We had surveyed this approach from the slopes of Creag Each only a few weeks before and knew that, although it was not shown on our map, a track ran high onto this western side of the hill. We followed it rather too far, hoping it might swing north up the hill, until it became obvious that it was taking a determined course down the glen of the Allt an Fhionn. From this point very rough heathery slopes took us onto Meall Reamhar, a top more separated than our map suggested, and hence to Lochan na Creige Ruaidhe which lies just below the final craggy slopes leading up to the double summit.
On this brilliantly clear day there was no doubt at all that the west top, marked by a cairn, was the highest point, not only in the immediate vicinity but of this whole rough area. When Graham's tables were published in the Great Outdoors magazine she listed instead Ruadh Mheall two kilometres to the north and a subsequent letter corrected this, suggesting that the top should be Meall Daimh further to the west. Both these tops could clearly be seen below us today and this seems to emphasise the difficulties of getting these lists correct. All credit goes to Alan Dawson for we have not caught him out in an error yet.
We settled down to enjoy a late lunch at the summit in perfect conditions with scarcely a breath of wind. Ben Lawers to the north had just a touch of early snow although this big hill is not seen at its best from here presenting an uninteresting grassy profile. To the west Ben More and Stobinian showed their familiar silhouette [picture], while Ben Vorlich southwards was partially obscured in a bank of low cloud. Eastwards the uninteresting outlines of the Corbett, Creag Uchdag, and the Munro, Ben Chonzie, completely filled the skyline. Despite the unbroken sunshine there was an autumn chill in the air so we did not linger too long but made our way westwards onto the ridge north of Loch Eas Domhain which terminates in an attractive little rounded stony top. From here the descent was rough and steep until we rejoined the track for a pleasant stroll back in the evening sunshine.
As we drove westwards we saw a most dramatic sunset. Streaks of blood red cloud slashed across the sky behind the jet black silhouettes of Ben More and Stobinian.
We failed to find any parking at the entrance to Glen Scaddle and had to retreat almost to the headland of Rubha Dearg. After walking a short distance up the glen we were tempted up the apparently easy north ridge of Beinn na Cille. Before reaching the main ridge we had climbed into mist and being right on the join of two maps found navigation confusing. A small lochan where we gained the ridge was probably not the one shown on the map since on turning west we found ourselves almost immediately dropping and swinging southwards. Old fence posts simplified navigation but as we approached the steep slopes of the summit cone they veered away eastwards.
The mist lightened as we reached the trig point. A hazy sun gleamed through the mist and turning back we saw our shadows thrown on the mist with rainbow coloured halos. We settled down for lunch and watched entranced as the mist fell away to reveal Ben Nevis, the Mamores and all the Glencoe peaks standing clear above a sea of cloud. Food was forgotten as I rushed around with the camera desperately trying to capture this magical inversion.
Only to the west did a big bank of cloud persist and this was the direction in which we had to reluctantly proceed, dropping down into the mist and navigating by compass towards the unseen top of Druim na Sgriodain. Not only was the top unseen but locating it promised to be a bit of a puzzle for this is an exceedingly rough ridge and although the map shows two lochans within the highest contour ring there are in fact a large number of lochans of assorted size together with a large number of rocky bumps to choose from as the summit. Our apprehension was unnecessary however for as we gained height again we climbed once more into sunshine. We could now look back to the top where we had enjoyed the first magical moments of this glorious situation and forward to the striking summits of Garbh Beinn and Sgurr Dhomhnuill standing boldly above the clouds. Our top was not in doubt in the sunshine, on the south edge of the summit area, as Dawson's grid reference had suggested, and marked by a small cairn.
Needless to say we were very loth to go down off the hill but October days are quite short and with only the map to suggest a route we were by no means certain of a trouble-free descent. We had noted ominous signs of forestry in Glen Scaddle, moreover what we could see of the south-east ridge looked gentle and inviting while the north-west one was steep and rough. So south-east it was, soon back in dismal mist, navigating by compass and trying to estimate when an eastwards swing was required. Eventually, just as we dropped below the clouds, we arrived at a cairn with startling views westwards over an array of islands set in a glinting sea and downwards to the flat ground running out to the lighthouse on Sallachan Point.
