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Anything to avoid an infamously bumpy road...
Munros #17 + #18 + #19
Sgùrr nan Coireachan
Garbh Chioch Mhor
Sgùrr na CìcheThis story is a belter and entirely the brainchild of Davie W
I was the available companion for his expedition and did no planning, research or legwork - at least prior to leaving home - and I am very glad that I was! (available and maybe a little naive as to the efforts soon required).
The road to Glen Dessary along Loch Arkaig hasn't entertained my presence as of yet, but I
have heard of it. A bumpy rollercoaster designed to obstruct and destroy hapless hill-walker vehicles. Perhaps Davie preferred to save money on car repairs and planned a different approach for a trio of Munros hidden on the periphery of Knoydart - Sgùrr nan Coireachan,
Garbh Chioch Mhor and Sgùrr na Cìche. An avid, experienced sea kayaker, he had the resources and wherewithal to propose an alternative approach - via Loch Quoich, who's waters would ensure a more comfortable inlet to some exceptionally remote and rugged mountain terrain.
This said, the road to Kinloch Hourn isn't the Highland
autobahn by any means! With plenty twists, turns, sheep and potholes, we made our way into the glen.
- Quoich Dam (the east end)
The sun was shifting through thick clouds, the temperatures not yet shelving off - summer was still here and thriving. Frequent stops to take in the views were welcomed as a way to get a bit of fresh air and to check the integrity of the two sea kayaks strapped to the roof of the car. As we spotted the outline of mountains ahead, we also noted the shoreline of Loch Quoich; stripped back to reveal an almost lunar setting. Off-white mud unlike anything I had ever seen on this planet!
- Mud terraces
- Petrified tree roots clutter the mire
Over-running the car-abandon-park (near a destitute sheep-corral), we happened upon some beautiful Highland cows - sunning it up with mountains all around - and took the opportunity to shoot some 'moo-delling'.
- Open air 'car park' - seen better days?!
- A postcard worthy moment !
- Sweeping Davie's chrome-dome hahaha
Returning to the start point, it became necessary to pack camping gear, rucksacks, dry bags (the kitchen sink, the full shebang) but above all this, the sea kayaks needed carried down to the shore. As evidenced by the unusual tide line of the loch, it was many metres below normal and a solid 100 metres from the car. Hiking across uneven terrain is one thing, but having to carry two boats downhill towards the mud was hard going!!
With everything secured, we struggled to make it to the water - the mud was a minefield, much like your favourite sodden peat-bog; tempting you to take a confident step so that it might relieve you of your boots! After boat haulage, it was just enough to make it into the loch without having fallen in. A couple of small groups of men were fighting the banks intermittently - they had arrived just after us and were unloading a flotilla - a fishing trip to Loch Quoich with all manner of rods, engines and gear at their disposal. We prayed they wouldn't be rowdy in this quiet corner of the Highlands - apart from the drone of their boats as they whizzed by us, searching for their campfire in the dark or mumbling in the night air, we were much further down the glen than them. The paddle was a never-ending panic for me - small waves rocking the huge kayak side-on and Davie's prowess leaving me alone a kilometre back to question how well I could swim. Despite my shouts, he could not hear me and I did my best to keep up!
Sgurr Mor loomed like a giant to our left; it never seemed to budge and neither did the kayak, jogging on the spot as close to the shoreline as I could steer it. We rounded some embankments and islets which looked as inhospitable as they were inaccessible - a mess of sand and not much else. The plan was to setup near the western end dam, with a straight shot onto the hill circuit from there.
- Water, water, everywhere...?
The dam did not come into view before we ran aground - a narrowing channel of muddy water all that remained. As the photo will show, we could not paddle all the way to the western dam - despite what maps had hinted at, the water levels were not nearly sufficient to keep us afloat and we had to take a chance on some higher ground. The mud held firm on every second or third step, allowing Davie to search for a suitable campsite. Hollering over rocks to one another, a gritty shingle 'beach' seemed to be sheltered enough to protect from any gusts and gave views towards our target mountains - the loch slog behind, out of sight and out of mind. We set up our tents, pegged down with rocks and hope! The breeze coming by was enough to deter most midges but not enough to trouble our canvas homes. The sunlight moved through the mountains and drew our eyes to the remains of stone crofthouses, sheepfolds and sure enough, the dam; landlocked through a boggy mess. We left no stone unturned within a short walk of the campsite - every step brought a new intrigue, changing light and photographical delights!
Despite the effort to get here, it was quickly replaced with an admiration for the truly remote place we found ourselves engrossed in, with a thought that we would never experience this setting the same again
- My tent and what should have all been underwater
- The split dam and the remnants of crofthouse
- Searching for composition and entry point to the circuit
- Davie, the ruins and our tents (blending into the background)
With the situation constantly changing as the sun slowly dropped out of the sky, we set about making a roaring campfire (very difficult on account of there being no dry firewood below the watershed) and drank it all in. If today had been a challenge, it would be no less testing tomorrow. Davie retired just as the moon rose beyond his tent, I stayed awake with the midges and the flames a little longer. Time to rest.
- A change in wind and we'll truly be sleeping OUTside!
- A brilliant sunburst, late on in the day
- Dying embers and a rising moon
****We awoke the next morning and Davie was ready to get going. In classic style, he was already up, dressed, fed and assessing the weather by the time I rolled out and was able to stomach some bland excuse for sustenance. The prognosis was "I can't believe we came this far for it to be cloudy" and the grumpiness was more Davie's, but I began to share it. We made a small river crossing (as scoped out the previous night) and began a soggy clamber up the side of An t-Sail (695m). The cloud did not abate as we crested the first ridge of the day and Davie was making his discontent verbal. I tried in vain to console him with "don't worry, it WILL clear!" but he knew my conviction was as lacking as the views! Even bagging the summit of Sgurr nan Coireachan did little to raise our spirits, done so by checking the walk guide/maps and confirming where we thought we were amongst the cloud cover. It seemed like we were on track for an underwhelming day.
