Ben Challum

With a few hill races coming up soon, I thought I'd better get a bit of training in the hills. So, on Saturday I went out for an hour in the Pentlands and, on Sunday, I drove up to Kirkton Farm and ran up Ben Challum. A good amount of the ascent is runnable and the views from the summit, south to Ben More and east to Ben Lui, were excellent. Navigation was straightforward as you just follow a set of fence posts (and the procession of walkers).

Passing walkers seems to affect the hill runner in a number of odd ways. Firstly, in a valiant attempt to prove that I'm not an idiot, I feel the need to grin like an idiot. Next, I show off by speeding up as I overtake. Its odd behaviour I think, boasting to strangers. Even though it was a rainless day, it was fairly windy and most of the walkers were wrapped up warm with hats, gloves and jackets. It must seem slightly unhinged that I was trotting past, perfectly contentedly, in shorts. One couple, sat drinking coffee, gave me some jelly babies and said, "Well done!"

Oss and Dubhchraig

Coille Coire Chuilc is a great bit of woodland filled with gnarly pines, part of the ancient Caledonina Forest. Its also very muddy. If you get through all the bogs with both boots still attached to your feet you'll end up on the grassy slopes of Beinn Dubhchraig. From the summit there were great views of the Crainlarich Hills (I was climbing last weekend). As I walked round to, the bit taller, Ben Oss, there is a fantastic view of the most stunning mountain in the area, Ben Lui (or if you are a gallic fan Ben Laoigh).

Cool trees

Summit cairn of Ben Oss and the magnificent Ben Lui

Theres no such thing as bad weather. . .

... just the wrong clothes.

The only patch of blue sky all day

Six other attempts are just photos of cloud

The forecast said it was going to be a wet, windy and cloudy day. Looking out the window confirmed it. Nevertheless I got out of bed and drove to Crainlarich, got into my waterproofs and slogged up Beinn Chabhair. With a bit of trickyish navigation I dropped down to a bealach and then up to Beinn a Chroin and An Caisteal and back to the car along the twisted hill. It was a windy, wet and cold day but I was dressed for it and, perked up by a flask of coffee and some mars bars, I enjoyed being out amongst it.

Highland Cross

Letting the other CAACers disappear ahead of me, I took the first four and a half miles at a gentle pace. Then, after crossing a bridge, there was a steep climb. Feeling strong, I kept a steady jog up the hill and took satisfaction in overtaking several people walking including David Law. On a narrow path near the top there was a dramatic waterfall and then the ground levelled. For the next few miles, as far as the Camban Bothy, the ground was undulating and I still felt good and kept up the pace overtaking Dave Henderson.

On flatter and stonier ground I started to get a bit of pain in my knee which checked my pace. In fact I took it easy all the way across the river, past the Youth Hostel and as far as the "Fire Ladies Welcome". (The race was originally devised for firemen and their wives would meet them here.) I wasn't at all tempted by the spread of sandwiches and cakes, but the ambulance truck looked comfortable!

Shaking thoughts of quitting I headed up the notorious Yellow Brick Road. To clear things up, its not yellow, there are no bricks and calling it a road would be a generous lie. What it is is a hard stony track at a steady incline for the length of Loch Affric. I struggled on.

The track continued and eventually became a paved road. I found it harsh to run on this surface and had to walk a few sections. Soon the transition appeared. A kindly bespectacled old local handed me my bike and I changed into my cycle shorts and scoffed a banana. Then I was off to whizz down hill at electrifying near-F1 speeds.

Well not quite. After I had gone a few hundred metres I realised the rear tyre was a bit soft. I stopped, pumped some air in and continued. After a while I heard a clanging sound of metal on road. I stopped again and realised there was a split in the side of the tyre. The tyre must have been damaged when being transported from Inverness. I popped off the wheel and stuck a few patches on the inner tube but there was nothing much I could do to repair the tyre. Fortunately a reasonable amount of air stayed in the Tyre and I managed to get to the end by stopping every quarter of an hour or so to pump it up. A little frustrating but I was just glad to get back to Beauly where a bed, bath, shower, dinner and beer were patiently waiting for me.

