Sgurr A' Chaorachain (with notes) 20.09.14
I create a report for myself on all hikes climbed and have included a recent one here. If interested you might require fifteen minutes and a cuppa to read my notes from this hike.
Our plans for this day had once again flirted with the idea of climbing Mike's mountain, An Teallach. Not for the first time though did the weather forecast intervene and put a spanner in the works. Ok, we hadn't been threatened with a howling gale, a snow storm or torrential rain, but we both wanted good visibility so that we could enjoy the climb over many people’s favourite British mountain. That and Marks decidedly cautious approach to the spiky ridge meant that we would save that mountain for a better forecast. The other consideration was that we didn't know if we had enough daylight at that time of the year. Would we come to regret this decision later when we were down to just a few munros and very little time in which to make the climb? Only time would tell.
Having seen a forecast which included a poor afternoon’s rainfall we made the decision to head for the hills south of a starting point we had previously used in a small settlement called Achnashellach. Our plan was to climb Sgurr Choinnich and Sgurr a' Chaorachain and then hopefully head for home before we received a good soaking. We knew there were three munros down that way but they involved a fairly long access hike and would really have to be split into two hikes. With this in mind we chose to leave the third Munro for another day when we could take the bikes along for ease of access.
Leaving behind the other tourists that had decamped on their highland coach tour holidays at the Ben Wyvis hotel in Strathpeffer we picked up our rations for the hills from the local grocery and headed west past Achnasheen along the cracking road to Achnashellach. A midge infested car park was found on the edge of the pine forest, where we met one of those characters who make the outdoors worthwhile but end up leaving you breathless. This chap was older than us; clearly he had a fine outdoors CV and was first seen strapping a substantial third wheel to the rear of his bike. This wheel was weighed down with his camping gear, but by all accounts it was his normal weekend set up. We knew the Land Rover track all three of us were to use had its fair share of hills so midge permitting we would have taken our hats off to this bloke. This chap managed to set off before us but we were soon back in front of him. Literally one hundred yards from the car park we had to cross a railway line and he had to dismantle his rig.
A short while further on we could hear the rustle of tyres on the dirt track and sure enough past us he went waving and wishing us a good day on the hills. The track would descend a little until a bridge over the river was reached. At this point we came across the first signs of the hydro power plant that was creating a great scar on this glen. It would seem that a huge pipe several miles long was being buried adjacent to our access route. This pipe would wind its way up into the hills and no doubt drain a far flung loch allowing for hydro power to be generated as the water flowed downhill. I seem to recall that several years ago they had been working on this scheme, so it was either a task being performed by a limited few or a much greater project than I expected.
Onwards the track went, walking poles clicking away, good progress being made and all along the tyre tracks of our cyclist friend were seen showing us the way uphill. Before the off we had been a little concerned over the weather and after half an hour this concern proved real as initially it started to drizzle until down it came in a fine deluge. Water proofs were donned and with our task looming large in our minds off we went following the track wind its way uphill. Sure enough after the best part of an hour we reached the locked gate that near enough marked the high point of this Land Rover track. Would you believe it there was a car parked by the gate. It had a cycle rack on the back so was pretty surely used by a lazy set of hikers. Why hadn't we thought of doing that? With the gate out of the way I was soon scurrying for a little privacy. When the mornings breakfast has worked in conjunction with my early morning exercise there is only one outcome. I know this isn't great but I cannot do anything about it. Suffice to say I made sure it was buried neatly under a little cairn out of sight and harm.
Having started our descent the views down the glen started to open up. Our first target Sgurr Choinnich was seen directly in front of us. Or rather its bottom half was as the rest was hidden under a fine layer of clag. It was around this point where I came across a sign I hadn't seen in the hills before "Keep Out, Water Vole Colony". Needless to say we didn't see one, but it was a nice reminder of what the British countryside does hold. Onwards we plodded and after a while our path would closely follow the banks of a stream/river that meandered down the middle of the glen. By now the weather had improved and offered a good degree of promise. Our only issue was finding the crossing point of the river from where we could take a westerly bearing and head for the beallach. Before we could do this we came across a couple of those superb wire bridges. They were in a different rickety league to the one we had previously crossed up Glen Nevis. They simply had one wire to walk on and another one at chest height to hold onto. Needless to say they swayed with a vengeance. Mark tried the first one we came along and did a fair job of staying reasonably stable, I, however looked more like a precarious circus act as I tried to stay reasonably upright. Ok, the drop was insignificant, but it would have resulted in a good soaking to say the least.
