Corbett Countdown

The cluster of buildings shown on the map at Carnach had been reduced to a single house, boarded up and deserted. Later in the day I found Iron Lodge in the same state giving the glen an almost eerie feeling. I imagined the clatter of hooves and the creak of carriage wheels as a party of wealthy Victorians drove up to view the falls but the clatter and creaking was only a mechanical digger whose solitary operator was moving soil for some reason from one place to another. I saw no other human life all day.

The path from Carnach started unpromisingly rough and overgrown but as soon as it climbed into the upper valley of the stream took on an almost Himalayan character running high above the river and then zig-zagging up the side of the hill. As I followed it up I reflected, not for the first time, on the uneasy truce between landowner and hill walker. We are happy to use these paths and yet unhappy to be kept off the hills in the stalking season. With the growing number of people actively antagonistic to blood sports I wondered if we shall get stalking saboteurs like the hunt saboteurs in England; and if so would these people feel it morally right to use stalker's paths on the hills?

It was an easy slog from the end of the track, up the burn and then over easy slopes to the summit plateau of Faochaig. I consumed a hasty snack but visions of a long leisurely rest on this top were dispelled by an unexpected and rather bitter north wind. I strolled across to the east top and from here wandered down the broken slopes of the north ridge in search of the next stalker's track. It appeared exactly as shown on the map and made easy work of this descent over very rough ground. I swung south below the intimidating face ahead until the slopes relented enough to scrabble up and then walk pleasantly to the summit of Aonach Bhuidhe. Again the bitter wind did not invite an extended stay and the south ridge gave a rapid descent towards Iron Lodge and a sheltered lunch spot by the river. Aonach Bhuide is a pretty remote hill, well separated from everything else, but the bicycle turned it into a fairly easy day.

Stob a'Choin at the end of the Balquhider road had become something of a sore thumb for me. The first time that I failed to climb it was on a day when I had arranged to do a through walk from Glen Arklet taking in both Beinn a'Choin and Stob a'Choin, the two 'dog peaks' in one day. Being somewhat of a peak-bagger, and not then possessing Graham's tables, I decided to skirt Meall Mor and Stob an Duibhe which led me into terrible territory. By the time I had reached the foot of the forbidding west side of Stob a'Choin I was well behind schedule and also exhausted so opted to leave it for another day. That day was a long while in coming for on several occasions I determined to climb it on my way home, it being my most southerly undone Corbett. The weather was always sufficiently bad to merit a postponement. This was not entirely coincidence since the decision to go home had usually been made because of worsening weather.

This day no excuse could possibly be found as the sun shone from an almost cloudless sky. Nevertheless I set out somewhat reluctantly. Perhaps because of all the postponements I had come to regard this hill as a difficult one on which I might encounter trouble. My fears were quite unjustified at least on a day like this when getting lost was impossible.

About a mile west of the car park and picnic site a bridge gives access across the river and so one can get onto the hill without negotiating the new forestry at the north west corner. This at least was the theory. In practise the bridge turned out to have rather more gaps than planks and nerves of steel would be needed to tightrope walk across the supports were the river to be high. After weeks of drought there was hardly any water in the river so I was able to cross dryshod with no such terrors.

I aimed to get onto the north ridge of the mountain above its steep nose. The stream flowing out of the corrie between me and this ridge turned out to be running in a gorge much steeper and deeper than the map suggested. I had gone too high but had no intention of losing height now. I scrambled up alongside it and eventually just below a forbidding cliff the gorge relented and I crossed easily, taking a long drink from this last source of water.

The north ridge led steeply but easily to the north top from which it was a gentle stroll to the unmarked summit with pleasing views over the Trossachs. I continued over various bumps eastwards, this 'dog peak' is a shaggy mongrel. I suppose it would be confusing in mist although fence posts accompanied the route. Forestry is a problem too at the foot of the ridge but I avoided it with some discomfort by dropping steeply down to the river just east of the dicey bridge. Another Corbett completed, pleasant but unmemorable, not at all the fearsome enterprise I had anticipated.

