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It was a bitterly cold night in the tent next to the bridge over the River Lyon just east of the Stronuich Reservoir. I confess, I did not last the night in the tent but relocated into the car at some point and sporadically ran the engine for short bursts throughout the remainder of the night, just to boost the internal temperature a bit.
The twin northern spurs of Meall Ghaordaidh stood out starkly against the bright November night sky, standing sentinel over me through the night. I missed Lucy - she is always a good source of additional warmth in situations like these - but she is getting a little bit too veteran to be doing hard-core multi-day routes like this.
I had set my alarm for 6am hoping to get off the mark sharpish but I resorted to hitting the snooze button a few times and so it was closer to 7 by the time I emerged from the car. The temperature read -3.5 and it felt colder. I quickly stuffed the tent and it's few remaining contents into the boot of the car, removed all unnecessary overnight gear from my pack and repacked for a day trip.
I opted to forego coffee and a hot breakfast, instead shovelling a couple of cereal bars and an apple down my throat. I needed to get going to generate some warmth and find out whether I could still actually walk after the marathon of the previous 24-36 hours around Culra.
The soles of my feet actually felt OK but my legs felt like dead weight and every step burned. It was a slow, laboured ascent up through the coire and I did not feel the sun's rays on my face until I emerged onto the ridge to the east of the Munro summit.
I dumped everything here except my camera and hobbled up to the summit, the divide between north/west and south/east facing aspects being clearly visible as a hard line between green and white.
I spent quite a while sitting in the considerable shelter cairn at the summit or else roaming around snapping away at the wonderful vista surrounding me, and best of all, there was not another soul around.
Back down at my pack, I lightened the load further still by eating most of my food before setting off for the Corbett.
As I descended down off Cam Chreag into the bealach between it and Carn Shionnach, the sun reached it's height and the sweat began to pour off me. I was really toiling now and could quite easily have jacked it in and walked out along the Allt and around the northern termination of Creag Tulabhain. Had it not been for the fact that it was such a glorious day (I just knew that I would be unlikely to strike quite as lucky again if I returned for the Corbett at some point in the future) and, having just done my 120th Munro and now being in hot pursuit of my 40th Corbett, I almost certainly would have crawled back to the car with tail firmly between legs. But I laboured on up the long southern nose of the Corbett and was duly rewarded with more amazing views and the place to myself.
All that remained was to descend north west and trudge wearily back towards the car in the shadow of the great hulking crags of Creag Tulabhain.
The only people I saw all day were the old bloke standing on the bridge staring into the River Lyon and his wife, sitting reading in the passenger seat of their car parked up alongside mine. I bade him a cheery but tired "hello" and jumped into the car a very happy man for the drive home and a very long, very hot bath.