It was my third visit to Glen Affric in four weeks. I was there a month ago munro bagging with Alastair, then I was back for the LAMM two weeks ago.

On Sunday, to loosen up the legs, Dave and I headed up a couple of munros in Glen Affirc called Toll Creagach and Tom a'Choinich. We dropped the Tom one along a ridge that looked a bit steep from a distance. Reassured by a dog walker that there was a good path, we followed it and it were glad we did.

Hunger

The Hungry Cyclist in Rio

On the hottest day I have ever known in Scotland, I opted out of looking at Inverary Castle with the others and instead ran up Beinn Bhuidhe. I started out along the track in Glen Fyne and took the left fork through Merk Park and up to a col where Merk Burn begins. From there I climbed up north and then reached a flat bit where I managed to run as far as the base of the ridge. Here I walked up a steep gully. I then jogged along the ridge to the summit. The trig point, usually a surefire navigational landmark, was toppled over and incorporated into the cairn. I ran back the same way. I had my shirt off for the whole run. In Scotland.

I met the others at a beach near Bellanoch and we had a bbq, drank beer and enjoyed the sunshine. Sunday was a lying on the beach day and I finished reading The Hungry Cyclist by Tom Kevill-Davies (see thehungrycyclist.com). I have to say, I loved this book.

He rode his bike the scenic route from NYC to Rio, searching for the perfect meal. His route took in the Great lakes, crossing the Rockies, Mexican deserts, a dodgy river journey across a continent and hundreds of miles of Brazilian beach. On the way he tastes bull's testicles, pigs brain, hallucinogenic mushrooms, armadillo, fried piranha cooked outside a brothel and he learns how to barbecue a guinea pig. More often his search for the perfect meal is successful. Throughout the book there are the best recipes from each area he has cycled through. I'm hoping to try making some of his recipes, maybe Ron Don, Pupusas, Fish Tacos or Hangtown Fry, as soon as I can figure out where to get the ingredients. Along the way he met some coluorful characters, such as a Panamanian fireman who thought he was MacGyver and a lycra clad German cyclist whose idea of a good meal was birdseed, jam and bananas.

I think there are two great strengths to this book. Firstly, there is the strong theme of food. With a distinct purpose to his trip, the writing is focused on the next newly discovered dish, and the people who cook and eat it. Many travelogues become a little self indulgent to the point that the author talks only about himself and his problems, and almost ignores his surroundings. This was impossible for Tom because of the second great strength: his superb sense of humour. Often self deprecating and naturally charming, on one occasion I dropped the book laughing.

Ridges in Glen Shiel

Having spent four days cycling the coast to coast route, and then driving up to Edinburgh, Alastair sat at my dining room table and looked at the map. It was an ambitious plan.

We arrived at Cluanie Inn at about midnight and found some woods to stash a load of food, then we continued towards Shiel Bridge. Finding a lay-by we laid out our mats and sleeping bags in the back of the VW people carrier (seats removed) and slept like logs.

Wednesday began with porridge, tea and rain showers. We set off up Meallan Odhar and then on to the Forcan Ridge. Despite the continuing showers we scrambled along the crest, resisting the temptation of the path on the right hand side which avoided the difficulties. Only when we reached a steep down climb did we opt for a steep muddy gully instead. With a few more short sections of scrambling on the route we topped The Saddle and dropped down into Bealach Coire Mhaligain and then walked up the path to Munro number two: Sgurr na Sgine.
My poor map reading was to blame for a choice to go down of this peak via a dodgy NW ridge, whilst the GPS wanted us to go over the edge of a vertical cliff. The prudent choice in hindsight is to head south at first and then cut back to the bealach.

Four peaks later (and only two Munros), E along the South Glen Shiel, we passed Sgurr an Lochainn and looked at the lochan. It looked a bit far down. Seeming a waste to loose any height unnecessarily we looked for a spot of flat ground for a campsite. This proved difficult and led us to drop towards the lochan. We eventually found a precarious spot that was not too boggy and got in the tent just in time to avoid another shower. We cooked up some cous cous and some bush tea and were asleep by 8:30pm.
We woke on Thursday to rain on the flysheet, we ate maltloaf and waited. When the deluge turned to drizzle and then petered out, I brewed up another bush tea and we packed up the soggy tent and got going. With little respite from the rain we headed east and bagged munros. At the last, Creag Mhaim, the sun popped out for a moment or two. We dropped down a track and followed it to Cluanie Inn.