Good news everyone! Once more, the clouds went on their merry way!As the route ahead became pronounced, the jewel in the crown (Sgurr na Ciche) shined through a dissipating clag, until it was joined by all the interesting ridges, gullies, lochs and peaks in all directions. The dread of such a massive day ahead was not noticed in the scramble to take a few pictures! Naturally, the cameras were back out and shutters were on rapid fire to capitalise on lost time. I remember a conversation we had, my argument being that the last of the cloud added to the 'atmosphere' of the landscape; Davie's retort that blue skies and sunshine were preferable and very much in demand!! Bless Mother Nature - she was trying her best to grant his wishes!
Through the cloud, two men caught up to us, their voices creeping up from nowhere. Their steps in tandem with ours, we all happened upon the top of Garbh Chioch Bheag at the same time and wry celebrations were shared. They had battled up from Glen Dessary and were also left without rewarding views to this point. They continued on with eager haste.
Change is the only constant (aside from putting one foot in front of the other) and of the overview to Garbh Chioch Mhor, the scale of Knoydart began to show. Rugged, overlapping layers with no end in sight, Sgurr na Ciche itself looking like a full day out beyond here. The depth was accentuated as Lochs Morar and Nevis stretched away in the distance, a wall of destitution streaming upwards along a ridge. Like many of these walls, the thought of their construction boggles the rational mind.
We pulled up our socks and breeks and settled in for a descent-reascent, marvelling at the expanse. The clouds rolled back in though, and put paid to another portion of the afternoon's sights. The time spent in the mists was hard going; Garbh Chioch Mhor did not fall easily and was our second summit bagged in the gloom.
- Finally, some clarity. Sgurr na Ciche awaits
- The obvious jewel in the crown today
- Destitution wall and views to the coast and Eigg
- A low point, in a few ways
Given that my review of this adventure comes over 4 years later, I admit some memories don't come back clearly. The final push to Sgurr na Ciche summit is fresh in the mind however - the sun barged its way through the cloud and spurred us on to get up there for the definitive views. Our cardio tanks were nearly empty and the shifting scree-sand made every step torturous. A brown and white collie effortlessly zipped past us and was followed thereafter by its owner, a chap called Kennedy. Not phased by a hard day's hiking, he was on his third round of Munros and the dog (Bella) was just into 289 Munros at the ripe old age of 3 (perhaps a second Round or just an enviable amount of repeated summits). They strode upwards as Davie and I struggled for breath and wiped copious amounts of sweat from brows. All that kept us going was the hope of the third summit being clear enough to survey the land. The two chaps from earlier, along with Kennedy and his dog, were all gathered at the summit as we finally could climb no further - and much to our relief, there were some hazy vistas on offer. Eigg and Rum were prominent shadows just under a blanket of murky cloud, Skye's inimitable Cuillin were tucked away. Loch Quoich was clear behind us, my dodgy eyesight not quite able to see my tent camouflaged down on the shingle beach, many miles away and below. Loch Hourn and Barrisdale Bay seemed to be enjoying the best of the intermittent sunshine.
- Getting to see precious little - Garbh Chioch Mhor
- Loch Nevis stretches west - between GCM and SnC
- Summit view - a patchwork with Eigg, Rum, Knoydart and Loch Hourn all visible
- Note the hungry Munro-bagging dog
- A long way back to camp (dead centre of image, somewhere)
Lunch was scoffed and we dithered for photos. Consulting the map, a rather intriguing descent heading north-west looked feasible, but craggy and a bit too engaging this far into the day. The decision to drop down to the bealach - Feadan Na Ciche - and then make our way downwards from there, looked a less rocky and technical exit.
It was at this point, Davie and Scott knew they had mucked upThe weather had the last laugh, with the temperature and brightness soaring by the time we had retraced to the bealach. What we had craved was now cooking us without remorse. The descent to the Coire nan Gall along the Allt Bealach na h-Eangair will be remembered as soggy, slippery, treacherous and just too much like hard work!!! We spooked a few deer and saw too much evidence of their presence - poo, puddles and potholes ready to snap a leg. It was a never-ending ordeal - the shallow Loch Quoich hardly ever getting closer...
A short eternity later, we reached boggy ATV tracks which would have struggled to support even the hardiest cross-country vehicles. The going was increased from 'careful snail' pace to 'bloody knackered' - and the loch shore was the next obstacle. We would not have been able to walk on the waters, were they high enough, but we may have parked the kayaks closer. Skirting above the mud, we ambled towards familiar looking "beaches", all of which did not produce our tents. We joked that if anyone had been this far to abscond with our campsite, they were certainly determined and hell, fair play to them - we would have been more impressed than mad!
so long as they left us the kayaks!!
God or a higher being congratulated us on this grand journey with a 'high five' rock slab - perhaps freed from a watery hiding place to inspire the weary.
- Beautiful but punishing - looking back up the coire
- Scorched by the time we got to "lower" ground
- A solid 'high-five' for our efforts!
After an incredibly long outing, returning past the entire mountain circuit, we soon moved past the base of An t-Sail and round one last corner - there the tents were!
Camp was broken, the mud claimed Davie's spent walking boots (both of them!) and we paddled the 4+ miles back to the car just as the light was fading....
and the midges were waking up - ready to feast on defenceless kayak lifting hikers!!! I know this was a long one, so if you read this far/all of it, thank you, kudos and hope you enjoyed the adventure! Scott