Spooked by Stac Pollaidh

[The English Alpinist]

Stac Pollaidh looking moody today.

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On day 2 of my expedition to Assynt and the far north I opted to take the pressure off, after my fine accomplishment the previous day of double Munro plus Corbett, and have a more touristy time. Unfortunately the pressure was off my front right tyre too, as I discovered after rising from my place of sleep in a little car park in Glen Kirkaig a few miles south of Lochinver. Dead flat: a slow puncture presumably - I hoped very slow - as I'd omitted to test the wheel bolts on my old car before leaving. They tend to be utterly immovable by normal human force, so I would have to find somebody with a big leverage pole thing if I needed to change the wheel. In the event I pumped it up, and it stayed up, completely, for the rest of the day and indeed the whole holiday and the journey home. A little mystery this; surely mischief had not been afoot? Perhaps in the (relatively) busy hive that was Lochinver, while I had my meal the evening before? Or had I annoyed the camper van occupants when I pulled in to sleep after midnight? Do these tiny and exotic Scottish roads 'do things' to a car tyre that others don't, or does this somewhat primordial region as a whole inject a sense of unease, of paranoia? Anyway, I do not think it particularly assisted my spirits on Stac Polliadh.

Coastal road south of Lochinver.

Assynt's landscape.

Stac Pollaidh's carpark; also serves water-sporters and midges.

This does not explain the place's supernatural qualities.

I enjoyed a leisurely drive on this remarkable little coastal road through Assynt, and entertained the idea of exploring all the way to Achiltbuie, the dead end of it, and doing nothing but nose around. As always, it was to be a matter of balancing the need to achieve something (in mountain terms) with simply enjoying life. I might never be in these parts again. I decided to do the famed Stac Polliadh as a good compromise. MacNeish rates it, amongst others, as better than the Munros of the area. You can see why just looking at it: a striking formation. It is a nature's own fortress, with steep grassy slopes capped by a sheer and jagged array of rock faces, and climbable only by the given path (unless one has ropes and pitons, or insanity). Furthermore, in contrast to yesterday's sunlit glory, mist had shrouded the tops of every mountain around making it feel like the looming Stac didn't necessarily want me. Still, I had clearly landed on comfortingly official tourist-fare here, judging not only by the busyness of the carpark, the educational signage and fool-proof path up, but most of all the families with children and distinctly non-walker types having a go at it. Surely nothing to fear here then, other than more midge bites.

It was certainly a simple enough job to attain the summit ridge, the trail winding its way up above Loch Lurgainn, the glorious curving spectacle of which was soon lost to the mist. Arriving at the 'where eagles dare' top, I commented with dry humour to someone that "no railings are provided in these parts." Of course we would not want such things, being an insult to the billennia of geology that had made this place, but it did feel like the ramparts of a huge castle, such as might be owned by the National Trust who don't wish visitors to fall off. All around this rocky platform was grey oblivion for any of this day's procession of motley humans who might attempt an over-confident selfie. Here was evidently everybody's destination and no further, and I tried to believe that this would do - that it was the summit, near enough, as good as - but the mists shifted as if to tease and tempt with glimpses of other cairns and tops. It would have required powers of denial worthy of a flat-earther, as in any case a bit of basic map reading proved the true summit, 612m, was at the opposite (western) end of this great splintered jawbone of a hill.

View back down to Loch Lurgainn.

Up there.

Up there.

The 'tourist summit', as seen from eastern sub-summit.

The nearest-next summit, to the east, had a cairn that made it hard to ignore and apparently a route to it, so I felt honour demanded I at least bag that. Even though this was disturbing enough, weaving gingerly along a ledge of a path where the only winner would be gravity if I slipped, I soon realised this would not do either. Being the only one to boldly go there counted for kind of little, really, when the damned thing was in fact lower than the one I'd come from! The only material thing I gained was a photo and vantage point on the 'tourist top'. There I returned safely, and then ventured on to see if I could reach the El Dorado of Stac Pollaidh's true summit. The terrain to it was a veritable labyrinth of rock faces, scree, gullies, and pretend paths and gave me vibes of Picnic at Hanging Rock - that movie where some schoolgirls vanish (maybe taken by aliens or simply lost down some dark cranny) - except with a Scottish hue rather than Australian. I thought perhaps I should leave a trail of breadcrumbs: seriously, if you got tired up there and the weather turned really nasty, getting back would not be a given. Finally, I could see what was surely the summit-for-real, beckoning out of rock and cloud. But could I get to it? .

Confronting me was a steep gully falling away to my right, with a slab jutting out from the rock face as a possible foot-plant to get across. It would require a little jump - not far at all - and a hop to the other side in one confident move. It wasn't broad enough to actually land and perch on, and if I launched myself inaccurately and brushed the rock-face I could see myself bouncing off into the death-drop. I tried to see if there was a way I cloud climb over, but discovered this would involve a leg-breaker of a leap down to the other side. The only people I saw out this far were 3 young guys who had called it a day at the nearest subsidiary summit, and also found no way through. It was either the 'hop of faith' or retreat. How much of the difficulty was real or just psychological? On one hand it did not exactly require Olympic triple jump skills, but I couldn't be 100% on how my foot would grip. The fact of nobody going there today told me something, but the presence of the summit cairn proved plenty of people do get there and most of them presumably return and live. One inner voice said 'just do it', it would only take one second of nerve, but the voice that said 'just don't do it' won.

The path to sub-summit.

Back again and glad to get it over with.

The 'hop of faith'; big drop to the right.

What I thought was the summit was just another of the sub-summits. Couldn't reach it anyway.

I retraced my steps, wrongly at one point leading to a dead end, feeling disgruntled and defeated by this 'mere Graham'. Back at crag number one a girl of about 10 was asking her parents if 'that way is the dangerous way?' I felt I might score consolation points by telling them indeed it was and of my refusal at the gully. 'Good decision!' the girl said. 'Very sensible' the mother said. Still, the lack of summiting rankled, and my beautiful Harvey's 'Munro and Corbett Chart Including Grahams and Donalds' would have to remain unticked for Stac Pollaidh, yes it certainly would. Being close enough to throw a stone at the summit does not count. However, sadness at saying goodbye to Assynt notwithstanding, my mood soon improved. On reflection nothing whatever was lost: there were so many of the 'lesser' peaks in that region that it would have to entail another holiday up there to ever do them all, regardless of whether I'd managed Stac today. Furthermore, in a parallel universe I might well have attempted that hop of faith and be awaiting discovery as a body at the bottom of a gully instead of enjoying a delectable afternoon drive to Lairg.

The road to Lairg from Ledmore Junction.

Lairg.

This walk was followed by Ben Hope the next day
https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/Forum/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=108854

[jmarkb]

Good report! No shame at all in turning back if you are not feeling confident - reaching the true summit is indeed quite hard and exposed. It will probably feel a lot less intimidating on a nice sunny day, but be aware that the hardest section is still to come, beyond the point at which you turned back.

[Mal Grey]

Turning back is never the wrong decision. As you say, its too beautiful a part of the world to be not enjoying yourself!

For what its worth, it doesn't look to me like you reached the trickiest bit. The summit itself is off to one side of the main ridge and involves a definite few moves of upward scrambling/climbing which feels a little insecure.

See this post from Sgurr with an excellent image demonstrating it.

https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/Forum/viewtopic.php?p=334479#p334479


The cairn in your picture is, I think, on another sub-summit.

[The English Alpinist]

Yes, I had a feeling I was not there yet. It's a different world in the mist. I'll give that a big study one day and be back!