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My mother-in-law gave me a copy of the Iain R. Thomson classic "Isolation Shepherd" for Christmas. It is the story of the 5 years that the author spent living with his young family and working the land in upper Glen Strathfarrar in the late 1950s before much of the upper glen was flooded in the 60s as part of a hydro-electric project. I have to admit that I struggle these days to find the mental space and time to read as much as I would like, but in the few weeks before this walk I had started to make inroads into it, possibly in anticipation of this long standing date in the diary. To the author back then, the area reeked of history. To me now, over half a century later, it reeked even more of history - the old history he had written about and his own history he had lived and breathed in his time living there, now over 60 years old itself.
As I organised all my gear for this one during the days running up to it, it occurred to me that it must be ages since I last grabbed myself four new Munro ticks in the same day. I did four on a cracking day in August last year with John (Ciste Dubh and the 3 Brothers) but two of these were repeats for me. I also did five in the Cairngorms in one TR in June 2016 but these were split over more than one day and again, two of them were repeats. Looking back in my walks blog I discovered that the last time I did four brand new Munro ascents in a single day was in August 2015 when Polly, Jelena, some random bloke by the name of John (different John to this one!) and myself did the four eastern Fannaichs during the WH Summer Meet of that year, held at the Aultguish Inn.
This trip had been shunted back by two weeks due to this John being away for a weekend on the sauce in Brighton on the originally planned weekend and I had taken advantage of this to squeeze in a day on Sgor Gaoith instead.
It was the final week of our current 2021/2022 timetable and as such my last Friday of finishing teaching at 3 o'clock for at least a year. I took full advantage by leaving the building almost before the 14.55 bell had finished ringing and getting home for 15.15 to meet John and Bruce. Bruce was on driving duties in his works Hilux with the three bikes and one dog horsed into the back.
We headed north up the A9 and made the now customary stop at Aviemore. John was dispatched to get fish suppers while Bruce and I did an Aldi trolley dash. Then it was onwards to Inverness where we ran into a bit of a tailback at the Longman Roundabout as some late traffic made its way to the Inverness-St Johnstone play off final first leg clash. After a short delay we managed to nip down the inside filter lane and turned off towards the centre of Inverness and then out onto the back roads that would lead us down to Struy and the start of the 8 mile cycle in to near the start of tomorrow's walk.
The rain fair lashed it down as we headed through the Highland capital and Bruce admitted later that he was sorely tempted to can the Strathfarrar idea and just head up to his house in Gairloch instead. However the rain soon relented and we got it dry for the ride in. Just as well really as it was a gruelling enough experience without being soaked for our trouble. We were each carrying large overnight packs on our backs as well as day packs draped or otherwise arranged haphazardly on our bikes. I tried wearing mine back to front in a kind of frontal sling arrangement but it was clear I would struggle to get out the car park like this let alone along 8 miles of meandering tarmac. In the end it was slung back to front over the handlebars. I also had my wife's carry bag contraption attached to the bars. As it turned out, it was the perfect dimensions for carrying 8 cans of beer but this did make it sag forward somewhat. Between the concern over the 8 cans being tipped out in front of me and the difficulty in manoeuvring the handlebars and using the gears, it was an awkward ride in and not one I would readily repeat in a hurry.
We made it to Deanie Power Station with not a great deal of daylight to spare. There looked to be a nice flat patch of grass a few hundred metres beyond on the left but closer inspection suggested that it was used as a dumping ground for deer feed and probably not an ideal spot. A rough track headed downhill towards the river at this point so we headed down there and after a bit of searching and debating, settled on a spot below some trees next to a wide meander in the River Farrar, just to the south east of the rocky knoll of Tom a'Mhein.
The location recalled a few lines from the early pages of the book - "The carving glaciers of 20,000 years ago encountered granite just to the west of Loch Beannacharan and a high outcrop of this hard and durable rock remains well above the valley bottom level. Standing like a sentinel on top of this rock bastion was a single Scots pine of considerable strength and girth. In certain light or against a mist-swirling background it had an ethereal quality and made the glen seem truly primitive: a lonely lost figure watching from the hermitage of a forgotten era."
(Isolation Shepherd, page 15) That would be the rocky knoll of Tom a'Mhein then!
We had a couple of beers each while we relaxed and unwound from the long, awkward cycle in before hitting the hay ahead of a big day tomorrow.