It was this flat ground, almost vertically below, which we had to reach. The cairn marked the end of the easy gradients but by working across the mouth of the corrie we made an uncomfortably steep way down by the waterfall known as Maclean's Towel. The stroll back along the quiet road as dusk fell over the shore was gentle relief, a lovely end to a memorable day.
We rode back to the car, drove on to Acharacle and beyond and embarked on a much easier hill, Beinn Bhreac, which is only 240 metres high. Although its low altitude precludes it from official inclusion in these memoirs it would be churlish not to mention the delightful walk it gave us, finishing round the coast on a wonderful path which brought us, just at dusk, to the romantically situated castle on an island linked to land only by a sandy causeway. The sea here in Loch Moidart was utterly calm, a scene of perfect peace and beauty which more than compensated for our disappointing morning.
A bit of lateral thinking found us early next morning setting out again for Sgurr nan Cnamh, but this time from the south-east up Coire an Iubhair which carries a clear, albeit boggy track most of the way up to Lochan Coire an Iubhair lying on a dramatic col. We had been here before, after climbing Sgorr Mhic Eacharna and Beinn Bheag. The northern cliffs of Garbh Bheinn tower above casting deep shadows across the water on this brilliantly sunny day. We soon stepped out of the shadows contouring round until we were looking down on the weedy waters of a lochan of very different character, Loch nan Dearcag.
Our summit was clearly visible and we worked our way round the side of Druim Min and up onto the very rough ridge. This is typical territory of the western Highlands, a combination of rough boggy grass and slabby rocks which reminded me of the very wild terrain around Sgurr na Ciche and Ben Aden. The best going is to be found on the slabs. From afar the outcrops look quite white but closer acquaintance shows them to be pink and grey with only the occasional patch of pure white quartz crystal. Patches of lichen add to their colourful nature, mainly in splashes of fresh bright green with the odd streak of darker grey.
An anticyclone was lying over the country and the forecast had been for cloudy skies. In fact it was a day of brilliant autumn sunshine and we enjoyed a leisurely lunch right at the summit, a pleasure often denied even in the height of summer. It was too superb a day to simply drop back into the rather dreary valley so we opted instead for a repeat traverse of the magnificent ridge of Beinn Bheag.
This ridge is quite narrow and offers superb walking yet there is hardly any sign of a track along it. If Beinn Bheag were 585 feet higher there would no doubt be a badly eroded path. I am hardly in a position to comment adversely on this strange circumstance, being more of a peak-bagger and table-ticker than most, but it did seem to emphasise the delights in store for the seeker of lower hills.
The ridge loses its character somewhat before the final slog onto Sgorr Mhic Eacharna but this top was still a delightful place to be with the sun now sinking and throwing the rocky ridges of Garbh Bheinn into dramatic profile. Clouds began to build up and the long descent was only just completed through confusing terrain of tufty grass and slabs as darkness fell on a day of great beauty and intense satisfaction.
[Beinn Bheag and Sgurr nan Cnamh from Sgorr Mhic Eacharna] . [the Glencoe peaks from Sgorr Mhic Eacharna]
By the time we had reached the locked bothy at Corrlarach it was quite obvious that we would not have enough daylight to complete the mountain. We did not relish the ride back down the glen either so embarked on a rash and rough crossing to Loch Eil. We did not get far. The promising start of the track was shortlived as it disappeared in deep bracken. Gloomily we withdrew and started back down the valley. I skidded off the bike, breaking its reflector and bruising my leg and forehead. The sun shone brilliantly making our retreat even more depressing.
After lunch back at the car we sought compensation; something could surely be retrieved from this disastrous day. Beinn na Cille filled the bill admirably although we had originally intended to reserve it to be done on the journey to or from Mull.
It is quite obvious from the map that Beinn na Cille and the two Corbetts, Creach Bheinn and Fuar Bheinn should be combined in a single walk. We had climbed Creach Bheinn many years before we ever possessed any tables but had descended Coire a Chuil Mhaim into Glen Galmadale before returning on the coastal road to our campsite near Lochan Doire a'Bhraghaid. Indeed this may have been a wise decision for both Fuar Bheinn and Beinn na Cille present very forbidding craggy slopes on this eastern side. Fuar Bheinn had been climbed much more recently, one of my last few Corbetts, approached over the bog from the north on an occasion when the bogs were very dry and hares were everywhere.
