Beinn Bhrotain and Monadh Mor: slumbering giants

[old danensian]

Beinn Bhrotain and Monadh Mor: two remote, vast slumbering hulks squatting in the south western corner of the Cairngorms. Neither have a summit that could in anyway be described as attractive or stunning, and neither can the climb to the cairns on each be described as anything other than a steady upward trudge.

They did, however, provide a day out with spectacular views, fascinating contrasts, and a journey down the full length of a truly atmospheric glen. At the end of the day, satisfyingly tired limbs spoke of a sense of achievement despite a weariness that prompted me to cancel the following day's session at the gym.

I stayed lurking in bed long past the dawn chorus and almost to the time when driving north through Glasgow could leave me sitting on the M77 with hard-pressed commuters on their early morning dash to the office. That's the risk at this time of year: daylight is going to stretch well into the evening and you know there'll be little or no pressure from advancing darkness.

Anyway, the car and my bag had been packed the night before, and my bike ready to be launched into action from the Linn of Dee. The eye-sore of a desolate, gravel-bound Glen Shee ski centre had been passed and a second breakfast shunned in Braemar. A handful of bleary-eyed people were emerging from camper vans in the car park and half a dozen cars suggested even earlier starters or occupied tents or bothies in the hills above.

A fledgling Dee in full flow

Photography and chatting meant that it took almost half an hour to reach the White Bridge, after which a guidebook or WH route description had said the track beyond was "cycleable." Implicit was an enormous unwritten "but." Nineteen drainage channels later, the last handful of which appeared every twenty yards or so, made me think it would have been easier to have left the wheels at the bridge. There's a limit to the amount of jumping on and off that can be tolerated.

After finally losing patience, and frustrated with stuttering progress, dumping the bike was the best option, enabling me to enjoy the views rather than concentrate on the next obstacle. Ironically, turning the very next corner revealed the small cairn marking the departure upwards and westwards across the hillside towards Carn Cloich Mhullinn. A long steady plod saw height gained across bland brown ground with nothing other than a rounded hump to aim for.

The path leaves the track and heads for Carn Cloich Mhullinn - while the Devil's Point peeps from the distance

An hour later, and two after leaving the car, a cairn of jumbled stones that looked none too stable offered a panoramic view of the way ahead. The double hump of Beinn Bhrotain sat across a potentially bog-infested stretch of ground that again proved to be little more than a steady trudge up a gentle incline before opening out on a typically stony Cairngorm summit plateau.

The humps of Beinn Bhrotain from Carn Cloich Mhullinn

Adjacent to the cairn of Beinn Bhrotain, a shelter envelops a trig point and was a welcome refuge against a stiffening easterly wind. The chill prevented me from playing spot-the-top for too long, but not before pondering on how the huge panorama reduced all the surrounding Cairngorm Giants to mere undulations on the horizon. With patchy visibility, it must be a real challenge to take bearings and practise those traditional navigation skills without the benefit of towering pinnacles and immediately plunging bealachs. But hey, that's the ‘Gorms for you.

Summit of Beinn Bhrotain - with Cairn Toul and Braeriach in the background

But now, Monadh Mor awaited.

Monadh Mor from Beinn Bhrotain

The short scratchy path on to the Monadh Mor plateau

In the bealach between the two Munros it became evident that one of the recommended descents after Monadh Mor was definitely not going to be a realistic option. Steep snow, with fragile-looking cornices, protected the way into Glen Geusachan by way of the head wall of Coire Cath nam Fionn. Discretion being definitely the better part of valour was clearly a dictum followed by others: there was no evidence of footprints or anyone else heading down that way recently. The location could be simply reserved for enjoying the vista of the vast half-tube of Glen Geusachan instead: the location of one of those curious contrasts.

I recall sitting by the Corrour Bothy in the Lairig Ghru a few years ago and admiring the towering pinnacle of the Devil's Point that dominated the view. From above however, the emphasis is reversed. The steep slabs and crags merely act as a framework to Glen Geusachan's impressive trench as it powers west towards the Lairig Ghru. Now the short-cut route to the Glen was excluded, the walk out was going to give me the chance to enjoy it in its full length. Before that however, the mass of Monadh Mor had to be crossed.

A potentially wind-blasted scene - the summit plateau of Monadh Mor

A short, sharp clamber up some rough zig-zags and the next open summit plateau was gained, and another long walk across the flat expanse of gravel, stones and quickly melting patches of snow. Along with the Moine Mhor, it's another example of the exposed dangers that lurk in bad weather or poor visibility: not a place for the unwary or inexperienced. Recent warmth and sun also provided unexpected contrasts on the ground: not every patch of snow proved to be what you expected. Every now and again, instead of a crisp step on yielding but firm snow, a foot would plunge into deep white slush.

Surrounding views of Monadh Mor

Cairn Toul from Monadh Mor

While the surrounding peaks had until now been a fringe on the horizon, despite their height, the closest now revealed a sense of their scale. Cairn Toul stretched its back as it released its load of winter snows in torrents. A series of cascade plunged towards the Geusachan Burn below.

As I headed over the top of Monadh Mor and my direction shifted northwards, the protection of the wind being at my back was lost. The fight against the buffeting began in earnest when I turned at the very head of Glen Geusachan and faced it's chill, ready to follow it all the way down. It was a surprisingly long way. It never seemed to end. The bend where it swings from south to east never seemed to get any nearer: spectacular yet becoming increasingly interminable.

While snowmelt cascaded down around me, another contrast became evident. Cracks in the peat and soil of the path suggested drought. Yet I was confronted by problems of potential flood. The burns being in spate meant that wet feet couldn't be avoided as they got successively fuller and noisier before joining the Gleann Geusachan. On occasion, the main burn encroached across the path, while a few yards further the ground appeared dry and parched.

Have we just had a drought?

No - the Geusachan Burn looks full enough to me

Spat out of Glen Gesachan and back at the Lairig Ghru - the Devil's Point and Ben Macdui look on

As the Glen widened, the pulverising noise of water lessened and the path dribbled me out into the Lairig Ghru. I was hoping to see a gentle stroll back to where my bike had been left but should been more prepared. I ought to have looked at my map before convincing myself that the day was nearly at an end. There was another five kilometres to go.

Surely my bike's closer than that - no, sorry you've a long way to go yet

The bike got gradually nearer and thoughts began to turn towards the cycle out: the on-off-on-off stuttering back to the White Bridge. By now I was resigned to pushing the bike to within sight of the bridge before being able to enjoy a gentler run back to the Linn of Dee. Well it would have been if it hadn't been for the final contrast of the day: a headwind fought to slow progress every inch of the way. Arriving back at the car my watch revealed that it had taken only five minutes less to cycle back than it had on the way out.

The Dee makes faster progress towards Braemar than I do on my bike

In the end, thirty six kilometres, fifteen on the bike, was a tough eight hour day. I doubt I’ll visit either Munro again in a hurry, but if I’m along the Lairig Ghru someday, I might just be tempted up Glen Geusachan: truly a glen and three quarters.

[Jaxter]

That was a lovely read, and some great pictures

I guess that's the good thing about the "less interesting" hills - they're great viewpoints to more interesting things!

[basscadet]

Yes really enjoyed report of my old stomping grounds

I've tried that cycle, and the drainage channels are awful.. About 25 years ago my Dad and I crossed the Dee and cycled a fine track along that part of the river, but the NT seemingly go out of their way to make things difficult for cyclists and tore it out to make that path - looked a real mess for a few years

Did you know that Carn Clach Mhuilin was the munro Hugh himself had earmarked for his compleation?