Having thrown the walking poles over the river we followed over the wire bridge and then squelched our way up the muddy embankment at the far side until we soon found ourselves on the beallach access path. With the weather now pretty much improved I took a few pictures, whilst Mark did a disappearing act and headed for the beallach. Layers were shed and a steepish grind followed before once again I caught up with him in time for a butty stop. The weather had taken another change for the worst but it was nothing serious. Suitably refilled with chocky bars and sarnies I set off first and headed off up the obvious ridge that doubled back on our accent route. Height was gained well and in no time at all we had a fine view over to the range beyond, the one that included the infamous Lurg Mhor. I was going well now and the weather was once again taking a turn for the better so off I went whilst Mark took a much longer lig art at the beallach. This was what hiking should be all about.
After a good thousand foot pull the ridge started to narrow and then a small cairn appeared on the horizon. Sure enough it was the summit of the day's first Munro. Now it was my turn to lig art, but this time I would have a stunning view in all directions and the warmth of the sun on my back. After Mark arrived we must have spent a good half hour on this summit. After all we could see the next and final Munro, not a million miles away, so we had plenty of time. Looking south from this summit we now had a first class view of one of the routes to the most remote of all munros, Lurg Mhor. From this side the ascent would involve the same climb we had made to the beallach, the ascent of a Corbett, then another Munro and then Lurg Mhor. Guess what? the return journey would be a reversal of the ascent. Just wonderful and a thought that was starting to haunt the two of us. That being said the cyclist we had met earlier in the day had recommended a long bike ride in from the west. Maybe that would be the option we would take.
Time was moving on and the ascent of Sgurr a' Chaorachain didn't look too far off. There was a fine path linking the two hills, yes a fairly long descent but we had great visibility and it would simply be a case of just plodding on to link the two. This proved to be the case and once again with Mark ligging art somewhere I made good progress to the summit. Once more the weather really was out of the top drawer. This time though I didn't have as long to wait for Mark and anyhow Chris the schemer had a plan. "Mark, you know that third remote Munro we are going to leave for another day, what do you think of the idea of adding it to today's hike?" The weather was fine, we had daylight, a great but long path back to the road and it would save us a days hiking at some point in future. Silence followed!!! Mark knew we didn't have a map, that the weather was likely to change and that it would extend the walk to around eighteen miles, something we hadn't planned for whilst we had ligged around earlier in the day. Whilst he was chewing over the idea I took a few pictures of the distant ridge. At least that way we would have something to look at if the clag came in. It wouldn’t be a map but would give us some idea of the twists and turns of the ridge. Being the realist, I knew his views were to stick to the plan so when he reluctantly asked me what I wanted to do, Chris the bold stepped forward and suggested we should give it a go.
Either way, we could descend to a low beallach and make our final decision at that point. Mark set off as though he was chasing Mo Farrar, I bounded along behind over the tussocky grass and great progress was made. On route to the beallach we passed a tent pitched by a cracking lochan. Perhaps that would belong to our new found cyclist pal. Well, the beallach was reached, a huge black cloud now cloaked our final hill, Maile Lunndaidh, the wind had picked up whilst we stood there glum faced looking at one and other. Mark fully expected me to agree to the return to the Land Rover track, but with my "muck or nettles" head on he should have known better. The first section in front was quite a climb, but one where we only had to stick close to the edge of the ridge. Beyond that my memory, pictures taken earlier and a little compass craft would have to come into use.
So off we went. We definitely had a purpose now and knew we were in for a little adventure as well as a late finish. There were two thousand feet of extra climbing ahead and although reasonable progress was made my limbs were starting to feel a little tired. Visibility went pretty quickly and the only point of note was when we passed a lone hiker heading downhill in the opposite direction. It was our new found pal. He had pitched his tent and been out and back to our third Munro. Having a natter in amongst plenty of weather with a stranger who shares the same hobby is one of hill walking’s real pleasures. He had plenty of time, but we didn't so we had to press on. He gave a few hints regarding the route finding on the summit plateau but we didn't dare admit we were map less!
Sure enough the situation deteriorated, we were engulfed in a blanket of white clag, it was chucking it down, it was also cold as well, so there wasn't a great deal to shout about. We knew there were three large cairns, effectively in a line that gradually arced northwards from our easterly direction. We also knew that there was a relatively narrow ridge to follow, so if we found that we would simply head north until we had dropped about five hundred feet. Thankfully for once Mark had remembered his altimeter. Sure enough, after quartering the summit plateau for a while the first of the cairns appeared out of the gloom and one by one so did the rest. The narrow ridge was found, crossed with ease and then a battle against the northerly winds followed for a miserable ten minutes.
