June 2011 - Walking/Climbing - Skye and the Cuillin

(The full set of photos accompanying this report can be found here - https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150304811000498.379331.618910497&l=5a9656f7d1)

The hardest Munro is said to be the Inn Pin (Innacessible Pinnacle) as it requires a rock climb to get to the summit, and on top of that it is part of the Cuillin Ridge on Skye which is fairly continuous scrambling over 12km and often done in one or two long days, so I was keen to get there this year before I forgot how to climb. The best time to go is in May or June when the snow has melted but the midges haven't yet descended en masse, however my planned trip fell through and nobody else could take a week off at short notice. Then I received an unexpected message from a friend who was on shore leave for a couple of weeks and interested in a little Munro bagging or climbing, and suddenly the trip was on.

We liaised over facebook chat, working out what to take and researching the route. We would head to Skye on Monday 20th June, staying until Sunday 26th at the latest and hoping for a weather window. I had already planned to go Munro bagging with a different partner the weekend before, so arranged to stay with some friends in Glasgow on the Sunday night to save coming all the way home inbetween, and enlisted a neighbour to look after the chickens.

The typical weather on the first day

The first weekend didn't start well, driving for ages down winding, damp Glen Orchy with Paul looking for a suitable spot to hang his tarp and me desperate to just put my head down in the passenger seat and catch up on some sleep. When we finally stopped, spent a while settling down, and curled up in our respective spots, the camper vans next to us started pumping out repetitive techno music. I tried to ignore it. I really tried, and every time I went to do something about it (move myself, move the car, ask them to turn it down) it seemed quieter and bearable so I'd lie down again, and then once again it would take over my entire brain and pervade the world around me - boom, beep, boom, beep. So eventually I got out of the car in my t-shirt and shorts and wandered over to Paul's bivvy to see if it was queiter over there, it was a little so I resolved to get my tent, then I was suddenly aware of a toxic, needling pain all the way up my legs and realised there were midges everywhere. I ran back to the car with Paul's keys saying I'd return them shortly, but when I reached the safety of the car, sobbing and scratching, I knew I wasn't getting out of there for a second time. It would be like willingly leaving the trenches into enemy lines without any kind of fire power. So I sat in the car in self-pity, feeling doomed to a sleepless night that would impact on my energy on the hills, then was overjoyed when Paul appeared at the window and said we'd move down the road. We found a non-boggy layby and I dosed up on anti-histamines, and finally at 1am I went to sleep, peacefully and deeply. Saturday started a little ominously with the initial path peppered with cows, but things steadily improved. The weather took a while to catch on, and it rained all day, but that couldn't take away from my elation that my knees weren't hurting one bit on the downhills, they've been improving more and more over the last year, and the steady plod up and down hills was blowing away the cobwebs that had accumulated since my last Scottish trip at Easter. We did 3 Munros on Rannoch Moor - Beainn a'Chreachain, Beinn Achaladair and Beinn Mhanach - gaining barely a single view through the cloud, but we struck up a steady conversation of shared experiences and for me the day passed without drudgery. In order to bag an extra 'top' I half deliberately mistook a county boundary for a footpath and dragged us directly up Beinn a'Chuirn for a bit of added interest. We were rather sodden by the end and grass-skiing all over the place in our soaked-through boots, but the impacts of that were lessened by adjusting our original plans to camp for the night and booking into the last available beds in the backpackers hostel in Tyndrum, which has a reasonably effective drying room.

Winding path of Ben More

Sunday was a better day, some low cloud but no rain, and we ticked off Ben More and Stob Binnein, near Crianlarich. The descent was quite steep, boggy steps round the side of the hill, and I wrenched my knee a little, so had to engage in a little wrong-way-round-traversing trickery to stop it getting any worse, which seemed to work, but apart from that it went mostly smoothly. We even got a couple of views. It had served as a good warm up for the impending week on Skye, I didn't tire myself out too much and the skin on my still-recovering toes held up fairly well. We'd had a late start as I'd left my gaiters in the drying room, and a later finish as it took longer than we'd anticipated (it's quite a slog up Ben More, although thankfully I like uphill slogs), but I made it to Glasgow in time for tea, shower and bed.

After a leisurely morning of sleeping and shopping, James met me in Glasgow and we headed on up to Skye, with a couple of photo stops on route to stretch the legs. We made it to the north end of the island a bit before sunset and walked into a little bothy where we planned to stay for the night, a converted coastguard lookout with a fantastic view over the lower headland and the Outer Hebrides. The bothy came with a grumpy Scot in situ, but he soon left with displeasure at the disturbance on his peace and quiet, and we settled down in our own peace and quiet, with a book, the view and a whisky.

Old man of Storr

The next two days were spent doing a little touristing as we needed Tuesday to recover and the forecast for the wednesday looked dubious. We visited the Kilt Rock viewpoint, the brewery shop, the Talisker distillery and the fairy pools beauty spot. Wednesday was actually a nicer day than anticipated which boded well for the route being dry. Unfortunately the forecast for Thursday had moved in the other direction according to metoffice, saying hail and a risk of lightning, but the other forecasts still said it would be fair, so we had an early dinner and an early night as planned. We squeeze into one tent as mine was packed for the ridge, and when I took it down I found a perplexed mouse underneath it wondering where his house had just vanished to, been after my food no doubt. Added to the Eider ducks in the bay and the corncrake we could hear in the neighbouring field the campsite was quite a good setting for wildlife.

James on the approach to Sgurr nan Eag (right) and Gars-bheinn (in distance)

At 4:45 am Thursday morning we were breakfasted, packed and ready to begin. James had been ready an hour before with his watch still set on French time and was a little miffed that I was still snoozing, until he realised his mistake. There are a couple of ways you can begin the ridge - either by boat from Elgol (not practical at that time in the morning), or from Glen Brittle, either traversing round the base of Gars-bheinn (the start of the ridge) and ascending it direct, or walking up past Loch Coir' a' Chrunnda to a col mid-ridge, dumping bags, and backtracking to knock off Gars-bheinn and Sgurr nan Eag (the first Munro on the ridge). We opted to do the latter, as it meant you can fill up your water bottles in the loch at the top and do the majority of the ascent with lighter packs. I normally drink more on the walk in than throughout the day, so took half a litre of squash in my platypus and managed to time it perfectly so I'd just finished supping away when we reached the loch. With an extra 3kg of water our packs were significantly heavier but at least we were only one final slope before the ridge. I think there's a definite line between my bag feeling 'light' or 'heavy' and it was definitely now the wrong side of it, but on the plus side it would only get lighter as the trip went on. The path we could see zigzaging up the scree looked to go up the wrong side of the coire ending too far along the ridge meaning more to backtrack (and ascend), but we followed it anyway and it did somehow lead in the desired direction, although we seemed to end up a little too high if anything. At the ridge proper we wedged the bags behind a rock and scampered over Sgurr nan Eag and on to Gars-bheinn, occasionally stopping for a photo or two. It's quite a long way, but the going is easy (even easier if you stick to the ridge rather than trying to take the runner's detour round the side of Sgurr a'Choire Bhig) and where there isn't an obvious path you can choose anywhere to walk. We got to Gars-beinn just after 9am, a little after the recommended time of 8:15 (and that's for slow people), but those times were for a speed 1-day ascent, and we were carrying big packs.