Now with barely three hours of daylight remaining we sought the quickest and easiest approach to the third hill of this trio by utilising a forestry track which led us onto its rough but easily graded western slopes. At the summit we reaped an undeserved reward for our foolishness of the morning for there is nothing more splendid than looking out over the western isles on a beautiful evening. There are few hills further west than this one on the Scottish mainland and although it was now quite cloudy the seascape was magnificent. Loch Linnhe looked totally calm. The long island of Lismore seemed from this height to be the most peaceful place on earth. [picture] Beyond it smaller islands were silhouetted against the glinting water and far far away the peaks of Rum, grey and scarcely visible, beckoned like mountains in a dream. In response to their lure I lay and dreamt of my last two-thousander. How many more magical moments like this one will I enjoy on other hills I wondered before Trallval's craggy summit lies under my feet. We sat there for a long time remembering other beautiful evenings, especially the night when we had camped in Gleann Meadail on a glorious backpack through Knoydart. From the Corbett Beinn Bhuidhe we had watched the sun set behind the jagged peaks of Skye. Magical moments like this live on in the memory for ever. At last we descended reluctantly into the dusk as the glen echoed with the evocative calls of rutting stags.
Pleasure in a climb always increases as one steps up onto a ridge, however wide and undramatic it may be. Suddenly a new view appears and the true scale and structure of the mountain is revealed. The north-east ridge of Meall nan Damh was quite unexciting yet the pulse quickened as we strode along it and approached the steepening slopes which led up to the tiny cairn on the west top. Although the ridge was not dramatic its position this morning did convey a certain delicious tension for it stood poised between blue skies and sparkling sunshine to the west and lowering grey storm clouds to the east. The breeze was light as a feather yet it came from the east and its touch was a chill one.
Unfortunately it was eastwards that we must turn, for the east top, one kilometre away along another broad ridge, is the higher by a single metre. [picture] It carries no cairn though the ancient one marked on the map lies only a short distance beyond. Here we tried to find shelter for a quick lunch. The sun had lost its battle with the clouds and even to the west the blue skies were fading. The wind was cooler than ever here, driving away the summery weather which we had enjoyed for the last few days. No storm broke however and eventually as the sun moved west it reappeared in an evening glow.
We did not linger long for another hill lay ahead beyond a substantial drop. Glas Bheinn is a lump of a hill as it appearance on the map suggests with the crags on its north-east side providing the only bit of relief from a grassy slog. [picture] Our map showed a gap in the forest above the head of Loch Eil. It was out of date. As we came down it became painfully obvious that no gap existed. Fortunately it was perfectly clear and from above we could see a ride through the trees. Once in amongst them the route towards it was no longer obvious but it required only a small amount of the uniquely awful going associated with massed conifers before we had located it and followed it to freedom.
The track, not shown on our old map, made this one of the easiest of the Scottish two-thousanders. We hurtled up these western slopes at full speed hoping to beat sunrise but arrival at the radio mast was a moment of disappointment for the track terminated abruptly with a few hundred feet of very rough ground still to be scaled before a clear view opened to the east. Compensation was the vista westwards however for the gentle haze which we had driven through from Crianlarich was solidifying into a sea of cloud in Glen Dochart with the familiar outlines of Ben More and Stobinian soaring above it and just catching the first rays of the rising sun. [picture]
Arrival at the cairn on the north top of Beinn Leabhain was a moment of breathtaking beauty. The Tarmachans, which often appear only as a serrated silhouette, were showing their dramatic rocky ridges and corries in the low slanting sunlight. Ben Lawers, which in contrast sometimes appears as a boring grassy hill, was glowing with the russet hues of autumn. Eastwards lay rolling ridges one beyond the other into the distance, each clearly defined by the haze which lay in the valleys between and which shimmered before our eyes as we stepped onto the ridge and into the sunshine. [picture] We wandered spellbound up to the cairn at the top of this hill and then across the boggy col to Meall Buidhe which is a few metres higher and which disclosed dramatic silhouettes of Ben Vorlich and Stuc a Chroin. We returned the same way, quite slowly to prolong the delight and to postpone our departure from the Highlands. Yet, beautiful though it still was, by the time we had returned to the northernmost top the magic was gone, the mist and that first flush of dawn had dissolved in brilliant unbroken sunshine.
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