly not be underestimated and should be approached with the respect and caution that any mountain deserves – especially in winter. It’s easy to forget that many munro days (especially on the West coast) start at or near sea level. Routes are frequently pathless and the weather, well…. (I’m sure there’s a German word for ‘dreich’). I pointed out to my Austrian colleague that an ascent of the Grossglockner (Austria’s highest point) begins at a car park that itself is located above the 2000m contour. Thus, the climb to its summit involves around 1900m of ascent. By contrast, a full traverse of the Cuillin ridge involves around 3000m of climbing (about the same as a climb of the Matterhorn from Cervinia). Of course alpine ascents and munro bagging are not to be compared. These are different objectives with high altitude, snow climbs and glacier crossings changing the equation altogether. But it’s easy to see how the relatively low altitude of British mountains can deceive people who are used to loftier ranges.

Bla-Bheinn, June 2014

One thing the alpine climber doesn’t have to contend with is the dreaded midge. During the week in Skye I had my first encounters with Culicoides impunctatus and was extremely glad of my head net. OK, I’ll admit that it’s not a look that’s likely to take off on the catwalk any time soon but it’s a really effective way to keep the little buggers at bay. The onset of midge season also seems to coincide with the mass arrival of tourists in the Highlands. I noticed on the drive to and from Skye many more cars and caravans on the road than I had seen earlier in the year. So, despite my desperation to bag more munros I expect to delay my next visit to the Highlands at least until September when I hope the midges will be biting less, and the roads will be quieter.

4.45 am and 636 miles to home

In the meantime, I will set my sights on Snowdonia. Having enjoyed the scrambles on Skye so much I plan to take on Tryfan and the Glyders later in July. My sense of achievement in upping my munro count (from 3 to 24 in the space of a few months) is sometimes matched by feelings of frustration that the mountains aren’t a little bit nearer. A weekend in Wales means 5 hours in the car each way and a Highland trip (whether arriving by plane or train) is inevitably a wager on the weather of at least £200 in non-refundable fares. That said, being in London has its advantages too. It’s clearly too far to reach Scotland by car in a weekend and the flight options are good. In October a new service to Inverness opens from London City so with any luck, this coming winter will see a couple of weekend expeditions into the Cairngorms.

Since starting this blog in March I have received 350 views from readers as far away as Malaysia and the United States. Whoever you are, thank you for reading. I look forward to sharing more mountain adventures with you in the months to come.

24 down, 258 to go

Incompleatist, 29 June 2014

 

 

 

 

Preparing for the Cuillin

So far this year I have managed one big mountain trip from London every month. In June, I face my biggest challenge yet: the Black Cuillin. Britain’s most fearsome and impressive mountain range, my ambition is to climb all eleven of the munros on the main ridge during the course of the first week in June. I will join a group guided by Richard ‘Paddy’ McGuire, with whom I climbed Blaven in October 2012. As exciting as a single traverse of the entire ridge would be, I suspect that for the moment, such an undertaking (even with a guide) may be a step too far. Splitting the ridge into sections, I hopefully stand a better chance of bagging all the principal summits and gain some route flexibility to work around the notoriously fickle Skye weather.

Dreaming of Skye, original LNER lithograph by Austin Cooper

When I’m not climbing mountains, I’m often thinking about climbing them – and I have been dreaming of the Cuillin for nearly two years. I will never forget my first sight of them, from the shores of Loch Coruisk after taking a boat across the water from Elgol in 2012. The dark, jagged peaks stand menacingly between loch and sea. Their summits are sharp and exaggerated. These are mountains as I might have drawn them as a child. At home in London, I have hanging on the wall a lithograph printed for the London and North Eastern Railway Company in the 1930s that depicts the classic view of Sgurr nan Gillean from Sligachan. The giant poster transports me mentally to the mountains on days when I am stuck at sea level, dreaming.

Route planning, May 2014

Normally, before a mountain trip, I will dedicate hours to careful route planning, breaking my routes into sections, calculating distances, times and bearings. To date, I have not planned route cards for the Cuillin. Going onto the ridge in a guided group, I could give myself the luxury of not planning route cards at all. However, between now and the start of June I will attempt to make some anyway. It is a good discipline that focuses the mind on the challenge ahead. It will also be interesting to find out if I select similar routes to those planned by Paddy. If I do, I will gain some confidence in my route planning ability. An inspection of the Harvey 1:25000 map of the area reveals the complexity of the terrain and abundant exposure.

These boots were made for scrambling, and that’s just what they’ll do

The notorious Inaccessible Pinnacle holds a fair degree of dread for me. I am principally a walker, not a climber. I hope though, that experience gained on some rock climbs in Applecross in 2012 and the scramble along Crib Goch in 2013 will set me in reasonable stead. I suspect that the exposed, unroped scrambling sections of the ridge may prove more terrifying than the In Pinn itself. The physical challenge is also not to be underestimated. Most recently I clocked up 37k with almost 3000m of climbing over two days and coped well but certainly felt exhausted the next day. I hope that my fitness will stand up to 4 consecutive mountain days, with maybe 1200m climbing each day.

The Cuillin – counting down the days

Right now I am a mixture of nerves and excitement. Only four more days in the office and a day’s drive separate me from what I hope will be my most thrilling mountain experience yet. I really can’t wait!

 

Over the sea to Skye

October 2012. Dad and I make a road trip to Scotland. Having seen the Highlands for the first time myself earlier in the year I was eager that my Dad should see them too. Before this trip, he had never been further north than Edinburgh or Glasgow. I was also keen to put some miles on my car which was beginning to look like an expensive luxury, seeing very little use in the year since I bought it. On our first day we made it from the West Midlands to the top of Loch Lomond, staying in a B&B with amazing views over the loch. During the drive up, as we passed through Cumbria I also got a small sense of what fine walking country the Lake District offers. I would have to wait almost another year before making my first visit to England’s finest mountain region though.