Death approach to Sgurr Dubh Mor that wasn't death

We returned to our packs and continued North East to take in Sgurr Dubh Mor which isn't quite on the ridge but is the second Munro. It was very difficult to continue with our previous sure-footed rhythm due to our heavy packs (12kg+) playing havoc with our knee strength and inertia, but we continued as fast as we could hoping we'd get used to the weight. The way to Sgurr Dubh Mor looked from afar to be a bit of a death trap, with scree ramps followed by a loose gully, but everything was reassuringly solid. That was one of my overriding memories of the ridge: the rock (in the majority) has amazing friction, there's nearly always something good to hold on to, and the loose boulders seem to be securely wedged, even at impressively steep angles. That did a lot to reduce any impact of the exposure - there were only two places on the rige where I felt at all exposed, when the drop was sheer, the rest of the time I didn't fret about my position at all, there were gradual slopes beneath you and it was just a fantastic place to be and afforded unobstructed views. And views there were, the cloud base was about ridge-level and lifed slightly as it reached the summits too, so we could see clearly down to the valley floor, with the various islands to the wets and the azure waters and sailing boats in Loch Coruisk to the South East. I'm not a religuous person but I was actually praying that the weather held, and promised that I would do all manner of good deeds in return.

We left our packs on the ridge again for the final interesting scramble up Sgurr Dubh Mor, which had a couple of tricky moves that would have been hard to reverse, had we not found an easy way back down again. Then on to the TD gap, the bridge between us and Sgurr Alasdair. Just before this there is the first of the aforementioned exposed sections (the second being the Inn Pin, and the drop off to the right hand side), a few metres of vertical scrambling up to the belay spot. James tentatively climbed up this, declared it not as bad as it looked, but dropped me a rope which I tied round my wait so I didn't have to fret about plummeting to my death. It was actually quite straighforward although I'd still like a rope if I did it again.

TD Gap

At this point it was 2pm, only 2 hours behind the 1-day schedule, although I think that time is actually for the far side of the TD gap rather than the near side, so we would have been further behind still. However, following that timescale we would have made camp at 5pm, and it was light until gone 11, so we weren't too fussed about sticking to it, just useful as a guideline. The TD gap is one place where you can lose time getting stuck in a queue, and sure enough there were a few parties strung out at various places on the far side of it, moving upwards. However by the time we'd faffed about abseiling in to the gap, shivering in the mist and drizzle which had picked an inopportune moment to descend (there vanished my promises to the man-up-there), they were off and away. In the deteriorating conditions I lost my confidence, and we made a little faff of climbed on the two big boulders that sit in the gap, in order to reach the start of the rock climb. James found the easy way up, and we roped up for it, attached ourselves safely into the proper belay stance, then James set off up the climb. He had been a little nervous as the rock here was smoother and lacked the friction we had enjoyed on the rest of the ridge plus he was wearing approach shoes rather than rock shoes, but at least he could leave his pack with me and haul it up after, and in actual fact he climbed it pretty quickly, finding it a lot nicer than he anticipated. I enjoyed it too, not least because the clouds lifted just before I started. I had a hiking boot on my right foot and a rock shoe on my left foot, I couldn't be bothered to change them both but as it happens I got the pefect combination as my hiking boot wedged nicely in the wide crack at the back of the corner.

The next section was thankfully easy, and downright enjoyable. Sgurr Alasdair was a quick hop up an obvious scramble next to a bealach where we'd paused for a snack. Thearlaich was a little perplexing as the guide we were following doesn't tell you how to get up or down it so we made up our own route, retracing our steps a little until we could find a way to scramble up, and carefully scrambled off the back too, James ahead picking a viable descent. The other parties seemed to climb it directly as a rock pitch, and possibly abseiled off the back of it.

Collie's Ledge

We crossed rapidly on to Mhic Choinnic, and the location of King's Chimney (VDiff). It isn't actually necessary to climb this so to save time we opted for the alternative of Collie's Ledge and I'm glad we did, it was my highlight of the ridge. It's an exposed traverse round the side of the mountain, with a completely smooth, flat, natural, jagged edge ledge for your feet, and always good, high-friction handholds. It takes you a little past the summit, so we deposited packs again somewhere they wouldn't roll off, and scampered up and back - Munro number 4! (Although we thought it was no. 5 at the time, forgetting that Thearlaich wasn't one).

It struck me at some point that when you are in a situation where you know you don't really have options and know you just have to keep going, you don't really question your morale or choices, you just get on with it. As a result of this I wasn't really sure how much I was enjoying myself as I was ignoring the usual questions that tumble around in my mind, such as whether I wanted to be there still or how my morale was holding up or if I was tired, just in case the answers were undesirable, I could go over all that once I was safely back at the campsite. This led to a rather remote enjoyment of the experience, for the first day at least. A restrained mind is not bad though, it keeps excitement and fear in check. The first time you take on the challenge of the Cuillin ridge it's a massive unknown, each section could be tricky and there are so many of them that if you let the anticipation of each one get the better of you the effect would compound and you'd be a shaking wreck. I knew that I could quite easily be nervous about various sections if I wanted to, but instead I was wearing a matter-of-fact cloak, and I'd just take each challenge as I got to it, as there was no way of knowing how it would turn out when until I got there. I first realised I was doing this on the traverse to Sgurr Dubh Mor, as the scree looked horrible but I didn't panic, and when we got there it was actually completely fine. This made me aware that it was actually a good way to tackle things, and although doing it unconsciously I knew that this approach stood me in good stead for the rest of the challenges, made them pass in a kind of oblivion.

