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In my peripheral vision, the first inkling that the conception of this adventure may have been slightly underbaked, looms from the darkness as the A82 meanders through Glen Coe. I steal a glance away from the headlights of oncoming traffic. Those are definitely snow-encrusted slopes gleaming in the blackness… This does not, to be fair, come as a surprise. The forecast has measured up to its predictions for snow showers today, with a fine day in the hills to follow. I tell myself that a little snow under foot will be no bother, and anyway, perhaps the conditions are localised, and further on it’ll be different? Who can say where this stroke of delusion comes from; it definitely will
not be milder on Scotland’s rooftop further on.
Rolling into Fort William around 8:30pm, the surrounds are hard to assess in the dark. We pootle on down Glen Nevis to the Lower Falls carpark. The carpark, unsurprisingly, is empty. A sign states that overnight camping in tents or vehicles is prohibited, but I fail to notice this, so we do just that. The Great Scottish Dingo* and I curl up in my little hatchback and sleep snuggly and deeply. At least one of us snores.
We wake around 5:45 (perhaps I don’t sleep
that soundly). The aim is to do the Ring of Steall circuit… possibly doubling back over the Devil’s Ridge and adding in the two western Mamores, but this will be assessed as the day unwinds. The idea is to get a head start on the day by covering the stretch along the glen in the early darkness, rather than starting the walk from the carpark at the far end of the Glen Nevis road. Of course, one could advocate for leaving the easy miles for the end of the walk, when weariness won’t impact technical thinking, and navigational focus isn’t (as much) required. But I never fancy a return-to-car schlep after the epitome of a hike is behind me. This is my usual strategy: if there’s going to be a slog at one end of the day, I prefer to get it done early. (It should be said that the track from Lower Falls to the Ben Nevis falls is pleasant, and hardly a slog. I suspect though, given the shortening mid-November days and the possibility of an extended route, this stretch will be done in darkness at one or another end of the day, so will stick to the road).
With so few visitors at this time of year, there is plenty of free parking to be found off the Glen Nevis road. But I am unaware of this so dutifully pays the £12 for 12 hours to leave the car at Lower Falls, wondering if this is really necessary in November. Still, if these pounds will contribute to maintaining this stunning area, I am more than happy to. Anyhow, surely that will atone for the clandestine car-camping, and it’s hardly exorbitant for a day’s entertainment. It’s 6:20 before we are on our way (why does it take so long to get a wriggle-on? It’s not as though there was any real packing to do).
The first miles along the road are easy and quick. I don a headtorch to negotiate the rocky track through the woodland, but the moon is bright, and I don’t need the extra light once the track spills out again into the open glen.
I ignore the turn-off to the steal cable bridge – this would be fun to try, but the wonder-dog assures me that he is less keen, and with his absence of opposable thumbs, the prospects of his balancing are poor. Instead, we cross a few hundred meters further upstream, where the water is shallow after the river eases back to the east. I reflect that if I were a pole-using hiker, this would be an apt time to put them to use. I am not. But the water is low, the rocks only mildly slippery, and we cross without difficulty. It’s a boggy 200m jaunt across the grassland to join the stalkers’ path east of Steall Falls, as it turns south east and starts to climb.
The route is steep, but easy-going on a good track that skirts a landslide and climbs the left side of the Allt Coire Chadha Chaoruinn gully (however that is pronounced). The sky takes on a faint pallor as we cross over to the right side at around 390m, and the track throws short switch backs, leading away from the gully. Another ~150m elevation gain, and the first dustings of snow furnish the hillside. The ascent eases momentarily, until the crest of the spur is reached. The track turns south east again, and continues to climb. Although steep, none of the climbing is particularly onerous; the path is excellent, and we take ample breathers to gawk in awe at the valley we have climbed from, and the bulk of Ben Nevis and friends across the far side.
- reaching the spur of An Gearanach, around 630m
Climbing the spur to the summit of An Gearanach, gawking becomes the main pursuit of the morning. The sun, emerging as a glowing orb on the horizon over Binnein Mor is spilling a golden fire in front of it and a clean, pastel light across the Ring of Steall. I stop so frequently to try to capture the moment that the cold quickly bites into my hands, and it is time to contemplate my clothing choices. Mitts and jacket are added. The Great Scottish Dingo, meanwhile, is contemplating the snowscape, entirely in his element.
- sunrise
- more sunrise
- looking across to Sgùrr a'Mhàim
- back across to Ben Nevis and Càrn Mòr Dearg
- Gus, the Scottish dingo, admiring the sunrise
- what are you waiting for?
