Loch Chiarain Retrospective (October 2013)

The idea came to me late one night in early October as I watched the tv weather report. Great weather was forecast for the next few days as a ridge of high pressure made it's way across the country and it had been ages since I'd explored the further reaches of this fine land of ours. In fact, most of the times I'd been out overnight in the wilds over the last few years had been largely work-related.

However recently, due to changes at work, I found myself high and dry as far as outdoor work was concerned and had to turn down numerous very attractive offers to take to the hills because my remit had changed. Whereas in my previous youth work role I could literally disappear for days on end hiking up some remote mountain pass or spend a couple of days risk-assessing a route for a Duke of Edinburgh's Award expedition.

And do you know what? It got to the stage where I took this amazing freedom for granted.

However I was now finding the old saying to be true - you don't know what you've got till it's gone. And it was well and truly gone. Now it was definitely time to reclaim the mountains. It was time to start extending myself again.

Now, if your idea of an attractive offer is a night in front of the telly, a meal at a fancy restaurant, or a walk in the park with the dog, I salute you- each to their own. But not for me my friend. 'The mountains are calling, and I must go' John Muir. And so I found myself dreaming about taking advantage of this meteorological magic and taking my daughter Rachel on an overnight trip to the West Highlands?

Here's what the plan consisted of: getting away from the stresses and strains of everyday life for a couple of days. A two day expedition into some of the finest mountain country (Jeremy Clarkson impression required at this point) ...in the world!

There's nothing like a trip to the hills to refresh mind, body and soul. So the cunning plan took shape and a visit to Loch Chiarain Bothy seemed to be the best option. Situated in a remote glen 4 hours west of Kinlochleven on the edge of wild Rannoch Moor, this spacious shelter would provide us with suitable overnight accommodation and the walk-in and back out again would be suitably sensational.

What a fantastic, untamed wilderness Rannoch Moor is, with the potential to provide a true backcountry experience amidst some of the most breathtaking scenery in Scotland. It was an idea I couldn't get out of my head and the more I thought about it the more appealing it became. We just had to go! After all, Rach had just signed up to the Duke of Edinburgh's Award and would need some practice ahead of going on expedition, wouldn't she?

Striking out into the wild country of the Mamore mountain range, heading over to Blackwater and carrying just enough food and equipment to stop overnight at a remote and tranquil spot was just what I...I mean Rach, needed. It would do her the world of good. Oh yes it would!

For me, you just can't beat the challenge of being able to survive for a couple of days out yonder, shorn of all modern conveniences, roughing it amid the stunning scenery and rutting stags of Rannoch. The conveniences of life will still be there when you get back to civilisation, and you'll appreciate them more because you'll be different. This changes you- for the better. You find things out about yourself- good things. How to dig deep, rising to meet challenges head on and how to get stuck in. Bring it on!

Planned properly, a back country trip can be a hugely rewarding and stimulating experience, where nature in the raw is encountered first-hand, and getting back to basics becomes a necessity. And it's not as if this is in any way cumbersome. In fact, it is an experience to aspire to and the 'travel fast and light' philosophy is an ideal that's very much to be sought after. It's also an approach that proves to be a clever analogy when applied to life: fast and light, minimal baggage, simplicity is best.

Not for us the luxury of a hotel or B&B to relax in at the end of a hard day's hillwalking. No central heating (roaring fire) no comfy beds or soft armchairs (inflatable Thermarest mattresses packed), no indoor toilets or bathroom facilities (spade provided in bothy) and no running water! Just as well a cracking wee burn full of the purest, cleanest water imaginable, runs past the bothy and into lovely Loch Chiarain. What's not to like!

So off we headed, north on the A82, up through Tyndrum and Bridge of Orchy and across resplendent Rannoch Moor, through glorious Glencoe in all it's Autumnal blaze of colour, turning right at Glencoe village and following the high and winding road to Kinlochleven.

Kinlochleven is a long-forgotten wee village that there's no need to drive through anymore because of the Ballachulish bridge. It's a bit of a chore to drive to, which is why most of its passing trade these days comes from those on foot following the West Highland Way, which cuts down from the Devil's Staircase and past the old Aluminium works, now an indoor ice climbing centre.