An Stac (lump in the middle), the brown ramp round it, and the Inn Pin (high fin)

We had been wearing our harnesses since the TD Gap, and had drunk over 1/4 of our water, but we were still tiring a little by now. We were no longer looking at the clock, just making progress as our bodies and minds would allow. Looking on there were two options - the towering bastion of An Stac, which was described as a Mod rock climb, like a taller version of the Inn Pin and just beneath it, or a brown, slippery-looking ramp round its left hand side - neither of which looked that appealing. We continued scrambling onwards until the moment that we had to make a choice, James had been keeping a good eye ahead on where the parties ahead of us had gone, so knew the decision point. Studying the options myself, I was drawn to the sight of immensely steep scree slopes leading from the side of An Stac right down to the valley floor, and commented that my worst nightmare would be to end up on something like that - and then my jaw dropped to the floor when I spotted tiny ant like people happily ascending and descending it. That both reassured me, as it obviously wasn't suicidal as I thought, and terrified me lest I had to partake in a similar experience on a later descent. This discovery didn't help me to come up with a preferred onwards route as on the one hand An Stac looked taxing - from this distance it was hard to tell whether it was more akin to scrambling or climbing and the party in situ were pitching it suggesting the latter - but on the other hand the brown ramp involved walking across the top of the scree and the person in front to do that had sent a portion of it clattering far, far down the slope (thankfully not following it himself). The brown ramp would save time, but miss out a notable section of the ridge. This latter catechism led to our decision - we knew that it is advisable to take time-saving bypasses, and considering that I was there to bag the Munros it wasn't the end of the world if I missed out a non-munro pinnacle, even if it was a notable one. Furthermore, I had mis-remembered the notes as saying that this bypass 'gives the legs a rest if not the brain' so I thought that might mean it was loose and scary, but James reminded me that it had said that the bypass 'gives the brain a rest if not the legs', so bypass we did. It was actually okay, a wide, featured slab, easy angled enough that you didn't feel that you were going to slip down it, but steep enough that you had to scamper up it on all fours.

James on the Inn Pin

The rock here was interesting, rounded brown lumps held in by a kind of natural mortar that was flaking away in places leaving large brown pebbles scattered about. You could ascend it anywhere, although I stayed towards the right-hand side where the rock was more featured and the exposure was less - I'm more confident on slabs than I used to me but they're still my weakest area. Despite the fairly trivial terrain, the slope was relentless, partly because the angle lent it to a speedy ascent and no resting. Nearing the top, which pops you out right at the base of the Inn Pin it started to rain again. I increased my speed lest it get treacherous - it did get slippery, but we made the step rightwards before it got scary. Then we were standing on a big flat ledge, with a few other people, staring at the dramatic fin of the Inn Pin - like a small, more defined version of An Stac, but higher, and this time compulsory in order to tick the 5th Munro. The rain wasn't giving up so we pulled on waterproofs and sat there glumly with moments of enthusiastic conversation while we waited for the other group to climb the route. The rain abated before James started climbing, but of course picked up again as soon as I came to second it. James made short work of both pitches, despite wearing boots and a rucksack it is only a Mod. I decided I couldn't be bothered to put my rockboots on despite carrying them with me claiming I'd find them essential. After enjoying a rainbow spanning the valley floor, it was my turn to climb. The first pitch was okay, not quite as easy as the scrambling despite James telling me it was, but no dramas. The belay I arrived at was less than ideal, James had draped a couple of slings round spikes as expected but one was too high for me to inspect and the other seemed to lift off at the vaguest touch, so I belayed one handed while clinging desperately to a very good handhold, and using added knee and elbow power when I needed both hands for the rope. On the second pitch, despite the belay above being much better, I was fretting audibly, as the angle had dropped off and I was clambering horizontally along the tip of the ridge, the left-hand side ending at the ledge we'd been on but the right side was fairly sheer for a long way down and had I fallen off I would have struggled to find any purchase on the rock and would have been dangling there, further inhibited by my pack. So despite the moves being easy, each one felt serious. I made gratuitous use of my knees as it meant I could take smaller steps and keep my centre of gravity lower, and so remain in balance. Due to the rain I didn't enjoy it as I had the TD Gap, and I was very thankful to reach the abseil chain and make myself safe. The abseil was exposed but didn't bother me, I was on a rope and going back down! We promptly packed up the gear, walked up a short continuation ramp and hopped over the back of the perpendicular ridge line to have a sit down, and discuss another choice we had to make - what to do next.

The Inn Pin had been particularly time consuming and suddenly it was 7pm, and we had been going for over 14 hours. It didn't feel like a lot, because we knew it would be a long day and you just have to ignore it and keep going, but we had to start to consider that it might be time to stop. Only it didn't look like an ideal place for a tent. Plus we were still three Munros away from the point we had hoped to set up camp. Although we had also hoped to be there by now. Should we carry on? The next section of ridge looked easy, but there was no guarantee we'd find a place to pitch the tent, and on second inspection the location we were at looked like it wasn't that ridiculous. Then again, given that it was still raining and we were feeling a bit disillusioned, perhaps we should descdend all the way down, we still had time? There are plenty of escape route along the ridge, only the one nearest us didn't sound particularly nice in the wet. It was like a tombola, each option we came up with sounded equally likely, and the final decision was a likely to happen purely by which one the conversation ended on. Neither of us had a strong opinion either way, I don't think either of us knew what we wanted to do, for me my decision making mechanisms were fixed in 'don't think, just get on with it' mode, so we were almost communicating via telepathy. We decided to stay put, and try to pitch the tent here. We knew we wouldn't complete the whole ridge in one more day, so we agreed to see what the weather was doing in the morning, and have an easy day, ideally do at least 3 more Munros, meaning we'd have competed the entire western portion of the ridge.

Bivvy spot on the back of Sgurr Dearg

From a certain way along the ridge, there are pre-built bivvy spots, semi-circles of stones to shelter behind in a bivvy bag. One of these off the back of An Stac seemed to be wider than the others and floored with fine gravel, and wasn't on a scary angled sloped, so while the rain surrealy turned into snow, softly plopping around us, we popped the tent up, weighing down the pegs with rocks and tying some of the guy ropes on to other rocks, then piled up our damp kit in the porch. Sitting inside the tent it was obvious it hadn't quite gained the structure it should have, but it was warm and somewhat steamy, and dry. Neither of us were hungry but we knew it would be silly not to eat so James tucked into his Jamaica loaf and I my yummy and squidgy banana soreen, followed by a few swigs of Laphroaig quarter cast that James had brought along in his new hip flask, purchased that week in the Talisker distillery. Then, we with got on with the only exciting task remaining - sleeping! It took me a while to drop off, first afraid that the wind, light but gusting, would pull the pegs out of their tenuous placements. Then it rained more, and the sound distracted me further. Eventually though, sleep overcame me.

A good few hours later, well past dawn, I heard James mumbling about getting dripped on, and he got up and went to sit in the sun which was shining with renewed vigour. I was dry and warm so I stayed put, but the disturbance of the tent and the rearrangement of space seemed to anger the fabric, and it desposited a steady stream of water on my head, so I too got up and wandered outside into the dry.

