Mind over Matter: a Grand Day on the Rusty Roses Hills

[Starfish]

Beinn Achaladair has been on the "want to do" list for a few years now and after being denied our annual Glencoe camping week by two pandemic years, it had been on the cards when we finally returned last year but hubby suffering a bout of food poisoning from some dodgy bacon put paid to it yet again Shame, as last year's exceptional weather would surely not be repeated..? so when an "African plume" of prolonged warm, dry weather headed in at the end of May, we couldn't believe our luck - and the elusive mountain was on!
A glorious morning dawned on camp with little more than a wispy blanket of soft cloud hugging the slopes of Aonach Dubh a' Ghlinne and Stob Coire nan Lochan peeping above a blanket of cloud in Coire nam Beithach and by the time we were heading up the pass of Glencoe, it had lifted completely, leaving all the glorious Glencoe peaks clear against a stunning blue sky...at least until we reached Buachaille Etive Mor. Whilst the Glencoe face of Stob Dhearg was clear, the Rannoch side was consumed by low cloud. It was as if the entire ridge was forming a barrier and whilst we'd made a couple of remarks about it "looking a bit filled in where we're going,” it still came as a bit of a disappointment as having read so much, I'd been looking forward to the views from the ridge between Beinn a' Chreachain and Beinn Achaladair; I couldn't help but wonder if my knack for choosing hills in the "wrong" area had cursed us yet again. Beyond the "Big Buckle," the clag was well and truly down and even when we were heading down the S-bends on the A82 towards Bridge of Orchy, our hill was nowhere to be seen...and neither were any of the others. The surface of Loch Tulla was perfectly still, calm as the proverbial mill pond which, had the hills been clear, would have made for perfect reflections but alas... Still, we'd come now and whilst it was grey and cloudy, it was warm but, more importantly, dry. We've had some soakings on neighbouring Beinn Dorain and Beinn an Dothaidh before now - I think it was on our fifth go that we were finally blessed with a fine day (that immediately made up for all the dreich days).

From this back at camp...

...to this at the start of the walk

We parked in the large parking area just off the A82, marked by the sign I call the Rusty Roses that indicates the way to Achallader Farm. In the 25 years we've been coming, the sign has become increasingly "weathered" and now looks distinctly worse for wear but it's one of those daft things for which I inexplicably hold a great deal of affection and I'd miss it if it weren't there - it would feel like there was something missing. We'd been later leaving camp than I'd wanted (it was ever thus...) but there was still plenty of space even though there were several other vehicles parked up already.

The Rusty Roses (taken at the end of our walk, hence the blue sky…).

As recommended, we'd decided to do the walk in a clockwise direction, taking in Beinn a' Chreachain first so we set off up the stone track leading to the farm and the ruins of Achallader castle.

Achallader Farm and the ruins of Achallader castle.

This was our cue to leave the track, which continued towards a few other farmsteads and buildings dotted about the hillside, and follow the path leading through fields. At this point, I confess to having a deep-seated anxiety about river crossings, which a full-on sideways dunking in the Allt Lairig Eilde four years ago has done nothing to appease (even now, one of my fingers still doesn't sit at quite the right angle ) so I'd been getting proper collywobbles at the prospect of crossing the Allt Ur, described as being "problematic when in spate." In the event, the burn was wide but shallow and little more than a gentle trickle that even I felt confident about and made it with nothing more dramatic than splashed ankles (although I still let Stu go first, just in case... ).

I let Stu make the dangerous river crossing first

The crossing safety undertaken, we continued to the point where a rather weathered little wooden footbridge crosses the Water of Tulla where we were lucky to not only hear a cuckoo but actually see it as it darted into the small copse of trees next to the river. Not long before, we'd also seen one of the few daily trains heading towards Fort William - and I couldn't not wave, could I?
Having discussed the choice of routes beforehand, I favoured the path on the South bank leading through Crannach Wood but even though my fear of river crossings trumps by far (at least in my opinion) Stu’s dislike of walking through dark humid forests potentially plagued by midges, he won so over the footbridge we went and continued along the North bank of the Water of Tulla. As chance would have it, if I had got my way, we wouldn’t have seen the deer that sprung out less than 20 feet away from us as she bounded across the path and away up onto the hillside, from where she kept a watchful gaze.
It’s a fair old walk in - a good three or four miles or so and we were both glad we were doing the walk this way round as although it’s a very good track, it could be one of those that feels like an endless trudge at the end of a long and challenging walk when you’ve had all the fun and a few aches and fatigue have set in.
As we’d been walking, we’d noticed the cloud gradually beginning to part, offering tantalising glimpses of the hills and within half an hour or so, it had lifted completely, leaving the tops clear.

Lifting…

Lifting..

Clear!!!

