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Many years ago, when optimism exceeded ability, I set out on my bike from Dalwhinnie with the stated aim of cycling to Culra bothy, doing all six 'Ben Alder' Munros, then cycling back out in a day. When atop the summit of Ben Alder, having knocked off the four others, I had to bail out through fatigue, but vowed to come back 'soon' and do Beinn Bheoil.
Many winters passed, but always it nagged at me that this humble outlier - little more than an afterthought of Ben Alder - remained unclimbed. And so it was, then, that a glorious forecast and an absent wife meant that I could spend a weekend taking it in at leisure over two days.
The cycle in on Saturday 21 March was very pleasant, albeit into a stiff(ish) breeze. This made for slow going, especially with the 20kg pack that sat on my back. Add to this my camera and 200mm lens that was attached to my chest harness, meant that progress was not quick. Not that it mattered, of course, on such a glorious spring day that only March can deliver. It is the finest month in Scotland in my view, offering longer days, pleasant temperatures and plenty of snow.
My campsite was near Culra, which officially remains closed - although I spotted at least two people using it. I chose this spot because of the soothing sound of running water. Always a help when camping I find.
After dinner and sunset, I retired to the tent and watched a documentary on my phone before deciding to try and get some sleep. I tend to fall asleep pretty easily, and this night was no exception. However, in the wilds I'm the sort of person who wakes up if a fly scratches its leg at 50 paces. And so it was, naturally, that some deer came past during the evening and woke me with their padding around. I thought, though, that it was much too bright outside considering it was the middle of the night. I peeked out the tent and saw the most wonderful moonshine over the Lancet Edge - Sgor Iutharn. My camera was to hand, so I simply had to get a snap.
Morning came, accompanied by a sharp frost on the tent. Curled up in my sleeping bag, I lit the stove and had some 800kcal porridge and strawberries freeze-dried food. Tremendous. As I chomped it down the sun started to rise over Ben Alder. Is there a finer sight in the Central Highlands?
Leaving my gear in the tent for the return journey, I quickly got booted up and away. My first port of call was with the Long Leachas ridge. As I walked up the absolutely superb stalkers' track I kept eyeing the ridge to see how tricky it looked. In summer it is, apparently, nothing more than a scrambly walk. In winter condition, though, it presented more of a challenge. Add to that my extreme nervousness around sheer drops (I suffer horrendously from exposure), I was more than a little apprehensive about what lay ahead. With crampons and axe in the bag, I was ready for the challenge, but would my bottle hold?
As it turned out, the first challenge was not the Leachas ridge, but the stream crossing of the Allt a' Bhealaich Bheithe. There was little water in it, but with ice abounding it turned out to be a bigger challenge than one would normally expect of such a small rivulet.
After crossing the stream, the general consensus seems to be that you head for the ridge straight away. Never one to accept conventional wisdom at face value, I reckoned that the brick-hard snow present ahead of me would allow a more enjoyable and easier ascent than heather-hopping. Sure enough, once I had reached the interlinked patches I donned the crampons and sprung across the snow like a young gazelle. Maybe a middle-aged gazelle.
I gulped hard when I looked ahead of me. The ridge looked formidable.
The first part of it was easy enough. A simple climb on reasonably good snow, with an angle that - though steep - was easy. Before too long, though, the first scramble came into view, with 'death drops' on either side if I came off. Even though I knew the slight scramble ahead was easy, the exposure fear kicked in and my heart was beating so hard I could hear the din of it above the gentle flow of the wind. No photos were taken. I needed to get past this and onto a broader shoulder.
The first scramble lay just aheadIn the end the first scramble was fine, though I did make the mistake of looking back whence I came. That was the first and last time I did it on the ridge. Another few hair-raising sections came and went, and before too long I was on the last section before the plateau.
Looking back where I came fromWhen I arrived on the plateau the weather Gods decided to throw a thick layer of cloud over the hill, preventing views in any direction. And it wasn't just any thick cloud, it was akin to a proper 'pea souper', which made navigating potentially dangerous, with visibility down to about 5-10 metres. As I walked upwards, following Hamish MacInnes's maxim of 'if in doubt, keeping walking up', I knew well enough that on my left huge drops awaited over steep and invisible cornices. As I took a bearing I could see two sets of footprints, indicating that walkers had been this was the day before in clear weather. I followed these steps, checking my position every 5 mins or so. For a few seconds, the sun punctured a hole in the cloud, revealing beautiful vistas out to the east.
But as soon as they arrived, the views vanished, leaving me back in the white room. Up and up I went, across the vast plateau. Along with its near-neighbour, Geal Charn, Ben Alder has few equals for sheer scale of landscape. It would not look out of place in the Cairngorms, such is its complexity and size.
Half-an-hour or so after attaining the plateau, I eventually reached the summit cairn. Visibility was poorer than ever, and good navigation was essential. It is easy to walk in the wrong direction and end up in a tight spot, so I very deliberately and often checked my direction. Luckily, before too long, the cloud lifted as I lost height towards the Bealach Breabag and on towards Beinn Bheoil. An area of flat ground around the Bealach Breabag was a suitable place to take lunch before attempting the relatively straightforward ascent to the next top.
The views on the next section were amongst the best of the day, but with a fierce wind blowing up the west slop of Ben Bheoil, I didn't linger long. (I also lost my prized baseball cap, which disappeared off my head during an outrageous gust of wind that had me on all fours.)
Summit of Beinn Bheoil, looking south
The east face of Ben AlderAs stated previously, I'm not one to follow paths and descriptions, often preferring my own 'short cuts'. Sometimes these short cuts make for long delays, but in this instance it was not the case. Snow-gullies, softened now by the sun, made for nice sugary descents, glissading down to the stalkers' path that would see me back at the tent.
Down at the bottom of the glenThis was a memorable day, for both the ridge and the views. Would I recommend the ridge in winter to a novice? Definitely not. It's too exposed and sketchy in places. That said, if you've the proper gear and a head for heights it's nothing too technical.
A classic spring day in the Central Highlands.