As if out of the blue (or was it the grey clag) a glimpse of greenery from the valley bottom appeared. Then another, until we could make out the miniscule lodge that occupied the very end of the Land Rover path. It looked like it was within touching distance, but any path we had soon deteriorated until we were scrambling through rock and then long tussocky grass. It really was ankle breaking territory. Thankfully many years of experience of hiking through and over this type of terrain made for an easier crossing. Lower down we would be bog hopping through peat hags, channels and plenty mud. When you have been on the hills all day it is so easy to let your guard drop and twist an ankle. Care and attention was required. Just as it was when I finally reached the lodge which was surrounded by a shaggy looking herd of highland cattle. That incident years ago with the bull will never leave my mind. Of note at the lodge was a simple little shed which carried a sign which stated that it could be used as an emergency shelter.
After seventy minutes of quick descent, Mark was once again back with me. All we had to do now was make the eight mile hike back home along this fine track. There never has been a time when I have been able to keep up with Marks stride pattern. At six foot four I am often left in his wake when we encounter the long hike home. This is fine and to be fair he is pretty considerate. Off we went, click click the walking poles went, as fast as I could go, all the time being as determined as ever to get as far as possible before darkness descended upon us. Yes, we had our head torches, but more importantly we had the need to get a good, filling evening meal. The next couple of hours drifted by with my eyes gradually getting used to the half light, the moon and starlight and then as the cloud cover came in nothing but the benefit of fifty plus years worth of carrot eating. It was a struggle, but we made a fine return back to the car. It wasn't pitch black (dad says you don't know the meaning of the term Pitch Black unless you've worked down t’pit), but it is fair to say we really were at our limits.
Back at the car a lightening change was made and off we went in search of food. With a screech of tyres on the gravel we pulled up at the Ledgowan hotel in Achnasheen where we had recently stayed and eaten quite a bit. Mark went in to see if we had missed last food orders, this turned out to be an hour earlier at 8pm, but hey ho they rustled up a fine snack for us. At long last we were able to savour our extended day on the hills, I was able to say I knew all along that we would manage without a map in garbage weather and that it had been a worthwhile exercise. All’s well that ends well and a superb day on the hills. I guess An Teallach will have to wait for another day.
Sgurr A' Chaorachain (with notes) 20.09.14
I create a report for myself on all hikes climbed and have included a recent one here. If interested you might require fifteen minutes and a cuppa to read my notes from this hike.
Our plans for this day had once again flirted with the idea of climbing Mike's mountain, An Teallach. Not for the first time though did the weather forecast intervene and put a spanner in the works. Ok, we hadn't been threatened with a howling gale, a snow storm or torrential rain, but we both wanted good visibility so that we could enjoy the climb over many people’s favourite British mountain. That and Marks decidedly cautious approach to the spiky ridge meant that we would save that mountain for a better forecast. The other consideration was that we didn't know if we had enough daylight at that time of the year. Would we come to regret this decision later when we were down to just a few munros and very little time in which to make the climb? Only time would tell.
Having seen a forecast which included a poor afternoon’s rainfall we made the decision to head for the hills south of a starting point we had previously used in a small settlement called Achnashellach. Our plan was to climb Sgurr Choinnich and Sgurr a' Chaorachain and then hopefully head for home before we received a good soaking. We knew there were three munros down that way but they involved a fairly long access hike and would really have to be split into two hikes. With this in mind we chose to leave the third Munro for another day when we could take the bikes along for ease of access.
Leaving behind the other tourists that had decamped on their highland coach tour holidays at the Ben Wyvis hotel in Strathpeffer we picked up our rations for the hills from the local grocery and headed west past Achnasheen along the cracking road to Achnashellach. A midge infested car park was found on the edge of the pine forest, where we met one of those characters who make the outdoors worthwhile but end up leaving you breathless. This chap was older than us; clearly he had a fine outdoors CV and was first seen strapping a substantial third wheel to the rear of his bike. This wheel was weighed down with his camping gear, but by all accounts it was his normal weekend set up. We knew the Land Rover track all three of us were to use had its fair share of hills so midge permitting we would have taken our hats off to this bloke. This chap managed to set off before us but we were soon back in front of him. Literally one hundred yards from the car park we had to cross a railway line and he had to dismantle his rig.