Loch Lomond, October 2012

Our objective was Skye. While we could have made it to Broadford easily from Loch Lomond in a day, we overnighted again en route at Onich, just outside Fort William. On the way up to Onich we stopped in Glencoe, spending a couple of hours there. On my first visit to the Highlands earlier in the year I had not made it to Glencoe, so for me this was another life ‘first’ and one that I’ll never forget. The mountains looked awesome in their blazing autumn colours. At the time, munro fever had really not hit me yet and incredibly, while we wandered along the start of the path up towards Buachaille Etive Mor, we didn’t climb any higher. To be fair, while Dad enjoys walking he’s not really a mountain walker and I’m not sure we could have climbed anything in Glencoe together that day. But in retrospect, now that the munro bug really has bitten me, I can’t imagine driving through Glencoe and not stopping to climb something.

Lagangarbh, Glencoe, October 2012

I must have expected some good walking that week though, as I had brought all my hiking gear with me. On arriving in Skye the views from Breakish were enough to convince me that I had to get one good day’s mountain walking in while on Skye. I knew that my target would be somewhere in the Cuillin and so, on our first day in Broadford I left dad at the holiday cottage and drove up the road to a pay phone (my then new smart phone not picking up any signal at all) to call round guides. Back in 2012 I was hesitant to head into the mountains alone, even outside winter, and I knew that the Cuillin had a fierce reputation. I made contact with Paddy McGuire and we arranged to meet at the Sligachan hotel early on Friday, the last day of the trip.

Cuillin Hills, Skye, October 2012

Over the next couple of days Dad and I explored the island at a leisurely pace. We had absolutely fantastic late autumn weather and it was often warm in the sunshine. Ironically, that week, much of the rest of the UK was experiencing wet and windy weather much more typical of the season. There aren’t many occasions when you can look at a TV weather map of the UK and see the only bright spot in the western Highlands. It happens occasionally though! The highlight of the week for both of us was undoubtedly a boat trip from Elgol to Loch Coruisk from where we had some incredible views of the Cuillin. The site of the mountains really stirred something in me and while I realised that their traverse was something way beyond my capabilities as such a novice mountaineer at the time, it was a goal that was definitely added to my bucket list that day.

Bla Bheinn, Skye, October 2012 – The day started fine

After much anticipation Friday morning came. Overnight the temperature had dropped and the mountains had been given their very first dusting of snow for the winter. At Sligachan Paddy proposed that we set our sights on Bla Bheinn rather than heading anywhere on the main ridge, and off we went. It snowed for much of the morning, a climb which I remember being occasionally quite rocky and scrambly. Miraculously, as we approached the summit, the clouds broke a little and the views opened up, revealing an awe-inspiring, red-hued mountain scape. We even had the good fortune to catch sight of an eagle, soaring beneath us. Truly magical. Without really being conscious of the fact, I had ticked off my second munro. My descent that day was reasonably painful and I was glad of the loan of one of Paddy’s poles. Looking back I can’t believe I waited so long, and subjected myself to so much knee pain, before investing in my own poles and taking other steps to get on top of my knee trouble.

Bla Bheinn, Skye, October 2012 – but soon it was snowing heavily

Paddy is an excellent guide. A Skye native, he is extremely knowledgable and seems to know the Cuillin like the back of his hand. While the weather conditions that day weren’t the worst (mercifully the winds were not that fierce) it was nevertheless a cold, wet and largely grey day on the mountain. Without the skill and local nous of a guide like Paddy I doubt that I would have made it to the top solo and, even if I had, navigating the descent would have seriously tested me. I’ve used guides extensively in my first two years of mountain walking and would recommend that anyone else exploring unfamiliar terrain or who is a newcomer to the UK mountains should do the same. It is money very well spent. I’m sure that the route I completed solo recently in Snowdonia in absolutely atrocious conditions and gale force winds is not something I would contemplate without the skills and knowledge that I have built up from spending a couple of years going into the hills with people who really know what they’re doing.

Bla Bheinn, Skye, October 2012 – as we approached the summit, the views began to open

The next day Dad and I made a very, very early start and completed the marathon journey from Broadford, Skye to Wolverley, Worcestershire in approximately 11 hours. The following day I drove another 3 hours back down to London. The Octavia VRS was made for journeys like this. It just chews up the miles and makes for a fast but comfortable ride. As a child of the 80s I remember Skodas being the butt of so many jokes in the playground. How times change. I wouldn’t swap my VRS for anything else on the road (except perhaps the new VRS – or, if you’re twisting my arm, maybe a Ferrari F12 Berlinetta).

Bla Bheinn, Skye, October 2012 – A fine view from the summit

It was a fantastic week and great to spend some quality time catching up with Dad. He is the person perhaps most responsible for my picking up the munro bagging affliction. As a Christmas gift that year, as a memento of my day on Bla Bheinn, he gave me a copy of Cameron McNeish’s book on The Munros. A must have tome for any ‘bagger’. The text, photos, maps and lists awakened the inner stamp collector in me. For me, the idea I might become a bagger was born at the end of 2012 and really inspired by this trip to Skye. Injury setbacks in 2013 have meant that my campaign has not really taken off yet. But I have since honed my fitness and navigation skills in the English and Welsh mountains and am now ready to step things up a gear.

More photos from this 2012 trip at my Flickr page