free to be able to rate and comment on reports (as well as access 1:25000 mapping).
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Contents:
Day 1 & 2: Arrochar Alps put me in my place
Day 3: Upper Glen Fyne, the Bleak Bulgarian
Day 4: Being clever: Ben Cruachan from the north
Day 5: Beinn nan Aighenan and Ben Starav from the southwest
Day 6: Flushed out through Glen Ure
Day 7 & 8: The Ardgour Tangle, head on
Day 9: The Streaps under blue skies
Map, two parts. Distances were measured on per day gpx-files, 1:25.000.
Gear Talk
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Arrochar platform
Day 1
After noon I arrive on the platform at Arrochar. Which part of my optimistic plot will make it into reality? The reckoning. The Highlands always adjust my expectations roughhandedly and will not behave like the sunny photos on Walkhighlands. All is gray, the weather over the hills looks quite bad, and the first slope, behind the station, doesn't feel promising. Did I succeed in lowering the weight of the gear to under 10 kilos? The packing list was lighter than the real thing. O yes, I'll be humble for a while if that's what it takes.
To increase confidence, I chose a well known mountain, with a well-engineered path: Ben Narnain. At 3 o'clock I enter the mist. I leave my rucksack at a big boulder and climb the hill. Retrieving the rucksack is quite a thrill.
Beinn Luibhean summit, 18:20
Dust off those navigation skills. Find the saddle between Narnain and Ime, and contour clockwise around Ime to find the saddle between it and Beinn Luibhean. I need the phone's gps to tell me where I am on the map. My mind is on the summit, my body is still plodding on. Get used to it.
The daylight runs out while there's miles of planned walk left. I reach the summit of Luibhean well after six. The descent along a deep cut stream toward Glen Kinglas is in darkness. I overlooked the fact that a head torch gives a lame beam, creating grotesque shadows. To see where to walk or pitch the tent, you have to go there and point your head at it. It isn't long before I start stumbling and slipping. I smack-pitch the tent, very sloppy. Sleep is bliss. I'm put in my place.
Sloppily pitched tent, Allt Beinn Ime
Day 2
In the morning, I discover I am less than 200 metres away from the road. I visit Butterbridge and a Highway Care driver asks me where Rest and Be Thankful is. Do I look local? Glen Kinglas looks lonely and very claggy. In view of the ruin of Abyssinia I turn uphill and climb to NN247123, spotting a peregrine falcon flying along the ridge close by. I leave the rucksack, fill the yellow nylon sack with food and waterproofs and start on my way to Binnein an Fhidleir (Stob Coire Creagach really), which is quite a number of humps away. They look big in the mist. On the way back, my brain stops recognizing things, but going straight along the ridge, I do find my rucksack. To revive me it contains a heavy piece of home-baking, 750 grams of whiskey-soaked fruit, marzipan and dark dough. And love. I can live of that, so I didn't buy much else to eat between breakfast and dinner.
Gleann a'Mhill Bhig
Visit Geograph.org.uk and you'll see: there's grid squares without photos. Be warned. In Gleann a Mhill Bhig there are many. Is it because of the bulldozed road, the bland grass, the triple array of powerline-masts or the hydro intakes at the western end? It's what the snobby tourist wants: a unique place
Craig an Tuirc and water intake. Gleann a'Mhill Bhig
Craig an Tuirc is all muscle, with a very deep ravine at its foot. Not a way down into Glen Fyne. The alternative is a slippery, wet affair on the steepest of grass.
> Let's get this out of the way: you, reader, add things like 'extremely steep', 'slippery', 'boggy' or 'ankle twisting' so I can leave these things out and shorten the text considerably. <It is a warm March. I switch out of the smock, and into just the goretex jacket. Glen Fyne is no Glen Lyon, but pleasant enough. At Inverchorachan I take a look at the route up Beinn Bhuidhe. You know, at home I thought I could handle two hills in one day.
Cascades in the River Fyne north of Meall Reamhar
Glen Fyne runs out into flats, dotted by derelict sheep fanks. Unexpectedly, the character of the glen fully changes upon rounding the corner. The river flows through a setting of trees and heather, and beautiful cascades and waterfalls. A black grouse flies past, my first. I cheer up. Higher up, the scenery changes to bleak moorland, and I pitch the tent. I use the extra poles, because the last forecast predicted massive wetness early morning on friday.
Day 3
You'd say this camping thing of mine is flexible. Yet there are limits. Because my food has run out, I have to get to Dalmally before closing time. And if I am to sleep behind the Lairig Noe before dark, I have to leave this place before ten. All is wet, but yes indeed, at ten I creep out of the tent, pack it in, and go on my way, head down.