At this point our plan had been to take on the Chralaig-Mullach ridge, stay at the Camban Bothy and then hike back to the car via some of the hills on the north of Glen Shiel. Disillusioned by the weather, fatigue but mostly, I suspect, the fact that we had forgot to stash the wine, Alastair hitched back to fetch the car. We regrouped, got a coffee in the Inn, found the stash, ditched the wet tent, packed two bottles of wine and set off along the track on An Caorann Mor. The track became path and the path faded out into a bog. We hopped over the river on stepping stones and contoured on drier ground on the side of Ciste Dubh. Spotting the bothy in the vast glen where three large burns converge to form the River Affric, we headed back into the bog and looked doubtfully at our next river crossing. There was nothing else for it, boots and socks had to come off and we waded across barefoot. Sadly there was no fuel supply at the bothy, and vain attempts to light a few lumps of charcoal with the gas stove didn't manage to dry out my socks. The bothy was warm enough anyway and the best accommodation yet. We drank wine, ate noodles, custard and bananas and slept.
Friday started in a familar manner, rain. We tidied the bothy a bit, made porridge, drank tea and headed along the track towards the youth hostel. At some point we decided to veer off across a bog. We then had to recross the river. Al got his feet wet again but, with a few lucky leaps, I managed to hop across a couple of boulders. Then we came across a few bits of metal. Then we came across a few more. Then we came across a crash site. (Later uncle google didn't disappoint).
The ridge from Mullach to A Cralaig was much better than I was expecting, and so was the weather. The sun came out and my jacket, and then my fleece went in the sack. Being on the hill in a t-shirt doesn't happen too often and I was happy to get a touch of sunburn too!

Death Scream, Bad Ice and Flexible Plans

Paul, Jamie and Alastair gearing up for Ben Nevis

A bit of imagination was required to enjoy Friday's walk in the Mamores. Without the wind and rain battering into your face, and without the low cloud obscuring the (probably excellent) views, these narrow ridges would have been a great day out.

We parked the hired Skoda (don't be put off, this was a classy German-ish automobile) at Mamore Lodge (map) and headed up the track. We crossed Allt Coire Na Ba at the foot bridge and climbed back to a track which contoured around Leachd na h-Aire. We left the track where a path forked off left, crossed Coire nan Laogh, and started to climb the SE spur of Sgor Eidle Beag.

The morning's tea and porridge (brewed and cooked up by Alastair - the most alert in the mornings) was put into use and we steadily gained height whilst the weather steadily got worse. Soon we had our axes out and were kicking our way up through several snow fields. More straightforwardly, we plodded NW and came up onto the 1062m top and into a more fierce westerly wind.

We braved the wind and and followed a narrow and snowy ridge due N. Locating the summit of Binnein Mor involved scrambling over several rocky protrusions that looked like suitable candidates. We back tracked along the ridge, with the wind working its magic on the opposite shoulder, passed the top and took in another narrow (but not quite as narrow) ridge in strong (but not quite as strong) wind. Jamie's (apparently 4 man) bothy bag came out and we got inside in 'bus seat' configuration and scoffed sandwiches and malt loaf.

Finishing the ridge we found Na Gruagaichain's summit with no problems and bum-slid most of the way down the S ridge. Steep heather was less suited to the backside so we trod carefully back down to the track we had taken on the walk in.

Over tea and biscuits in the bar of Mamore Lodge and, in armchairs in front of an open fire, we talked over routes for the next day. I had originally hoped to head up to climb the Forcan ridge, but none of us fancied a grade II exposed ridge it in the wind we had just tasted. Instead we decided on a gully climb on the Ben.

