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As a Libran I’m supposed to take the scales to everything I see. There’ll be both sides to each argument. Six of one might simply be half a dozen of the other. Risk should balance reward or effort be a reasonable price to pay for enjoyment.
However, in my walking world, time spent on the hill must exceed that spent in the car. Some days should start tough and end with a gentle stroll, while others can build to a crescendo of puffing and panting, the descent fuelled by the adrenalin-rush of a spectacular summit view. Very few days mirror a meticulously symmetrical gradient profile, apart from an uninspiring out-and-back.
At the start of the day (Glasgow, 5.30am) I thought the Corbett of Beinn Odhar Bheag stood a good chance of providing a balanced day out. Steady climbing would start the day while legs were fresh. This could be followed by a gently undulating stretch connecting one top with the other that was a mere twelve metres higher, although some twelve hundred metres further away. A stroll along the glen would follow an uncomplicated descent into the corrie, and the day should end with an amble amidst the birch woodland to the final stretch along the road back to the car.
- Crossing the line to start the walk from the A830
- Lingering in the "notch"
Well, the first part was right. Once across the railway and the river, the path wastes no time in heading upwards. The promised notch in the skyline is an easy first objective to locate. As guidebooks and reports then suggest, occasional stretches of track then wend their way up the broad and undefined north shoulder of Beinn Odhar Mhor. Zig some, zag others, or ignore the fruitless attempt to follow a defined line and simply make a b-line from one outcrop to the next.
In the end, you’ll get there. And it’s worth it. Take a breather. Enjoy the view, it’s what you came for after all.
- Northeast to Glenfinnan and beyond from Beinn Odhar Mhor
- Looking across to Beinn Odahr Bheag
For a while I watched a motionless figure standing proud on the top of Beinn Odhar Beag, automatically connecting it to the small black hatchback I’d parked next to on the A830. Maybe I wasn’t up there alone.
Once the lonesome bristle had slipped beneath the skyline I began the enjoyable meander in, out and around the outcrops separating us. When it reappeared, to gaze at me slowly tackling the final slopes, it became clear that its four hooves would struggle to master the control of a car. It was to be a solitary day on the hill. Nobody woke me as I drifted away for considerably more than the allocated forty winks.
- Back to Mhor from Bheag and comfortable short grass to rest
- Down to the head of Loch Shiel and Glenfinnan from Beinn Odhar Bheag
Initially, I’d entertained the prospect of continuing over the Corbett’s neighbour, Benn Mhic Ceididh. But, this was September, yet, ludicrously, the hottest day of the year so far. The thousand-foot featureless slope ahead was not working particularly hard to lure me up.
Enjoy: endure. Which was it to be?
I juggled estimates of time, distance and remaining water against the prospect of a Magnum from the Co-op in Carnach before the drive home.
- The slope of Beinn Mhic Ceididh confronts - intimidates - or ...
Alright, I wussed.
What followed would be, for most, a relaxing walk out, a saunter, a dawdle.
- An escape for the legs and lungs - down the Allt a Choire Bhuide
However, dropping from the bealach into the Coire Buidhe was like sinking into a furnace. The bowl acted as a crucible, focussing its heat. At first, I could hear water but couldn’t see it. Then, when I could see it, I despaired at the prospect of having to climb back a few metres to the path once I’d drenched my cap and let the water trickle down the back of my neck. And it seemed to go on for ages - as did the constant persistence of swarms of deer keds, irritating and apparently indestructible.
As the valley sides enclosing the Allt Choire Bhuide got closer, the track seemed to get more and more precarious. It was no longer the relaxing stroll I’d envisaged. Then, the inevitable happened; another sizeable burn came in from the right. Okay, with hindsight, and looking at the photos later, it wasn’t that big. And the slope on the other side wasn’t that steep. But, by now, I was knackered. A headache? Maybe. Cramp? An occasional twinge.
Still, I thought, a woodland amble along the glen below will make everything rosier. Having not looked at a map for ages, I fell into the most naïve of traps. Heading down a glen to the north-north-west when your car is to the north-north-east does not make that last lap any shorter. But, at last the rail-side track could be seen, a track that was more than just a series of disconnected trails.
- What should have been an idyllic wander back
In a more positive frame of mind I’d have enjoyed the last stretch, I might even have laughed-off the muddy plunges. But by now, and at this time of year, the sun was lower, its light and heat streaming in from the west, exposing all those little glades that might have offered some shade and brief relief. I’d already spent more than just a few minutes in the cool, dank gloom under the railway bridge, but I simply wanted to crack on.
At last, the river was crossed and the main road joined. Mercifully, roadside shade accompanied me on the final mile as I dripped towards the car and the Magnum beckoned.
Maybe it would have been a cooler option to cross that second Corbett. Maybe the descent would have been easier than the trudge down the narrowing glen. Or, maybe I’m just not as fit as I used to be – or wished I was.
But what the hell, there’s some good weather forecast for the week ahead. I’ll get over it, and try to redress the imbalance.