Again, Glen Fyne bends, northward. This time it ends under Ben Balghairean. "Airigh Uachdar Mhaluidh" it is called here. It sounds like nothing I've ever heard, and positively 'nowhere'. Remnants of shielings near the edge of the forest. I record a movie to show the children how wet it is underfoot.
After a bite I climb the Bulgarian, but although my route reaches 580m, within 300m of the summit, I do not climb it. Sorry, no Grahams in bad weather. Come on.
Next waypoint is Barkley Farm. No comment. Some farmers...
Boggy moorland west of Beinn Bhalgairean
Barkley Farm, near Dalmally
Well, Dalmally seems to have been government-enriched with some community facilities. First the Glenview Stores are visited. To my shock, they do not have meths in stock. The man claims "it is very rural here", and I think, don't fool me, there must be spirit around here somewhere, it isn't that small. So I walk out and look about. I spot clear signs of sheddism. Sufferers of this passion keep everything in their sheds, surely methylated spirit is among it. An anxious pair of eyes looks up at me past a curtain, an old lady. "Round the back", she says. I explain my quest for meths by showing her the bottle. "You see, my husband died two years ago" ... and he is the master of the sheds. "But try the B&B up there". I do and the man points me to the post office slash pharmacy. Of course. The lady stands in her yard, wearing the beret of her late husband and waves at me. Who takes care of her?
Snack van, Dalmally horseshoe peeking
Powder blue caravan, Stronmilchan
A lacklustre snack van is all there is to buy myself a treat. On the Stronmilchan road, I chat to my children on the phone and soon reach Castles Farm. Lairig Noe is within sight! And what a great range Cruachan is. Even the corbett, Bheinn a Bhuiridh, is a true mountain. Once past the summit of the Lairig a whole new world unfolds. The rugged west across Loch Etive, and the shady recesses of Cruachan's northern corries. Are red skies a glimpse of improving weather? At night the wind hums and rattles, but I know nothing can keep me of reaching the first landmark of my trip: Ben Cruachan by its north ridge. I'll sneak up on it.
Beinn Duirinnis and Loch Etive from Lairig Noe
Day 4
At seven, I look out of my tent door: white fluff covers the hill. Looking good, no thick blanket of cloud and clag. By eight, I'm on the service track, looking at elaborate concrete intakes and tunnel entrances.
Water intake and tunnel, Ben Cruachan (Coire an Lochain)
Wet slabs, boulders, crooked trees and meandering streams all have to be negociated before the north ridge proper can be tackled. It looks grand, fat, crude. It climbs, turns, narrows into the mist. It is no more intimidating than any other snowy ridge in mist. I know the trick: shut up and focus on the next step.
Ben Cruachan, north ridge, narrowest bit
Much higher, I'm surprised to hear voices. People coming down the north ridge? No of course not. They are two baggers descending the main ridge. I'm at my destination! The summit is a formality, even the bad step is climbed despite snow and ice. The sun isn't very far away, but no use waiting. On the way down I break into a sweat passing the bad step along the upper edge of that horrendously steep snow field. Bypasses, bypass them along the crest. Always. They are a misconception.
Following the gps-ed footsteps of the two men, I paint myself in a corner on pt950. Their machine didn't read the terrain. Away from the awkward position, I reprimand myself for following so ignorantly in someone else's steps. Still rating myself inexperienced after 4000km and 170 hills.
Sron an Isean, Stob Diamh and Stob Garbh from Drochaid Ghlas by
Klaasloopt, on Flickr
Beinn nan Lus behind Beinn a'Chochuill behind Sron an Isean
Drochaid Ghlas I pass by, Stob Diamh isn't much. The views however are top rate: swirling cloud, a dusting of snow, and the massive faces of Drochaid Ghlas. At Sron an Isean I'll get the answer to the question "how steep is the descent back to the Lairig". Well, doable. Very messy, broken terrain.
At the tent I sit and revel. I fry eggs and bacon, eat cheese and have tea. Strike camp and walk down Glen Noe. No comment. Some farmers...
For a route description of Ben Cruachan North Ridge and more photos see
http://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/Forum/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=19769The walk up Loch Etive is very relaxing and swift. No routefinding, no fear. Great views to Trilleachan, Starav, Sgulaird. Fine copses of trees, the beach, pastures in low light. Bombing past Inverliver and Ardmaddy, I come to realize I will not make it to Invergiubhsachan point. It is too far, but more important, the nice beaches with custom made grass patches for the tent run out. I grab the last one and bathe my senses in the colours of sky, water, hills and rocks. I hear shooting.