With plans decided we headed to Fort William and stayed in Calluna, the bunkhouse run by Alan Kimber. We ate great mounds of pasta and bolognese and drank screwdrivers watching a Jackie Chan film. Then, exhausted, we turned in for an early night.

Whilst we were asleep a couple of other climbers arrived in our dormitory and went to sleep. In the middle of the night one of them woke himself up (and us too) from a nightmare with a loud scream.

Hoping our climb wouldn't lead to the similarly traumatic dreams, we set off on Saturday morning for Ben Nevis. Taking the well trodden route from the north face car park through the corner of Leanachan Forest and following Allt a Mhuilinn. When it was possible to cross the river we had a good view of the Castle and headed up towards the coire.

Once we had gone up the heathery bit we found a flat spot and put harnesses and helmets on and got an axe out for the diagonal snow slope and scramble up into the coire. From there we got crampons on and walked up to investigate South Castle Gully.

We roped up and stomped up the first 60 odd metres of the climb, at this point we came across a chockstone, a steeper snow field and a large sloping slab of rock. Water cascaded off the slab and into a hole in the snow, where it disappeared off under our feet. To the left there was a thin strip of ice. Alastair and I climbed up the chockstone and took a look at the strip of ice. I was pessimistic about progress but Alastair put in a dead-man (they look like this) as a belay and had a go. At the first opportunity he got out an ice screw and attempted to place it. A one metre section of the ice came away from the rock and a crack began where the ice screw went in. Alastair backed off.

By this time Jaime and Paul had caught up and Jamie decided to have a go too. After switching ropes with Alastair he took up his tools and climbed up onto the ice. Made careful but steady progress past the rotten ice, hacking his axes in solidly into the better ice above. He kicked his front points into the ice and it gave way. He fell with a bump into the hole (where the water went) but was unhurt. I was glad that he was OK and that the belay had not been tested in anger.

We then retreated out of the gully (definitely not in Grade I condition!) and headed up North Castle Gully. This was steeper and, after an enjoyable chockstone pitch, a straightforward snowplod.

North and South Castle Gullies on the North Face of Ben Nevis

We topped out, with no cornice, and got the bothy bag out for lunch. Getting in the bothy involved all getting inside and sitting down together. This squished us into a space 4 men are not designed to occupy. It was not comfortable, like quartets in the fetal position, but we were warm. After posting pancakes, bananas, and sandwiches, we all had to stand up together leaning out, a feat we miraculously achieved and escaped from the bag. Then we hiked up to nigh on the summit of Carn Dearg to find the zig-zags and with tired legs make it back down to the half-way lochan, the river crossing, and back along the track to the car.

We stayed in the Corran Inn bunkhouse and dined on curry, rice, naan, and cold beer. Then we showered and headed out to the bar. It was shut. Our disappointment escalated when we discovered that we had left the orange juice behind at the last bunkhouse. There was only one thing for it: we had to squeeze 12 oranges by hand to make our own fresh juice, add some ice and vodka, and switch on the telly for The Bourne Identity.

After a sound nights sleep (with no screams) we woke a little later than the previous days and caught a gondola ride up the side of Aonach Mor. From the end of the gondola we contoured around the hill to the E. This eventually led to Coire an Lochan but was a poor (and time consuming) choice. We found the gullies in the fog, and they were all full of people, we asked directions to Right Twin which we fancied trying. Sadly, when we found it, someone had just started it and a look at the time meant that we had little choice than to head up Easy Gully and head back to the car. Easy Gully was quite steep at the top but lived up to its name and a small cornice was turned on the right. We followed the ski resorts sorry looking slopes down to the gondola and back to the car.

Cool four day weekend trip with Russ.

Well, I say cool, it was minus two degrees.DAY ONE

I picked him up from the airport on Thursday and we hot-footed it up to the highlands. First stop was the Cruachan Reservoir Power Station Visitor Centre. (It almost goes without saying).

Fueled up on veggie soup, and knowledge of pumped-storage hydroelectric power, we took to the trail. Up through a wood, and somehow managing to miss seeing the Cruachan Falls, we popped out onto a path covered in snow. We looked up at the dam, the reservoir behind and, instead of the glorious view of the mountains, saw only cloudy gloom.

