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Bla Bheinn – even now the name evokes a shudder. 6 years ago, it was the spot where I almost came unstuck.
It could have all been so different. A week’s holiday in the Hebrides was in prospect; I had just completed the Welsh 14 peaks challenge in a respectable sub-18 hours time and was well on my way to knocking off the Welsh Nuttalls. Chay, my long-time friend and walking companion had recently ran two marathons. We were both as fit as a fiddle, and ready for a Scottish challenge.
I’d been to Skye the previous Autumn with some work colleagues. The intention then had been to climb the In Pinn, and explore the Cuillin Ridge. Weather conditions meant that having achieved reached the ridge on two separate days, we’d turned back after only a single summit (Banachdich on the first try, Bruch na Frithe on the second). This time it would be different!
The plan was simple. Park in Torrin, climb over Blabhein, then continue to Loch Coruisk and establish a camp on its shores, complete the Cuillin Ridge over two days, then walk out to Sligachan, and return to the car by taxi – simple!
Our failure to find accommodation on the night before (meaning we slept in the car – my mum’s trusty Volvo estate) should have been a warning of things to come. Nevertheless, spirits were high as we set off on the morning of August the 10th (my 24th birthday!) – not even around 15kg of kit each could weigh us down. The weather was fine, and we made good progress climbing up along the Allt na Dunaiche.
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- Ascending from Torin
We passed Loch Fionna-Choire after about an hour, and then peered excitedly down towards Camasunary. It was at this point however that I made my first mistake. Chay suggested dropping the bags, popping up to the summit, then returning Abhainn nan Leac. I demurred – a plan was starting to coalesce in my mind to try and descend off the West or North West face of Blaven; partly for the excitement, and partly, legitimately to practice our escaping down steep ground ahead of (what I thought was) the far tougher Cuillin Ridge tomorrow, where use of escape routes might be a real necessity. So we continued up the South-East flank of Blaven, on a defined path, with glorious views out to sea.
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- View southwards from the slope of Blaven
By the time we gained the spot height of 926m we were in the cloud, but the navigation to the trig point was straightforward, and we ate lunch there. In-between the two summits, the scree slopes descending Westwards (approximately at grid ref. 528217) had caught my attention. Last Autumn, we’d ran down scree slopes coming off Bruch na Frithe, and I had loved it, so jumped at the chance to do it again. Yes, those contour lines were close together, but not impossible and besides, the shortest route between A and B is a straight line, right? Chay wasn’t overly convinced, but he deferred to my mountain knowledge – that was his first mistake!
At first, the going was good, and sliding down the loose scree was tremendous fun.
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- Running down the scree
Gradually however, the ground got steeper, and the gully narrower, until it dropped off completely as a vertical drop. Continuing was clearly impossible, and neither of us much fancied re-ascending 300m of scree. This was the one point, in my 10 years of mountain walking, that I contemplated calling Mountain Rescue. The only other option was to climb out of the gully, and continue down on the breast of the hillside. I eventually succeeded in doing this, and, in turning to help Chay, I made my second, most catastrophic mistake – I took off my rucksack, and laid it on the ground.
Before I could react, the 15kg rucksack took a slow roll, then a faster one, then tumbled uncontrollably until it disappeared off the cliff edge, beyond any hope of rescue. All of my clothes, my sleeping bag, all our food, our tent poles, my wallet, glasses, contact lens solution and work Blackberry; all disappeared before my very eyes. Worst of all, after an initial bout of swearing, I had to turn to Chay, still down in the gully, and explain what had happened. He was not amused, it would be fair to say. We continued to descend, and established that the rucksack was irretrievable, stuck presumably on a ledge below the cliff edge, and above a 10 meter waterfall when approached from below.
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- Searching from underneath for the rucksack - futile!
And the drama was not yet over either. We were still descending on very steep ground, but the distance between us had increased, as understandably, tempers flared. This brought added danger however, and a shout from above alerted me to the fact that Chay had accidentally loosened a melon-sized boulder that was careering down directly towards my heads. With just a second to react I used my hand as cricket bat, diverting the momentum of the boulder over my head. It worked, and I lived to tell the tale, but the scar on my hand remains, nearly 6 years later!
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- Views across to the Cuillins from our predicament
All thoughts of wild camping disappeared with my kit, and so we walked out via Camasunary, and across the low Southern shoulder of Blaven. We were fortunate to be able to hitch a lift down the road back to the car, and it was another small mercy that my car keys had been in my trouser pocket when the rucksack fell. That might have been the last straw!
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- We pretty much descended through this chasm. Unbelievable!
As it was, we still managed a fairly successful holiday – using money borrowed from Chay, I reequipped some more vital items, and we had a pleasant few days on the Outer Hebrides, including walk up Clisham. The final straw did come however, when, returning via Fort William, a combination of wet road, old brakes, and inattention led me to write off my Mum’s Volvo. It certainly was an epic of a holiday!
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- The last straw
When I eventually returned home, I advised Mountain Rescue about my rucksack (so if discovered, they wouldn’t scramble to search for a body) and then vowed never to leave Wales again! Chay and I are still fast friends, and I have broken that vow, though it did take 4 years before I climbed another Munro. Having bagged all 190 Welsh Nuttalls, and a fair few English ones, the call of the North is coming again. I am certainly wiser for the experience, and it must be said that online information about possible routes is much better than it was 6 years ago.
As for the rucksack, as far as I know, it remains in situ, and will stay there until the next iceage!
