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Sgurr Coire Choinnichean08.07.22
15.7km; 1120m; 5h 30m
Booking the Knoydart ferry, with erratic weather forecasts from different websites was always going to be the optimistic hope for triumph over fickle meteorological reality. However, it’s Knoydart, rugged, remote and alluring for those that way inclined. Go for it; you’ve been waiting two years.
“If I don’t go south now I can’t manage until September. I’m flying on Tuesday,” said the other half. “You might as well go to Knoydart,” she finished.
It was an instruction, permission, encouragement and no need to spend any Brownie Points.
“Haud me back,” as I’ve learned to say.
So, as the wee boat sliced its wash into Inverie Bay, we began to gather.
In my experience, only angry teachers and clouds glower. Knoydart must have few of the former, but plenty of the latter hung around as three of us disembarked the day before others were due to arrive.
- A Long Beach Campsite view - complete with glowering prospect
Clouds remained the next morning, having been accompanied by showers and squalls throughout the night. At least they kept the midges at bay to accommodate a comfortable lie-in and breakfast. My optimism for an afternoon dash up Sgurr Coire Choinnichean rested on two sunny icons, one at 15.00 and one at 18.00, after assuming the final shower would blow through at noon.
- Sgorr Coire Choinnichean hides in the cloud above the Inverie beach campsite - they'll soon be gone
Well, the first bit was right.
While the plan worked well at the bottom of the hill, and after resisting the siren call of The Old Forge, it didn’t fare so well higher up. Bidding farewell to the last of the raindrops and shedding waterproofs, it became sticky and sweaty as the path zigged and zagged through the woodland, following random signs and marker posts.
- Rising above it all - through woodland above Inverie
Released from woodland confines, and the deer fence negotiated, it was time to shed more layers. After all, it would be scorching and sunny in no time at all. If only. Following the remnants of a steeply rising wall, the hillside was mercifully free of thick, clinging, tick-laden bracken. Gradually, faint paths coalesced into a definite track leading stubbornly into the clouds rather than a sunny blue yonder. Keep hoping kid.
- Just follow the dotted remnants upwards - remember, it'll soon blow clear
- Loch Nevis and Inverie Bay - it's looking promising over there
The lack of visibility was merely a temporary frustration, or so I hoped. I was kept on course by the sound of cascading water to the right rather than a spectacular view across the Slochd a Mhogda and to the ridge leading upwards. The promise of “dramatic views down towards the village” remained just that, unfulfilled apart for the briefest glimpse of a peak to the south.
- The chasm of Slochd a Mhogha
- A one-way street into the cloud - it'll clear soon
So, grateful for the increasingly defined ridge, it was into the clouds once more. Surely, I thought, a sunny icon must be lurking somewhere, waiting to make its presence known. Again, if only.
I know, you shouldn’t blindly follow a track, assuming you know where it’s going. However, when the slopes on either side don’t just fall away they plunge, it confirms you’re heading in the right direction. With height, the breeze matured into a grown-up wind; but did it blow the clouds away? No, of course not. Instead, my GPS confirmed I passed a point at 779m and then another at 796m but, apart from a lonely cairn on the latter, views from neither were to be enjoyed. Given the wind, thoughts of waiting an hour or so for the miraculous parting was parked.
- Sgurr Coire Choinnichean - honest
Now, I’d read one route description, that remains nameless, suggesting the descent via a traverse “doesn’t take much longer,” before slipping in some critical words, “although largely pathless,” which came back to haunt.
Descending in mist, things got random. I carelessly over-shot the way into Coire Dubh and, when clouds began to finally clear, found myself in Coire Domhain, facing the slopes of Ladhar Bheinn to the north-east, rather than Beinn Bhuidhe to the south. While rebuking my lack of concentration, voices were heard in the mist. Then, two red jackets appeared, plodding upwards. I wasn’t alone in making the error. Joining forces with Netta and Esther who, with the advantage of youth had streaked past me on the way up, we avoided a descent into the wrong valley, reassuringly confirmed with a view to Lochan Dubh-Lochain. Predictably, Beinn Bhuidhe appeared, as did Sgurr Coire Choinnichean for the remainder of the day.
- A reassuring view of Loch an Dubh-Lochain - at least it's the right glen
Then we encountered “pathless.” Tussocks, hidden holes and then, that blasted bracken. Leg-sapping, knee-twisting, ligament-snapping, ankle-wrenching. Finally, I claimed damaged knees suffered from half a century of descending hills and let the others race ahead to take my more sedate pace back.