Loch Etive, Beinn Trilleachan, Glen Etive, Ben Starav
I'm gone. Loch Etive and Beinn Trilleachan
Day 5
In the morning I am puzzled. No condensation drips off the ceiling. Ice is falling in little chips on my sleeping bag.
Last night my mind couldn't process all options I had for this day. I knew: in the morning it will seem simple. And yes: walking up the loch and doing Trilleachan on the other shore is a waste of such a blue skied start. Making a round of Starav and/or Aighenan without the backpack would see me back on this southerly camping spot. Conclusion: carry that burden and climb the hills.
Take a look at the map. You'll see, Coire Ghiubhsachan south of Starav has a peculiar eastern end: follow the river upstream. It makes a right turn onto a shelf, and this shelf is connected to Coire Hallater by a level causeway, as if the Allt Hallater once chose this direct route to Loch Etive instead of flowing into Glen Kinglas.
This shelf is wonderful walking country with Beinn nan Lus to the south. Where it narrows into the connecting thruway to the Hallater, a shelter is built. Neolithical, on par with the weathered, slabby garb the hills have.
Bealach nan Cumhann and Beinn nan Aighenan
Stone shelter, Bealach nan Cumhann, Stob an Duine Ruaidh in background
Ben Cruachan seen from upper Coire Hallater, across Beinn nan Lus
Coire Hallater hasn't changed since rain flushed me off Glas Bheinn Mor 13 years ago: it is bleak and barren even in sunshine. Without the sack I climb Beinn nan Aighenan, how could I even think of turning down that hill. I meet two Englishmen with a dog. From the 800 metre level down, the views are very clear.
I pick up the pack, and then we are whacked on the cheecks by a snow shower. High winds prevent the flakes reaching the ground. They are lifted across the ridge at tremendous speed. This subsided, I meet the two again on the 766 pass. They offer me a gulp of IrnBru and Relentless, a power drink that promises even more supernatural powers than my gear does. Without much ado I climb Starav, I must because this is my second time around on this pass and the summit is only 35 minutes away. Huge hill, grand precipices, weird quartzite veins.
Quartzite vein, Stob Choire Deirg, Ben Starav
Backpack and trig point stump, Ben Starav summit
Stob Choire an Albannaich and nasty weather by
Klaasloopt, on Flickr
The north ridge is a treat, if only it wasn't so long and so late in the day. Statement: I adore Stob Choire an Albannaich. Its name, its shape. Lower down I listen to Edgar Allen Poe's fascinating 19th century stories and catch up with an englishman from Portland, Oregon. The pools and waterfalls under scots pine are wonderful, the track around Coleitir sucks big time. Round a bend in the track to Glenceitlein I pitch, eat and sleep quickly.
Day 6
Come dawn come rain. I adjust the itinerary and walk to Gualachulain, along the forest to Glen Ure, listening to a gloomy voice reciting Poe's harrowing tales. Beinn Sgulaird is also passed by, as the rain doesn't ease. Glen Ure looks a gem, but not now. Along the very messy southern half of Glen Creran, held up by a loose bull, I reach the roadside. At Creran Bridge I spend 2 hours and 20 minutes in a bus stop, through wet but warmed by the solid sound of Kyuss (4 albums). "Ain't it something, we're born to hula".
Damp breakfast near Coleitir
No man's land between Glen Etive and Glen Ure
Wipers at full speed, the bus takes me through Appin and to Corran Ferry.
When you look at the map of my route, you'll see that a leg in the middle is missing. Originally I planned to cross Loch Etive at Bonawe, but available boats were hired out or laid up. I planned to cross Loch Linnhe from North Dallens Marina, near Castle Stalker. Paul Zvegintzov more than once enquired for me whether the boats that take crew to the fishfarm at Kingairloch, or to the superquarry of Glensanda could take a passenger. It turned out to be too complicated to arrange from Holland.
So, less elegant but very swift, I arrived at Corran, with the dinner table and warm bed waiting on the other shore. The family run Inn at Ardgour. A pint, a shower, a shave, washing clothes, drying everything.
Breakfast view, The Inn at Ardgour
Day 7
In the original plan I'd pick up my line at Kingairloch, to continue the walk from the eastern shore of Loch Linnhe. It rains and the clouds hang low, so a 'walk in'-day instead of a 'climb up'-day is asked for. I hitchhike to Strontian first, to stock up. Ironically, the first lift I'm offered is to Kingairloch. I refuse, and the next ferry brings a maintenance van on its way to the school at Strontian. What a pleasant village, the shops grouped around the green. The shop's a good one, and I take my time buying a balanced load. Not too much, not too little. And fuel too. Okay, and an almond square. And Bird's custard. And a butter tablet.
