Beinn a Chreachain and Beinn Achaladair
Posted: Fri Oct 22, 2010 2:15 pm
When a window of good weather coincides with a few free days, you occasionally do some daft things: but they can be worth it. That’s why the Sunday before last, after a charity walk down the Test Valley Way during the afternoon, I left Hampshire at 5, dropped off the incredulous but tolerant other half at home in Warwickshire at 8, and then continued straight on and up the M6 for a late-night drive. My northwards flight was curtailed by a road closure at Tarbet at 1.30 the next morning, so a few hours sleep was snatched in the car before a clear, blue, but chilly morning was greeted.
Bridge of Orchy was passed, through skeins of early morning mist clinging to the course of the river, while the wraiths of thin cloud cutting the tops above Loch Tulla formed a glorious backdrop. Then, barely twenty four hours after starting a wander down a valley 500 miles further south, my boots were brushing the frost from the grass and heading up the glen from the farm at Achallader. As the rising sun broached the ridge it lit the tips of the gable ends of the ruins at Barravourich – from a distance it looked like a pair of incongruous golden minarets
Before being drawn across the river at the bridge over the Water of Tulla, the yellow way-markers point you up between the southern bank and the fence enclosing the woodland above. With the track at times being boggy and always dripping with melting frost from the long grass and bracken, boots and trousers were soaked within the first hour.
The drenching continued once the fence was broached in favour of the path heading up through the trees and across the West Highland railway line. More dripping shrubbery was ploughed through before the upper fence was crossed – and then another skirted round to the left – before Allt Coire an Lochain was reached and the tree line left behind. This was then followed upwards as it cascaded down the slabby geology, and the path towards the Coire an Lochain climbed. As the lochan lay in the murky shadows of the crags above I traced a bee-line for the sun-lit ridge above and upper slopes to the summit of Bienn a Chreachain, and in doing so left behind the only others I saw during the whole day.
Lazing in the sun at the top I discovered that midges must be intelligent beings, and well informed as well. They’d obviously been listening to the weather forecast on the Today programme that morning when listeners were treated to an explanation of the inversion phenomena that was about to occur across swathes of Scotland. The wee flying beasties must have been listening too as they began to gather in the still warmth of the summit – they obviously got used to the cold last winter.
The traverse across Meall Buidhe just took half an hour or so of gentle strolling, with the inversions in sight to the north and east and clear views to enjoy across Rannoch to the Ben. From the bealach below the north east ridge of Bienn Achaladair I expected to endure a zig zag up to the left, but instead a steep route led immediately upwards, weaving its way safely and speedily: it’s surprising how quickly height and time passes when you’re having to concentrate on where to put hands and feet.
From the top I could spend time drinking in the view southwards as one ridge and summit after another disappeared into the distant mists. Then descent called, heading south along the ridge and down towards the head of Coire Daingean, and through what from above looked like a bog-fest glistening in the sun – and my boots had just dried out.
It was, thankfully, a far drier experience than initially feared and a welcome dry descent was enjoyed back to the farm at Achallader – where the final few yards were as muddy as hell. You just can’t win.
After being on the go for what seemed like an eternity, I then mustered up enough energy to drive up to Glen Nevis to renew acquaintances with the Mamores - more of which anon.
Bridge of Orchy was passed, through skeins of early morning mist clinging to the course of the river, while the wraiths of thin cloud cutting the tops above Loch Tulla formed a glorious backdrop. Then, barely twenty four hours after starting a wander down a valley 500 miles further south, my boots were brushing the frost from the grass and heading up the glen from the farm at Achallader. As the rising sun broached the ridge it lit the tips of the gable ends of the ruins at Barravourich – from a distance it looked like a pair of incongruous golden minarets
Before being drawn across the river at the bridge over the Water of Tulla, the yellow way-markers point you up between the southern bank and the fence enclosing the woodland above. With the track at times being boggy and always dripping with melting frost from the long grass and bracken, boots and trousers were soaked within the first hour.
The drenching continued once the fence was broached in favour of the path heading up through the trees and across the West Highland railway line. More dripping shrubbery was ploughed through before the upper fence was crossed – and then another skirted round to the left – before Allt Coire an Lochain was reached and the tree line left behind. This was then followed upwards as it cascaded down the slabby geology, and the path towards the Coire an Lochain climbed. As the lochan lay in the murky shadows of the crags above I traced a bee-line for the sun-lit ridge above and upper slopes to the summit of Bienn a Chreachain, and in doing so left behind the only others I saw during the whole day.
Lazing in the sun at the top I discovered that midges must be intelligent beings, and well informed as well. They’d obviously been listening to the weather forecast on the Today programme that morning when listeners were treated to an explanation of the inversion phenomena that was about to occur across swathes of Scotland. The wee flying beasties must have been listening too as they began to gather in the still warmth of the summit – they obviously got used to the cold last winter.
The traverse across Meall Buidhe just took half an hour or so of gentle strolling, with the inversions in sight to the north and east and clear views to enjoy across Rannoch to the Ben. From the bealach below the north east ridge of Bienn Achaladair I expected to endure a zig zag up to the left, but instead a steep route led immediately upwards, weaving its way safely and speedily: it’s surprising how quickly height and time passes when you’re having to concentrate on where to put hands and feet.
From the top I could spend time drinking in the view southwards as one ridge and summit after another disappeared into the distant mists. Then descent called, heading south along the ridge and down towards the head of Coire Daingean, and through what from above looked like a bog-fest glistening in the sun – and my boots had just dried out.
It was, thankfully, a far drier experience than initially feared and a welcome dry descent was enjoyed back to the farm at Achallader – where the final few yards were as muddy as hell. You just can’t win.
After being on the go for what seemed like an eternity, I then mustered up enough energy to drive up to Glen Nevis to renew acquaintances with the Mamores - more of which anon.