In looking for a footbridge back over the Water of Tulla, we managed to overshoot the point where we should have turned off - so I was faced with the prospect of another dreaded river crossing but we'd inadvertently found a good place (somewhere around the NN367474 mark) where the river levels were so low that even I could manage it without so much as a nervous twitch. (We subsequently read that the footbridge doesn’t exist anymore anyway). It was a good place to take on a quick snack and some fluids before we had to back track a bit through bracken, bilberry and heather to get to the underpass below the railway through which the Allt Coire an Lochain flows, not too far from the lower edge of Crannach Wood.
From there, it was easy to pick up the path, which closely closely hugged the stream that cascaded down the hillsides over a series of slabs and bedrock with the occasional appealing-looking plunge pool along the way. A characterful solitary tree stood watch over the stream.

The Allt Coire an Lochain cascades gently down the hill side

A solitary tree keeps watch

Whether from the heat or the lingering after-effects of a post-Covid chest infection - or probably a combination - I began to find it a bit of a slog; whilst it wasn't severely steep, it was an unrelenting pull, straight across the contours ever upwards into the corrie. At least with it being so dry underfoot, it made for good going and with every few metres of ascent, the views of the Black Mount hills began to open up, even with a slight prevailing haze taking the edge off the clarity.

Clach Leathad and Meall a' Bhuiridh, with Stob Dhearg (Buachaille Etive Mor) beginning to peep up.

Stu, by contrast, was probably at his fittest with all his training for the recent Rob Burrow Leeds marathon in the tank and his long legs seemed to be eating up the ground, although he tried to reassure me that he was "feeling it too" (could have fooled me!). It was hard not to feel a bit crest-fallen though to be honest. He all-but disappeared over the crest of yet another rise and I thought I vaguely heard "Oh wow!" - with good reason. When I finally caught sight of Lochan a' Chreachain, it was indeed a "Wow" moment: breathtakingly beautiful, nestled at the foot of Beinn a' Chreachain and the corrie wall, light shimmering on the soft ripples of the almost impossibly clear water and a shaft of sunlight streaming down a deep cleft in the crags. The cry of a lone sandpiper echoed from across the water.

Lochan a' Chreachain made for a stunning sight; well worth the effort.

A perfect spot for lunch.

Stu's prone to hunger knock and with a subtle breeze on our skin, it was an ideal spot for a sandwich before tackling the pull up to the bealach. A couple of young chaps had come down that way and we'd exchanged pleasantries in passing and as we ate, we'd made out two separate pairs of people making their way up from the bealach to the summit of Beinn a' Chreachain. With my current lack of fitness, it all looked like an intimidatingly long climb to be honest and it was still preying on my mind how much I'd felt to struggle on Buachaille Etive Beag two days previously and been disappointed in myself. Stu did his best to reassure me that I was doing well and that I'd be surprised how quickly we got there. I'm not sure I felt entirely convinced, especially as the way up to the bealach was vague, not really any path of note and once again he stole a march, zig-zagging his way up the grassy slopes and me in not-so-hot "pursuit." I just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to give myself a hard time for not being up to my usual level of fitness and when I finally arrived at the top of the bealach, I actually felt a sense of achievement and, dare I say it, pride. Sometimes, that's the hardest bit. From there, the final pull to the summit felt comparatively easy to be honest, nowhere near as intimidating as it had looked from below.
As for the views...well, I couldn't have asked for more. As well as the beautiful Black Mount, all my favourites were there: the Glencoe peaks, Mamores, Grey Corries, Ben Nevis and beyond...it felt like the best sort of reunion. A month ago, I'd had serious doubts that I'd be back on the hills and even on our journey North from Yorkshire, I really wasn't confident about what I'd be up to - yet here I was: I was on the mountain!!!
I never lose my sense of awe, wonder and downright excitement at being on a hill and being able to pick out other peaks that have become old friends over the years and in that moment, nothing else mattered and all the bad stuff was forgotten. I don't mind admitting to a tear or two behind my sunnies.

I'd made it - I was on the mountain!

The summit cairn, Beinn a' Chreachain

For all it's the higher of the two peaks on the walk, Beinn a' Chreachain seems almost shy - at least from the Bridge of Orchy side anyway. As we'd been approaching the summit, we'd met a chap coming off and he warned us that it was "very midge-y" up on top; he wasn't joking! It was fine when the breeze was blowing, they weren't an issue - as he'd said - but when the breeze dropped...? Suffice it to say that sandwiches part deux were consumed on the move: being able to combine eating with walking in circles and vigorous swatting takes multitasking to new heights! It was a shame really as I'd have liked to have been able to linger a bit and take a really good look around as I'm less familiar with the Loch Tay peaks and I wish I'd known what to look out for (an excuse to read up and make a return trip, methinks!). Glen Lyon, with its eponymous loch, is much softer in appearance than the sharp silhouettes of the peaks on the Bridge of Orchy side - almost like two different worlds.
Initially, the path from the summit wound its way down a stony track which felt quite slippery in places as the tiny gritty pebbles underfoot were seriously dry and not so grippy. Having had so much time off the hills, I'd not re-found my "hill legs" yet so I could feel myself tense up a bit with every little slip, scoot or slide and I was glad to make it back onto grass. Now way below us, the lochan where we'd enjoyed lunch nestled at the foot of the crags, its waters reflecting the stunning blue sky above.