Typical path, descending towards Banachdich

After a relaxed breakfast we packed up our kit and continued along the ridge. First up was a winding scree descent down a fairly broad flank on the outside of the ridge (the ridge forms a curve around a volcanic crater, loch Coruisk is on the inside while Glen Brittle and the Sligachan are on the outside). For most of the ridge James was ahead as he was more sure footed, and even if I started off first there was bound to be a divergance as we picked a different step or two and James would overtake and pass back in front. Sometimes my mind started to numb at taking none of the responsibility of route finding and I'd request that he hang behind me for a while so I could take a turn in the driving seat. This kept the status quo and kept things fair without introducing an uneccessarily precise division of labour. (At the climbing sections I still let James do all the work of course, much faster that was and we both knew it made sense, me having retired my climbing shoes in exchange for Munro ticks). I went ahead here, following scree zig zags downwards and losing height. We had to descend a little to the left of the ridge so that we could then traverse round and reach the bealach between Sgurr Dearg and Banachdich, rather than trying to descend the steep, jagged rocks that are directly on the ridge. The path here became less obvious, perhaps because it's the kind of terrain where a path won't stay put, as this is the only part of the ridge we did that didn't seem so stable. We picked a way around a perpendicular rib and across a wide screen gully, and then thankfully it returned to normal again, with a more obvious track up the scree on the other side and round the back of Banachdich to the true summit.

À cheval on Sgurr a'Ghreadaidh

That section was quickly forgotten as things got more and more enjoyable as they day went on. The next section of the ridge is described in the guide as mind numbling but we didn't find that at all. Thormaid, the sub-peak after Banachdich, had earned a little description in the guide (most of the easy bits were just given as notes on a route map, but the tricky bits were details underneath, Thormaid being one such), but thankfully it was a piece of cake, scrambling straight over then walking down a terrace of sloping ledges. A mixture of flat path then minor scrambling led us round and over the two peaks of the Midget ridge and we were in our element, poles away and scampering along the rock. Then we got ridge fever and obliviously went straight over some pinnacles rather than using the path around the side. I'm glad we did though, a fantastic à cheval position and my second favourite section of the ridge. We relished the two peaks of 'Greedy' (Sgurr a'Ghreadaidh) and the area between them not at all complex despite the guide saying it is, then picked our way across and down a couple of easy scrambly bits towards An Dorus.

Final Munro for us!

An Dorus is a bealach in a notch like an easier version of the TD gap, and the short downclimb to it caused us to stop and scratch our heads momentarily. James went down one way and I paused at the top of another until he came to receive my bag so I could then climb down it in balance. We left our bags on a ledge and set off up our last Munro of the trip, 'Moody' (Sgurr a'Mhaidadh). This was also fantastic fun, more secure scrambling of a 'go anywhere' variety, with blissful hands and footholds. We were up in 15 minutes and down in 10. Inbetween that we sat on the summit for a very long time, just drinking in the views, the peace, and the situation. I knew it made sense to end our adventure, it was quite a distance to the last 3 Munros past the three tops of Mheadaidh and the confusion of Bidein Druim nam Ramh, and here was a practical place to descend as it would bring us back to the road at Glen Brittle youth hostel not too far from the campsite, rather than significantly further along towards the Sligachan end of the ridge... but I had been thoroughly enjoying moving over the rock and didn't want to stop. We satisfied ourselves by taking many photos and scrutinising every aspect of the view, the tiny fin of the Inn Pin in the distance poking into view behind the perpendicular ridge of Sgurr Dearg, our camping spot on the near side of that ridge, Gars Bheinn even more distant still where we had started the ridge, Loch Coruisk, and the three remaining summits with their as yet undiscovered craggy ups and downs. The air was still, and we were in special world, fairly close to civilisation yet entirely separate from it just given the difference in altitude.  Finally we returned to the bags and started off down the An Dorus gully. This gave a couple of easy steps down some rocky ledges, then another zig zag path rapidly losing height down more solid scree. This went on for a fair old while, and eventually took its toll on our legs, and we were thankful for the slackening of angle at the Allt a' Choire Ghreadaidh. Here we shunned the path and wandered along the bank of the river, more cascades and plunge pools akin to the ones we'd photographed at the Fairy Pools two days before. At a more open section we sat and took our boots off and dunked our feet in the ice cold water, trying not to scream out in comical pain at the soothing but intensely cold temperature.

Descent down An Dorus

We were still 2km from the road and this last section, although pretty and reminiscent of an alpine meadow, was agonising. Perhaps due to the heat (losing 700-800m we would have gained 7-8 degrees in temperature) my feet were screaming, which was odd because I hadn't had a single problem with them on the ridge. The blisters on my little toes, although not as bad as they had been a couple of weeks ago, started rubbing noticeable, and my heels kept cramping up and causing me to stop and grimace. I was overjoyed when we met the road, as although still 2.5km from the campsite it meant we could hope to hitch a ride. Unfortunately traffic was sparse, only 1 car passing in 1.5km and they waved apologetically to indicate that they didn't have room. Thankfully a lady and her daughter in the second car stopped to take us the last kilometre back to the campsite and we were so thankful we picked up every hitcher we saw over the last 2 days of our trip.

Celebratory haggis, neeps and tatties in the Sligachan

Back at the car, we relaxed, smiled, sorted kit, then enjoyed a little self pampering - a shower, almost a massage (the showers there are awesomely powerful), hair dried with the free hairdrier, moisturised, cleaned teeth, and clad myself in lovely clean smelling clothes. After that I could almost walk again, and we upped sticks and decamped to the Sligachan, enjoying a 3 course dinner and a couple of posh whiskies, before battling the dense cloud of midgies at the adjacent campsite for a bit, then having an early night and a good sleep.

Saturday dawned misty and damp giving us no inspiration to get up and allowing us a bit more recovery sleep. Then we visited a couple more sites of interest before beginning the long drive home.

Kylerhea ferry, we went to Skye and came back from the 'Isle of Skye'

All in all it was a pretty memorable trip. It holds a bit of an odd place in my memory, as it was organised last minute, didn't follow a strict plan, and didn't feel like a holiday, and we didn't complete the whole ridge, but it was a fantastic experience and didn't leave me wanting, although has left me making virtual plans for the future - return and do the remaining section in a day, and then possibly another trip travelling light, just water and food, doing the whole thing in a day and missing out the climbing section (perhaps asking someone if I could join in on their rope on the Inn Pin). I'm definitely happy with the way we approached it for our first attempt - happy that we didn't hire a guide, despite all other two day parties that we met having hired one, the paper printout was more than sufficient; happy with the gear we took, yes packs were heavy but in order to pre-stash water you have to do another significant day of ascent or descent beforehand, and I wanted the confidence of having overnight kit so we could stop and sleep whenever we wanted. Before I went, I didn't know what to expect, how serious it would feel, how tricky the terrain would be, whether we'd need to do any short roping (we didn't). People can relate their experiences, but words are difficult to hook up to your own impression. I'd read that it is possible to descend from various places along the ridge, and I now know that I'd feel confident doing that, so if I return I can do so with less kit, and just bail out if the weather turns rather than having to be prepared for all eventualities.

