1996
The M74 and Youth Hostels Revisited
In the May I made my first drive to Scotland since the car crash that I had witnessed three years previously. The accident had left me nervous of long journeys, finding myself looking to make the trips by public transport whenever I could. However I was now beginning to feel more comfortable about driving again, putting some of the ghosts to rest.
Prior to the accident I had invested in a 1965 MG Midget, 'invested' being a political slant on a hobby known to require the emptying of ones wallet, on a regular basis, into the said machine. Knowing I had the courage to now drive to Scotland I had the MG Midget and my 1986 Toyota out on the drive eyeing them up. 'What a trip all the way to Scotland in a 31 year old car, with the top down and the wind rushing through my hair, stories to tell and experiences to look back on. I would only need to take out the passenger seat to make room for my luggage,' I thought. Gisella wandered out to join me on the drive and gave me a quizzical look.
"You're deep in thought, what you up to?"
"Just thinking which car to take."
"You're kidding!"
"Well..."
"Doesn't it rain a lot in Scotland?" she asked, clearly trying to outfox me.
"Yeah," I replied.
"And you told me a month or so back that you were thinking of selling the Midget because of its unreliability."
"Yeah, I guess it would be a good selling point if I said it had just made it to Scotland and back."
"What happened when we last went out in it?"
"It broke down, only a wire off under the dashboard."
"And the time before?"
"That was just that we ran out of petrol."
"And why was that?" she added.
"Because the petrol gauge is broken."
"Have you mended the lights yet?"
"Well, sort of," I could sense myself losing, "I think I have tightened the wires up a bit."
"And can you manage to put the hood up without me helping you now?"
"Just about, as long as I don't have to do it in a hurry."
"And putting the hood up in a Scottish downpour would not be regarded as a hurry?"
On Thursday May the 2nd I drove - in the Toyota - to just south of the Scottish border and stopped for the night at Dufton Youth Hostel before continuing on to Invercornan, south of Crianlarich on the A82. From here I set off walking and followed the Ben Glas Burn where, after three and a half hours walking, I broke off to the northeast to bag Beinn Chabhair. Just before the main ascent I came across three girls sitting by the loch Lochan Beinn Chabhair and I briefly said hello as I passed by. A few seconds later one of them called out "I don't suppose you have any plasters have you?" One of the girls had really bad blisters on her heels caused by new boots. As I had some proper second skin plasters I let her have two, applying the first myself to show her how they work, apologising for having to man handle her I left her to do the second in case I got thought of as somebody with a foot fetish. Foot fetish or not she called me a "hero" and a "life saver" which boosted my ego somewhat. They were a long way from their car and having had bad blisters myself I know how painful it can be.
The day was a nice start to this Munro bagging trip with clear weather and just a bit of snow falling. It was a chance to try out my Global Positioning System (GPS) that I had just bought. It proved to be a useful backup to conventional navigation techniques as it is accurate to about 100m, meaning that I could now worry less about getting totally lost. Saturday May the 4th saw me take in Ben Vorlich and its neighbour Stuc a'Chroin from the starting point of Ardvorlich. I made a relatively early start from Killin Youth Hostel and got walking at just before eight thirty in the morning. At the start there was various signs up stating that you should only venture onto the mountains if you had an ice axe and crampons. As I had neither I was very wary. The dilemma stalled me for awhile but, given the clear day, I thought I could see a path up through the distant snow and ice so decided to set off. I found the climb a struggle and after a few of hours in people were streaming past me that had set off two hours after me. I muttered under my breath as my restricted windpipe caused me grief again. I reached the summit at 1230 from where I set off to Stuc a'Chroin. The route from Ben Vorlich necessitated a climb over an exposed boulder ridden rock face where I became very scared. Regulating my breathing I managed to keep my nerve, and composure before reaching the summit some two hours later where I was confronted by a fell race with runners streaming up the other side as though it were a jog to the local shop and back.
