Wednesday 9 November 2011

In Culra bothy with a 16-year old and impure thoughts




Sometimes you just wish you'd keep your mouth closed and stop yer tummy rumbling. A salient lesson from my Primary 7 teacher ignored. I had suggested to Graeme D that not only could we do the Ben Alder circuit from Culra bothy but we could add Carn Dearg on to this as well. As if it wasn't a long enough walk in and out. Why walk? Because we were purists and we didn't do mountain bikes. As we so proudly told the foursome on top of Ben Alder. How those words would come back to haunt me as we trudged back out past Culra on the way home 12 hours after starting out. It all started so well. I met Graeme at Dalwhinnie and we donned the head torches at 1800. The 10-mile walk in would afford a real stretch of the legs as well as time to catch up. A lot had happened in that space of time to both of us and 3 hours in the dark with a man was an unusual occurrence for me, and I presume Graeme. We covered everything from correct French statements, the accompanying 16-year old from Orkney, dire football teams (mine in particular) and babies (Graeme's in particular) - I know not the name of mine. Our pace was impressive until the 6th mile and we began to tail off round about Loch Pattack. However, we arrived at Culra and were the only ones there at 2100 - unusual on a Friday night. The fire got going, we opened our Loch affa Fyne beers and chilled out. Then, the Orcadian beauty was brought out and we savoured her. Hints of vanilla, smooth and mature for her age. My favourite Highland Park. Not long after we had fumigated ourselves with the fire, we put lights out in preparation for our big day. At 0530, we breakfasted and left the packs to tackle Carn Dearg. We hoped to see the hills as the sunrise came up and we were't disappointed. The higher we got, the more impressive Schiehallion in the distance became as did our 2nd and 3rd targets for the day. Ben Alder was a behemoth; massive; a brute; any Roget's definition you choose to make. We got to the summit at about 0730 and chilled out, looking over to Sgor Iutharn - Lancet Edge would be a destination for the future. Taste buds were truly whetted and we burned down back to the bothy to recharge food and water. At 0900, we set off for Ben Alder and the Long Leachas ridge. An excellent stalker's path took us up and over before we diverted over the burn - well Graeme went over, I went through - a faux pas of the highest order - bien fait. We began the climb up the Leachas and it was an absolute joy. We both felt strong, the exposure was stupendous and the views were fab. I really enjoyed this scramble ridge but at no point felt at risk. Once up on to the plateau, we walked along the corrie rim before setting off for the distant cairn. An off collection of 5 ringed cairns lay before us and as we took lunch in the shelter, Graeme spotted a fellow Walkhighlander, IainWatson who he had met at a WH meet. The man is a mountain goat. At this point, I boasted that as purists 'we don't do mountain bikes....bikes...bikes...bikes....' That phrase would circulate through my frazzled brain on the walk out. A steep descent off Ben Alder and up on to Beinn Bheoil with a couple of cracking rainbows and we knew we were on our way back. Still strong G? Yeah, still strong...ish. We didn't hang about much at Beinn Bheoil but marvelled in the majesty of Ben Alder across the loch. Our walk past Culra at 1540 in daylight meant at least a 2 hr 50 walk out. IW had already left us behind with his bike. I hoped he'd get a puncture. It would be fair to say that our conversation had dropped but what did come up was the lack of generosity of landowners driving past us with no thoughts of stopping for us - I mean, who are these people? Never mind, we were doing it the pure way. Pure mad mental min. The last time I checked my feet had worn down to stumps and Graeme stopped for a second - it was almost fatal as the regular gait was broken. So, were our spirits almost - oh, to be impure! Eventually, we reached the lovely, lovely level crossing at 1830 and departed after a supreme (retrospectively of course) day on the hill. Cheers Monsieur D.

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