Parking at the far end of Kinlochleven (locals refer to it as the Sunny Side, as it's south-facing: keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side, keep on the sunny side of life) next to a lovely wee church, we followed a steep and stony path up through the trees to gain a Landrover track on open hillside, with great views of Am Bodach, Na Gruagaichean, Sgor Eilde Beag and Sgurr Eilde Mor - the southern end of the Mamores.

The views back up Loch Leven were also picture postcard perfect and we stopped regularly to drink in the stunning vistas, as well as regularly re-hydrating. Rach was just beginning to find out what it was like to carry a large expedition rucksack and many adjustments were required, not least stopping to don extra layers when it got blustery.

Once Loch Eilde Mor is gained, a footpath leaves the larger track and heads south, skirting the western end of the loch, past a small dam and then south-east, threading between two hills, over the top of Meall na Cruaidhe and then around the southern flank of Glas Bheinn. It was on this rather mucky and boggy path we struck out heading for remote Rannoch Moor.

We'd only left Kinlochleven at 3.30pm and with sunset just after 6.00pm we were chasing shadows from then onwards. Dad hadn't been to this particular bothy before and navigating in the dark ain't very pleasant, so it had better be where it was supposed to be, as indicated on the map. A wee prayer for a safe journey was uttered and thankfully The Lord illuminated the darkness ahead.

As we consulted the map by torchlight, the bellowing of rutting stags could be heard echoing eerily all around us, and at one point we caught sight of a herd on a rocky ridge ahead, silhouetted in the red light of a blazing sunset. These are truly magnificent beasts and it's pity the camera just couldn't capture this amazing scene. In fact, Rach's iPhone produced a better result than my camera. New technology-one, Dad- nil.

Finally, we arrived hungry and weary at Loch Chiarain bothy in pitch darkness, four tough hours after we'd left Kinlochleven, and we didn't catch sight of the old two-story shepherd's shelter until we were literally right on top of it. Dad's old fashioned map and compass-one, new technology-nil (although GPS would've come in useful, I must admit).

Mountain bothies are remote, unlocked mountain shelters, maintained by the Mountain Bothies Association. There are a large number dotted around the country and they are a most welcome sight at the end of an arduous day out in the hills. And it's a case of first come, first served. We had absolutely no idea the nick the place would be in, or indeed, whether or not it would be full of big hairy mountain men. It was therefore with some trepidation I pressed the door latch and we edged into the bothy.

Our anxiety proved to be unfounded however and it was a relief to find the place in great shape and with no other occupants, although it could easily have coped with big numbers in its four spacious rooms. Mid-week jaunts have often proven to be free of the kind of crowds you find out and about at weekends, so we had scheduled our trip perfectly for solitude.

Our choice of room was easy- upstairs on the left, with a wee fireplace, a large worktop area for cooking on, a clean floor and a couple of chairs- everything you could possibly want. Well, apart from Domino's home delivery and shower facilities. Ah, well! However, it wasn't long before we had the wee Micro-Rocket stove boiling water for Rach's pasta and Dad's chicken curry.

And what a welcome feast it was that night - food tastes so much better when you're camping and you've worked hard for it! Even the most basic warm meal becomes a most nutritious and nourishing feast when fresh air and hunger combine to produce a healthy appetite. Then, after a satisfying dinner, we found that some kind soul had left a little kindling and a small bag of coal next to the fireplace.

Outside the clear sky testified to the wonder of creation as we could almost hear all the stars singing together to the maker of Heaven and Earth (check out Louie Giglio on this subject on You Tube). However, clear skies outside meant a frosty chill to the air inside our but 'n' ben, so we got to work building a fire to warm us up. There's nothing like a roaring fire to boost morale, and we whiled away a couple of hours telling funny fireside tales and making plans for the following day. Then, our bellies still full and a warm glow in the room as the fire died down, we settled down for the night, mattresses and sleeping bags on the floor while the deer continued their serenade outside.

However, as the night wore on and the cacophony continued, I was starting to wonder what venison would taste like and whether or not there were sufficient embers left in the fire for a midnight cooking session. Note to self - pack a set of ear plugs next time!