On getting back into my car after the days walk the decision to bring the Toyota, and not the MG, was reconfirmed to me as I reflected the cramped soft-top conditions would not have been suitable for Scotland.
Mountain Bunnies
I took the Sunday off and it was therefore on Monday May the 6th that I tackled Ben Chonzie. I set off from Invergeldie at 0900 and reached the summit just under three hours later, the views from the top were so superb that I sat there for half an hour taking it all in. This may sound a short period but it is never a good idea to hang about at the top as you can get quite cold. On the descent I witnessed a large number of mountain hares playing in the upper slopes of the Munro. I reflected that they should more appropriately be called 'mounting hares' as opposed to 'mountain hares' as there did appear to be rather an excessive number of them. I got back to the car at 1400.
The day of rest did me good as the I took was the longest end of the guide book time whereas my effort on the previous Saturday was a full three and a half hours over the longest book time. This was possibly something to do with the difference in the amount of ascent between the two walks, I am okay on the flat and can make a good pace but when it comes to climbing I really slow down as I can never make a consistent pace and normally have to rest every few steps. The weather was generally clear but there was a bit of hail and rain on the top and on the way back.
On May the 7th I planned to climb Ben Lui and its neighbour, however it was far too snowy and cloudy so I headed north a bit to do Ben Mhanach in the Bridge of Orchy range via a much more sociable south face. At this time of the year there is still an appreciable amount of snow about so it always pays to try hills from southerly approaches.
I parked on the edge of the road opposite where the West Highland railway viaducts before setting off on foot at 0840 passing under the viaduct and along the path. I did not start to climb for another three hours as the walk in was so long, it then took a further two hours to reach the summit. It was a lonely day as I only saw one other person during the entire time but I managed to have a quick chat with him.
Infuriatingly it rained for the last fifteen minutes of the eight and a half hours walk. I piled into my car with wet kit wishing that the last fifteen minutes had been dry and windy. From there I went to stay at Crianlarich Youth Hostel. I instantly decided that I did not like the place and I had much preferred the more friendly atmosphere of Killin Hostel. I had got friendly with the warden, Paul, there and we had tried to fix the heating together which indicates the relaxed and friendly kind of place that it was.
A funny thing happened whilst staying at Killin Youth Hostel in that three young ladies propositioned me. It was early evening and I was returning to the hostel after a wander around the town. Earlier in the day I had noticed a poster advertising a 'Miss Wet T-Shirt' competition, in aid of some charity, at one of the local pubs. Since reading it I had forgotten all about it. Whilst walking back three girls, who looked to be in their early twenties, approached me. All three of them had been drinking and two of them were swigging from lager cans. One of the girls said "Are you no coming to watch me in the Miss Wet T-Shirt competition."
Now here was an interesting dilemma! This girl was quite up-front, in both senses of the phrase, and I must admit her offer did have certain elements that were tempting. However the thought of her exposing her breasts in front of a bar filled with jeering drunken men was somewhat off putting so I politely declined the offer. I later reflected that I had peaks of another variety on my mind whilst considering if this is quite how society should be going. When I was their age such a thing as a 'Miss Wet T-Shirt' competition was unheard of, and even if anybody had heard of it daring to host such an event in early 1980s Chippenham would have met with a barrage of objections. Considering that quiet backwaters in Scotland are probably more behind the times than the quiet backwaters of Southern England one can begin to comprehend the massive social changes that Britain has experienced in the last fifteen years, not even a generation. But perhaps I'm so far behind the times that, with the increase in teenage pregnancies, fifteen years can now be regarded as a generation. It could be that at my mere thirty years of age I'm showing a greater capacity for middle age than is healthy but I did go onto wonder how the girls parents or grandparents viewed this. On my grandparents mantle piece is a photograph of me at my graduation ceremony, what if I visited the girl's granny's house?