Saturday morning dawned fairly positively and after a few coffees and a fry up breakfast, we were off up the track for the short walk west along the tarmac to where the track heads north. Two vehicles passed us on the short stretch of tarmac and there were another 3 or 4 parked up already on the big flat grassy area by the start of the walk.
Approaching the spot where the day trippers park up - Carn nan Gobhar (the Mullardoch one) popping its head up in the distanceOnce we were up the steepest part of the path and onto flatter ground alongside the Allt Coire Mhhuillidh, we decided to strike off north east up the southern slopes of Garbh-charn to effectively cut the corner towards the south western slopes of Sgurr na Ruaidhe.
Going off piste and onto Garbh-charn - views west across the long arm of Meall a'Gheur-fheadhain to the Mullardoch Munros with Beinn na Muice and Sgurr na Muice in the middle groundSgurr a'Choire Ghlais - target #3 todayJohn and Bruce heading up the rocky slopes of Garbh-charn with target #1 Sgurr na Ruaidhe in the backgroundEarly days - Bruce still smiling, Luna still carrying her rockI'm not sure how beneficial this actually turned out to be but it got us out of Coire Mhuillidh and onto higher ground quickly and gave us some good decent views to the west, including a sighting at one point of the Monar Dam which my camera was unfortunately not quite up to the task of picking out.
We contoured to the west of the summit of Garbh-charn, aiming for a small craggy section on the southern flanks of Sgurr na Ruaidhe below which it looked like a flat shoulder ran west to a point where we could easily make it up onto the broad south western ridge of the mountain and the long pull up to our first summit of the round.
On the ascent of Sgurr na Ruaidhe - cloud swirling in over Sgurr na Lapaich to the south westWest across An Socach to Sgurr a'Choire Ghlais and the MuicesGarbh-charn to the south eastIt may have been late May but it felt more like early November with a bitingly cold wind and grey clouds threatening to do their worst. Eventually the summit cairn loomed into sight and once upon it, we huddled close to it trying to get some respite from the wind while we had a bite to eat. A lone walker arrived a few minutes behind us and after a brief chat about the unseasonal conditions, he hunkered down behind a knoll a short distance away.
Summit cairn ahoy!Bruce checking the map at the summit of Munro #1, John looking like a jakey slumped against the cairn with his cairry oot bag!Some interesting little scalloped coires to the east of the summitWe didn't stay too long before heading north west down the grassy slopes towards the Bealach nan Botaichean and the start of the ascent up onto the Peak of the Goats.
Carn nan Gobhar and Sgurr a'Choire Ghlais from the descent north west from Sgurr na RuaidheThe Novemberesque May weather was now more like December and before we reached the bealach, I had to admit defeat and get the waterproof overtrousers on.
Bealach nan BotaicheanThe guy who had joined us at the summit of the first Munro now caught us up as we turned west onto the broad, flat shoulder immediately below and to the east of the summit of Carn nan Gobhar and we walked together up the increasingly boulder-strewn slopes to the summit. The rain relented now although it remained distinctly fresh for the time of year.
Glen Orrin and the Orrin Reservoir from the ascent of Carn nan Gobhar - Beauly and Cromarty Firths just about visible in the distanceThe guy was from Bristol and had driven down that morning from Assynt in his campervan. He had done the two western Munros on this round in a previous life, and so was bailing after Carn nan Gobhar to return to his van and head for Aviemore where he had a route lined up for tomorrow. After doing us the courtesy of a group mugshot at the summit, he headed off and we carried on towards the third and highest target of the day.
Bruce pointing out the approximate location of a secret stash of 29 cans of beer to the bloke from Bristol, Sgurr a'Choire Ghlais in the backgroundTweedle Dee, Tweedle Dum and Tweedle DumberThe walk from here and over the next and third Munro and as far as the start of the ascent up the final Munro of the round was the best part of the walk. Initially the route took us down over the boulder fields on the summit of Carn nan Gobhar before a glorious walk south west over a broad, flat, mossy shoulder with the eastern ridge of Sgurr a'Choire Ghlais rising steeply before us.
Bruce and Luna leading the wayA window to the Mullardoch mountainsStarting to drop down to the Bealach SneachdaThe beautiful curving ascent ridge of Sgurr a'Choire GhlaisSgurr a'Choire Ghlais here we comeAlthough not nearly as fearsome as it looked from earlier and from a distance when viewed from Garbh-charn, the ascent of this third Munro was still a fair old toil. The views back to the two Munros we had already nailed, although fairly rounded and benign lumps themselves, were some reward and the prospect of those 29 cans of beer waiting back at the tents was a tantalising prospect.