Lochan a' Chreachain from the ridge

Stu admires Lochan a' Chreachain below

.
For all my nerves and lack of fitness, I was really enjoying my day; after that dull start, it had already surpassed my hopes and there was more to enjoy to come.
Somehow - probably with being in the zone and with talking - we'd found ourselves following a track that took us away from the ridge. I've learned the hard way to "speak up" if I have any doubts so I pointed out that we seemed to be heading downhill. Stu had been thinking the same and I was sure we were supposed to be following the edge pretty much so out came the map to check. Sure enough, we'd come off course so headed off diagonally to bring us back onto the ridge. Sadly, going wrong meant that we'd missed taking in Meall Bhuide but once back on the ridge we were yet again thrilled by the views.
As with many peaks, you don't discover their true personality until you're there and from the road, you cannot see the crags and cliffs that made for the final pull to the summit of Beinn Achaladair. It was certainly steep and in places a little bit scrambly but nothing out of my comfort zone - I'm no climber but I do enjoy a bit of scrambling and tend to find rocky scrambly ascents easier than long slogs up grassy or boggy slopes. Having said which, my heart felt to be fairly going a bit and my breathing sounded like a knackered steam train by the time I finally caught up with Stu but oh my days it was SO worth it - as always seems to be the way of things with hills . I'd done bl**dy well and I was proud of myself!

Steep climb ahead! The final pull up to the summit of Beinn Achaladair.

Loch Tulla came into view

Loch Tulla had come into view as we'd been heading up to the summit and beyond, my eyes were drawn to the Cruachan peaks which looked particularly sharp, pointy and intimidating from this angle (the Cruachan horseshoe is actually one of my favourite days out, incidentally). We'd been pipped to the summit cairn itself by a couple of young ladies but in truth I think we had the better viewpoint to be honest, gazing over the Orchy side and just taking everything in. Thankfully there were none of the midges that had plagued the summit of Beinn a' Chreachain, whether due to the heat or the slight breeze that made for pleasant conditions, it matters not so we lingered awhile to enjoy... well, just "being." I think we all know that feeling, don't we?
Of course what goes up must come down and with thoughts of having earned a few drinks and our place at the table for tea, we took one last look around, I waved to both summits and said "Bye-bye" (yeah sorry, it's a "thing..." but at 58, I think I'm ALMOST at an age where I can get away with it without people who aren't my husband thinking I've lost the plot ).
It was a long but steady descent - we caught up the two young ladies, who'd left the summit a while before we did - nothing troublesome to report - but just when you're giving yourself a pat on the back and thinking you're doing well, along comes a smiley young lady fell runner, heading upwards and looking bright as a button. Wherever she came from, she'd already done some fair climbing and although, when Stu told her she was making it look easy, she'd replied "Trust me, it isn't!" there wasn't one iota of suffering, let alone a grimace, on her face and off she trotted, making light work of the ascent ahead of her.
From the road, the head of the Bealach at the head of Coire na Daingean doesn't look that high or that far but don't be fooled! It's a fair old trug, especially on tiring legs and even though we were now well below the heights of Beinn Achaladiar and Beinn an Dothaidh, at times it felt like we weren't losing much height at all and Loch Tulla didn't seem to be getting any closer.Although it was generally dry and firm underfoot, we did encounter the occasional bog and by now, I didn't have it in me to leap much, if at all so the s*d it approach was very much employed and we couldn't kid ourselves that we wouldn't actually need a shower that night after all.
Even though it was well gone 4:00pm, the sun was still blazing down so despite descending, we made sure to keep on top of our hydration - where Stu needs to eat, I tend to need to drink more than food - and whilst I wouldn't go so far as to use the word "bounce," it did seem to help to restore a bit of life into the flagging legs (knees a' creakin'...). At our sides, the Allt Coire Achalladair tumbled down on its way - we had to step across in a couple of places and where the water fell into pools, the temptation to sloosh handfuls over our head and face was just too much to resist - and it felt divine - soft andd cooling; the sunscreen had long since done its job anyway so who cared?!
I'm always saddened as little by little, hills begin to disappear during a descent and gradually the panorama drew in. Suddenly, without realising, we were crossing the bridge over the railway, taking a peep over onto the single track below and not long afterward reached a point where an improvised sign pointed us back in the direction of where we'd parked, avoiding the stony farm track that we'd followed at the start of the walk. All that remained was a bit of a "needs must" trug through a field back to the car at the Achallader Farm lay-by / parking area. The legs were indeed feeling a bit heavy - it had been the best part of 15 miles according to our Garmin watches and to make it up to 15 miles, Stu just HAD to do a bit of to-ing and fro-ing to make it up to 15 miles when we arrived back at the car .
I wasn't bothered - I'd been blessed with everything I'd dreamed of today, i.e. views and actually being up to this.
A couple of months ago with the state of my left lung, I was deeply concerned that our Glencoe trip for this year might be a damp squib - yes, I love the area but part of that is being able to climb and experience the peaks and I had a deep-seated worry that not only would Glencoe 2023 would be "off" but that my hill walking days were at an end . Yes, my fitness and hill legs had been down on what they usually would be but I'd done it and for the first time in over a year, I felt good...and young again - and I'll drink to that!