A leisurely circuit of a soggy soo

[old danensian]

Conditions looked ideal. All the weather stars seemed to be aligned for a misty, gentle tarmac stroll, before emerging above the clouds to enjoy views of the Breadalbane hills protruding from the clouds.

Well, that was the plan, and it seemed to be a relatively untaxing way to visit Meall nan Subh, that loner squatting between Glen Lyon and Glen Lochay, masquerading as a raspberry.

Driving along the A84, then down the glen towards Kenknock, it was clear seasons had changed. Lush, vibrant greens were gone and the colour palette alongside Loch Lubnaig was unmistakably autumnal.

There was a chill in the air as I strode away from the car park before Kenknock. An unoccupied campervan, the only other vehicle there, suggested that I wouldn’t be bumping into crowds on the hill. In fact, a pair of hurtling cyclists were the only others to cross my path.

Leaving the car to stride towards Kenknock

Turn right and follow the crumbly tarmac towards Pubil

Embraced by the mists and caught-up in the rhythm of breathing and walking, it wasn’t a tarmac-trudge towards the Learg nan Lunn. Instead, it was an opportunity to absorb and observe the surrounding vegetation. Curling leaves were beginning to expose their trees’ dark, skeleton trunks and branches, with occasional crimson speckles of rowan berries accessorising copses.

Further up, clumps of faded mauve rosebay willowherb burst through the dying bracken, their flowers having passed and wisps of remaining seed heads ready to scatter as the breeze picked up. At times, as the tarmac cut between shoulder-high banks of bracken, I was grateful not to face thrashing through their ankle-grabbing fronds, gathering ticks on the way. In the distance, the roar of unseen stags was the soundtrack to the climb.

There were hints of blue above, and once a smudgy blob suggested that the sun might even be ready to show itself as the watershed was approached. Yet behind, the crags of Creag nam Bodach remained in cloud, and that big beast, Beinn Heasgarnaich stayed hidden.

The flanks of Creagan nam Bodach remained hidden in the mists above the Lochan Learg nan Lunn

Once level with the lochan, it was time to turn right. Aim for this, head for that, turn this outcrop to the right, that to the left. No, I simply ploughed my own furrow. At times, the recipe seemed to be two parts squelch mixed with one part slither until the angle eased. Then, I stumbled across the reported superabundance of “bogs and dubs” protecting Meall nan Subh’s final collection of lumps and crags.

A smidgeon of optimism still lingered at this stage - passing through Creag na h Iolaire and towards Meall nan Subh

The cloud-base didn’t rise as I climbed. It didn’t thin to allow a view as I approached the top, and neither did it dissipate to reveal a surrounding spectacle.

MWIS predicted 80 /90% cloud free - that was for Munros and this was just a Corbett!

So, I waited.

I texted home: “3 layers, 2 hoods, a hat and gloves: summer’s finally over.”

I waited a bit longer … and longer.

With my patience depleted, I took bearings for the succession of “Piles of Stones” and headed southeast to make a loop back to the car over the knobbles of Sgiath Bhuidhe and down via the Lairig Liaran. A circular route would be a more satisfying conclusion to the day.

Predictably, having descended just thirty or forty metres, I was below the cloud base – for the remainder of the walk. Yet, there were still no views of the looming slopes of Beinn Heasgarnaich, the west-facing prospect of Meall Ghaoraidh or the northern slopes of Beinn Cheathaich, just occasional glimpses of the glens below.

A scattering of concrete blocks, piles of stones and a sturdy cairn adorn Sgiath Bhuidhe

Fortunately, the views from the cairns on Sgiath Bhuidhe compensated for those missed on Meall nan Subh itself, and there was sufficient soft and dry ground to loiter more before heading down into ground that didn’t look too appetising.

Glen Lyon from Sgiath Bhuidhe - and almost an armchair to rest against - which is why the walk took so long - but, who cares?

Descending into Glen Lochay - with the distant Munros finally emerging

Negotiating the bog-land of the Lairig Liran didn’t prove too much of a challenge before following a sketchy track back down into Glen Lochay. Descending through the woodland proved more hazardous, as low-hanging branches of birch, oak and ash seemed determined scrape my scalp and snatch my rucksack. And then I came to the bracken, assiduously avoided earlier but well and truly in its clutches during the final approach to the road. Having shaken everything thoroughly on getting back to the car, the final stowaway ked appeared as I sat in the ubiquitous traffic jam on entering Glasgow.

Back at the carpark and the day finally decides to brighten - the bigger tops made their appearance just before 3.00pm

And as for the raspberries, the legacy of my walk resulted from a seated slither somewhere along the way – a huge streak of squished blaeberry juice down the back of my trousers.