A short while further on we could hear the rustle of tyres on the dirt track and sure enough past us he went waving and wishing us a good day on the hills. The track would descend a little until a bridge over the river was reached. At this point we came across the first signs of the hydro power plant that was creating a great scar on this glen. It would seem that a huge pipe several miles long was being buried adjacent to our access route. This pipe would wind its way up into the hills and no doubt drain a far flung loch allowing for hydro power to be generated as the water flowed downhill. I seem to recall that several years ago they had been working on this scheme, so it was either a task being performed by a limited few or a much greater project than I expected.
Onwards the track went, walking poles clicking away, good progress being made and all along the tyre tracks of our cyclist friend were seen showing us the way uphill. Before the off we had been a little concerned over the weather and after half an hour this concern proved real as initially it started to drizzle until down it came in a fine deluge. Water proofs were donned and with our task looming large in our minds off we went following the track wind its way uphill. Sure enough after the best part of an hour we reached the locked gate that near enough marked the high point of this Land Rover track. Would you believe it there was a car parked by the gate. It had a cycle rack on the back so was pretty surely used by a lazy set of hikers. Why hadn't we thought of doing that? With the gate out of the way I was soon scurrying for a little privacy. When the mornings breakfast has worked in conjunction with my early morning exercise there is only one outcome. I know this isn't great but I cannot do anything about it. Suffice to say I made sure it was buried neatly under a little cairn out of sight and harm.
Having started our descent the views down the glen started to open up. Our first target Sgurr Choinnich was seen directly in front of us. Or rather its bottom half was as the rest was hidden under a fine layer of clag. It was around this point where I came across a sign I hadn't seen in the hills before "Keep Out, Water Vole Colony". Needless to say we didn't see one, but it was a nice reminder of what the British countryside does hold. Onwards we plodded and after a while our path would closely follow the banks of a stream/river that meandered down the middle of the glen. By now the weather had improved and offered a good degree of promise. Our only issue was finding the crossing point of the river from where we could take a westerly bearing and head for the beallach. Before we could do this we came across a couple of those superb wire bridges. They were in a different rickety league to the one we had previously crossed up Glen Nevis. They simply had one wire to walk on and another one at chest height to hold onto. Needless to say they swayed with a vengeance. Mark tried the first one we came along and did a fair job of staying reasonably stable, I, however looked more like a precarious circus act as I tried to stay reasonably upright. Ok, the drop was insignificant, but it would have resulted in a good soaking to say the least.
Having thrown the walking poles over the river we followed over the wire bridge and then squelched our way up the muddy embankment at the far side until we soon found ourselves on the beallach access path. With the weather now pretty much improved I took a few pictures, whilst Mark did a disappearing act and headed for the beallach. Layers were shed and a steepish grind followed before once again I caught up with him in time for a butty stop. The weather had taken another change for the worst but it was nothing serious. Suitably refilled with chocky bars and sarnies I set off first and headed off up the obvious ridge that doubled back on our accent route. Height was gained well and in no time at all we had a fine view over to the range beyond, the one that included the infamous Lurg Mhor. I was going well now and the weather was once again taking a turn for the better so off I went whilst Mark took a much longer lig art at the beallach. This was what hiking should be all about.
After a good thousand foot pull the ridge started to narrow and then a small cairn appeared on the horizon. Sure enough it was the summit of the day's first Munro. Now it was my turn to lig art, but this time I would have a stunning view in all directions and the warmth of the sun on my back. After Mark arrived we must have spent a good half hour on this summit. After all we could see the next and final Munro, not a million miles away, so we had plenty of time. Looking south from this summit we now had a first class view of one of the routes to the most remote of all munros, Lurg Mhor. From this side the ascent would involve the same climb we had made to the beallach, the ascent of a Corbett, then another Munro and then Lurg Mhor. Guess what? the return journey would be a reversal of the ascent. Just wonderful and a thought that was starting to haunt the two of us. That being said the cyclist we had met earlier in the day had recommended a long bike ride in from the west. Maybe that would be the option we would take.
Time was moving on and the ascent of Sgurr a' Chaorachain didn't look too far off. There was a fine path linking the two hills, yes a fairly long descent but we had great visibility and it would simply be a case of just plodding on to link the two. This proved to be the case and once again with Mark ligging art somewhere I made good progress to the summit. Once more the weather really was out of the top drawer. This time though I didn't have as long to wait for Mark and anyhow Chris the schemer had a plan. "Mark, you know that third remote Munro we are going to leave for another day, what do you think of the idea of adding it to today's hike?" The weather was fine, we had daylight, a great but long path back to the road and it would save us a days hiking at some point in future. Silence followed!!! Mark knew we didn't have a map, that the weather was likely to change and that it would extend the walk to around eighteen miles, something we hadn't planned for whilst we had ligged around earlier in the day. Whilst he was chewing over the idea I took a few pictures of the distant ridge. At least that way we would have something to look at if the clag came in. It wouldn’t be a map but would give us some idea of the twists and turns of the ridge. Being the realist, I knew his views were to stick to the plan so when he reluctantly asked me what I wanted to do, Chris the bold stepped forward and suggested we should give it a go.