The day ended with 5.5km of “not much longer,” returning to the campsite along a newly “engineered” track. The saving grace was savouring Knoydart’s surroundings, enjoying the spectacle of Sgurr Choinnichean’s summit ridge vicariously from the photographs in guidebooks and reports.
- The long and not so winding road - a weary slog back to Inverie
Or maybe it’s just anther excuse to come back.
Beinn na Caillich; to enjoy or endure?10.07.22
27km; 1175m; 8h
One cloudy Corbett in the bag, two to go. That was the plan.
In the end I wussed out of tackling three in three days and opted for a Saturday breather. Beinn na Caillich, with its view of coasts, islands and The Cuillin, had been my weekend target since first thinking of joining the WH Knoydart meet. I didn’t want to jeopardise achieving it by pretending I was fitter or more youthful than I was. So, I judged a coastal wander, a beach doss and a day of general lassitude would prepare mind and body for what might prove to be a long day. Turning my back on traversing Beinn Bhuidhe would allow me to enjoy Sunday rather than endure it and, importantly, provide another excuse to return.
Colin was game for the company. I just hoped I wouldn’t trail in his wake or slow him down. After all, he’d knocked two hours off my time on Sgurr Coire Choinnichean on Friday. This would also be a break from WH Meet tradition – Graeme D and I snatching our “Sunday Corbett” before heading back to family duties and obligations.
- Up and over the Mam Uidhe - I seem to remember saying "That'll shift soon" on another day
- THE Folach Gate? - an incongruous irrelevance
We strode up the track from Inverie and over the Mam Uidhe, turned right at the strangely placed Folach Gate and watched as clouds teased, hid and revealed. Company and conversation, as ever, proved an antidote to worries about tiredness or keeping up. Trading memories and experiences, we dropped into Gleann na Guiserein and followed the Abhainn Bheag, while Colin shared his knowledge of birdlife flitting to and fro across our path. We pondered fresh tracks in the mud that could have been either a nearby otter or pine marten.
- It's brightening up - as the slopes of Meall Coire an t Searraich emerge from the mists
- Ethereal mists in the Gleann Guiserein
- It's turned out nice again - as the Mam Li is approached alongside the Abhainn Bheag
As the day brightened, we reached the bealach of Mam Li and were treated to views of Ladhar Bheinn popping in and out, with the occasional bristle of people along its summit ridge. Sgurr Coire Choinnichean, visited in the cloud by both of us a couple of days previously, remained capped by a thin flow of cloud dragging across the top like a hoodie. On the other hand, we enjoyed a fine view of Beinn Sgritheall across Loch Hourn and, as we looked up, Beinn na Caillich too lost its lingering wisps.
- A hoodie of cloud draped over Sgurr Coire Choinnichean from Mam Li
- The final wisps dissolve from Beinn na Cailiich
After a brief break and a bite, only one thing remained: get on and do it. But, in my eagerness, I foolishly kept my camera tucked away, assuming there’d be even better shots shortly.
Then yes, you’ve guessed. A couple of hundred feet from the top, our Corbett was wreathed by a frustrating dragging cloud. We saw blue sky above. There was even the occasional glimpse down to the glen, which quickly closed. But, of that glorious panorama, those views to Skye and The Cuillin, the opportunity to wave at those across the glen on Ladhar Bheinn, we were deprived yet again.
- And the curtain comes down on Beinn na Caillich
We waited, lunched, and played that futile game of “just a little longer.” But Colin had a boat to catch, and we were at the furthest point from the jetty at Inverie, and needed that bit of extra time to enjoy a celebratory pint.
Leaving the top, we stayed high as long as possible, hoping for clearing skies, to no avail. With no views until well down the western slopes of Meall Coire an t Searraich, we made do with views across the Sound of Sleat and along the track leading back to Inverie.
- Finally - a view - back across to Loch Nevis and the snaking track to Inverie
- Gleann Guiserein - and the surrounding tops clearing - of course
Like Friday’s descent from Sgurr Coire Choinnichean, it was tortuous and pathless, made worse in its latter stage by hidden ditches in the plantation. Finally, with knees, ankles and ligaments intact, we reached the Land Rover track for the march past the Folach Gate and down to Inverie for those drinks.
Thirst slaked, Colin caught his boat and I returned for a restful evening camping by the beach.
Predictably, I watched skies clear, blue sky dominate, and heard disappearing clouds have the last laugh. But, as streaks of lingering cirrus striped the sky above Rum and I sipped a Balvennie miniature, I felt no disappointment.
- Sgurr Coire Choinnichean - bright and clear above the campsite
- Tranquil skies above Eigg and Rum - at the end of a perfect (?) day
After all, I’d spent three days in Knoydart, and there were plenty of reasons to return.