One Corbett is often enough for one day since by their very nature they are well separated from each other. There several pairs however, two Carn Deargs side by side near Glen Roy, Sgurr and Cruach Innse, Creach Beinn and Fuar Beinn, Sgurr a'Mhuillin and Meallan nan Uan, Meall a'Phubuill and Beinn Bhan which spent a spell in different sections with reorganisation of the tables! There are two Corbetts east of Beinn Sgritheall which can conveniently be added to the Munro and two other pairs Beinn an Eoin and Baosbheinn and Beinn Deargs Bheag and Mor were still awaiting me. I once climbed four Corbetts in one day given the benefit of a car driven round to the other end of my traverse over Carn na Drochaide, Creag an Dail Bheag, Culardoch and Brown Cow Hill.

Today there was no such possibility yet the day was young and long. We drove up into Glen Lyon and starting about a mile east of the dam set off for the most recent addition to the tables, Sron a'Choire Chnapanich, which had not even been thought of when we embarked on the quest for Corbetts. We had the old map which does not mark the mountain nor the good hydro track which gives a flying start to the ascent. Despite this we had no problem in locating the bold summit with a bird's eye view of the very dry shoreline of Loch Giorra. Westwards was the glint of water on Rannoch Moor. It is always rewarding to be late on a hill on a fine evening, especially one like this where the best views are westwards. One of my happiest Corbett memories is of Beinn Bhuidhe from which we watched sunset over the western isles during a camping trip in Knoydart.

Carn Chuilinn and Carn Easgann Bana were the next pair of hills on my agenda. Carn Easgann Bana had recently been demoted, resurveying having shown that there is not a 500 foot drop all round. Therefore it is not a Corbett and you can't argue about Corbetts. Unlike Munros they are rigourously defined and not open to discussion. Nevertheless I determined to do it like all the others which had been deleted since I started the hunt using the 1974 edition of the tables. Hamish Brown bemoans the demotion of this hill and says that the territory between the two 'is in a class of its own for roughness'. This comment naturally fired my enthusiasm to see this rough territory for myself. Fortunately I had a willing driver on hand who had done them both and had no wish to renew acquaintance with either.

There is a good track towards Carn Chuilinn but it is guarded by an exceedingly hostile gate. Shortly after negotiating this one is faced with another, bristling with notices. Since it was mid-June I did not believe the rather faded warning that deer culling was in progress. However I walked on rather dismally, rehearsing a speech to the effect that I had climbed about 500 Scottish hills without meeting such unpleasantness elsewhere. Fortunately the speech was not required and once I had left the landrover track for a stalking one I relaxed and began to enjoy the climb.

When the track faded out it was rough going up the corrie with route finding being mainly confined to keeping out of the deepest heather. A string of lochans defined my route to the next hill and it seemed an almost arbitrary choice whether to pass them to north or south. I selected south partly because it looked a little firmer but mainly because I wanted to look for the remote waterfall in the headwaters of Glen Tarff. Eventually I could see that portion of the river which contained the fall but could not from this distance discern any water.

This area has a real feeling of remoteness. Few walkers venture here. There are no spectacular views but a sense of wildness and emptiness which is hard to come by in Britain nowadays. I was reminded of another wild and remote traverse over two Corbetts, Beinn Leoid and Glas Bheinn via the Stack of Glencoul but on that occasion I met three fishermen at Loch an Eircill, today I met nobody. This sort of solitude would frighten many people. Man is by nature a gregarious creature. I love it but would be the first to admit the touch of fear which stimulates the affection. There is an emptiness which can set the hairs tingling on the back of your neck.

Although the going was trackless it really was not particularly bad. It was also very clear and the goal was soon obvious ahead. I was definitely doing the traverse in the easiest direction. The ridge, such as it was, gave way at last to potentialy dreadful going reminiscent of the peat hags of Bleaklow and Kinder. However like those Derbyshire moors a prolonged spell of dry weather had left the hags in excellent condition, giving surprisingly fast and efficient going.

The summit was a place to get off as quickly as possible. The strong west wind had been another factor in my unexpectedly easy traverse. The map suggested a simple descent northwards down a burn but reality looked uninviting where the peat hags had given way to unpleasant long tussocky grass. I suddenly noticed from the map an intriguing ridge to the west of this valley which looked almost a knife edge and which involved very little reascent. This is the way that I went and although it proved lacking in excitement it provided a satisfactory way to the path which led down to Ardochy and the waiting car.

