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[I have posted this on other forums before, but it may be of interest]In 1986, British Rail ran a scheme for students in which you could travel anywhere in the UK during the month of February, for the princely sum of £10. So, being students in Portsmouth, a quick glance at the rail map told us one thing –we had to go to Mallaig on the West Highland Line, almost as long a journey as we could have found. An epic long weekend was had, involving an all night party on the overnight express, camping behind the Ben Nevis distillery, & a proper white out on the summit of Ben Nevis.
Since then, 3 of us have continued to go to the Highlands each winter, missing only a couple of years, walking on the mountains & grabbing a fair few Munros along the way. So we think this year may have been our 20th trip. Many of those trips have involved Gerry’s Hostel in Strathcarron, &/or a bothy or two, but this year we were doing it a bit differently & 3 of us, Nigel, Steve & myself, would be staying in a cottage above Inverinate, near Dornie in Kintail. This gave us the mountains of Glen Shiel on our doorstep, & the hope of a little snow to enjoy on the summits.
Nigel & I travelled up from Surrey/Oxon on the Friday, with a car full of walking gear, bikes & a nice 36 pint polypin of Good Old Boy ale from the West Berkshire Brewery. A good journey had us at Steve & Andrea’s place in Fife, where it soon became apparent that Steve was missing the real ales of England a little bit too much as he hoovered back more than a few bevies before bed. However it wasn’t this that meant he was unable to join us the next morning, family illness meant a few days looking after young son were to keep him off the hills at the beginning of the week.
In the morning Nige & I set off for Kintail, planning to take in one of the hills above the A9 on the way. Soon enough we were walking up the same track we had waded up last year, [link], when we failed to even get to the slopes of Beinn Udlamain. This year, though, we enjoyed a brighter day & little snow & 40 minutes took us to our lunch spot from last time, which had taken us 2 hours or more to get to through snow drifts.
Soon we were climbing steep grassy slopes with the odd patch of snow, with great vistas across the bleak hills of the Grampian mountains.
With a further journey ahead of us, we didn’t waste much time on the summit, & slipped quickly down a snow slope & back to the ascent route.
We arrived at our cottage at half-time during the England-France rugby, to find our cottage’s TV wasn’t working. Not a problem, we only wanted it for the rugby, not the rest of the week! The radio sufficed for the second half.
The next morning we rose early, & were quickly on the way to the hill after just 3 or 4 cups of tea, cereal, bacon sandwiches & an hour in front of the fire.
Our target was Sgurr na Sgine, via the steep north ridge of Faochag. This rises directly from the road to just under 3000 feet, before continuing on along a nice ridge to the main peak.
A leap of faith across the river led to a narrow path zig-zagging up the flanks of the hill. Towering above us to the right, the famous Forcan ridge rose up the flanks of The Saddle. We’d done this many years ago in summer conditions, i.e. persistent horizontal rain, & it is a fabulous scramble up steep, slabby ridges above big drops. Today it looked ominous & difficult.
A few brief snow flurries attacked us as we climbed steadily upwards, but overall the weather was clearing & Glen Shiel opened up beneath us.
As we reached the snow line, the sun broke through briefly, & ahead of us the summit looked Himalayan with its own plume of wind-swept spindrift.
By now, the Forcan ridge looked like a major Alpine climb, a magnificent knife edge ridge catching the sun on its glistening blade, as it climbed into the sky.
Finally we reached the forepeak of Faochag, to see a beautiful, untouched ridge of fresh powder snow ahead of us.
Beyond, the peak of Sgurr na Sgine rose at the end of a lovely curving ridge, along which 2 small specks proved to be our only other fellow hill goers of the day.
Views of distant mountains surrounded us, previously climbed in less wintery clothes. Ben Sgreathall rose on the horizon above the sea.
The South Cluanie ridge marched onwards to the east.
An easy snow scramble brought us to the summit of Sgurr na Sgine, but behind us were ominous skies so we quickly descended to the Bealach beneath the Forcan ridge.
Here a final lightening gave us a last look at our peak before we descended to the Glen below.
That night the fire burned brightly, the beer went down smoothly, & the Laphroaig Quarter Cask brought the day to a perfect end.
Sun shone the next morning, so a longer day was planned; 2 Munros & 2 “tops”, or lesser peaks, sitting in the sky above Loch Cluanie.
Parking by the main road, we climbed until we could gaze at the mountains opposite reflected in the mirror surfaces of the Loch.
Climbing higher, we entered rougher ground where the bones of the earth poked through the heather beneath our first peak, Carn Ghlusaid.
The views opened up around us, as we climbed a perfect stalker’s path that took us effortlessly on to the higher ridges.
As we reached the summit, the true nature of the mountains was revealed, as the precipices of their northern corries were revealed in all their winter glory.
Cornices fringed the drops as we climbed on across a top toward the high point of the day, Sgurr nan Conbhairean.
The final slopes were windswept & barren, but the views were simply stunning.
Mullach Fraoch-choire showed off its rocky ridges, whilst behind the twin peaks of Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan reminded us of a magnificent day exactly 10 years ago when we were the only folks on the peaks, by special permission, during the first days of the Foot & Mouth outbreak.
That had been our best day on the hills in winter, an epic under blue skies with an icy bike ride approach, hours of trackless walking through fresh snow onto a magnificent white rooftop that felt like the top of the world, & a dark return down the glen under the stars. Today wasn’t quite in that league, but boy it wasn’t far behind.
We descended onward to our last top, along a ridge of fresh snow broken only by the seemingly random tracks of a mad March Mountain Hare.
Our final top gave us great views of A’Chralaig, before we descended gently angled slopes back to the loch.
Once again, the fire beer & whisky revived us that night.
Steve arrived the next morning, but the weather was a lot greyer, a lot milder, a bit drizzly & a bit windy. In other words, our legs needed a rest, so a day on Skye was decided upon. Portree’s fish & chips revived us further, before a visit to the weird cliffs & pinnacles of The Storr. The frost-shattered remains of a simply massive landslip, these tottering piles reach perfection with the Old Man himself, a 150ft natural obelisk.
Naturally we obeyed this doctored sign.
Beneath the Storr, in the centre of this picture, lie the waters of Loch Leathan, which may or may not translate as Quercus’ Lake judging by the odd blog from these parts…
Continued...