April 2011 - Walking - Sodden Munros and the Crazy Bridge, Loch Monar

I put a message on facebook to ask people to get in touch if they fancied a bit of Munro bagging with me, and Jen was one of those who replied, although it took us a couple of months to find a suitable weekend. Jen said she's not currently very hill fit but that was fine as I want to spend the early part of the year ticking off some single or double Munros rather than the bigger circuits. I fancied heading to an area I've not been to before, and I wanted to make use of my new MBA membership, so set about finding some hills the other side of the Inverness/Fort William divide that are near a bothy. It seems that most bothies up there aren't actually that convenient for Munros, but one stood out and was mentioned in the guidebook, although the more I looked into it the more crazy the plan seemed - it involved a night in the bothy and one or two wild camps in order to bag some of the most remote Munros, so we'd have to carry all our kit. Jen is used to that sort of thing though, and thought it sounded feasible, and since neither of us had much time to find an alternative the plan stuck.

After work on Thursday 31st March I picked Jen up from Stockport station, and after a brief detour to pick up a belt sander we made our way up to Scotland to gratefully stay overnight with some friends. It was a smooth journey but we arrived at midnight which was after all of our bedtimes so we quickly hit the sack. On Friday we travelled the same distance again up to the Northwest Highlands, and parked up in Craig, a little village in the middle of nowhere midway between Inverness and Skye. I just about managed to cram part of the tent into my teensy rucksack, whilst Jen hauled the lion's share in her monster pack. I later decided I could strap the poles to the outside of mine, but she refused to let me take them, and it transpired that she'd brought a few extra items like knitting, so the balance of shared kit wasn't too unfair. Thankfully the mountains were pretty devoid of snow so we could leave the winter kit in the car. By 1:15 am we were strutting off along the well made track up the Allt a' Chonais.



Me on the bridge of Instability, photo by Jen



Jen off the Bridge of Instability

At the point where we were to leave the big track and take a footpath up the Allt Leathad an Tobair, the map showed a bridge. After one uneccessary bit of path and just after some rapids we found it - two cables strung across the stream, the top one worryingly floppy. This flouted entry into the accepted classification of walkers footbriges (bridge of Mild Peril, Peril, Doom then Death), and became dubbed the Bridge of Instability. After a few tentative steps I decided that it actually worked, as long as you pressed down on the handline and leant forward, and after a disorientating section over a fast flowing section of stream at the far side, I was across. Perhaps my balance made up for my ineptness in all other areas, for example the new found ability to look at the map and think we were in a completely different spot to where we actually were. Jen was very unsure of the bridge, but valiantly gave it a try, however whereas I'd felt surprisingly stable, she looked rather wild as the handline swung worryingly from side to side. Deciding either way would end up in a dunking, she went for the deliberate one and stepped down into the river, wading rapidly to join me on the far bank, somewhat the wetter. The first river crossing of the trip, although not the last! From here we started ascending, following a path up the banks of a fast flowing mountain stream.

In the Bearnais bothy

The forecast for the weekend had been full of challenges, the first being the wind. It didn't *feel* too strong, but it really was especially after being channelled down the valley, as for the first time ever I was knocked over - it swept my feet out backwards and unceremoniously faceplanted me onto the path. And kept trying for a repeat. Often you had to walk with body horizontal when you felt a gust hit you, and brace against walking poles. But eventually we crested the valley at a bealach (saddle) and began to gradually descend down the mirror valley on the other side, where it was a little less strong. Here there was no path and we began the tedium of bog hopping and stream straddling as various tributaties headed down to join the main stream. Such is the way of Scottish hills though and we had a little sing song to aid us on our journey. Boots were wet by now and the moss under foot was unstable, so we started slipping frequently, but our souls were further lifted when we caught sight of the bothy at the head of the loch and half an hour later we'd arrived - after 12km and 6 hours from the car.

Being a remote bothy and a Friday night the place was desserted, but we connected with previous travellers by reading through the logbook and adding our own entry. We had enough daylight to settle in, toilet and change and get the dinner on, and just dug out the headtorches in order to eat it. A nice early night was earnt, and by 9pm we were head to head on the little bench bed, fed, warm and dry, and hoping not to topple onto the floor and that the moose could not work the door latches.

River crossing, day 2, photo by Jen

River crossing, day 2

We got up with the light (ish) and then didn't really keep track of time, and were ready for the off by 8:45, although had plenty of time as we had 15km to cover which we'd anticipated would take 10 hours. After a river crossing (I took my boots off and Jen just waded through given that she was wet enough already) we picked up some landrover trails round the lochan, and then a path heading to the western shoulder of Bidein a' Choire Sheasgaich ('Cheesecake'). The ground was still pretty damp underfoot and it wasn't long before I was also wet through again, but visibility was fine and we plodded our way steadily upwards, with a fairly rapid height gain (in terms of steepness, not our actual speed). There had been a little dusting of snow overnight but it melted as we ascended, receding away from us. Once we reach the intermediate summit of Sail Riabhach it seemed to take forever to encounter the small lochan just before the final slopes of Cheesecake, but there wasn't really much room for error given we were on a ridge, so just carried on and finally there it was. There the ground steepened and we caught up with the snow and kicked steps up to the summit arriving 24 hours after leaving the car. Due to the cold and the wind we only paused to take a quick photo and check for a phone and internet signal so we could get an up to date forecast for tomorrow - success.



On the lower slopes of Bidein a' Choire Sheasgaich,
the bothy is at the head of the lochain



Summit of Bidein a' Choire Sheasgaich

The wind was still fairly strong so with heads down and little conversation we descended to the col inbetween this and the next Munro, and thankfully soon found ourselves out of the wind and cloud and able to see where we were going again. It was nice that we didn't actually need much conversation between us, every time there was a decision to be made we seemed to be on the same wavelength and were thinking the same thing. Although it was also nice that we found plenty to natter about when the weather allowed! We passed 3 RAF blokes whose friendly hello seemed a little like the third degree, then continued up Lurg Mhor. This meant another 250m of ascent but it seemed a lot quicker and easier with a path the whole way and no snow. Then back down to the col, then we picked our way down the steep slopes to the north which levelled off as the cloud lifted yet further and actually allowed us to see the summits we had just bagged, and prompted smiles to spread across our faces. Then with one further rain shower came a beautiful full double rainbow.



