One of Stu's better ideas

[Starfish]

"I am NOT going up Clachaig bl**dy Gulley..."

Picture the cosy scene. The two of us sitting in the pub one Friday evening after a seven hour drive up to Glencoe from Yorkshire, having just set up camp for the week at the nearby Red Squirrel. It's not like us not to have the hills we want to do pencilled in before we come up but three months of stressful redundancy proceedings and then starting a new job had pretty much put any real thoughts of the holiday on the back burner. Nor was the forecast particularly encouraging so it all made for a perfect storm and we'd arrived without a plan. Not wanting to waste half of Saturday sitting in the tent getting into the "What do you fancy doing today?" / "I don't know, what about you?' conversation, I asked Stu if he'd "any thoughts about a walk for tomorrow."
The last of his pint went down and he got "that look" in his eye that tells me he has a cunning plan
"How about..." he said, "Going up onto the last Munro on The Ridge and..."

Now let me explain. I love him to bits, my Stu, but by his own admission, he's got a talent for coming up with "good ideas" that turn out to be anything-but; managing to include a river crossing that's pretty much a raging torrent; "short cuts" that add hours, if not difficult miles onto a walk when you're already pegging it... I've learned the hard way over the years to open my mouth at an early stage. So I did.
"I'm NOT going up Clachaig bl**dy Gulley!" I interjected, feeling what little colour I already had drain out of my cheeks.

(Spoiler alert: if anyone's hoping at this point to read a write-up of a wonderful time being had in the negotiation of Clachaig Gulley, best look for another report... ).

Thankfully, it turned out that my fell-running husband, inspired by watching clips of the Glencoe Skyline Ultra race, was curious about the route these awesome athletes take up onto The Ridge from the lower end of the pass of Glencoe and "thought he'd seen a path." That utterance alone is guaranteed to set off alarm bells with me, especially knowing that fell / trail runners are a pretty fearless bunch and have a seemingly innate ability to get away with making it up as they go along but as he continued, the enormous relief that neither Clachaig Gulley nor The Ridge "the wrong way wrong" were being planned, combined with (maybe) one Pernod too many on top of being tired from the long drive had me agreeing - and actually looking forward to a wander up to Sgòrr nam Fiannadh, then tying on the Pap of Glencoe for good measure.

Saturday dawned fine albeit a rather chilly 7°C for 1st June but the main thing was: no rain. By the time we were walking along the old Glencoe road, the temperature had risen by a good 10°C and the last of the low cloud that had been hugging Aonach Dubh and Stob Coire nan Lochan had all-but peeled apart.

A last smudge of cloud around Aonach Dubh

The River Coe

Blue sky prevailed and the slight early-morning haze had dissipated, giving our first view of the day of Diamond and Church Door buttresses and of Stop Coire nam Beith's pointed peak: we were in for a treat of a day!

Diamond and Church Door buttresses and Stob Coire nam Beith from Glencoe

Shortly before the old road joins the main A82, there was indeed a path of sorts, heading up around a rocky outcrop on the left in roughly the right direction. Now I don't for a minute believe it's the route the runners take; they're far more gung-ho when it comes to getting from A to B by fair means or foul but it was a decent enough track for us and we seemed felt to be gaining height steadily. Maybe I'd underestimated my ability after all...?

At this point, I'll mention that whilst Stu is a fell / trail runner, I am not. Although I've always been very active, my fitness has taken a serious nose-dive since Covid and just to put the tin hat on it, three weeks previously, I'd ended up in A&E after my heart decided to throw a dickie-fit and go into Atrial Fibrillation for the first time since one previous and hitherto only episode six years previously . Clearly not worried (unlike me...), they'd sent me home, still in abnormal rhythm with a "pill in the pocket" approach to some Beta Blockers. Although I'd managed to cardiovert myself two days later by trying (and failing) to Nordic walk (NOT a recommended method I'm sure... ) and had remained in normal sinus rhythm since, my confidence was well and truly dented. After all the stress of the past few months, I'd needed to be amongst "my" beloved hills more than ever and suddenly the twin spectres of doubt and worry were omnipresent. It made for lots of surreptitious pulse-checking throughout the walk (and indeed the following week).

Verdict? I was doing great. Not as fit as I'd have liked but better than I'd dared hope or dream when I was lying there in A&E. Slowly and without even noticing it, my anxiety was ebbing away with every step; I think they call it "Mindfulness" or "being in the moment" I - but however you choose to label it, the magic of the Glen was doing the trick.
and was even more grateful to be there.
Steadily upwards the path led us, alongside a waterfall tumbling through a rocky gash in the mountainside, well-concealed by lush bracken and overhanging silver birch to the extent we wouldn't have noticed it from the glen below.

A concealed waterfall

The first 1000' of ascent had been gained surprisingly quickly, a steep but pleasantly challenging pull that had enabled us to take in the views that were opening up. Ahead of us soared The Ridge, any early low-lying cloud long lifted to reveal the crags, savage clefts, chasms and gullies in all their glory whilst below, traffic beetled its way along the pass of Glencoe. At Achnambeithach, tourists lined up ant-like to return to their coach at the command of a tooting horn and Loch Achtriochten shimmered and rippled in the sun and prevailing wind.

Pass of Glencoe towards Rannoch Moor

Pass of Glenoce, heading towards Glencoe village and beyond

High above the Bidean peaks, a plume of soft white clouds fanned out in a cerulean blue sky. It felt like Heaven on Earth.