Back to Carn nan Gobhar and Sgurr na RuaidheAt the summit of Sgurr a'Choire Ghlais, we holed up in the shelter of the southern cairn and had lunch before heading back past the trig point and northern cairn and dropping down the rocky slopes onto the broad ridge leading to the Bealach Toll Sgaile.
Lunch at the southern cairnTrig point, northern cairn and onwards routeTowards the Bealach Toll Sgaile with Creag Ghorm a'Bhealaich rising into the clouds beyondSameSmall speck of a person approachingBack to Sgurr a'Choire GhlaisBealach Toll SgaileImpressive northern cliffs of Creag Ghorm a'BhealaichBack over the bealach to our descent route off Sgurr a'Choire GhlaisNow the rain came back on and the clag descended to around waist level. Maybe it was a portent of what was to come, maybe it was just springtime in Scotland. Who knows.
Bruce approaching the summit of Creag Ghorm a'BhealaichFrom the summit of the Munro Top, we somehow managed to screw up our navigation. Bruce and I both picked up on it pretty quickly but for some reason, I just couldn't quite work out how we had gone wrong. The compass was quite adamant that we had gone off the wrong side of the ridge but it took me a bit of time to actually believe it. But ultimately the compass doesn't lie so we retraced our steps and the next compass bearing confirmed that we were indeed back on the ridge and heading towards our fourth and final Munro of the day.
The glorious walk between Creag Ghorm a'Bhealaich and Sgurr Fhuar-thuillBruce and myself not feeling the joys of Munro bagging at the summit of Sgurr Fhuar-thuillWe didn't hang about before continuing west towards Sgurr na Fearstaig and the small cairn marking the start of the stalkers path down past Loch Toll a'Mhuic and into the glen.
Loch Toll a'Mhuic nestled below the slopes of Sgurr na MuiceWee breather in the shadow of Beinn na MuiceSgurr na MuiceWaterfall on the Allt Toll a'MhuicEventually we were spat out onto the tarmac and the really hard work began. We now had a 5 to 6km yomp along the tarmac to our camping spot. The scenery was lovely, the weather had picked up, but my word it was hard work!
On the tarmac alongside the River Farrar, looking back to Beinn na MuiceWe strung out, with John bringing up the rear, Bruce in the middle and Luna and myself forging ahead. I was toiling but the thought of stopping or even slowing down wasn't an option. I had to keep my head down and my legs going as fast as they could. Just power through it. Get to the end. Crack open a beer.
Despite this, I still managed to notice and appreciate a few places that I had read about in the early chapters of Isolation Shepherd. In particular the old ruined cottage of Ardchuilk, a lovely, peaceful looking place as a ruin in 2022. With a little bit of imagination, it is not too difficult to transport yourself back in time to "1862 (when it) was the home of John Ross, head keeper, or forester as the as the position was termed in the eighteen hundreds, to Lord Lovat. The lands about Ardchuilk, green and extensive by the standards of the day, sloped down to the sweeping bends of the Farrar."
Isolation Shepherd, page 17After several false dawns and bends which did not turn out to the the last bend in the road, I eventually reached the big flat grassy area where the cars had been parked up this morning. Now devoid of vehicles, it looked like we had the glen to ourselves, and I knew that I was almost home.
Bruce could have been no more than a couple of minutes behind me but even still, the first thing he saw as he came over the dip and dropped down for the last hundred yards or so to the tents was me standing necking a can of beer next to my tent. Priorities!
We had a cracking night, almost (but not quite) making the 29 cans of beer disappear. Only one person managed to take a header into the tiny burn next to the tents (he shall rename nameless in this report!). Not exactly BBQ weather, but a disposable barbie was fired up anyway and we ate like kings. And so apparently did the local insect population judging by the massive weeping scabs that developed on my legs and forearms over the course of the next few days. There had been the odd little midge bite on both the Friday and Saturday nights but nothing much really. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't clegs as I never felt a thing. Maybe that had something to do with the beer consumption! Whatever it was, they were more discrete and subtle than clegs but wore bigger boots than the humble midge. Probably something living in the old dead bracken around the tents. I was scratching and itching to the point of distraction for days afterwards!
P.S. The bike ride back along the road on the Sunday was a joy - it's amazing what a difference it makes being 30+ cans of beer plus a shed load of BBQ fodder lighter on gigs like that!
