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I’ve had a hankering to go up An Caisteal for a while now. I have a photo of the approach its summit on my work laptop as a screensaver, which means I’ve been seeing it a lot. More than anything, I wanted, nay, *needed* to climb a Munro, mostly to see if I remembered how. It’s been a while.
I set off from home reeeeeeeeeally early; it was light and I was awake, so why not? I had a clear run up the A82, and hoped that I’d be down off the hill early enough to have a good run down it as well (a hope that was for naught).
It was a glorious morning; there was a bit of cloud about, but the top of Twistin’ Hill, my initial objective, was clear when I left a layby (5:45am!!) that already had a few cars in it; steamed windows indicated more than one with a sleeping occupant, perhaps planning an early start. (But not as early as me, heehee.)
Twistin' Hill, to the left, in the early morning sunshine
back down toward the A82
fresh snow on the top of Cruach Ardrain
I didn’t reach the top of AC until 8:30. I certainly wasn’t breaking any speed records! But I’d taken my sweet time on the ascent, to revel in a stunning inversion, a Brocken spectre that accompanied me for nearly a km, sunshine (although not warm), and blue skies. It was absolutely spectacular, and the hill was mine, and mine alone. I was certain that it wouldn’t be for long, on such a brilliant day.
There was a large lingering snow patch on a rather steep slope before the summit. There were footprints to follow, but it was hard and icy; I could actually have done with my spikes just for that short distance. It had been quite cold overnight; in fact, most of the surrounding hills had a light dusting of new snow. I managed the snow patch without incident, but it did make me a bit wobbly. The inversion clouds chose to encompass the summit at the same time I reached it, so I didn’t stop; I was anxious to drop a bit of height, in the hope that my views would return (they did).
descending from the summit; over toward Beinn Chabhair (note the fresh snow here, too)
I’d forgotten how steep the descent to the bealach is—or maybe it just didn’t bother me all that much the first time. There are a few difficult steps, which were today wet and slippy, and the wobbliness caused by the snow patch returned; I was quite shaky by the time I reached the bealach. I knew there was still a “bad step” up ahead—something I *did* remember from my first visit to these hills—a memory that had me tossing my bag up, and heaving myself up a rock without footholds and too big for a single step for the likes of me; I was hoping that my memory was faulty and that the scrambly bit would prove no problem today. If it did, returning to the bealach and descending from there was always an option. I carried on up to the place, and didn’t fancy trying my luck over the wet rocks. I recce’d the bypass (“awkward” according to the WH desc), but it required a traverse across a fairly steep grassy (and also wet this morning) slope.
So it was back to the bealach. Just after I turned around, I heard voices, and met two young lads (brothers, I suspect) who’d also had a fairly early start—although they’d been keeping to a much faster pace than I. We chatted for a few minutes; I assured them they’d be likely to have no difficulty whatsoever with the short scramble—that I was a big wussie, and not putting any pressure on myself since I’d bagged the summit previously.
The descent into the glen wasn’t too bad. There were a couple of short steep traverses, and a bit of detouring around slimy crags, but I initially kept quite high above the river, eventually dropping down to meet the very soggy outward “path.”
the one that got away...this time
It was quite warm by this time, so I parked myself on a flat rock and turned my face upward to bask in the glorious glow of the sun. I sat there for quite some time, enjoying the peace and quiet that was interrupted only by the sound of the river, and the occasional bird call.
I was nearly back to the hydro track—I could see it just ahead—when I went boot-top deep into squidgy mud (thankful for the gaiters!) with one foot, then the other, then lost my balance, and sat down hard on my bottom—not a position from which it was easy to get up quickly! The final few kms were a bit uncomfortable, but I was mostly dry by the time I returned to a layby that was now chocka (11:45am). It was a slow trip home, and whilst I’d originally had thoughts of going to the local ag show in the afternoon, *that* just didn’t happen.