Bunch of young spruce emulating big oak, Glen Hurich
Yes, I could hitchhike on to Loch Doilet, but instead I put on some music and walk uphill. Baptist Generals sing "cross the mountain just to stand in the morning light". I change my supermarket eggs for freshly laid farm eggs in weirdly named Scotstown. Higher up the houses get smaller, the meadows less green, until the landscape has the Ardgour skin. I descend to Loch Doilet, pass the last houses and a sign. It says 'take care, you are entering remote and potentially dangerous mountain country'. Superfluous sign. Look around, see the dark faces of the Ardgour tangle above the forest. Some tree felling is going on, but not along the track on the south side of Glen Hurich. I meet two surveyors in a 4WD. Yes, driving round beats googling hands down. The goodlooking woman at the wheel says 'are you from around here?'. It mystifies me. But giving the answer to that question is funny as ever.
The track ends at the Mam Beathaig. It feels like the Mam a Cloich Airde. A node, a pause, a haven. I cross the river and pitch the tent. There's a record label called 'Secretly Canadian'. This place is too, these river flats, meanders and spruce. I gawk at the wet cliffs opposite. It is the prized Carn na Nathrach, peak of the serpents. The western half of the north flank can be climbed directly, but I'm attracted to a waterfall-filled cleft in the bulging face. I spot what I think are doable grassy ledges and shelves. Then I spot two eagles, playing, soaring. Yes it is remote here.
Pair of golden eagles over Carn na Nathrach
Carn na Nathrach north shoulder
Tent at forest edge from face of Carn na Nathrach
Carn na Nathrach, descent through cleft below and NNE of summit
Crossing the river again takes more time, and just before I leave the forest-zone the wind picks up and rain beats down. I hide under a clump of spruce. After this, I climb along the waterfalls. That route narrows and steepens, so I clamber out and into Botanist Gully. It must be named that. So green, so lush, so wet. Zigzagging through the outcrops, I soon find the top of the shoulder. On the summit it is very windy. I record a movie, in which you see me smiling, grinning even, but you cannot understand a word I say because of the wind. I am proud, this outcast of a hill is mine, 18 years after I first intended to climb it.
In the mean time, without any waterproofs, I got very wet. See, I thought I could predict the weather 2 hours ahead. Back in the tent I treat myself to dry pants, a pair of discolored fleece slacks. Marvellous.
Day 8
The weather is supposed to be improving. It is dry, mild and cloudy. From Carn na Nathrach I spotted a dark brown track up towards the Bealach an Sgriodain. Easy, even if the brown is the color of mud. Near the bealach, three deer flee out through the deer fence. I re-erect the gate. On the bealach I leave the rucksack at the iron gate and climb to the summit, Stob Bealach an Sgriodain / Druim Tarsuinn. Thick clag makes false tops falser.
Labyrinth at the west end of Druim Tarsuinn
Druim Tarsuinn continues northwestward in a true labyrinth of ribs, humps, slabs. When I get a view again, I see that following the fence posts will guide me onto Meall nan Creag Leac. I first count the false summits before moving on to Sgurr Ghiubhsachan. It's a beauty. All wrinkled folds, sprinkled with boulders.
Posing at the big cairn on Sgurr nan Ghiubhsachain
Ardgour Tangle: Sgurr Dhomnuill and Carn na Nathrach (darkest) from Sgurr Craob a'Chaorain
Meall na Cuartaige on the way down to Callop
The summit has a huge cairn, and I get a big view, over to Rois-Bheinn, Croit-bheinn and unbelievably thuggy Beinn Odhar Beag. I need some food, so on the descent to Sgorr Chraob a'Chaorainn I look forward to a picnic at the lochan. It is dry, so on we go. Scrambling up to the summit, and then down following the northwest ridge over Meall na Cuartaige. The geomorphology is entertaining, but my stomach doesn't agree. Finally, down by the river, I slump down on a rock, take off my shoes and fire up the frying pan. Big eggs, brightest of yolks.
Big eggs on bacon rashers, Allt Feith nan Con
The track to Callop is straight so I listen to Simon Schama's 'History of Britain'. Great stuff. I cross the road, take a wrong turn and end up in a tree felling area. Back down, I choose the right track, up Gleann Dubh Lighe. It is 17.20. In an hour I zoom through the not so cosy forest, past the burnt out bothy and into the south corrie of Streap. I expected nice flat patches of green in river bends, but it turns out to be all bumpy and mushy. I pitch in a 'dry enough' spot. Streap looks mighty steep and very interesting.
