free to be able to rate and comment on reports (as well as access 1:25000 mapping).
At 2:15pm I walked away from my car at the Altnafeadh layby and made my way into Coire na Tulaich. On my two previous attempts at climbing Buachaille Etive Mor I was turned away by foul weather, but on this occasion the sun was shining bright and a light breeze kept the temps in a comfortable range. I had not done any walking for two months, having spent 5 weeks at home in Tennessee, and two weeks in St Andrews with friends up for the Open. My fitness had depleted a bit over that time and I huffed and puffed up through the coire.
When I made it onto the ridge to Stob Dearg I reached into my pocket to check my phone for the time - the phone was not there. Oops. Big mistake right? No phone on a hill in case of emergencies and no way to tell time. Oh well, I had done the hard part and it was time to get to the summit. I calculated that it must have been nearly 4pm when I reached the cairn. As I walked to the edge and peered across the Rannoch Moor something magical happened. Time stood still - at least that is what it seemed to do in my mind.
You see, the past few months have been particularly difficult for me. Before I left for home in June I had become pretty homesick. I had grown to despise my PhD thesis and the academic world I've been submerged in for the past three years. My thoughts had been with my family as my grandparents are not doing well at all and I really wanted to get home and help out however I could. Together, those two situations combined to make Stretch one unhappy individual. Five weeks at home was what I needed, but once I was soaking up the sunshine in Tennessee, I started to doubt whether I even wanted to continue my PhD. Would there really be a payoff for my hardwork in the future? Did I really want to take out more student loans to cover my costs in St Andrews? Do I even want a career in academia? I'm 34, what the hell am I doing?
As I stood perched over the magnificent Rannoch Moor to my right and the Glencoe valley to my left, none of these thoughts entered my head. It was as if time had stood still. There was nothing but the wonderful Scottish landscape. There was only Ben Nevis, the Grey Corries, Schiehallion, Creise, and the tiny ants marching along the A82 miles below me.
I must have stood there for what seemed to be hours, but no negative thoughts ran through my overworked brain. This must be why I climb, why I drive three hours across Scotland, why I labor up a steep slope, why I frequently daydream about the Glencoe area. Maybe the sun was cooking my head, maybe I'm on the verge of a breakdown, or just maybe, the peaks around Glencoe and Glen Etive actually have a healing quality to them. On Bidean last year in May I first experienced this as I was overwhelmed by the amazing views from the top of only my 4th munro. Later that year I stood on Ben Starav and admired my first cloud inversion, and on this day I found peace of mind on top of one of the most recognizable peaks in Scotland.
I had to pull myself away from the summit of Stob Dearg, knowing that the ridge of the mighty Buachaille still lay ahead. As I made my way over to Stob na Doire I still had no sense of time. It seemed as if the position of the bright sun had hardly changed. I didn't feel tired anymore. The scenery capitivated my eyes and I repeatedly scanned the horizon, naming peaks as I walked along. I was no longer a troubled postgrad student dealing with a fair bit of homesickness.
A pool of water on Stob na Doire caught my eye. There was no movement from the clouds reflecting in the pool - time stood still.
Then there was the view back toward Stob Dearg . . .
My next target was Stob na Brioge, the second munro on the ridge. There was mighty Loch Etive and Ben Starav. The horns of the Cruachan horseshoe were clearly visible. Bidean to my right was a bold, dark shadow against the blazing sun. I began to wonder what time it was, but did it really matter? Nothing had changed from peak to peak. I was in a semi-state of bliss. The time of day was irrelavent.
I should mention that I had the entire ridge to myself. I envisioned several walkers paused in complete stillness along the route. Since time had stopped they couldn't progress and I was holding the hourglass. I didn't want to leave the ridge, but even though I felt like I was having an out of body experience I could hear my stomach grumbling, the big man needed food. On my way down the steep path off the ridge that descends into the Lairig Gartain I stopped to admire the Foxgloves scattered along the path.
The walk out was enjoyable, no bog in sight, and the rumble of the Allt Coire Altruim kept my mind at ease. When I reached the car the first thing I did was check the time. 8:20. How did this happen? Surely it was only 4. That is the magic of Glencoe I thought. With each trip to the area I become captivated by my surroundings, I forget my problems and the stress of daily life, I lose all sense of time.
A week ago I decided to stick it out here in St Andrews and complete my PhD, knowing that somewhere down the road it will pay off. The homesickness will return from time to time, and my thoughts will be with my family on a daily basis. But I know that when I lace up my boots, head up a path, reach a ridgeline, and peer out across the vast Scottish landscape with one leg upon a summit cairn that my worries will vanish. Time will stand still again.
I pulled out of the car park and drove a short distance back to Glen Etive to check on my tent. On my previous camping trip here a band of merry-making pirates invaded my private island and I packed up and left my once cozy spot before the night's carnage began. This time my tent was fine, all alone on a quite piece of land where I had left it. Time for food.
I've wanted to get to the Clachaig Inn for a while now, but it was jam packed and I wasn't sure they'd still be serving food at 9pm. I kept driving. Everything in Glencoe was practically closed as well. I could eat the soggy sandwich that was in my cooler, or, I could do what any honorable American would do . . . drive to Fort Williams for McDonalds. Ten minutes later I passed under the golden arches and ordered my not-so-traditional camping meal.
I parked along the waterfront in Fort William and sat on a park bench overlooking Loch Linnhe. As I bit into my tasty Big Mac I reflected upon what a great day I had had. Now I know what you're thinking, he's going to tell us time stood still. But I can promise you, that I ate that glorious burger so fast that time didn't stand a chance
Happy hillwalking!
Stretch