March in the Mamores: Sgurr Eilde Mor

[The English Alpinist]

First use of self-timer on new camera is a success! Sgurr Eilde Mor summit.

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March the first, the Mamores, a week's trip, do the whole lot (10 of them) - that was the plan. Today I was unsure whether to get off to a flying start with the classic triple - the Binneins and Sgurr Eilde Mor - or a safer, easier (ha!) single of Na Gruagaichean which I felt would have been a more guaranteed success (ha!). Starting from Mamore Lodge, I didn't even need to make a decision until I reached the point where the paths diverged in the Coire na Ba; the weather was tame enough, and I'd got out of bed early enough; I chose to go for the treble. The approach march would have made a super trek in itself for sampling grand Scotland, but for the likes of we Munroists the work only gets started on reaching the sublime and strangely windless col of Coire an Lochain; one could have heard a fish sigh, if there were any beneath those frozen waters. Sgurr Eilde Mor, the first of the 3 objectives, presented itself like the Isle of the Dead rising from a silence of rock and snow. Beautiful, in its way. If it was 25,000 feet higher, it would be easy to imagine a Himalayist being lured up there, and staying there. No such finality today; just a stiff pull demanding a bit of care near the top.

Mamore Lodge.

Long but grandiose approach trek; looking back down towards Leven (west).

Allt Coire nan Laogh.

Sgur Eilde Beag (a top of Binnein Mor) has to be rounded.

East perspective on Na Gruagaichean, my nemesis of the next day.

Rounding Sgur Eilde Beag, a little 'edgy' in places.

And there it is: Sgurr Eilde Mor, on arriving at the col of the frozen Lochan.

Antactica? No, not that cold, but cold enough to freeze the lochan (left).

The day's proposed 3-some: Binnein Mor (left), " Beag (distance), Sgurr Eilde Mor coming up (right).

Ascending Sgurr Eilde Mor; look at all that snow on Binnein Mor!

Got a little nervy near the top.

The summit of Sgurr Eilde Mor was one heck of welcome to the Mamores. The conical form of Binnein Beag teased with its just-a-little-too-outlaying distance, there for the taking in summer no doubt, but this was winter, as good as. As for the great spine of Binnein Mor, well the sheer amount of snow on it (it is the highest of the 3, after all) said 'try me if you dare'. I so wanted to, but after being bitten by an all too similar Crianlarich trio earlier this winter, my imagination had no trouble conjuring images of an exhausted me staggering through never-ending drifts being slowly eaten up by wind-chill and fading light. Well, it was still game on; first I just had to get down to the pass between all 3 and then assess time and energy, and perhaps observe whether anybody else was boldly venturing out there. Well, nobody was, unless they were well ahead of me. I reached the stalkers path on the other side of the vale - but not before plunging through the snow into a grough, nearly re-injuring my 'Crianlarich ankle'. This was the trouble; drifts all over the place, and the snow not frozen enough to support your weight, not even if you were a hare by the look of some holes. After struggling up the traverse to Munro 2 for a few hundred metres, and repeated cussing plunges, this was a 'no'. Too tired, and the ridge of Binnein Mor would be no place for a lay down. The retreat back up to the Lochan of Silence from here looked none too easy, either.

This could be the Alps; this IS The English Alpinist at a lofty 1010m (3,314 feet). .

Descending Eilde, with Binnein Beag and its ridge to Binnein Mor looking.... like a long day ahead.

Traversing to Binnein Beag; here I said 'no'.

The retreat, traversing by the Coire an Lochain.

This type of thing ^

It was only a matter of time, getting out of there and back to safety over the other side of the Coire, but it was no stroll in the park. The area around the Lochan, which I thought might be fairly smooth and simple, was a patchwork of tricky snow drifts and potential traps. Choose the wrong line and you'd drop through up to your waist in a rocky beck, or tumble down the slope for an ice-bath in the Lochan itself. Life was made a little easier for me in that somebody had gone before me, a kind of snowscape minesweeper leaving warning flags in the form of holes where their leg had gone through up to the hip. If this was you - thank you. I trekked back down to Kinlochmore, feeling pleased in retreat being a good decision, and having achieved a kind of score-draw with the Mamores by bagging at least one Munro. Tomorrow, Na Gruagaichean. Out and back, just a stand-alone; no problem.

View down Kinlochleven; Mam na Gualainn ('my' Corbett) on the right.

Kinlochleven was a superb little base of operations.

This walk is followed by 'Dispirited in the Mamores: Na Gruagaichean'.
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