Beautiful rainbow



We continued descending then found ourself amidst an array of granite slabs and cascading waterfalls, but fortuitously we had landed ourselves on top of a grassy rake which gave us a way through. The ground levelled off which meant more bog wading, then we rounded a rib and started heading up a different valley that leads up to the saddle we crossed over yesterday, from the side. We were becoming quite familiar with the classification of streams you are likely to encounter - wide streams, roaring streams with waterfalls (some with piles of rocks dumped when the water lost power and making useful bridges), boggy streams (some strewn with rocks to use at stepping stones, some not), streams that blend in with the grass and have it flowing in the current, and one lowly but pretty awesome stream that surged round the bottom part of a sloping granite slab. Part way up this valley we pick a slighly raised spot by a fast flowing stream that made a rather appealing wild camping spot. We managed to come in on schedule again as it was only 6pm, and had a leisurely hour or two pitching the tent and making dinner. Of course as soon as we'd put the tent up it rained (thankfully not before) so we ate dinner (crunchie macaronie and lumps of cheese, which was DELICIOUS) in the damp, but it dried off before bed allowing us a little time to air dry. We put our heads down just before 9 again, and had another proper night's sleep, although had to curl round the odd tuft of grass underneath our sleeping mats.



Wild camping spot

My big toes had felt rather sore when I'd removed my boots, but they magically restored themselves overnight, and instead I woke up with agonisingly painful neck and shoulders from too much rucksack carrying. Much stretching and ibuprofen ensued then I was mostly fit to continue. The forecast for today had fairly insistent that there was a risk of thunder and lightning, although that was for the whole of the Northwest Highlands so we hatched a cunning plan to walk up to the saddle and at that point make a decision whether to head down back to the car, or up to the next couple of Munros (Sgurr Choinnich and Sgurr a Chaorachain). The weather so far had not been brilliant, but had been only what you'd expect in the mountains, and didn't detract from our enjoyment of the adventure. Today however, we were attacked by hail, in an ever changing wind direction that we concluded was playing games just to make sure we were soaked from all angles. We were both travelling at rather a crawl today, my third day pace being a little more of a match for Jen's slow but steady plod. The wind got stronger as the slope steepened and by the time we reached the top it was hard to know whether to find shelter to have a little chat about plans, or to just find the path down. We were both 60% sold on going down (30% up and 10% minds elsewhere) and the cloud was too low to see what the weather was actually doing in the bigger picture, so after a little zigzagging back and forth we dropped over onto the other side and carried on down, down out of the wind. Not out of the rain though, so it was a bit of a heads-down auto-pilot descent.

Two of the many deer

Back at the Bridge of Instability we passed in the same manner as on the way in - me on and Jen off - then had a brief pause in order to stuff ourselves with pork pies. Then things went a little weird, my hands were getting pretty cold thanks to being damp, but my warm gloves, although at the top of my dry bag, were buried under the tent which had been the last thing back into my bag, and extracting them would be a bit of an ordeal. As we rejoined the big track I had an epiphany that I really needed to try, so unclipped the rucksack, and set down my rollmat, and undid the pack and pulled out the tent, and opened the dry bag, and extracted the wet gloves off my fingers. As I used my teeth to remove my liner gloves the chinese finger trick effect of the the wet fabric gave me the sensation that I was popping each of my fingers in its socket, and suddenly the onset of hot aches turned into full blown 'screaming barfies' - I felt sick and couldn't help but moan audibly, which lead to a rather taken aback and increasingly worried Jen. I've had hot aches plenty of times before and they're not pleasant, but this took it up another notch, and I'm fairly sure this was due to the additional bonus of wet feet. I stood there with my fingers of one hand sheltered inside the warm dry fabric of my winter gloves, and could last out just long enough to do one task like pull off my other wet glove before I felt dizzy again. Jen started to help me pack my bag saying we needed to get going, and I knew we had to, but everything was overcome by the surreal all-over-body ache emanating from my hands. Somehow we got the bag clipped back up, me with gloves dangling off my hands as my fingers were so numb I couldn't get my fingers into their little slots. I felt neauseous so I dropped to my knees with my head down for a little bit. Jen said we needed to get going so I stood back up, and she asked if I felt dizzy. 'I feel really light-headed' was my best verbal approximation for feeling a hair's breadth away from fainting for the first time in my life and she told me to get back down. 'But you said we needed to get going!' I half protested as I sat down. The thing with hot aches is that you always know that no matter how bad you feel, you know it's only temporary and that allows you to wade back out of the wooziness. A second epiphany told me that if I stood up and started walking immediately then the motion would prevent the dizziness from taking hold. Thankfully it worked and I began the hardest bit of walking I can remember, asking Jen to hold one of my poles so that I could get the most blood flow round my fingers and concentrating on each footstep. I desperately wanted to either empty the water out of my boots, or get out my scarf, or eat a mars bar, but I couldn't do either of those without removing my gloves and undergoing a repeat performance, so just had to trust that by keeping moving my feet would warm up and that would thrust some life back in to me - which it did, and after another half an hour or so I felt right as rain, especially when the sun came out. When Jen stopped for a photo I did too, choosing that over those other options. Then also squeezed one sock and ate a mars bar ayway. We finished the walk out back to the car at an absolutely stonking pace, making up for our snail like crawl up the hills.

Looking down towards the car in the sunshine

On the way back to the car we discussed various plans, such as heading South and ticking off Loch Lomond or similar the next morning before driving home, but once we reached the car and got changed into dry clothes, we felt rather complete, and felt as if we had achieved the mission we set out on and drawn a line under it. It had been a 48 hour epic adventure almost exactly to the minute, and we concluded that would do us. So we decided return home (with socks drying out the window and making the car look as if it had ears), in what was now glorious sunshine which continued for the entire journey. My fingers felt sore and beaten, and I felt a little knocked for six after the enforced recovery from the dizziness, and it is a very long drive, but with a hot chocolate stop in Aviemore, a haggis supper stop just south of Perth, and a photograpy stop at Southwaite servies as the sun set, the drive went without event. The last part of the journey round Manchester and down the snake pass to Sheffield was passed with Jen and I bawling out every word to an entire album of Bon Jovi with great gusto.



July 2010 - Walking - Munros, Ben Alder group

(Please excuse the inconsistency between between km and miles)

My first experience of Munros (except bagging the summit of Aonach Mor after an abortive attempt at winter climbing on its crags, which I don't count as we took the gondola up), was in January this year with John Cox. I had been hoping that winter walking would be more my cup of tea than winter climbing, but it turned out I'm still not confident on my feet in crampons on steep icy ground. However the views were fantastic and the hills spectacular so the seed was sown to tick off some more of them. I decided to come back in summer, and in order not to forget I set myself an aim of ticking off 31 Munros by the time I'm 31 (February 2011). Come the end of June I realised I had quite a busy few months coming up and hadn't set aside any time for meeting this target, so I found my next free weekend and started making plans.