Munro tops are always fun – their variety makes each one special – but this first of the day is amongst my favourites. The light, the snow, the complete solitude. So early, the only tracks in the snow are mine and those of the wonder-dog. There is nothing quite so special as feeling like you’re the only one in the world, in the most beautiful place in the world (even on a busy summer day, this place is so spectacular that it is no doubt still a phenomenon). I spend a few minutes at the summit, struggling to determine which direction presents the most spectacular view, before giving up and awarding them equal points for awe and splendour, and pressing on.
- 'little' Binnein Beag with Binnein Mor
- looking back to the Ben Nevis range, as we approach the summit of An Gearanach
- what lies ahead, looking on to Stob Chore a'Chairn with Am Bodach in the background
And then, not far beyond An Gearanach’s summit, the ridge becomes very… ridgey. I have a good head for heights, but it doesn’t take long to abruptly reconsider the day. I am alone, there is snow – which is good quality but obscures route choices – and there is wonder-dog to consider, as the best route over the rocky ridge for a biped and a quadruped may be different. This section of the ridge is described as a little harder than the Càrn Mòr Dearg Arete, which we had no issues navigating in fine conditions some years previously. But today the prospects seem unwise. We may well be able to pick our way past this section, but if I have a sense of hesitation here already – a section without anticipated difficulty – the Devil’s ridge is not looking promising. And should we have to turn back at that point, it’ll be a long return, with this same section to renegotiate. I have no desire to turn a magical day into one with anxiety about whether I am making a wise call.
So, with little debate, the Great Scottish Dingo and I follow our tracks back through the snow.**
The descent, of course, is steep, but without difficulty. Wonder dog expresses his jubilance with a snow-frolic (anyone who has seen a dog doing zoomies in the snow will appreciate the pure joy that observing this brings).
- returning to the Glen
Back on the valley floor, the day is starting to unfold, with scattered hikers peppered along the trail. Passing, again, the steal-cable bridge, here now is an opportunity to test it out – why not? – just for fun. I am average height and am surprised how far the hand rails feel to reach (can children use this thing?!). I intend only to take a few steps out along the cable to see what it’s like, but realise – oops – that once started, there’s no real way to turn around! So, it’s over to the far side, about-face, and back again. Wonder-dog is watching quizzically from the far shore, and is very grateful that there was an easy alternative to wade across the shallows upstream.
- Steall Falls in daylight
- a long reach
We are back at the Lower Falls carpark by 10:50, Ring of Steall attempt aborted - not to mention the Western friends. This doesn’t feel like defeat. It had not been a difficult decision to turn back. The morning was glorious. The hike up has been one of my all-time favourites – for which there is stiff competition – and I will enjoy doing it again on another occasion. Although we topped only one Munro of a 4-Munro circuit, the return distance covered is approximately the same as the intended route, and the Great Scottish Dingo is suitably tired, always an indicator of a successful Munro day. There is plenty of time to refuel with a hot chocolate and cake at the delightful Wildcat Café in Fort William, before the long drive home.
A second wind
Ben Challam is en route as we drive south, and I make a spur-of-the-moment decision to romp up its boggy path, setting off around 13:20. I am clearly still swooning from the morning’s achievements, as we pass several descending parties looking less enamoured by the mud, snow and brewing cloud.
- the muddy ascent of Ben Challam
- looking back as cloud skims over the ascent path
At the summit, the wind is picking up, it is starting to snow, and the short daylight is hurtling towards evening. We plunge through the snow, down the north-western shoulder with the hope that this will make for a less boggy return circuit, but find it similarly marshy. Picking up the farm track on the lower east flank of Beinn Chaorach, we follow it down the Gleann a’Chlachain, to join a short few hundred meters of the West Highland Way from the Wigwams near Auchtertyre back to Kirkton farm. Finally, we are back at the car around 16:40, both now thoroughly cactused, ready for a meal, a bath, and bed.***
This will be my last hiking for the season. I couldn’t have wished for a better day.
* Gus is neither Scottish, nor a Dingo. But he is a dog, and definitely wonderful.
** This was the first time I have ever turned back on a hike on account of losing my nerve. The conditions on the day were perfect. I have no doubt that other walkers would comfortably have managed the snow and terrain, without issue. I’ve read many brilliant trip reports from people who have completed this, or more challenging routes in far more strenuous conditions, and I’m sure the authors of these hiked well within their comfort levels and abilities – or acknowledged if this were not the case! I don’t believe I was poorly equipped, or ever in any danger. But I was out there to have fun. I didn’t want to be outside my comfort zone (although this, too, is fun sometimes!). For me, this was the perfect out-and-back trip.
***cactused: Australian slang for tired/broken/depleted/wiped out. I always use this term with affection to mean a wearying and satisfying day in the hills 😊
