Some days are diamonds...

[kmai1961]

And some simply aren’t.

“High pressure building through the week.” These words are music to a hillwalker’s ears, because it generally means dry and settled. Game on! Ab initio (oh, I do love it when I can fit a M-W word-of-the-day into a WR ), my plan was to do these two Corbetts from the Pass of Ledy, on Friday. I’d checked out several different descent routes, and the night before, I dreamt of deer fences and bog. When I woke up with a sore throat, headache, and stuffy nose, it was all too easy to convince myself that I was sick, roll over, and go back to sleep. But by 10am, I was regretting the decision to not go, and wished that I’d hauled myself out of bed and carried on in the spite of the oncoming head cold; heading for the hills might have taken my mind off the snrky nose and sneezing fits.

I was determined not to make the same mistake the next day, during which the fair weather was due to continue. So I was up early (5:00-ish), decided that I felt no worse (or better, tbh) than the day before, and dropped a note containing my route plans through the neighbour’s door. I'd also said in the note that I might contemplate doing Beinn Each as well, given a good run on the first two targets . I drove once again, for the third time already this month, toward the Erskine Bridge. It was still very dark when I reached the car park near the Strathyre Forest Cabins, and after fumbling around to get ready, I started up the path to Ben Ledi a few minutes after 7:00am. It was a nice morning, although the cloud cover ensured there was no sunrise to speak of. I ascended into the mist at perhaps 600m. As it was still quite early, I was a bit startled by 5-6 cyclists making their way down the path toward me—they’d come up from Stank Glen, and assured me that the mist was no inversion at work; they’d had no views from the summit.

However, the morning held promise as the sun broke through the clouds not far below the summit, treating me to a lovely, yet always eerie Brocken spectre.



By the time I reached the top (9:00am), the thick mist had returned.


summit Ben Ledi

I carried on from the summit following the fenceposts. When they made a sharp turn to the west, a quick check of the map confirmed that I was meant to continue heading north. So far, so good. I tucked the map away and carried on toward the Bealach non Corp. There was a good path, so I simply kept heading down, as I knew I needed to drop a couple of hundred metres to the bealach. By the time I checked the GPS, I’d dropped considerably further than necessary, and was well on my way to the top of Stank Glen. I turned around and headed back uphill, but already I was struggling; each step of the reascent was a chore, and I promised myself a stop for water and food once I was back on track. I didn’t make it that far before collapsing onto a rock and having a good think about whether to carry on or call it a day. Knowing I’d regret it if I didn’t continue, I heaved myself up and continued ascending; I felt a bit better—briefly—for having a break.

I was back to following fenceposts, which continued all the way to the summit of Benvane. It was a very long way—better than 5km as the crow flies (or the fenceposts are placed), but the bog and peat hags made for many demoralizing detours away from the line of the posts. There was also a lot of up and down, and each time I descended, I kept hoping that the next section of ascent would take me to the top; it seemed endless. I was frequently checking the blue dot on my phone (given the heavy mist, the way I felt—much less than 100%—and my mood, I couldn’t be arsed to try and navigate properly without it), and never seemed to be getting any closer. I finally stopped checking every few minutes, only to bypass and then overshoot the summit . More backtracking and reascending.

I saw virtually nothing between the top of Ben Ledi and the top of Benvane. The hope that the mist would eventually burn off—there was the odd tantalizing glimpse of blue sky and brightness—was one of the few things that kept me going. I’m sure I’d have had a much better day had I been able to see where I was headed, and had views to the wider surroundings.

Benvane was a hard-fought summit, and I actually kissed the cairn once I finally reached it (12:00pm). It had taken me a full three hours to get there from Ben Ledi. I didn't stick around for long. The thought of retracing my steps—all that up and down!—was exhausting and I reconsidered my decision to not carry on down through the forest. But given the lack of visibility and my propensity for wandering off-course today, returning over known territory seemed the safer course of action, however tiring it would be. And tiring it was.


cloud finally, and suddenly, clearing at the top of Stank Glen

Once I’d returned to the bealach, I thought it’d be a short descent down through the glen to the path along the loch. It wasn’t very far, but neither was it an easy path, and both knees hurt badly. I could see one of the myriad forest roads in the distance, and as much as I took great care in paying attention to where I was, I still ended up heading in the opposite direction I wanted to go; however, the forest was dense, and I’d already had more than enough going off-piste today, none of it to my benefit. So I carried on a bit further, and finally saw a faint path through the long grass to the cycle track. I thought I’d be relieved to finally be on flat terrain, and that my knees would feel better for such, but the final 2km were long and painful.

There were some beautiful autumnal colours on the hills across the way, and their reflection in the glass-like stillness of Loch Lubnaig was a highlight of the day. Better late than never. I was glad to find something positive about one of the most difficult days I’ve had in the hills in a very long time. And that includes being sick in the Cairngorms a few months back!


some glorious colours





The last time I’d visited Ben Ledi was nearly two years ago—one of my first forays into the hills after Mom died. It was a splendid January day, brilliant white snow against bright blue skies, with views in every direction, and I vividly remember feeling happier on that day than I had for many weeks. Maybe I was hoping for a little of that same healing magic now: the anniversary of Dad’s death, Mom’s birthday, and the anniversary of her death all fall during a less-than-three-week period that is now (as my sister-in-law says, “October is tough”). It’s safe to say, though, for whatever reason—wandering around in the clag for miles and miles, feeling like crap, or being terribly sad; take your pick—that I wasn’t feelin’ the love this time.

I’m not sure it’s of any value to try and analyse what makes some days in the hills glorious and others not so much so. Perhaps it’s just a matter of accepting each for what it is, and knowing that there’ll always be more days that sparkle than those that don’t. And maybe the lesson learned from this venture is that once in a while it’s OK to just stay in bed and pull the covers over your head.