Either way, we could descend to a low beallach and make our final decision at that point. Mark set off as though he was chasing Mo Farrar, I bounded along behind over the tussocky grass and great progress was made. On route to the beallach we passed a tent pitched by a cracking lochan. Perhaps that would belong to our new found cyclist pal. Well, the beallach was reached, a huge black cloud now cloaked our final hill, Maile Lunndaidh, the wind had picked up whilst we stood there glum faced looking at one and other. Mark fully expected me to agree to the return to the Land Rover track, but with my "muck or nettles" head on he should have known better. The first section in front was quite a climb, but one where we only had to stick close to the edge of the ridge. Beyond that my memory, pictures taken earlier and a little compass craft would have to come into use.
So off we went. We definitely had a purpose now and knew we were in for a little adventure as well as a late finish. There were two thousand feet of extra climbing ahead and although reasonable progress was made my limbs were starting to feel a little tired. Visibility went pretty quickly and the only point of note was when we passed a lone hiker heading downhill in the opposite direction. It was our new found pal. He had pitched his tent and been out and back to our third Munro. Having a natter in amongst plenty of weather with a stranger who shares the same hobby is one of hill walking’s real pleasures. He had plenty of time, but we didn't so we had to press on. He gave a few hints regarding the route finding on the summit plateau but we didn't dare admit we were map less!
Sure enough the situation deteriorated, we were engulfed in a blanket of white clag, it was chucking it down, it was also cold as well, so there wasn't a great deal to shout about. We knew there were three large cairns, effectively in a line that gradually arced northwards from our easterly direction. We also knew that there was a relatively narrow ridge to follow, so if we found that we would simply head north until we had dropped about five hundred feet. Thankfully for once Mark had remembered his altimeter. Sure enough, after quartering the summit plateau for a while the first of the cairns appeared out of the gloom and one by one so did the rest. The narrow ridge was found, crossed with ease and then a battle against the northerly winds followed for a miserable ten minutes.
As if out of the blue (or was it the grey clag) a glimpse of greenery from the valley bottom appeared. Then another, until we could make out the miniscule lodge that occupied the very end of the Land Rover path. It looked like it was within touching distance, but any path we had soon deteriorated until we were scrambling through rock and then long tussocky grass. It really was ankle breaking territory. Thankfully many years of experience of hiking through and over this type of terrain made for an easier crossing. Lower down we would be bog hopping through peat hags, channels and plenty mud. When you have been on the hills all day it is so easy to let your guard drop and twist an ankle. Care and attention was required. Just as it was when I finally reached the lodge which was surrounded by a shaggy looking herd of highland cattle. That incident years ago with the bull will never leave my mind. Of note at the lodge was a simple little shed which carried a sign which stated that it could be used as an emergency shelter.
After seventy minutes of quick descent, Mark was once again back with me. All we had to do now was make the eight mile hike back home along this fine track. There never has been a time when I have been able to keep up with Marks stride pattern. At six foot four I am often left in his wake when we encounter the long hike home. This is fine and to be fair he is pretty considerate. Off we went, click click the walking poles went, as fast as I could go, all the time being as determined as ever to get as far as possible before darkness descended upon us. Yes, we had our head torches, but more importantly we had the need to get a good, filling evening meal. The next couple of hours drifted by with my eyes gradually getting used to the half light, the moon and starlight and then as the cloud cover came in nothing but the benefit of fifty plus years worth of carrot eating. It was a struggle, but we made a fine return back to the car. It wasn't pitch black (dad says you don't know the meaning of the term Pitch Black unless you've worked down t’pit), but it is fair to say we really were at our limits.
Back at the car a lightening change was made and off we went in search of food. With a screech of tyres on the gravel we pulled up at the Ledgowan hotel in Achnasheen where we had recently stayed and eaten quite a bit. Mark went in to see if we had missed last food orders, this turned out to be an hour earlier at 8pm, but hey ho they rustled up a fine snack for us. At long last we were able to savour our extended day on the hills, I was able to say I knew all along that we would manage without a map in garbage weather and that it had been a worthwhile exercise. All’s well that ends well and a superb day on the hills. I guess An Teallach will have to wait for another day.