I decided that taking a Friday afternoon and Monday morning off work would allow time for stress-free travelling and give me two full days on the hills (my first trip to Scotland that wouldn't involve rocking up at 1 o'clock in the morning), whilst still keeping my leave application at work to a minimum. UKClimbing.com helped me pick a suitable location from my criteria (basically a two day trip with no cows!), and by chance also found me a walking partner. So the plan was set. Leave work at 12:15 on Friday 16th July, pick up John from Crewe, and drive to Dalwhinnie. Cycle into Culra bothy and spend the night there. Walk up 4 of the 6 local Munros the first day (Carg Dearg 1034m, Geal-Chàrn 1132m, Aonach Beag 1116 and Beinn Eibhinn 1102m), stay in the bothy again then bag the remaining 2 the next day (Ben Alder 1148m and Beinn Bheoil 1019m). Cycle straight out and drive to Glasgow and spend Sunday night there with a friend, then face the rest of the drive the next morning, making it back to work for 13:15 on Monday.

Crossing the suspension bridge

The drive went smoothly and we arrived at 19:30, so cooked up some dinner and were ready to set off by 20:20. The first challenge was 10.75 miles by pedal power from Dalwhinnie Station to Culra bothy. I expected the bike ride to be either easy or tough, I didn't expect it to be exciting and memorable. Even to start with it was quite special - there were startled red deer running across our path as we whizzed alongside the impressive Loch Ericht, followed by a little animal I couldn't identify, a stoat or pine marten, cute fluffy brown fellow with a white face. We did the 5.7 miles to Ben Alder lodge in 45 minutes, 7.6mpg average which wasn't too bad with heavy sacks on, mine with a plank of wood against my back slowly bruising my spine and John with two carrier bags of firewood swinging off his handlebars.

Wading the loch edge

We turned off toward Loch Pattack and reached the choice of paths. Our slick and semi-slick tyres didn't take well to our intended option across 'level wet moorland' so we quickly chose the other option, which turned out to be a continuation of the good track, which seemed great... until we reached the suspension bridge. That was quite novel, although fairly straightforward. Then there was a beach, which tyres wouldn't grip on again so we pushed the bikes. Until there was a large puddle to ford, so we took our boots off and waded (the alternative seemed to be cycle through, and given the bikes wouldn't grip on the gravelly sand we didn't think they'd grip on gravelly sand underwater either). Phew, obstacle course completed.

Me at Culra bothy

All that was left was to cycle up a bit of a hill, then follow a loose track which contoured round the hill and went on forever, straight into the wind which caused me to explore the full width of a path every time a gust caught me. My sense of humour had failed by now and I was pretty glad I wasn't on my own, it was quite lonely out there especially as it was starting to get dark by then. We were so glad to see a little white roof pop onto sight round the corner. We arrived at the bothy at 10:25pm having averaged only 4.8mph on the bikes. I was even more joyous when I saw two other bikes propped up against the wall - company! I was quite surprised to find 10 other people in there. It's incredible that you can cycle for 2 hours 11 minutes into the Scottish wilderness, arrive at a dark hut and find 10 like minded companions. Fantastic. After a brief natter (in the process discovering that we weren't the only ones to find the ride adventurous and slow) and unpacking, we got straight into our luxury beds - wooden plinths, I'd expected a damp concrete floor! Fortunately there was plenty of space for us still as Culra bothy sleeps 22.

I didn't actually sleep that well, nor fall asleep particularly fast - in the room next door it sounded like they were constantly stomping up and down the stairs - only there were no stairs! I popped round in the morning curious to find out whether they'd been dancing or something. Yep, two standing on each bed throwing shapes until 2am! And I think they were all in their 40s and 50s, cracking.

River split in front of Ben Alder

They recommended a different route to us for the day than the one we'd planned, which sounded sensible, so off we set right on schedule (9am). Up Lancet edge onto Geal-chàrn, across the ridge to Aonach Beag then Beinn Eibhinn, then back the same way as far as Geal-chàrn and onto Carn Dearg via Diollaird a' Chairn. Lancet Edge took us some time but we knew that was the only substantial ascent of the day so it was easy to cope with. It all felt very much the way walks in the hills 'should' be - no big path, no directional cairns, no obvious way on, a bit of nouse required to get anywhere. The weather was quite cloudy but we could always see far enough to get a sight of the next thing we were aiming for. We could sometimes see only 100m, sometimes down to the valley floor. We had to take constant bearings, and followed standard practice of finding something on that bearing to walk to, walking to it, then doing the same again. With distances we allowed about 10 mins per km adjusted with Naismiths, and if we felt like we'd reached the next change of course we'd checked the watch to confirm whether we had or not. This worked spot on... until we were looking for the spur down Geal-chàrn towards the end. This was the point I had been nervous of all the way through the day as the book had said to be careful to take an exact bearing in poor visibility. So we did, and we walked on it methodically (picking things to aim at one at a time again), and it brought us almost right to a spur. We couldn't tell if it was the right one as could only see one lochan below us, there was meant to be one each side of and where the other one would be was shrouded in cloud, but our choice to descend there was sealed by the fact that even if it was the wrong spur we could still get round to Carg Dearg. So we started down and it quickly became apparent that it wasn't the right one as it was obvious no-one went that way, it was rocky scrambly ground covered with green vegetation. Fortunately the mist cleared then and we could quite clearly see the ridge we were meant to be on so reversed and adjusted course for that and it turned out to be about a km away, which is about as far as we'd walked on our bearing for! How could we have been 60 degrees out?! I later checked the bearing (still on the compass) and found it to be quite wrong even though I'd taken it very carefully, the only thing that I could think was that I must have knocked the compass. School boy error. Still navigation is as much about correcting mistakes as about not making them and we corrected fine. The ridge down gave us nice views of the waterfalls above Loch an Sgòir. Unfortunately at this point my knees, which has been niggling since the half way point, started to hurt as badly as they ever do, despite dosing up on the ibuprofen before descending, but I gritted my teeth against the pain as that was the only option. After summit number 4 we dropped right off the steep edge of Carg Dearg straight towards the bothy as directed. We rapidly lost height down steep scree and soft ground coverted in heather and bilberry bushes, using a kind of crab walk then bouncing gait respectively, which were surprisingly healthy on the knee with no pain whatsoever. Total distance covered was 19km in 8.5 hours.