"Is this your granddaughter then?" I'd enquire looking towards the mantle piece.
"Aye, that's when she won Miss Wet 'T' Shirt Killin 1996. She's come out well, don't you think," as the old lady burst with pride.
I took the Wednesday off firstly to rest my legs and secondly because I had spent the night being tortured with sleep deprivation through being billeted with the snorer from hell. I managed to move rooms the following day but the snorer saw me.
"I thought you had left why are you not in the same dormitory?" he enquired.
I could not see the point of saving his feelings and just said "Sorry but it was your snoring."
I had a nice day by taking the train on the superbly scenic West Highland line between Crianlarich and Fort William. I was very bored in Fort William, it is such a tacky place, so I found myself aimlessly wandering around Nevis Sport and had a go on their heart beat monitor, I came out with a rate of 57 which is apparently athletic. So either their machine is faulty or underneath I am quite fit.
On the train ride back I continued to read a book that I had picked up in a charity shop 'Carve Her Name With Pride,' it was uncanny to read that the central character, Violette Szabo - a British wartime spy murdered by the Nazis whilst held as a POW, had taken this very train ride during her training in the early 1940s.
Thursday May the 9th saw me take in Beinn Bhuidhe. I started from the A83 at 0920 and walked up the private road and reached the summit just after 1400. The map indicated a trig point, always handy for summit confirmation. Even though Beinn Bhuidhe's is now toppled on its side, a fallen hero to a bygone age, it was still a useful marker. All trig points are redundant now, relics of a time where the servants of the Ordnance Survey would actually climb these hills and survey them. It was a lovely day and there were fantastic views with Ben Nevis many miles to the north. It was a very long three hour walk in before climbing and on the descent I was lingering contemplating the route march back whilst paddling in the gorgeous water fall fed pools of the stream that feeds the River Fyne. On approaching the private road I could see a shepherd unloading a trailer of sheep and lambs. I stopped for a chat with him.
"Have you been up on the hills?" he asked.
"Yes, it has been a lovely day" I said, whilst all the time thinking 'go on offer me a lift - please please.'
"Did you do Beinn Bhuidhe?"
"Aye," I replied in a desperate attempt to not sound so much like a hated English holidaymaker.
"It has been a lovely day," he added.
"Aye," I added whilst thinking 'go on say it, offer me a lift. Oh please, I'll even support Scotland against England in Euro 96 if you like.'
I was just giving up hope and getting ready for the three hour walk back when, as he climbed into his Landrover, he said almost as a casual after thought, "Can I give you a lift?"
Brilliant I thought, a lift and I could still support England in Euro 96.
Friday May the 10th brought in Beinn Achaladair and Beinn a'Chreachain. Beinn Achaladair was to be my 50th Munro and by way of a small reward I had booked to stay in the Grand Hotel in Fort William for the night. The next day, Saturday, I was due to head north where I was to meet some friends. Therefore I spent much of the day dreaming of the luxury of the hotel bedroom and the hills that I would walk with my friends and not concentrating so much on the walking. The day had started from Achallader farm, where there is some form of ruined turret, at just before 0830 and I reached the summit some four hours later. From there I did the two hour ridge walk to Beinn a'Chreachain taking in the minor peaks in between and then, due to my day dreaming, I set off down the wrong side. The first hint of trouble was when I found myself staring at a loch not on my map and to add to my problems my right knee had been playing up. So out with the GPS to navigate myself back on course, funny thing was that as soon as I knew I had made a mistake my knee stopped hurting and once I was back on course, a good hour later, it started to play up again. I got back to the car at just after 1800 and set off for Fort William.
The bedroom in the Grand Hotel had an en-suite bath and loo - yes! A bit more luxurious than the Youth Hostels but it was nice to try Youth Hostelling again as I had not been to one for a good seven years. I was concerned that I would be too old for them now, but the word 'Youth' is a misnomer as I was still one of the youngest there.
