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After an early start from Ayrshire (5.15am), irony was not lost as I was held by a flashing red light at Dalnaspidal. While the Caledonian Sleeper trundled past, I wondered how many agile and rested souls would leap out onto the hills further up the line. However, I’d made my bed, or got out of it, and now I had to stay out of it until I’d visited that pair of vaguely connected pair of Corbetts to the east, Beinn Mholach and Stob an Aonaich Mhoir.
“It’ll be a long day,” I’d said. “I won’t be back for tea.” I wasn’t far wrong.
On my last outing from Dalnaspidal I’d been buzzed by anxious lapwings protecting their nearby brood. This time vibrant orange beaks of oystercatchers flashed like flame-throwers, and their incessant shrieks suggested menace as I cycled down the shore of Loch Garry. Any idea on a collective noun? A clam? A pearl? A string?
- An early start down Loch Garry - pursued by oystercatchers
Dumping the bike at the end of the track, I was grateful the breeze was strong enough to deter the wee beasties. Either that or my English blood wasn’t conducive to their breakfast tastes. I shouldn’t have been so complacent. Within a hundred metres it was first blood to the cleggs. With the second, fifth and tenth bite I knew I had to get high quickly. With no path to follow it was a case of head-down-and-power, as long as it was up.
- At the Allt Shallainn a choice of bridges to start the ascent of Beinn Mholach
I was distracted from breathlessness by spotting stunted ferns amidst the grasses and bursts of yellow potentilla. I looked for young sphagnum mosses in lurid limes and citrus tones and crimson berry flashes. I caught sight of yellow spears of bog asphodel and so much more I didn’t recognise or couldn’t name. These hills are far from merely green.
Mercifully, on the knoll of Creag nan Gabhar, the cleggs were left below, circling for their next victim. I could now concentrate on the curiously large edifice I saw erupting from the skyline. There are cairns, big cairns, and the monumental construction adorning the summit of Beinn Mholach, dwarfing its more prosaic neighbouring trig point.
- Pimples on the Beinn Mholach skyline from Creag nan Gabhar - and not a clegg in sight
- A mighty fine construction ...
- ...and the less imposing trig point looking west across to Ben Alder
It was tempting to linger and watch cloud shadows drift across the landscape, but I pressed on. Two more tops and featureless ground had to be crossed before I could plod to the top of Ston an Aonaich Mhoir. So, I strode out, glad I wasn’t having to find the tops of Beinn Bhoidhoach and Glas Meall Mor by compass bearings and pacing in the mist.
- The next top heading west - Beinn Bhoidhoach ...
- ... and finally on the next - Glas Meall Mor
Four hours or so after leaving the car I stood on Glas Meall Mor, looking down at the tarmac track coming from Loch Rannoch. I plotted my way to the track and then up the final slope of Stob an Aonaich Mhoir, also looking for the best exit. Forewarned of trackless terrain, “this could be a nightmare,” I thought. But let’s not worry about that for now.
The forty-minute plod up the eastern slope of Stob an Aonaich Mhoir must have been the slowest I’d ever climbed a hill. By early afternoon it was getting seriously warm and I was already conserving energy for what I knew would be a long walk back.
Until now, the view ahead had been frustrating, a series of ridges blending with the backdrop of Ben Alder, each camouflaged and hiding in plain sight. You realise how much a clearly defined peak spurs you on. Somehow an indistinct curve, with a barely discernible apex doesn’t quite cut the mustard. How wrong I was.
I got there, and wow.
- South west along Loch Ericht from Stob an Aonaich Mhoir ...
- ... and north east to the other end
Stob an Aonaich Mhoir from the east is a hill that leaves its reveal until the last moment. You already know you’ll be staring into the corries of Ben Alder, but what’s lying in the wings is most impressive: up and down the length of Loch Ericht, way, way below.
I felt guilty granting such a fine summit a mere twenty minutes of my time. I could have stayed for longer, and it would make a fine summit camp. In fact, that’s perhaps the best reason for making the trek up the tarmac track sometime in the future.
But now, I had to leave. Quotations from Frost had never been so true.
- Homeward bound across the treeless waste of the Talla Bheith Forest - a less attractive prospect to end the day
Aiming for the highest point of the tarmac track below meant I could head south east into the gap between Glas Meall Mor and Stob Loch Monaidh without losing height. Then I’d head for the Allt Feith Gharuiareagan and follow it home along the Allt Shallainn.
Easy, just like that. Yeh.
- Grateful for small mercies , at least the water is heading in my direction now - reaching the Allt Feith Gharuiareagan
Occasionally stopping by the side of the burn, I thought “this is peaceful, tranquil and more than just attractive.” Then I remembered how b****y far it was. Criss-crossing from side to side to find gentle ground was made easy because water levels were low; it must be purgatory when deeper, and near impossible when in spate.
After a sweltering eternity I finally caught sight of the track descending from the new hydro works that wasn’t on my map: a welcome kilometre or so of unexpected easier walking before coming full circle to the pair of bridges left a long time ago. With only the ATV track to follow to return to the bike, I hoped that was it. If only.
- New hydro works on the Allt Shallainn - at least there's a track
- Back at the bike by a seemingly depleted Loch Garry - ready for the bone-shaker
The desired five kilometre coast back to the car didn’t quite materialise. In your dreams kid.
The track has been repaired with the largest, toughest pebbles they could find. No chance of it eroding or flattening to a smooth cycle back. I was wrecked and rattled by the time I re-crossed the railway and got back to the car.
“It’ll be a long day,” I had said to the other half, suggesting about ten hours. I was thirty minutes out. There haven’t been many two-Munro combos demanding so much effort. They’re definitely not easy these Corbetts.