Who Pu'd on Ben Challum?

I had ants in my pants and felt the need to get out on to the hills, as a huge dump of snow had fallen in recent days. I had been checking out the mountain porn on the webcams all week and simply had to head North. Initially, I had planned to do Ben Challum as my last Munro but I have decided on another M-point for that one. Fraser had been coerced into coming along with the promise that there wouldn't be another epic, in the ilk of Beinn Bhuidhe so the pressure was on to take it easy and enjoy it. As we drove past Loch Lomond, the temperature gauge in the car showed -3C. By the time we parked near Strath Fillan, it read -8C. We donned the gear and with my lovely new Norwegian knitted sweater and new skunk hat, I felt nice and warm. It really was baltic but the views across to Ben More and Stob Binnein, were fantastic. We pushed on up and over the railway line and it wasn't long before we were piling through thigh-deep snow. The vista just got better and better though. By the time, we got halfway up, we were both sweating profusely and I noticed a rather malodorous stench drifting my way. That dirty sod Fraser was honking or so I thought. In fact, to my horror I realised the stench was coming from me and my lovely Norwegian sweater. I smelt like a yak's arse. We continued on and up towards the South Summit and it was arduous going, my heart hammering away. We both agreed lunch at this summit was the order of the day before we pushed on and into the odd gully and then over to the actual summit itself. It was breath-taking in every way. I couldn't remember a more spectacular day on the hill. The photo shows the view back to the South Summit, with Ben More and Stob Binnein in the distance. We didn't hang about though as it was bloody freezing and we had about 2 hours daylight left. A rare uncomplicated return followed with a real sense of satisfaction and Fraser enjoyed a wee dram of Loch Dhu while my abstinence forbade me from sharing. However, it would be hard to better a day on the hill and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience albeit the odorific stench of my being left a lot to be desired. Pu'd indeed.

Sgurr a Mhaim

Day 2 of my Winter routes was originally planned for the Ring of Steall but the weather was foul. I decided to take a look at Sgurr a Mhaim and possibly head for the Devil's ridge thereafter but as I changed into my gear at the Abhriachan car park (the only one again), it drizzled. I could barely make out some snow further up SaM but the route was easy to see and offered me confidence if the weather got worse further up. Lugging my heavy pack (I had also packed my big Maglite if my head torch failed), I began the walk up the zig-zags. The temperature was mild enough and before long, the sweat was pashing aff me. I gained height rapidly as thigh muscles complained but on I pushed. Views were at a premium and as I entered the cloud I bade goodbye to civilisation and was subjected to a cold blast of Winter air. By this point, I added my fleece and hat to the waterproof jacket as I encountered some lovely orange scree and a path winding it's way further up. This changed to red scree and then I began to trudge through some deep snow. Where was the summit? I had been padding for over 2.5 hours and felt that I was well up the hill. By this time, I was drookit and my feet were squelching as the snow got up inside my gaiters. I continued on, knackered again but eventually came across a small cairn and then eventually the summit sitting beside the great North face of the corrie, totally covered in snow. I took a rather pained photo of myself as evidence that I had had enough and the Devil's ridge could wait for finer weather. I belted down the hill, splurging my way down the now greasy and streamlike path - a wonder I didn't skite. Sgurr a Mhaim was a monster hill (1099m but only 50m of a start from sea level) and after doing the RofS, it would be a hard hill to descend. Once again, an exercise in water-proofing and endurance but a satisfying sojourn nonetheless. While such exercises no doubt inspire confidence for navigation and decision-making, they are lonely expeditions which require the ability to have conversations with oneself and be au fait with those kind of things. Or wis that just me?

Eerie Meall a Bhuiridh

I had taken some time off from le metro boulot dodo and headed North for a couple of day's Winter hill-walking. The rain was falling as I parked in the Glencoe ski car park and not a soul to be seen. Rather than head straight up alongside the unsightly ski tows towards Meall a Bhuiridh, I decided to try an alternative route, heading along the West Highland Way and then up the East shoulder of MAB. As I said before, il n'y a personne and all I needed to was find the Ba Cottage remains before heading into the mist. Well, I couldnae find them so I took a compass bearing and proceeded to head up through the murk. The amount of deer on the hills were incredible and they soon scattered as I trumped my way ever upwards. I began to make out a rocky North face and headed onwards - by the time I reached the 800m level, there was quite a bit of snow about but the weather was stable. The usual ptarmigan flew out of nowhere and scared me shitless but I began the careful approach up through the crags rather than walk up the scar of ski-tows. I had forgotten that this hill was over 1100m high and with a full Winter pack on plus a recent mouth infection, I was beginning to cramp up. Eventually, I made it up on to the level ridge and walked past a rather poignant plaque/cairn dedicated to Charles Kennedy. Not sure what happened to him but I continued on past the ski paraphernalia and touched the summit before a bit to eat back at Ski Hut. As I was eating, the wind moved all the equipment and snow fell from the lines, making odd and unanticipated noises. I felt quite freaked. There is something quite nice about hills in good weather on yer own but when it's cold, dark and bleak, it's very lonely. No-one to trump lunches with, no-one to laugh at. :-( I decided not to hing aboot and belted down past the now welcome ski paraphernalia until I hit the car park in double quick time. A quick drying out and off to Glen Nevis for my next sojourn. A tiring, cold day and more a test of goretex and sanity than anything else. Creise can wait another day.