Day 9
You've gathered, such a string of summits guarantees some confidence. I do not even look at the map and just climb up into the corrie, gaining the ridge at the last notch south of the summit of Streap. The Romans have invaded Britain, and the Dutch are hired to defend Hadrian's Wall. On the delightful grassy ridge, I think I see blue. And yes, on the summit itself the sun warms my face. I am thankful. On the way to Streap Comhlaidh the cloud breaks and a spectre forms on the swirling mists. Sgurr Thuilm is bulky nearby, I look across time to my first and second munro, june 7, 1994. Sgurr na Ciche unveils itself, 1995. From Streap Comhlaidh, the grassy slopes are knee-wreckers, but a spring and lots of deer lighten the task.
Sunbathing whilst in mist, Streap summit
Brocken spectre on Streap, Sgurr na Ciche on the horizon
The brightest blue south of the Streaps
Swans flying north over Braigh nan Umhachan
Ben Nevis in the drystone wall on Braigh nan Umhachan by
Klaasloopt, on Flickr
Streap Chomhlaidh, Streap and Sgurr Thuilm from Braigh nan Umhachan
I lunch at the tent and wash myself in the river. Drying out naked, it's warm enough. I pack up and head round the corner to Lochan a Chomhlain. I climb Braigh nan Umhachan diagonally upward before I get to the lochan. It's still, it's the brightest blue, and Ben Nevis sits on the horizon close by. I set out to position myself to climb Gulvain too, but I decide to skip it and relax a bit. Furthermore, the transverse bumpy ridge called Gualann nan Osna would cost me a lot of time. I have to be near the roadside around seven in the morning. Not enough time, and boy, the Munro looks like more steepness than I can bear. So I trot down and pitch the tent at 17.30 on the river bank at 970825. The trip is over. I potter around and stir my pot. The spoon is warm, and laid on the grass is soon crawled on by at least fifteen ticks of the smallest size. Ah, this is why I do not camp in May! All traffic from the outside in is banned, and I check myself thoroughly, and keep finding them everywhere till next day.
Gleann Fionn Lighe, the last camp
Early morning I walk out to the A830. I start hitchhiking at 7.35, and by 8.30 I'm in the shower at the Lochaber Leisure centre in Fort William. Trusty old Nevisport for breakfast and souvenirs. The 11 o'clock bus passes under Aonach Eagach and past Arrochar to Glasgow. I was sobered up when I started, but I'm drunk for joy now I've outsmarted.
MapsTotal distance 186km, total ascent 11.900m
Day 1 to 6: Arrochar to Loch Creran
Day 7 to 9: Strontian to Loch Eil
Gear TalkI reduced weight to under 9 kilos (excluding clothes worn, shoes, food, fuel) and then added some items.
Single best decision: replace the Whisperlite or Gas canister stove with a Thermojet alcohol stove. S-u-p-e-r-b. Very light (windscreen, pan-bearers, cup = <100gr). Makes no sound at all, which is a treat. Operation is very simple. No moving parts, pour in the fuel and light it. Fuel is odorless in two 250ml nalgene bottles. Wow.
Second best decision: replace the superlight waterproof Pentax with an Olympus Pen P2 from work (not very waterproof) and camera bag (LowePro, perfect, not quite waterproof). Much better pictures, more enjoyment taking them. In rain I used the phone. This camera gave a weight penalty of at least 500 gr (including bag)
Clothes: the Montane Smock was too warm at times, but it is a house, I love it. In low parts of the route during rain, I used only base layer and goretex jacket. (still, a goretex jacket with wet and cold outer makes you end up quite wet). Socks: I bought Sealskinz waterproof socks. Wonderful! You don't realise what they do, until you ask yourself 'do you have warm feet?'. They're also much more comfortable in the mornings, when before, I'd have to get in wettish socks in cold boots. That's over now.
Food: I was strict. No carrying of food items to the next store, since that would mean added dead weight. I took a long time selecting food in the small stores along the way, and sometimes I ran out of food a little early. The first aid kit contains a 70 gr sports gel, in case.
Books: they are replaced by audio books. Wonderful, although in the tent real reading is better. Battery of phone lasted 5 days, brought the loader with me (50 gr incl cable).
Not used this trip: the ice axe. BUT, there were 10 minutes of crucial use on Ben Cruachan.
Navigation: used NavigXLite app. It produces a grid reference out of the phones gps. All that is needed.
