Legs Across the Kintail Loinne
Posted: Mon Oct 07, 2019 3:41 pm
Recently I must have decided to stop passing them by.
There are many hills we neglect or ignore while hurtling up the road with our eyes fixed on the more glamorous prizes beyond. Some we dismiss as nondescript, others as too low to trouble our macho enthusiasms. Yet more we lumber past while heading home after a shortened day: a shower, a meal, a comfortable bed all proving more attractive to tiring legs.
When July’s walkhighlands meet headed into the uncharted territory of a third consecutive sunny day, one such hill could no longer be ignored.
When the A87 turns left towards Kintail my attention is normally drawn to the tide mark round the Loch Cluanie reservoir. How much beach is there? How low is the water for this time of year? Does it look like there should to be a hosepipe ban?
But, above the shadowed slopes, corries and crags, rising from the southern shore, stretches a lumbering recumbent form. With no obvious pinnacle upon which to focus, it doesn’t appear to have the stature or summit to compete with the Munro’s opposite. It’s simply there, normally observing my headlong dash towards Skye.
Beinn Loinne, offering the ideal opportunity for a two-car traverse.
Border Hugh was an early taker for the idea, but another fell by the wayside, succumbing to the after effects of the night before: ‘nuff said, no stamina these youngsters. So, with my car left parked near the Cluanie we white-van’d it to the other end and were walking by 9.00.
As Hugh addressed the first challenge of the day I rummaged for my camera to catch the inevitable moment when he came a cropper while straddling the gate at the entry to the forest. I’m sympathetic like that. But, biter bit, it was nowhere to be found, lost in the mere twenty yards we’d walked. After a fruitless quick scour of the lay-by we made a second departure, with an anxiety that nagged for the rest of the day.
It’s a gentle introduction to the day, a couple of kilometres before emerging from the forestry to the open ground that reveals the gnarled eastern end of the Beinn Loinne traverse. The green bowl that separated us from the outcrops looked lush and vivid, threatening wet feet before the day had barely begun. Fortunately we managed to swerve the worst of it and weaved our way upwards with dry feet towards the skyline.
We knew there would be a spectacular horizon when we finally got there, and so there was - including an answer to that question about the tide-mark round the reservoir below. It just took a long time and a lot of effort for a surprisingly short distance.
And that seemed to be the tone for the next phase of the walk - it just seemed to be a long way - almost five kilometres in fact, taking over ninety minutes. At least the walking was relatively gentle, nothing too arduous, and it might have helped if we had looked at the map once in a while to discover that the top was right at the far western end.
A fine high-level outing with the views west and north presenting an examination of our familiarity with the mountains surrounding us.
Once at the summit’s concrete pillar, and questioning the distance that GPSs claimed we had already walked, we began to realise that we didn’t face a quick hop, skip and jump back to the car. Aspirations to be heading home by 3.00pm looked under threat - and our erstwhile companion who dropped out before we began would have struggled to be on the way by 2 at the latest.
It was time to go - and to push on.
Reports of a bog-fest informed the direction of our descent as we strove to avoid the final approach to the old road down below. Higher ground along the Druim nan Cnamh kept us away from the worst of it until the last hundred metres when I managed to post-hole one leg in the gloop.They always have the last laugh, don’t they.
Then it was just a case of striding out, acknowledging those heading in the opposite direction. Some were on bikes heading for who knows where, while a couple of others laboured under the weight of an overnight bag with plans to sleep on the ridge above.
As legs wearied, and feet suffered the inevitable burning from the remnants of the tarmac we trod, the track finally turned right, crossed the bridge, and led us to the car.
And guess what was still sat on my car roof?
All power to the honesty of those who visit the hills.
It had been a longer day than either of us had imagined, but one that had been well worth the effort. When I drive out to Kintail and beyond in the future I’ll now be able to look across the waters of the Cluanie reservoir with a familiarity and appreciation of what the skyline offers.
And the day wasn’t over. It proved to be a gripping drive back south, with tension building as DAB reception drifted in and out. It was the cricket World Cup final. Having planned to meet the Other Half at a daughter’s in Glasgow at a particular time I began to drive more and more slowly as the final overs were played out. Ignoring the phone call asking about my likely eta, I sat at the end of their road to enjoy the outcome of the deciding over.
