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Into the Great Wilderness – Beinn Tarsiunn via Lochivraon
I keep getting pulled back to the same areas of Scotland. Basically, Wester Ross. There’s something simply special about the combination of dramatic, abrupt, mountains, with the coast and the scattered lochs. Torridon and the Coigach-Assynt area are arguably my favourites, but in between lies once of the best regions of them all – The Great Wilderness of the Fisherfield and Dundonnell forest. 5 years ago we first touched the hills of the centre of this stupendous landscape with a bothy approach to Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair and Sgurr Ban (
https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/Forum/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=70502). Then last summer, via our daft canoe approach, we climbed the astonishing hills of A’ Mhaighdean and Ruadh Stac Mor (
https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/Forum/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=107370). This left lonely Beinn Tarsuinn, about as remote as you can get in the UK, and with no easy approach.
Steve, Nige and I have been coming to the Scottish Hills in winter for over 30 years now. We’ve maybe missed 5 years out of that, but suffice it to say we’ve had some great adventures. About 15 years ago, we started adding bothy trips as part of the whole winter experience, and these have also come to be an important part of the trip, as there is a quiet joy to spending time living, temporarily, in such a vast emptiness. Therefore, the obvious thing to me was to once again approach the Wilderness from the east via Lochivraon bothy, and our plan was set.
Now anybody who has read my reports before, whether canoe based or bothying, will probably remember that we rarely travel light. Part of our enjoyment of being in the middle of nowhere is in being there relatively comfortably, eating well, and having a few luxuries and things to entertain us. By the time we’d filled our packs, and added the requisite bags of coal/wood, Platypus full of whisky, proper fresh food for 2 days, far too many snacks and, of course, my guitar and Steve’s banjo, we had to help get each other’s packs onto our backs as none of us could manage them on our own. At this point, I was very glad I’d finally upgraded my 90’s Karrimor pack to a nice new Gregory pack. Even so, 30 odd kg is not something I would recommend carrying very far! Quite how that became double my normal backpacking weight I can’t be sure of, but we never did run out of whisky.
Steve
The walk in to Lochivraon is not a difficult one, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Fortunately, the sun was shining. The weather this week had been mostly kind to us so far, with a great day on Beinn a Chearcaill a few days earlier, and a damper wander to the Teahouse in the Coulin Forest the previous day. The one thing that was constant, was the wind. Here in the glen it was moderate, and fortunately not in our faces. Walking, or should I say trudging, down the track to Loch a’ Bhraoin I was also wondering how my dodgy right knee would hold up. This was hardly being kind to it, after a winter of trying to build its strength with modest walks and physio. So far, though, so good.
Reaching the loch, we stopped briefly, though its not much of a rest if you’ve still got your pack on, and removing them was too much hassle. Across the loch, the northern Fannaichs looked lovely, with just a smattering of snow remaining on the higher slopes.
Ahead, the lesser-known northern flanks of Slioch tempted us onwards, almost Sphinx-like in its profile. In the glen at the end of the loch lies Lochivraon, our haven for the coming night. At just over halfway, we found a handy bank we could lean against, and remove the packs with relative ease, for a short break and a chocolate bar.
After just over an hour and a half’s walk/stagger, the loch was behind us and the outline of the lodge at Lochivraon appeared at last. The lodge is a posh, well-secured place in good condition, but our accommodation around the back is a little more basic. However, it is an excellent bothy with decent stove and even a proper loo. OK, the water was off, but using a bucket to flush is far more luxurious than digging a hole in winter! With packs dumped down, a cup of tea was in order, and had on the bench seat in front of the bothy. This is a lovely spot.
The Bothy
The Lodge
Once settled, a wander in the beautiful light before sunset was followed by the closing of the bothy door, the lighting of the stove, and the commencement of cooking. Steve is always the chef on these trips. I don’t really know why, but we’re all happy to let him continue as he does an excellent job!
Its this “down time” that I really enjoy on these trips. Simple living, with good food and a warm fire. Steve and I followed this with a bit of guitar/singing by me, and banjo playing by Steve. We’re not yet good enough to play well together, but I reckon we each do OK. Nigel has no choice but to listen or leave. Outside, the stars wheeled high above, Orion standing mightily to the south. It was going to be a cold one.
It wasn’t a late one, and I for one slept very well. Though we had enough fuel to stack the stove before bedtime, the uninsulated bothy does cool quickly, but it wasn’t cold enough to be a real problem and our sleeping bags all coped admirably, I think. We awoke to an excellent looking day, with a good forecast until a front would come in mid-afternoon. I was pleased with how my knee felt, so the plan was on; Tarsuinn it would be.
This would mean about a 3 mile walk up the glen, before a similar distance climbing steadily whilst contouring the southern flanks and corries of Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair and its outliers. A slightly convoluted approach, but actually a relatively gentle and steady climb which ought to suit me and my knee pretty well.
It was great to have lighter packs for the day, though with it being winter and the middle of nowhere, we were still carrying a reasonable load. The walk up the glen is on a reasonable path, though yet again we made the mistake of not crossing the stream on the bigger path, and diverting via a smaller northern one which does rejoin the other, but only after a certain amount of tussock, stream and bog dodging. The views to the big Mullach were fabulous.
