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The end of April was approaching, and I'd spent a lot of the month hiding out on the campsite at Morvich feeling uninspired and dejected, by the weather and by life in general. I needed some adventure, and in my experience, if you're looking for a bit of adventure to recharge your mojo, you can do a lot worse than start at Sligachan. I always say it's because the campsite's so easy to get to, but in reality I know it's because there's a pub across the road
Once I'm there I tend to leave the van parked up and wander off to see what I can find and so I wandered off down Glen Sligachan, tottering mojo-lessly over the stones and rocks that provided stream crossings, until I found myself looking towards Garbh-Bheinn and Clach Glas and thinking, yes, that'll do nicely.
The approach from this side up the very aptly-named Fionn Choire wasn't half as bad as "pathless walk up boggy heather-covered slope" makes it sound
Some decent views opened up ahead pretty quickly that whetted the appetite for more.
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- Garbh-Bheinn, Clach Glas, and Blaven
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- Out towards Sgurr na Stri
The worst bit was the trudge up to the small hump above the Marsco bealach, which seemed to go on forever but eventually I reached the top and sat down for a bit. It was pretty bloomin' cold up there, and the ridge of Garbh-Bheinn loomed up ahead of me, grey and forbidding under the heavy April skies.
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- Dutch couple heading for the ridge
In previous years, looking at that ridge, I'd have been over there like a shot. It looked rocky, scrambly, ever so slightly dangerous. But in the mood I'd got into in April it looked unapproachable, forbidden, and unwelcoming. I sat down and looked at it. I'd done no research, I didn't even know if you could reach the top this way. I shivered and munched chocolate. And then on the wind I heard voices. Now I'm no linguist, I struggle with foreign languages, but having spent some time in The Netherlands I can recognise Dutch when I hear it, even if I've no idea what's being said.
A couple approached me at speed, we exchanged pleasantries, and they carried on towards Garbh Bheinn. Well, if there's somebody else going that way.... I hurriedly did up my rucksack straps and followed them.
Not long after that, the weather closed in.
The wind picked up to a howl and then it started to snow quite heavily. As conditions reached semi-whiteout I paused and slunk behind a rock. You'd have thought, with my mood, I'd have given up at this point but no, this kind of proper mountain adventure seemed to be exactly what I needed and I started to cheer up no end, and spent the course of the blizzard chuckling at the often perverse nature of the human spirit. "I'm bored and dejected. What I need is to get stuck in a blizzard halfway up a mountain, that'll cheer me up"
And once the weather cleared, after 15 minutes or so, it was worth the wait
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- Sgurr nan Gillean
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- Sgurr nan Gillean and Marsco
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- One more for luck
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- The Red Cuillin
The ridge just got better as I went up. The top section was true Cuillin - a knife-edge Gabbro arete that needed hands-on. God it felt good to get my hands on some rock again. I kind of came back to life up there, and the summit view was a sight to behold.
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- Clach Glas and Blaven
I confess I had vague thoughts of going for a romp on Clach Glas, but thought better of it when I studied the route I'd have to use to get back to Sligachan. Best leave that for an approach from the other side, I felt. The Dutch couple caught me up and headed off towards Belig but that looked a very long way. So it was back the way I came, now leaping confidently over the stepping stones and treading lightly back to Sligachan where I had a meal in refurbished Seamus' Bar (now with 100% less atmosphere, sadly) and then slept the sleep of a rejuvenated man.