All in all - a great weekend. Who can guarantee another three days clear weather for the next meet?
And what else have I been ignoring?
There are many hills we neglect or ignore while hurtling up the road with our eyes fixed on the more glamorous prizes beyond. Some we dismiss as nondescript, others as too low to trouble our macho enthusiasms. Yet more we lumber past while heading home after a shortened day: a shower, a meal, a comfortable bed all proving more attractive to tiring legs.
When July’s walkhighlands meet headed into the uncharted territory of a third consecutive sunny day, one such hill could no longer be ignored.
When the A87 turns left towards Kintail my attention is normally drawn to the tide mark round the Loch Cluanie reservoir. How much beach is there? How low is the water for this time of year? Does it look like there should to be a hosepipe ban?
But, above the shadowed slopes, corries and crags, rising from the southern shore, stretches a lumbering recumbent form. With no obvious pinnacle upon which to focus, it doesn’t appear to have the stature or summit to compete with the Munro’s opposite. It’s simply there, normally observing my headlong dash towards Skye.
Beinn Loinne, offering the ideal opportunity for a two-car traverse.
Border Hugh was an early taker for the idea, but another fell by the wayside, succumbing to the after effects of the night before: ‘nuff said, no stamina these youngsters. So, with my car left parked near the Cluanie we white-van’d it to the other end and were walking by 9.00.
As Hugh addressed the first challenge of the day I rummaged for my camera to catch the inevitable moment when he came a cropper while straddling the gate at the entry to the forest. I’m sympathetic like that. But, biter bit, it was nowhere to be found, lost in the mere twenty yards we’d walked. After a fruitless quick scour of the lay-by we made a second departure, with an anxiety that nagged for the rest of the day.
It’s a gentle introduction to the day, a couple of kilometres before emerging from the forestry to the open ground that reveals the gnarled eastern end of the Beinn Loinne traverse. The green bowl that separated us from the outcrops looked lush and vivid, threatening wet feet before the day had barely begun. Fortunately we managed to swerve the worst of it and weaved our way upwards with dry feet towards the skyline.
We knew there would be a spectacular horizon when we finally got there, and so there was - including an answer to that question about the tide-mark round the reservoir below. It just took a long time and a lot of effort for a surprisingly short distance.
And that seemed to be the tone for the next phase of the walk - it just seemed to be a long way - almost five kilometres in fact, taking over ninety minutes. At least the walking was relatively gentle, nothing too arduous, and it might have helped if we had looked at the map once in a while to discover that the top was right at the far western end.
A fine high-level outing with the views west and north presenting an examination of our familiarity with the mountains surrounding us.
Once at the summit’s concrete pillar, and questioning the distance that GPSs claimed we had already walked, we began to realise that we didn’t face a quick hop, skip and jump back to the car. Aspirations to be heading home by 3.00pm looked under threat - and our erstwhile companion who dropped out before we began would have struggled to be on the way by 2 at the latest.
It was time to go - and to push on.
Reports of a bog-fest informed the direction of our descent as we strove to avoid the final approach to the old road down below. Higher ground along the Druim nan Cnamh kept us away from the worst of it until the last hundred metres when I managed to post-hole one leg in the gloop.They always have the last laugh, don’t they.
Then it was just a case of striding out, acknowledging those heading in the opposite direction. Some were on bikes heading for who knows where, while a couple of others laboured under the weight of an overnight bag with plans to sleep on the ridge above.
As legs wearied, and feet suffered the inevitable burning from the remnants of the tarmac we trod, the track finally turned right, crossed the bridge, and led us to the car.
And guess what was still sat on my car roof?
All power to the honesty of those who visit the hills.
It had been a longer day than either of us had imagined, but one that had been well worth the effort. When I drive out to Kintail and beyond in the future I’ll now be able to look across the waters of the Cluanie reservoir with a familiarity and appreciation of what the skyline offers.
And the day wasn’t over. It proved to be a gripping drive back south, with tension building as DAB reception drifted in and out. It was the cricket World Cup final. Having planned to meet the Other Half at a daughter’s in Glasgow at a particular time I began to drive more and more slowly as the final overs were played out. Ignoring the phone call asking about my likely eta, I sat at the end of their road to enjoy the outcome of the deciding over.
All in all - a great weekend. Who can guarantee another three days clear weather for the next meet?
And what else have I been ignoring?