John heading back down Beinn Eibhinn

The bothy had got even busier with the exterior littered with bikes. We washed in the stream, wolfed down our pasta and sauce, then lit the fire as entertainment and chatted to various other walkers. Just as our donation to the firewood cause had depleted two Scots dropped down a couple of bags of coal so we were kept luxuriously warm all evening, and my sodden boots had a chance to lose perhaps a quarter of their liquid, enough that dry socks wouldn't get instantly soaked at least. I hadn't taken any spare shoes and whilst waiting for my boots to dry I was desperate for the toilet, but was already wearing my second (and last) pair of socks which I didn't want to get wet. (A trick I learnt on a snowboarding holiday - after showering after a day out on the hills, change into your socks for the next day as you're not going to get them very soiled over the course of an evening. That way you don't need to take 2 pairs per day). Eventually I couldn't wait any longer so borrowed some shoes from someone in order that I could take the shovel for a walk. Unfortunately though they were Crocs which aren't designed for damp moorland and I got wet socks anyway... typical.

I finished off the evening with a few sips of some 10 year old Glenfarclas, all I drunk between when I left the van to when we returned to it was whisky and burn water. Then I put my head down before 10 as we were planning a slightly earlier start the next day - I don't normally like to be the first to bed in case I miss anything interesting but you can't miss much in a bothy, you're no more than 2 metres from all the action. This time I slept like a log and was up and ready for 8am raring to go.

Bunny rabbit

It was another day with poor visibility, but I knew I wanted to carry on with the plan regardless, even though when we started walking my back and right shin muscle were vying with my left knee for the title of most troublesome pain. The back and shin weren't too worrying though, and as far as my knees were concerned I knew I could get up the hill without any trouble so I figured I'd just do that then cross the bridge of excrutiating pain if I encountered it later. We walked in enforced silence though persistant wind and rain, and when we reached Loch a Bhealaich Bheithe there was nowhere to cross the stream without getting wet feet (an experience I didn't intend to have so soon in the day). We retracted along the stream looking for rocks that spanned it entirely. Most people I know would have jumped from boulder to boulder leaving me standing on the bank worrying about my lack of balance and inability to jump but John seemed even less happy with the steppingstone experience than me! Fortunately we finally found somewhere feasible and were then able to start off up the scramble ridge onto the Ben Alder pleateau. I just kept telling myself that there was always the possibility that the visibility would improve and the sun would come out, and if not we'd still have done the walk. The scramble was fun with the occasional technical move, and at the top we got a few temporary glimpses of the way on while I stopped to wring out my socks, now sodden by the rain which was soaking straight into my sponge-like boots (so much for staying dry).

Summit no. 5, Ben Alder

We found the summit without too much trouble, but didn't want to hang around in the wind and rain so after the obligatory summit photo (and a trig point pose too, the first and only of the trip!) we took our bearing and set about attempting to find where we were meant to 'descend steeply to the South West over bouldery ground' to Bealach Breabag (bealach = pass). We mistakenly walked along the ridge too far (I think we were distracted by the fact that the steep drop away to the east was the only thing we could confidently identify). We picked a point to descend then started to worry about dropping over the top of a waterfall, so countoured rightwards to compensate for having overshot, still losing height fairly rapidly whenever we could do so safely. It was quite mentally challenging - we were unsure of the terrain and had to just trust our intuition and judgement to carry us on safely. The further you went the more you felt like you were taking a leap of faith rather than an educated choice. Our commitment paid off, as the clouds lifted just enough for us to orient ourselves when we needed it... We could see a mirage-like lock inlet so we grabbed the map and while were were panicking to locate it the clouds continued to clear and we could see more and more objects in every direction. It was like a divine event and I felt giddy as not only we were in exactly the right place but we could see a feasible way down, then the entire of the extensive saddle we were aiming for, and also we realised the big bulk of mountain that suddenly loomed ahead of us with a amenable looking path leading up its back was our Beinn Bheoil, our final Munro.

Ben Alder

We walked to a pond at the point where the path started to ascent again (less we lost clarity again) and had our lunch feeling considerably calmed. The weather seemed to have decided to stop testing us now and for the first time we were able to put away the map and compass and we strolled to the Top then all the way along the 3km long ridge (all above 800m) to the summit with horizon to horizon views. It was quite spectacular - we could see all the way to Dalwhinnie station to our front, down to Loch Ericht on our right with countless nameless peaks behind, and left to yesterday's peaks. My knees were once again agonisingly painful on the gentle descent off the summit, but yet again once it steepened and we could bound down damp springy ground they were thankfully pain free. The approach of the Scots to descents seems to be 'right, you've ticked all the Munros, now just find the bothy and head straight to it', so we did. Day total this time was 16km in 7 1/4 hours, almost exactly the same speed as yesterday. I was especially proud that we'd managed to find our way with just map and compass, especially as every one else we met seemed to be devotees of GPS.

The better track back

The rest of the day went without a hitch. We packed and were on our bikes again by 4pm. We took the alternative path and although I'm not experienced at mountain biking so was concentrating 100% and emitting squeals and squawks every time there was mud or stones or my pedals caught in the grass, it was a fantastic path considering the alternative and we flew along it. We then zipped along the bigger track as before and made it back to the van in exactly half the time of the cycle out (9.8mph average). The roads were clear on the drive to Glasgow and we were an hour early to meet Fiend so we followed up on his recommendation of Di Maggio's in Shawlands and tucked into very welcome pizzas (cajun chicken for me) followed by luscious desserts. Fiend joined us and squeezed two courses in in the time we ate our desserts, then we nipped round the corner to his, had a good catch up fuelled by a little more whisky, then put our heads down onto the soft, soft bedding. We slept a bit too well and failed to hear either alarm but I guess my subconscious heard it as it eventually relented and released me from the grip of deep slumber, and I woke me up three minutes before we wanted to be walking out the door. Traffic was quiet again though and even travelling at the speed limit we made up time, and I was back at work at 1:15 as planned.

My dessert!

What a weekend. The plan had seemed amibitous but it *worked*. We were tired but not shattered, navigation was hard but successful, the distance was taxing but possible. My injuries didn't cause me to abort or making driving back an ordeal. Even my packing choices proved successful as I used everything I took (bar midge spray and midge hat - one advantage of the grey weather was no midges but wouldn't have dared leave those behind). I could have done with more things (I forgot a hat, scarf and gloves for example) but they weren't essential and I had no room for them anyway.

I wonder if I've found my real passion in hillwalking. I love the mountains in this format. Winter climbing didn't float my boat (too cold) and in my climbing days even though my year wasn't complete without a multi-pitch, single pitch cragging was my main love... but the prospect of plodding up mountains in summer seems to bring out a real determination in me. When I used to go out climbing, I'd find any excuse to back off ('I've done one hard route, I can leave the rest for another day, another visit'), but not here, every challenge is something to overcome - the river crossings, the navigation, the rain. I certainly can't wait to get back.