Clouds fan out high above Bidean

The Ridge was clear too

What had been a fairly decent stony track eventually melded into ferns and bracken and the path petered out to nothing. Despite occasional sign of footfall hither and thither, from thereon-in, it was pretty much a case of channelling the inner fell runner and making it up as we went along. So too the gradient increased, sharply. We found ourselves picking our way pretty much straight up: no forgiving zig-zags to ease the strain! It was all grassy, scrubby: heather and bilberry-clad. Not technically difficult but the sort of terrain that saps the energy out of your legs. At times we were both bent over, using hands as well as feet and it's fair to say we felt grateful for the wind that licked around us. It was definitely a heck of a pull and that was before we'd come across a couple of stone shoots to negotiate - thankfully safely. Finally, we arrived at the saddle just off the summit of Sgòrr nam Fiannaidh. A few more yards and we were there - an almost tangible relief to be striding out (comparatively-speaking) after all those tiny calf-burning hamstring-stretching upward steps.

We made it!

We arrived at the same time as a couple of chaps exhilarated at completing The Ridge. They'd set off early and enjoyed a good traverse. We shared stories of our respective adventures and shared our joy at the views, which were just as breathtaking as I remember. The Mamores were laid out before us and beyond, cloud flirted with the summit of Ben Nevis: up, down; up, down, shifting and swirling then back up again whilst Bidean's peaks rose like a crown in the opposite direction. Beyond Rannoch Moor stood the familiar cone of Schiehallion. No matter how many times I see these hills, I never lose that sense of awe, of thrill and in return, it feels like they're greeting me like an old friend. We managed to find a reasonably well-sheltered spot for our sandwiches and sat down to take it all in, enjoy it - and just to "be."

The Ridge

The Mamores and a moment of clarity for Ben Nevis

The Bidean massif forms a magnificent crown of peaks.

Several more groups of people who'd finished The Ridge began to arrive at the summit and whilst we'd been grateful of that wind on the way up, I was starting to feel the chill a bit so we headed off towards the Pap of Glencoe which, it has to be said, looks completely different from this angle, barely recognisable from the distinctive and bell shape that has such a familiar profile and persona. Again, it felt good to be striding out at our usual pace. We picked one of any number of tracks that were leading down and with the blue waters of Loch Linnhe stretching out before us beyond the Pap, I defy anyone not to feel entranced in the moment...
Which is a good time to say that so enchanted were we - taking it all in, feeling it and chatting idly about about anything, everything and nothing at the same time - that it dawned on us that somehow, we weren't actually following a path or track at all Thank goodness for a clear day!
We were losing more height than we wanted and felt we should so rather than facing the prospect of some serious re-ascent, we cut a rough course across to the saddle between Sgòrr nam Fiannaidh and the Pap, a bit of a rough clomp through yet more heather and we'd to watch our footing. It was starting to feel a bit of a slog when suddenly, a mountain hare burst out from the scrub, bounding off uphill at a pace we could only envy only to vanish as soon as it had appeared. That's the sort of thing that not only sugars the pill of tedious terrain but thrills you to the core at some deep primordial level.
By now, we were well below the summit of the Pap but it didn't actually look as intimidating a pull as I'd been anticipating. Several tracks wind their way up from the bealach and we chose the one which seemed to best present itself from our start point. Whichever way up you take, it's to not be underestimated - there were a couple of tricky parts on the route we took that commanded respect.
With it being such a glorious day, it was always going to be a popular choice of hill and a good few folk were already enjoying the rocky summit when we arrived and with good cause: on a clear day, the panorama is spectacular, belying the comparatively low height relative to the surrounding peaks. Bidean et al were now pretty much behind us but our eyes were drawn out to sea the softly-gleaming waters of Loch Linnhe stretching beyond Ballachulish bridge as it spanned the narrows.

Loch Leven seamlessly flows into Loch Linnhe and beyond.

Cloud cover, whilst still well above the summits, had gradually shifted across the sun and with a fair old breeze, the temperature dropped. We'd wanted to linger a bit to best enjoy it all so I donned my fleece against the sudden chill. For all the other people up there, we sat for a while, thankful to be there and breathing it all in.
I didn't want to leave but needs must - and I wasn't particularly relishing the descent to be honest; I'm a slightly nervy descender at the best of times, irrespective of the height and the descent commands at least as much respect as the way up, if not more so. We managed to pick a slightly different route down, slightly less foreboding but still a bit slithery in places where it felt like walking on top of little marbles but before we knew it, the white quartzite gave way to grassy slopes and the point for our final descent. We'd a brief pause for a quick drink and the fleece came off - we were sheltered now and the sun's strength really had won through.
From there, we'd a couple of tracks to choose from, both pretty eroded in places and both steep. Whichever way down you pick, it's the sort of descent that somehow, you don't feel should be as long as it is, as challenging as it is - or take as long as it does An occasional burst of pink from one of the rhododendron bushes dotted about the slopes broke up the sea of vibrant green of the lush bracken and little by little as we descended, we dropped below the height of Meall Mòr opposite and the view of Loch Leven disappeared. We came out on the old Glencoe road exactly where we'd wanted, leaving us with about half a mile or so to walk back to camp, mainly using the Glencoe Orbital track.
All in all, it had been a really enjoyable day's walking, one I wouldn't have thought of - so seemingly Stu CAN pull a good idea out of the bag after all After a much-needed shower, it was back to the pub for the tea we felt we'd earned - and I cast a wry smile up at Clachaig Gulley...from the safety of the road

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