The chilly dawn roused us, bright and early, around 6.00am, so Dad got a brew on to make tea for the flask and got the rucksacks packed again and ready to go. It's always good to get an early start, especially when the weather's good. You never know what the day will hold and it's advantageous to be ahead of the game, so off we headed down towards Blackwater reservoir, leaving well before 7.00am.

The Blackwater Dam wall can be seen from quite a distance, although it takes an age to reach, and it reminded me of the famous 617 Dambusters Squadron's daring wartime raid on the Mohne Dam and Barnes Wallis' ingenious bouncing bomb. Tally ho chaps, bombs away Ginger! We then crossed underneath the dam to gain the tarmac track at the far side, a routine descent to civilisation and luxury ahead.

Blackwater Dam was the last major engineering project of it's kind anywhere in the world. Build started in 1905, before industrial earth-moving machinery was developed, and therefore this 27 metre high structure was built by hand, with many casualties. Built by navvies, in one of the most exposed areas of the highlands, these hard men worked in unbearably hot, midge-ridden weather and during wild and wet conditions, blasting and carving out huge areas of rocky mountainside. Slogging it out by day on the dam and fighting it out at night in the rambling shantytown erected in the dam's growing shadow.

By the time the dam wall was finally finished in 1909, a number of these men had tragically lost their lives and were buried at the site in what has been described as 'Britain's loneliest and most atmospheric graveyard'. As we trod reverently around this wee burial place on a small hillock (like you'd visualise Boot Hill, in the Wild West, to be like) shrouded in concrete headstones, it wasn't difficult to imagine what life (and gruesome death) must've been like for those hardy souls in these rugged and dangerous surroundings- very sad. However, on the upside, the best views from any cemetery I've ever seen!

The rest of the journey following the concrete aquaduct downhill to the old British Alcan works in Kinlochleven was an absolute knee cruncher! Taxi for Dad! Further down, the West Highland Way joins the track from the Devil's staircase, and it was here we caught sight of the first human beings other than ourselves for two days. Rach agreed that there's definitely something special about this sort of isolation and as we trudged ever onward to our downward destination we looked forward to two exceedingly comfy car seats.

All in all a very worthwhile two-day wild country trip, in excellent weather, to a truly wild and remote location- a great intro to expeditioning for Rachel and a very welcome escape from the pressures of the modern world for yours truly. Roll on the next one!

Rachel says, 'This was the first proper hill walking adventure I had been on. I was apprehensive on what this trip would be like but decided I may as well give it a go since I would need some experience for my Duke of Edinburgh expedition. The whole journey was a great experience and much better than I was expecting. It felt good knowing that we technically had to live off of nature and survive ourselves for two days. The feeling when, after our hard walk through mud and downhill terrain, we saw Kinlochleven was amazing. It felt like we had finally reached civilisation and I was looking forward to clean clothes and a warm shower when we arrived home.'

Beinn a'Chaorain photos

At the start, with Loch Treig in the background

The Gavster, in winter garb

Weather closing in

Getting icy

Having fun

Beinn Teallach in the background

Whiteout!

A Whopper of a Day on Beinn a'Chaorain (Glen Spean)

In my first blog I stated my intention to use digital media and a healthy dose of merino wool in my mountain odyssey blog posts. Or rather, what I actually said was that I'd use wit and a healthy dose of embellishment. So here goes. Ya wee woolly wonder! I salute your courage, strength and indefatigability oh Saddam The Super Kiwi Sheep, your wonder wool is truly amazing!

Today I wore a Helly Hansen Lifa Merino wool base layer and have to say that I could've run around all day in arctic conditions dressed only in a merino onesie, such is the warmth provided by wool from the tough Merino sheep of New Zealand's Southern Alps.

Now to digital media: what a fab modern innovation GPS is. Today's mountaineering trip, in whiteout conditions, was assisted in no small part by the GPS app on my iPhone.

A whiteout occurs in snow covered terrain where the sky and the ground appear to merge and there is significantly reduced visibility, whether due to low cloud or heavy snow. It is impossible to differentiate between the sky and the ground because of the lack of horizon, or to make out landscape features due to everything visible being white. Visibility can be reduced to such an extent that a person may be unable to see anything more than a few feet away.