Meall Cuaich

Hill of the cuaich indeed. Shaz and I had planned to do Beinn a Ghlo for this particular day but due to stalking restrictions, it was a non-starter. So, after Shaz drove us up to the Dalwhinnie area, we set off on a great track alongside a bizarre man-made waterway. This led us to the Power station and continuing the track past this, we reached Loch Cuaich and the small (locked bothy) beside it. I wonder who owns it, it looked in fine condition. We began the gentle ascent on to the shoulder of Meall Cuaich and it wasn't long before we were topping out on the mounded summit, with plenty of company to try and avoid during our lunch-stop. Lunch was composed of the usual for me but Shaz excelled with Brie sandwiches on finger-rolls. Little did she know what dessert I had in store. We began the walk back down the hill and before completely descending, we stopped for a wee breather whereupon I brought out....Cranachan!!! Shaz's lunch concoction had been scooped by a rather luxurious dessert, if I do say so. However, in the spirit of sharing I insisted she have some although I did forget to bring two spoons. Once I had ascertained Shaz's herpes status, I proferred her the 1st taste where she said "I'll try not to let it touch the sides". Honestly. We bounded back to the car and stopped in at the Old Mill Inn for a half pint (which touched the sides) before making our separate ways from Pitlochry. A lovely day which was bitter at the top and Winter is definitely round the corner. For once, a rather uncomplicated Munro and one to remember for the right reasons.

Beinn Achaladair & Beinn a Chreachain

These two hills dominate the view as you come down the A82 from Rannoch moor and I had always looked forward to climbing these. However, I had read much on the boggy approach and so it was that I got ye olde gaiters oot. The forecast was fab but I forgot my suntan lotion (in the basket) and I only had a litre of water - would it be enough?

Whether it was because I hadn't been on the hill for a month or my knee was limiting me, I didn't feel fit at all going up from the farm towards Achaladair. The bogfest didn't make for easy walking but after 90 minutes, I hit the bealach and turned North for the 1st peak of the day. The views across to Rannoch Moor and Loch Tulla were sensational. The higher i walked, the better it got and after a fabbydoo high level pad, I was at my first summit of the day. I took hunners o photaes, had a bite to eat and headed on towards my 2nd hill of the day. The route was clear and I began the taxing stint up towards the summit of Beinn a Chreachain. Feck me, I was puggled. I sat down and had a delectable lunch of penne pasta with courgette, sun-dried tomato and pine nuts courtesy of my lovely. So, began the descent and it was sustained until the bogfest part deux and ultimately, the hop across the river. It was against all my public health nous that I dipped my water bottle and imbibed but I simply had to, I was gasping. Goodness knows when the pathogens will hit me but numbers have been low recently so nowt like giving yerself work. A walk back along the track to the car and I met a fellow padder dae the 'deen - fit like ma loon etc? Great day out but definitely the route I picked rather than anti-clockwise. Just remains to be seen if it will be "Dear Diarama"...

The Cruachan Horseshoe

I had heard several accounts from friends and Romans describing Ben Cruachan and Stob Diamh as a great day out. The entire route taking in several other peaks totalled 1900m in ascent and I thorougly looked forward to pushing myself physically. David C and I headed up and were on the hill for the respectble time of 0845 on a Sunday morning. No mucking about with warm-up's here, it was an unrelenting climb from the roadside and while I was glad I was quite hill-fit, David struggled initially. However, once we made our way up to the reservoir, we began to enjoy the fantastic vista and the peace which goes with it. We started up Meall Cuanail and I decided not to tell David we'd have to go down 70m after topping out on MC at 918m - higher than some Munro's. The descent off MC was tricky but once at the col, we began the final climb up Ben Cruachan's boulder slopes, which really took it out of us - check David's face in that photo - ho ho! We had lunch at the summit and with the clag right in, we felt like we were truly on the top of the world - I suppose at 3758 ft, we were the highest bodes South of the Mamores. We began the descent towards Drochaid Glas and it was very bouldery on the way down. I implored David to check the drops into the wild corries but he wasn't impressed i.e. he asked who coughed or at least that's what I thought he said. We carried on towards Stob Diamh and the views were stunning although looking back, we still couldn't see the summit of our 1st objective. Once at Stob Diamh, we began to relax and enjoyed the walk back down though by the time we got back to the initial steep path down to the car, we were almost running on empty. I turned round and saw David salivating, arms out saying "Fish supper, pickled onions, lard" on more than one occasion resembling something out of Night of the Living Dead. Back at the car, we changed footwear and congratulated each other on a good day's walking and a fine physical effort. I phoned Emma and said "Food, I want Fray Bentos...lots of food". It is only after a day on the hill that one can truly appreciate the finer tastes in life i.e. batter and lard.

Carn Ghluasaid

Or pee lucozade? On our way up to Lewis, we drove through Glen Shiel and stayed at the Cluanie Inn. However, in order to earn our reward of copious ale and grub, we decided to tackle this Munro. This was to be Emma's 10th Munro and as such, she was slightly apprehensive about it and the prospect of being labelled a bagger! The view across Loch Cluanie was fab and the stalker's path was excellent, allowing for rapid height to be gained, although a starting point of 250m may have helped. Before the zig zags up the hill, we had almost trodden on 2 toads and had a go at capturing them. Much mirth was had. Toad-trapping? Better than toot-trapping. The path was brilliant all the way to the summit plateau although by this time, the good weather had given away to rain and falling temperatures. Up until this point, Emma hadn't moaned once and was enjoying herself. Was she now a fair-weather bagger or had she really hurt her back? Cry wolf, Emma....Anyhoo, a summit photo (could be anywhere really) and it was back down the hill which was quick and no doubt the prospect of booze accelerated Emma's descent. It always does, n'est-ce pas? Once back at the car, it was midgey hell and we made a quick retreat to the Cluanie for some fantastic grub and lovely drink. The meal consisted of two great Aberdeen Angus burgers with Monterey Jack cheese, fries and a lovely side salad. Alcohol consisted of Red Cuillin (wonderful), Tempranillo wine and a wee rare whisky from the proprietor. A lovely day out once again and well done Emma on the double figure mark!