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For the first time in several years, I’d been able to maintain a consistent series of mountain visits during the early part of 2013. I felt fit, and today’s omens seemed fair, although cloudier and milder than of late. A sizeable circuit appeared well served by tracks and paths. All was poised, then, for another raid into a new piece of the jigsaw. Nothing loath in the days leading up, Tony mentioned once or twice en route that he was suffering from a cold. If he followed my prescription, he’d be all the better for a good dose of fresh air and a little exertion.
We found a parking spot by a gate near Inchbae Lodge, and set off north into Strath Rannoch. Some pink-footed geese passed overhead, one of the last such posses seen this wintering season. The main burn hustled through some diverting stretches, with plenty of planted and natural woodland for the first three kilometres, after which the track continued through barer, more expansive scenery, over a low-angled style, to the croft of Strathrannoch, where a diesel generator puttered away busily. We had just been newsing about power sources for folk who live in places like these. The burn that runs past the croft has been partially captured and presumably feeds into the Loch Vaich section of the wider hydro-power system hereabouts, but we pondered the common enough irony that proximity to power doesn’t necessarily guarantee access to it. I’ve recently heard of a family up at Cougie who live very close to the power line that’s being upgraded from Beauly to Denny, but who can’t get connected to the Grid. “Power to the glens”, Tom Johnston proclaimed, many decades ago.
Our track can potentially continue either right up to Deanich and ultimately Glencalvie lodges, or by a western spur that leads high up onto the southern ridge of Am Faochagach. Alternatively, Beinn a’ Chaisteil and Meall a’ Ghrianain might be climbed in a less orthodox circuit by combining the tracks in straths Rannoch and Vaich. Another day, perhaps. All bar a sniffle or two, Tony had been fine up to this point, but, as we diverted north-eastwards from the track by an ever fainter trail, I found I was having to wait longer for him, and our rest stops were growing more frequent. I pushed on, eager to get to grips with the first hill, and made for a sheltered cranny a little way up the first un-named burn on the right, a good place for a piece and some cheering tea, and a chance to rest the legs.
Time was ebbing away, so I suggested we push on. Although the next stretch was admittedly softer, there really wasn’t much to it. Once up on firmer ground by a big erratic boulder, I stopped again for a breather. Tony was still pottering about, away down in the first of the soft bits. I must have waited quarter of an hour or more, and inevitably got cold. One way or another, something would have to change. When he eventually arrived, he flopped wearily down with a gasp. I ran through the realities. The first summit was still a way off yet, then there was the stretch between it and Beinn nan Eun, which also had to be climbed, to say nothing of any stops for resting or refreshment, which it was clear were likely to be just as prolonged. Given the fact that we’d bailed out when part way up Seana Bhràigh only a few months ago, this didn’t bode well, but in the circumstances, there wasn’t much else for it. We would rendezvous back at the car, aiming for later afternoon.
Regrettable, but necessary, especially as the day was set to improve, and I had already expended some effort to get up here. I soon started up the broad south-western ridge, the going by now excellent, on short vegetation and some rock. This approach conceals nicely much of the character of Càrn Loch nan Amhaichean. As a matter of interest, the Gaelic word
amhach appears to translate as necks or throats, although the essence of the name may well have passed out of reach of any chronicle or living witness, which is a shame. There are two cairns marking the summit (I forget which one claims supremacy), from which fine views unfold. As I have discovered on other trips hereabouts, this is a very fine hill district indeed, and deserves days of fair weather. Showers peppered Ben Wyvis, the Fannaichs and Braemore’s high tops, but I could see enough of Seana Bhràigh, rolling Càrn Bàn and its eastern outliers. There can be fewer better places from which to admire Càrn Chuinneag.
Beinn nan Eun looked quite a way off, the terrain from here demanding quite a bit of effort. I felt good, though. The air was fresh and inspiring, Beinn nan Eun’s profile enticing. Keep at it, Gary! I made a bee-line for the next obstacle, a shallow dip south of Gob na h-Eibheachd. Although unintended, this carried me closer to the lochan, and a fleeting bonus. I’d heard a plaintive wheeple earlier. A few seconds were all that a greenshank needed to rise, call again, and fly off to another unseen spot. I also recall flushing a snipe somewhere. An uncomplicated fording saw me across the sizeable intervening burn, before steeper ground that quickly grew barer and easier – the sort of slopes I normally prefer, every step palpably gaining height. A scatter of ptarmigan, then in no time I was able to baffle myself behind the cairn and drink in the panorama, Càrn Loch nan Amhaichean beyond its lochan, Càrn Chuinneag and the windfarm-besmirched Meall Mòr grabbing the headlines, the latter still seen to better effect with the complementary Loch Glass separating it from big bulging Ben Wyvis. Jings! This whole area has a really remote feel to it – inspiring backwoods territory.
A reasonable descent by a south-westerly ridge bore me down to the Abhainn Beinn nan Eun, shadowed on its western bank by a passable trail. Further downstream is a small hut, backed by a fine waterfall, then the main glen curves east through a lovely cutting towards Wyvis Lodge and the loch. My way, though, was south-west. I didn’t manage to locate the path marked on my map, and endured a frustrating half hour or so battling the eighty metres uphill to Loch Bealach Cùlaidh, where any trails I managed to find turned out to be pretty scratchy affairs, evidently rarely traversed, sketched onto a myriad humps, bumps and hollows, some of the stream cuttings proving a right niggle. Nothing else for it. I took to musing on all the other such loch-side tramps I’d had, Loch Lyon on a through route from the Orchy Corbetts to the dam at Lubreoch being one classic example. A song or two, sundry other thoughts, and the head of the loch arrived just the same. The path there was no more obvious, but I stuck to what seemed the likeliest line, then cut downhill for a clearing. This took me to a clear-felled area a bit shy of the actual break shown on the map, but I carried on, and found the going a tad tortuous but possible to thread between all the felled stuff. With a final thrash through some trees nearer the road, I was done, and a kilometre or so returned me to the car. It was reassuring to hear that Tony was in fair enough fettle, but he spoiled it by telling me he’d enjoyed a lengthy pint at the hotel (grrrr!). Speaking of swallows, some early season flying versions were out hawking nearby.
I was glad for once that we had parted company, although on reflection, Tony could have taken his time and managed Càrn Loch nan Amhaichean on his own before heading back. Continuing as we had been doing would have stretched our finish time way into the evening, and we had an agreed deadline to meet for a meal back in Inverness with Rosemary. On a purely selfish tack, this outing had reminded me afresh about the sort of commitment needed to climb some of our more modest hills, and I’d emerged feeling all the better for it. It had also been another example of how and where we may engage with wild land and discover peace. A reminder, too, that a track or path on a map guarantees little in relation to its state – or even, in this case, its presence! We owe it to ourselves to be alert to the old dictum: ‘Be prepared’.