Just after the tiny ruin at Feinasheen, we surveyed the terrain ahead, and decided that a direct line from there diagonally across the glen and up Cul Doireachan to the Bealach na Croise looked reasonable. The ground was only mildly boggy, and in places slightly crispy with frost, and this line would keep height loss to minimum, with a steady, but trackless, rise to the Bealach. It proved a good choice.
Sgurr Dubh of Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair, the slabs and Sgurr Ban
An Teallach
After a quick first lunch below the Bealach, whilst still sheltered from the expected wind, we reached the pass, and started climbing on a diagonal line into the lower reaches of Coire Mhic Fhearchair. Though slightly less dramatic than its name sake on Beinn Eighe, this is a truly wild, magnificent place where you really feel you are a long way from the road. We were now coming across snow, enjoying that crunch as we crossed it, though it wasn’t always quite firm enough to bother and often the least tiring approach was to avoid it. Especially with a dicky knee. So far, so good. We contoured the corrie and angle up to cross the shoulder of the lump of Meall Garbh. The views were already fabulous.
Rounding the shoulder, we contoured above the deep cleft of the Allt na Creige Glaise. We were now fully exposed to the south westerly wind, which was fairly cutting, if not strong enough to hamper progress. We also needed second lunch, as first had been just snacks really. We found a little spot above the top of the snow-sculpted gully, a lovely spot to sit for a few minutes and contemplate our summit for, at last, Beinn Tarsuinn had actually come into sight.
Tarsuinn at last, from our second lunch spot.
Nige
Stomachs satisfied, we set off for the final ascent. By now the snow was firm enough to offer the easiest walking, so we linked together patches towards the Bealach Odhar, before turning to angle up towards the steeper summit slopes.
Now it got a bit harder, and my knee didn’t appreciate the steeper angle. Ice axes now out, but crampons not needed, I happily let the lads break trail. Fortunately the views from the climb were so astonishing that I could regularly “stop to take photos” or rest, as its otherwise known. The snow glistened, but always easily took a kicked step, and though the wind was strong, it wasn’t really hampering us until the final summit approach where I was a little wary of being pushed towards the right edge if it gusted!
The boys marched on ahead a little as we neared the top. From the side we’d come, Beinn Tarsuinn doesn’t look particularly spectacular, though its location is magnificent. However, the hidden northern flanks are riven with gullies and steep precipices and its summit is a perfect perch on a short spur on the edge of the void. What a viewpoint!
We were bang on schedule, just after 2pm, but it wasn’t going to be a place to linger in that wind, and I was also aware that my knee might lead to a fairly slow descent as I hadn’t tested that yet! Just as importantly, clouds were building to the south, as expected, and the hills just starting to disappear as the front came in. So we only spent 5 minutes or so taking in this astonishing landscape, looking over the Tennis Court on the NE ridge towards A’ Mhaighdean, staring at the jumbled hills of Torridon, and north to An Teallach and the Mullach. Once of the very best viewpoints anywhere, as are all the summits in the Great Wilderness.
It was time to get moving. Our return route would be almost identical to the ascent, for that was the easiest line through the terrain. Fortunately, the snow helped very much on the steeper initial section, and this was quick, and easy on my knee.
Soon we were back passing our lunch spot. The cloud cover arrived, and we pressed quickly on round the shoulder of Meall Garbh and across Coire Mhic Fhearchair again. I hardly took any photos on the descent, as the light wasn’t nearly as good as earlier, and speed was required to beat the dark.
Once we reached Bealach na Croise, we could escape the wind, and stopped for a final break. It was still nearly 4 miles back to the bothy, and we decided to follow the track down instead of taking the direct line. I was starting to feel it in the knee, and knew from the last few days that it was twisting through rough terrain that hurt the most, and the track did help with this. At the bottom of the glen, we took an angled line across the valley floor, as the path swung north to Loch an Nid. I actually love the fact that there aren’t enough people using this approach to Tarsuinn for even a faint path to appear here. A short climb brought us to the track back to the bothy. By now the clouds were claiming the higher tops.
We were all feeling it now, it had been a long day on top of yesterday’s tough carry in, and night was close. We pressed on, but the track did seem endless with weary legs, and mind. In reality it is straightforward, but it still felt like ages before the bothy hove into view just before dark.
Goodness me, that bothy was welcome, that first cup of tea bliss, and that stove fabulous. Despite us somehow forgetting a couple of ingredients (the meat bit!), our pasta meal was extremely good, and another pleasant bothy evening was enjoyed at the end of a truly great day.
Thursday was simply a day to walk back out again, and the rain was forecast to arrive at lunchtime. However, we couldn’t be bothered to rush, and somehow ended up having another guitar and banjo session, and several extra teas and coffees, before we summoned up the strength to don slightly-lighter packs for the walk out.
I can’t say I really enjoyed the walk out, for the knee was starting to protest somewhat, but fortunately it was quick enough, most of the rain stayed off with just light showers reaching us, and the wind was almost behind us.
The last drag up the really gentle climb to the car really hurt, something about the harder surface had both my bad and good knees equally shouting. Yet there was an immense sense of satisfaction from another successful foray into this most special of places, another memorable trip with old friends, and even though I hurt, part of me didn’t want to leave.
Still, I was flippin’ glad to get to Ullapool and stuff my face with posh lunch at the Ceilidh Place before heading off to the luxury of Forest Way bunkhouse for the next couple of nights. Apologies to any fellow diners for the unwashed tramps in the corner!
Thanks for sticking with it if you got this far!