Baosbheinn and Beinn an Eoin are two splendid peaks which lie to the north of the great Torridon giants Beinn Alligin, Liathach and Beinn Eighe as well as the almost-Munro Beinn Dearg. They make an obvious horseshoe done from the north where a bridge gives access to the good track running up to Loch na h-Oidhche and the fisherman's bothy of Poca Buidhe. Not far below the loch a bridge, not marked on the map, gives access to the easy north east shoulder of Baosbheinn. This is the easiest way to the summit and the one which we used with slightly guilty feelings about not doing the tougher and more interesting north ridge. It was splendidly clear and we sat for a long time at the summit, gazing at the splendid panorama of mountains, recalling our visits to the Torridon giants and to An Teallach and reminiscing about our two backpacks in the Whitbread wilderness. My companion then returned along the ridge and I carried on alone.

The ups and downs on Baosbheinn are both substantial and steep but they are nothing compared with the steep ends of Beinn an Eoin. It is always easier to find a way up steep slopes as the crags can be seen and avoided or scrambled up at will. So there was no real problem, yet I was quite glad to be ascending rather than descending this ridge. Part way up I had selected a bit of scrambling and flattened myself against the rock as a jet roared by only a few yards away it seemed. So illusions of peace and remoteness can be shattered in a moment.

The summit cairn is tiny on an airy knife edge but the narrowness is more apparent than real for only a few yards further on is a substantial shelter. Here I settled down for another long rest. In fact I could hardly bear to drag myself away from this delectable place. One is looking straight into the magnificent Coire Mhic Fhearchair on Beinn Eighe. The whole ridge of Liathach with all its pinnacles is seen in profile. Then comes Beinn Dearg, 'King of the Corbetts'. So far rumours of its elevation to Munro have happily proved groundless. There is another which we christened 'Queen of the Corbetts' on which you can wave your hand above the magic 3000' elevation. Fortunately nobody has suggested it as a possible Munro. More recently Foinaven's promotion has been mooted so presumably it has been resurveyed to top place in the Corbett list. Munro or Corbett, I think if one must have a favourite hill then mine is Foinaven. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to traverse it from end to end which must surely be one of the finest walks in the world.

Recollections came flooding into my mind as I lay in the sunshine on the top of Beinn an Eoin. In every direction were hills which I had climbed. The memories of exciting, exhausting, beautiful days were tinged today with sadness. The Corbetts nearly completed, time passing, too soon these hills will be fireside memories for my old age. The most beautiful moments are always brushed by shadows. Without the melancholy they would captivate us less perhaps.

Despite having climbed it before my partner felt obliged to accompany me up my last Corbett in order that I might maintain the tradition of kissing cairn and spouse on the final summit. We made our way onto the shoulder of Beinn Dearg Bheag by a small lochan, contoured round into the rather pleasant corrie below the ridge and then followed an easy route round the southwest side of the hill until we could see the col between the two summits From this point I went straight up to the lower hill and we rejoined on the col. The ascent of Beinn Dearg Mor from the col is loose and steep, the sort of slope which is pleasanter up than down. At last it eased into grass and views opened up of the splendid ridges and corries of this mountain. The summit is dramatically situated on the bold north ridge with a large and well built cairn for kissing!

We buzzed around taking pictures to commemorate the occasion. It was a beautiful day, a splendid place to be and I felt no sadness. Perhaps I had played out the melancholy two days before on Beinn an Eoin. Besides yesterday, when it rained, we had visited Inverewe gardens. In the shop there we found Alan Dawson's list of all the hills in Britain with a 500' drop all round. These 1542 tops should give me a new incentive. This hill was no longer the last 'tickeable' summit as I had been expecting. Even after ticking off in Dawson's tables all the Munros, Corbetts and Bridges which I had done there would remain plenty of scope for new adventures.

So we enjoyed this top in perfect conditions. Then we decided to vary the return by descending into the southeast corrie. All went well as far as the oddly crevassed lip of the corrie. Thereafter the slope is steep and craggy and finding a tortuous way through the little cliffs was quite tricky. As the map shows, the track along Loch na Sealga disappears and rough ground must be negotiated to reach the landrover track. It was eleven before we emerged on the road. Being the middle of June there was still light enough to see quite easily and it was pleasing to finish the Corbetts with a good tough day, a walk to remember.

This was the last Corbett but surely not the last mountain. As time brings less agility or even disability there are still lesser heights to be scaled and still glens to be wandered where one may quietly enjoy the incomparable beauty of the Highlands.

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