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My 62nd Corbett was climbed a week after Ledge Route, Ben Nevis, and could hardly have been of more contrasting character, albeit similarly chiselled out from a working day. No summer is complete for me without a calendar-worthy walk amongst the blooming heather. With a job in Glen Buchat scheduled to coincide with a bright morning, humble Donside would prove just as camera-friendly as The Ben’s famous north face.
In terms of topography, Carn Mor is little more than the high point on the undulating plateau that comprises the Ladder Hills. Water drains from its broad rounded slopes into the Moray Firth on one side – via the distilleries of Speyside - and the north sea on it’s Donside flank. Most often climbed from the Lecht ski road, or the shortest route of Glen Livet, my less-frequented Glen Nochty approach suited an early morning raid: with the sun in the east to illuminate the colours, and a decent network of approach tracks to speed progress on my bike.
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I’d photographed my grandparents posing with a map by the 'Lost' signpost before, and the gallery of that name lay 2 miles along the approach track to Carn Mor. I passed it on my bike having left the van – and a handy starting elevation of over 1000 feet – at 7:45, before emerging from woodland beside the ruined croft of Duffdefiance. My Hamish Brown 'Climbing the Corbetts' book recounts that the name derived from a Glen Livet crofter, who came over the Ladder road and built there in defiance of the proprietor, Duff.
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The old route of the Ladder Road, used reputedly by illicit whisky smugglers and coffin bearers alike, continues up the hillside from here. But my track continued west, proceeding to snake in and out of the Water of Nochty in a series of precarious fordings, forcing me into lower gear to splash through the current – emerging remarkably dry-shod after 10 such plunges. Snoozing sheep were rudely awakened as I pushed onwards into a stiff westerly breeze. After an hour’s cycling, the track terminated beside the gentle Allt an t-Sluichd Mhoir, so I left the bike and continued on foot.
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After refilling my water bottle, I followed a path – man-made or sheep-made, it mattered not – into a perfectly-V-shaped valley. The sun warmed my back and lit up the surrounding heather, with the lime greens and yellow grasses along the burn adding to the palette. Stoat traps placed on logs laid across the stream were all empty. At the head of the small glen, a pathless slog through knee-deep heather was short-lived before the gradient relented. Blaeberries were in short supply, the red cowberries less appetising.
A pair of grouse exploded from in front of me and mountain hares darted into their peat hags homes. I reached the summit triangulation pillar at 0920 just as, having not seen a soul all day, I was joined by 3 walkers who had approached from the old mill near the Lecht.
The aberdeenshire summits – from Bennachie to Lochnagar – were clear, but from Ben Rinnes across to the Cairngorms, ominous shower clouds blocked the horizon. After 15 minutes sheltering in the lee of the summit pillar, I left the advancing shadows and romped down the spongy moss and heather back into the glen. By 10am I was back on the bike and flying down the glen, the easy gradient allowing a white-knuckle pace – up to 27mph when not ploughing through the river fords. Then from a thrilling high, to a crashing low…
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Approaching the art gallery at fierce speed, suddenly a terrible realisation hit me that my fleece pocket was unzipped – and empty of camera. I slammed on the brakes and backtracked the previous 100 yards. No sign. Back and forth again, hoping the camera had only just dropped out. But again no sign. An expensive camera, the day’s photos… I’d have to retrace the 5 miles up the glen – ditching my scheduled work in the process. Oh dear. I began back up the track, glancing to each side, when to my immense – and vocal – relief I saw the black camera lying in the ditch. Hours of inevitably hopeless searching up the glen had avoided and my idiocy had cost me little. With that immense weight off my shoulders, I attacked the final half mile back to the van, reaching 37.7mph en route, arriving a little after 1035am – just short of the 3 hour mark.
A jaunt that threatened to end in disaster was saved and, after changing from my sodden apparel into dry clothes, I set off to complete my work at Glenbuchat Castle in high spirits.