It was into such conditions we ventured, as we made our way from Roughburn in Glen Spean up past the crags of Meall Clachaig, in a bitterly cold wind, to the snow-covered upper slopes of Beinn a' Chaorain.

However, unlike on my previous trip on Ben Vane, the snow conditions underfoot were excellent, with good firm neve (pronounced nevy) that took a crampon really well. Neve definition: partially compacted granular snow. Conditions like these are a joy. As you gain purchase in the firm snow you quickly develop a rhythm of flattening your foot along the gradient to ensure that all points of your crampons are biting and then zig zag your way upwards using your ice axe as a walking stick, held in the uphill hand. As we gained the south top, inexplicably the wind died, which in a strange way was quite disconcerting and we now found ourselves above the cloud base and in the midst of a whiteout.

Both Gavin Ferguson (my buddy for the day) and myself have a decent amount of navigational know-how and can use map and compass to get around the mountains. But today GPS gave us the reassurance of knowing we were on the right track as we plotted a course around the edge of Coire na h-Uamha, a notorious spot known for the amount of climbers who've had the misfortune to fall through its corniced rim (the most recent case was on December 29th). Being able to refer to GPS for reassurance was a comfort, as again and again we had to stop to re-check and confirm our position.

By the time we had safely negotiated the navigational dog-leg required to avoid the cornice on the way to the summit, lunch was forgotten as getting out of danger was the number one priority. Time well spent. When we almost tripped over the usually six foot tall summit cairn (which was barely visible above the surface of the snow) we were more than ready to replenish our energy supplies.

So now, with most of the hard work over, lunch was well and truly earned and was gratefully devoured. As we sat down behind a boulder to shelter from the spindrift, the cold nipped our fingers as we tucked into our sarnies. It was just a relief to relax again, safe in the knowledge that the hard work was over and that we could now enjoy the descent. Personal record for daily mountain Mars Bar consumption this winter - 3.

Next, buoyed by the sugar rush of one of his many biscuits, Gavin proceeded to write his name on the mountain. Well, the first three letters anyway, before dehydration prevented further snow vandalism. I then took my turn and attempted to follow suit, only to fall victim to the vicious crosswind. Let's just say my attempt was more Damian Hirst than Times New Roman, if you catch my drift! Draw your own conclusions. Never eat the yellow snow!

Now, re-energised after a hearty lunch it was time to lose height and drop below the cloud base into the valley below for a truly tortuous walk-out back through the bog to Glen Spean. What a marvellous day! The neighbouring mountain, BeinnTeallach, was left alone in the mist, to be conquered another day- watch this space...

A Winter's Day on Ben Vane

Definition of a climber: "Someone who stands at the bottom of an easy hill and looks for the most difficult and dangerous way up"
Definition of a hillwalker: "Someone who stands at the bottom of a difficult and dangerous hill and looks for the easy way up"
Muriel Gray: The First Fifty- Munro Bagging Without a Beard.
For the purposes of today on Ben Vane, I was most definitely a hillwalker (with a wee bit of mountaineering thrown in for good measure near the summit).

For almost the entire Christmas holiday period I waited. And waited. And waited some more, for the right weather window to take to the hills. I believe the weather lately has been stuck in what is technically known as a rut: Atlantic low after Atlantic low has swept in from....well, the Atlantic, for about two months solid, putting paid to my recent resurgence of interest in hillwalking, and confining my bike to the garage to gather dust - bah humbug! No wonder they're known as depressions.

Today, however, the weather man reliably informed me of a lull between yesterday's and tomorrow's lows. Winds were forecast to be 25-30mph with many breaks in the cloud base before afternoon snow showers - time to dust down the ice axe and crampons and head for the Arrochar Alps.

Heading north towards Tarbet, Loch Lomond narrows and becomes enclosed by increasingly imposing mountains - the beginning of the Highlands. The Arrochar Alps, spread around the head of Loch Long and the west side of Ben Lomond, are a group of very steep and Rocky Mountains with real character.

At a mere 915 metres (3002 feet) and qualifying as a Munro (in fact, occupying the lowly position of 284th, the smallest of the 3000 foot hills known as Munros) Ben Vane is roughly translated as "Middle Hill", lying as it does between it's larger neighbours Ben Ime and Ben Vorlich.

