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A couple of years ago, I made a joke that it would probably take me at least seven trips to climb all of the Munros on the South Glen Shiel Ridge. I’m a bit notorious for my fails, or as I prefer to call them, recces. Six trips for the Mullardoch 12, three (!!) to bag the easy Drumochter summit A' Bhuidheanach Bheag, and my all-time best/worst/favourite, eight separate trips to get the five in the Creag Meagaidh massif.
The list goes on...
The number of new Munros that I have left to climb is dwindling, and I was pleased (and maybe even a big smug) that I’d not yet done the SGSR. I was determined that I wasn’t going to do it on anything other than a good day—preferably with company, not only for, well, company, but also to help with the end-to-end transportation issue. It’s fairly rare for all of those events to come together at the same time. When Cat, whom I’ve not seen for probably three years or so, extended an invitation to join a small group of women of mixed ages and experience—there’d be five of us—to do the route, I jumped at the chance. All we needed was good weather.
And we had it, in the run up to the trip. Until only a day or so before, most of Scotland had been enjoying a good long run of decent weather. A day or two before, the Saturday forecasts starting saying “showers developing,” and even “some risk of thundery showers.” The BBC was fairly vague about where and when they “might” develop, and MWIS, as usual, covers such a wide area that it was difficult to make a call based on those two sources. I’d checked one of the summits on the Met Office site, and it showed heavy rain for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Cat had checked all of the summits, and one had predicted thunder at 11am, and several of the others heavy rain from 2-4pm. If the forecast was accurate, we were likely to get wet in the afternoon, but should be ok otherwise.
I was scooped up from the layby at the endpoint a few minutes after 8am. I’d been unable to get accommodation for the night before, so had left home ridiculously early. At least there’s no traffic at that time—even the lorries seemed most cooperative, either pulling over to let me overtake, or indicating when it was safe to do so.
We set off from the Cluanie just before 8:30. The first few kms, along the track, went pretty quickly, as we were chatting about various topics, but our progress slowed dramatically as we began the stiff climb to the first summit.
setting off -- a nice morning -- some inversions about
on the ascent
We reached the first summit, Creag a’Mhaim, about 11:30. While we were there, celebrating having made “the ridge,” having a bite to eat, enjoying the view, and fighting off midges, we heard the first faint rumbles of thunder in the distance. But the sky above us was still clear, and although we were aware of it, we weren’t particularly concerned because it did sound very far away. It was very dark over toward Glen Affric, and we talked about being glad that we weren’t there!
busy bees on Creah a'Mhaim: phone a friend! Instagram (and eat)! Just eat! Do mountain leader-y stuff (and eat)!
the way ahead, toward Druimm Shionnach
summit Druimm Shionnach, Aonach Air Chrith behind in the distance
storm clouds gathering and approaching
looking down on the Cluanie
We were on the long stretch between Druimm Shionnach (2) and Aonach Air Chrith (3) when we saw what looked like a heavy rain shower headed our way. We stopped to put on waterproofs, and within five minutes or so, the rain was upon us. We’d still been hearing the odd rumble of thunder since the first summit, but we’d not seen any flashes, and it still sounded far away. We carried on.
Before we started up the final bit of steep ascent to Aonach Air Chrith, Cat suggested that we sit and wait it out for a few minutes before going up even higher than we were. Good idea. We crossed over to a hollow—the lowest ground in the area, and sat atop our rucksacks. The heavy rain continued, soon turning to hail, then harder and bigger hail, then even harder and bigger hail that stung, even through waterproofs.
The first flash came. 1…we counted…2…3…4…to 7, before the thunder. Still fairly far away; we reckoned about 2k. We waited for what seemed a long time; there were big pauses between. Flash! 1…2…3
BOOM! Much closer; that's not good Wait, wait, wait. The hail continued.
The next flash and the thunder came simultaneously. The deafening noise drowned our shrieks of fright, and left our ears ringing in the aftermath.
There was another long wait, as we all tried to calm ourselves and each other. I sat in the brace position during this time, with my head on my knees, not wanting to look up, repeating some sort of mantra as I often do when I’m scared. I don’t actually remember what it was, but it was probably one of “sh**, sh**, sh**…,” “omigod, omigod, omigod…” (hoping that given the circumstances, it'd be correctly interpreted as a plea, rather than as a taking in vain), or “oh dear oh dear oh dear." (Actually, on reflection, there’s a much greater likelihood that it was one of the first two rather than that last one.) Cat said that she’d seen Louise’s hair—the bits that weren’t tucked into her hood—standing on end. As much as we didn’t want to experience THAT again, we also wanted to be able to judge whether the storm was moving away from us. Leona saw the next one hit the hill in front of us. 1…2…3…Boom! OK, good, that one might have been a bit further away than it appeared to be.