We followed a land rover track up to the dam wall and then struck off up into the gloom on steep snow covered heather. With wind and snow on our backs we reached the summit of Beinn a Bhuirdidh but made no attempt to pronounce it. Next we took a rather worryingly steep slope down to a bealach and climbed up a long ridge on the other side to Stob Garbh and Stob Diamh.

Just below the summit we sheltered from the wind behind a boulder and ate sandwiches. Then for a few minutes the cloud blew away, the sun shone and the view opened up in front of us. It was a fleeting moment but a good reward for the climb. The wind and gloom returned and the light began to fade, so we retraced our steps to the bealach. We followed a burn down to the reservoirs and, in the dark, descended the track to the car.

We stayed the night at the Bridge of Orchy bunkhouse. It was £13 a night each but there was no kitchen so we ended up eating in the Hotel restaurant for dinner and breakfast.

In the bar were some other walkers, one in particular stood out. She had a loud mouth and was adept at "just being honest" and "putting things out in the open" before slagging off all her friends. She admonished her shy-retiring-type husband for only talking to people she talked to, and being too quiet. Everyone else in the room thanked their lucky stars that they had been nowhere near Kilimanjaro on that "tearful" day.

We ignored her. I taught Russ to play Peanuts, a card game Lindsay recently taught me. Several beers and whiskeys later I clinched victory.

DAY TWO

A hearty fried breakfast digested in our stomachs as we walked out from Loch Tulla along the land rover track by Abhainn Shira. We turned off the track by a green shack and followed a slushy path beside Allt Toaig. We kept watching the skyline, admiring the clear blue sky and willing the small cloud sat on our hills to blow off (we couldn't think of a better word). The sun shone and without difficulty we topped Beinn Toaig and Stob a Choire Odhair. We had luch enjoyed the stunning weather and snowy wonderland panorama.

After lunch we overtook a couple with two dogs in tow and did a bit of map reading to make sure we were on the right ridge. Soon we found our selves in someone else's tracks. They took us up a steep snow plod and along a narrow and exposed ridge that our photographic efforts could not do justice to.

Up on the summit of Stob Ghabar we looked back on our whole days walk, then we slid, tripped and tramped our way back to the footpath. When we got to the burn it was dark and the head-torch was required for locating stepping stones.

Back at the car, the central locking had frozen solid and I had a momentary panic. Then, in through the passenger door, we got the engine and heater on and it opened. We stayed in the bunkhouse at Inchree, cooked ourselves chilli and roast spuds, and Russ' Peanuts skills improved. Then we went and got some beers and whiskey.
DAY THREE

The booze took its toll and we resigned ourselves to a late start and drove out to Glen Creran, parked at Elleric and walked up a track in to Glen Ure. Up the glen was a beautifully shaped little hill called An Grianan. A lone walker ahead of us carried on up the glen as we turned hard right. We crunched up above the tree line and crunchy heather turned to crunchy snow. We hauled up on a handy fence and then took on the steepest snow slopes of the trip. There was little wind but sadly our view over Mull and out to sea was obscured by cloud.

We reached the summit of Ben Sgulaird and followed along the ridge south-west. Then we pondered a steep looking descent from a bealach before Meall Garbh. As we waited, the lone walker, a Glaswegian, caught us up. We made our way back together and got to Glenure farm just and darkness fell.

That night we stayed in Fort William in a bunkhouse run by Alan Kimber (Scottish mountaineer). It was by far the best we stayed in and also the cheapest. we cooked a curry and then hit the town.
DAY FOUR

Just one hill on Monday too. Beinn Teallach is a bit of a lump but it provided great views over Loch Treig, Ben Nevis, and a wintry plateau to the north. We pissed about on the summit trying to write HAPPY CHRISTMAS in the snow to make cheap Christmas cards. Then, after being warned to avoid the steep easterly slopes, got bored of the north ridge. We turned east and took some more photos jumping off the small cliffs and sliding down most of the way to Allt a Chaorainn. Going back through the woods was pleasantly Narnia-like and, just as it got dark, we reached the car.