However, as with most league tables, positions can be deceptive. After a 45 minute walk up the Tarmac road to Coire Grogain, a footpath leaves the road and heads up the unrelentingly steep and craggy shoulder of the mountain. Today a blanket of cloud shrouded the upper slopes and the start of the "footpath" to the cloudy sky and snow-covered upper slopes was a bit of a bog-fest. Decent gaiters are a must if wet feet and trousers are to be avoided on this section of the route and luckily I came prepared, with my trusty plastic mountaineering boots and full yeti gaiters. 

Then the sun made a welcome appearance above A Chrois (The Cross), illuminating the hillside and giving hope of better things to come (The Cross - illuminating and giving hope!). It was to be short-lived however. At this point my phone rang - Her Indoors, anxious for news of how this stuffed Christmas turkey was progressing in its failed attempt to fly up a hill. I no sooner had reassured her that the sun was out and it was a lovely day, when looking up I discovered that the weather had rapidly closed in, with visibility right down to zero. Unfortunately, this was to be the case for almost the rest of the day, as I floundered through deep, soft snow, plotting a course for the summit. 

It's at times like these I attempt to keep morale up by singing (Crown Him With Many Crowns, in this case). Just as well there was no one else around! Well, there was a wee guy and twa dugs that left me for dead on the lower slopes, but he was defeated higher up, having had a salutary encounter with steep snow and ice without so much as a toothpick for grip. Singing really lifts the spirits (and more likely raises the dead when I get started!) as silence and a sense of isolation sets in when all around is white - it really can get a bit spooky (did I mention a yeti already???).

There are a couple of false summits and gaps on the way to the top, where descending goes against the grain after busting a gut to gain so much height. These steep sided gaps were smoothed out by the thigh-deep snow and consequently became difficult to climb. There were, however areas of rock hard ice, which were easy meat once crampons had been donned and I was soon cresting the rise to the summit plateau. Phone out- summit snaps.

By this point my stomach was declaring that lunch should be taken, but preferring a more relaxing repast I retraced my steps downhill to a more suitable spot, whereupon I met four intrepid explorers and one loner heading for the top. After an exchange of New Year pleasantries and some mountain chit chat, I plonked myself down to a most welcome flask of steaming hot tea, cheese and ham rolls and a Mars bar.

Then the snow started, a wee bit earlier than forecast, by which time I was on safer ground and heading back down the road to a warm car and a particularly comfy pair of trainers. All in all a great day out on a fine wee hill. Ben Vane we will meet again!

The view from the bottom

Getting there, with Ben Ime in background

Hitting the snow line

Icy at the summit

Ben Lomond in the distance

A' Chrois

 



       

Starting Out

When I started mountaineering, mobile phones and digital mapping existed only in the far distant future. Big burly men in beards and breeches roamed the highlands conquering snow-covered mountain tops armed with nothing more than dodgy maps, compasses and itchy jumpers. 

At that inauspicious beginning I never as much as possessed a camera and Tinternet was for geeks in cagoules sitting in darkened rooms learning Gaelic pronunciations of mountain names (it's finest exponent- one Sorley McLean). 

Consequently my earliest episodes in the Scottish hills exist entirely in the foggy mists of sepia-tinted mountain memories. I do have some smudgy scribbled logs I was obliged to keep when going through the Mountain Leader Award scheme, but as with all things that have been foisted upon me, they are basic at best and at worst downright clinical and devoid of feeling. 

What I henceforth attempt, from this day forward, is to catalogue my wild adventures (supplemented by half-decent photographs) using digital media, wit and a healthy dose of embellishment. I intend this foray into the realm of journalism/blogging (call it what you will) to be thoroughly therapeutic, life-enhancing and to provide me with some sense of well-being. I want to adequately express in prose how my outdoor experiences make me feel in the exhilarating moment of waking up on a bothy floor on a cold winters morning, of summiting the Ben from Carn Mor Dearg arrete, of seeing the aurora borealis from the Cairngorm plateau at midnight, of......well, you get the drift. Read on to follow my mountain odyssey. 

Oh, and I might just throw in some cycle stuff too, for good measure. That is, if I can manage to fit into my Lycra after the excesses of Christmas - just as well it's stretchy. Expect the unexpected!