About this time, a party of five lads, who we’d seen quite some way behind us, marched over the rise. To have caught us up, they must have continued walking through the entire event. The next time we heard the thunder, it came without a flash, and sounded as though it was moving away. Soon thereafter, we decided it was probably safe to carry on. We met the lads at the summit of Aonach Air Chrith, and they asked whether we’d heard THEM screaming. They hadn’t known what to do, other than to carry on walking.
after the storm, looking back down toward the Cluanie again, from Aonach Air Chrith
brave smiles at the highest summit hide the fact that we'd just had the livin' daylights scared out of us!
As we continued heading west, the skies in front of us looked a lot more promising than the blackness behind us. We began to think that it was all going to be ok, and that we’d be able to finish, perhaps even in nice evening sunshine.
action shot from the wee scrambly bit between Aonach Air Chrith and Maol-Chinn Dearg
the still very dark and ominous skies behind us...
...and over Loch Quoich as well
We had a lengthy break at Maol-Chinn Dearg, to have some more food, and to talk about options; there was a path down to the glen from this summit. When we began the discussion, we were, to a woman, keen to carry on and finish what we’d started. But…none of us wanted to test the theory that lightning rarely strikes twice. There was still a lot of thunder rumbling behind us, and we weren’t certain it was still moving away from us. I recce’d the escape route, and confirmed that there was a good path down, as far as I could see, while Cat determined that we were well over halfway, distance-wise, and that we’d have a bit more than 600m ascent to finish. The deciding factor was what the weather was going to do, which of course, we had no way of knowing. As we sat there, the sky to the west, which had been looking brighter, began to darken, and the confidence that we’d be ok to carry on began to waiver. It wasn't a straightforward or easy call to make. Cat suggested that we take a vote, ala rock/paper/scissors: closed fist to descend from here; open hand to carry on. Five closed fists made it unanimous; descending it would be, leaving the three western-most summits for another day.
a bit of sunshine in the general direction of the ones that got away...this time...
The descent was long and steep—but it was going to be from wherever we did it, wasn’t it? But there was a good path the entire way that zigzagged nicely down the steepest bits. Somewhere along the way, we’d had the bright idea that one or two of us could thumb a lift to the Cluanie, since the path was going to bring us down nowhere near either of the cars.
looking back up our descent route
Cat and Christie carried on ahead, whilst Louise, Leona, and I kept a more leisurely pace—we’d meet them in the layby at the end of our descent. Sadly, no ride was forthcoming, and they ended up walking the entire way—about three miles. The three of us waited, hoping that we looked pathetic enough batting away the midges that someone would stop and ask us if we needed help and/or a ride. We’d say no, but ask them to keep an eye open for our friends further up the way, and offer them a ride. That didn’t happen either. So we simply waited, figuring that there was no benefit to be gained in beginning to walk in either direction (other than perhaps getting a break from the midges). Christie and Cat powered quickly through their extra distance, and the rest of waited for only about a half hour or so before they picked us up.
I’d kindly been invited to share a curry with the others back at the hostel, but I was desperate for a shower, and even more desperate for a beer. I found myself wishing I’d packed a bottle of whisky; that’s how rattled I still was. I extracted a promise that I’d again be invited when they came back to finish the job – to which Cat dryly replied that we’d have to do it together, because who else would want to do only the three, and not all seven? I said quick goodbyes and jumped into the car for the short drive to my B&B.
There might be some who’d argue that we had no business even setting off, given that thundery showers had been forecast. I’ve thought long and hard about this since it happened—it was a long drive home. It wasn’t like we’d not done any risk assessment. We were aware of the forecast; we were prepared for rain, certainly; we kept monitoring the weather around us, as best we could, throughout the day; and, thanks to Cat, we knew what the prescribed advice was when it got really hairy. I don’t know whether I’d have made any different decisions given the same situation.
I feel as though nearly getting struck by lightning bonded us in a way that no other experience could possibly do. Ladies, I’m so grateful that I wasn’t on my own out there; you were all brilliant throughout the entire day. Cat, a true ML, you were calm and coolheaded, and kept the rest of us from sheer panic (several times). Christie, Leona, and Louise, you might not yet have much experience, but you all showed a great deal of grit, determination, and good humour throughout an extremely challenging day. If I’d been through something like that during my early walking days, I’d probably
still be in bed with the covers over my head! I’d be delighted to head out into the hills again with any of you. Any time.
Finally—looping back around to the way I started this story. In true kmai style, I’ve managed to split a route that most walkers do in a one-r into at least two separate trips. At the moment, I remain hopeful and optimistic that it really won’t take me seven…
