2000
The Singles' Club
On Sunday July the 2nd I sat contemplating on the top of Gulvain. A single Munro, my 177th and only my second as a single man. Not since my first Munro, Carn Mor Dearg in 1990, had I climbed without the knowledge that there was a girlfriend thinking about me - or checking my life insurance! Things had not worked out between Barbara and me and I had made the tough decision to end the relationship. I intended to use this sortie into the Scottish mountains as a chance for me to contemplate. And no better place than sitting, in good weather, on top of Gulvain. The words from a Searchers song had been in my head 'Don't throw your love away, for you may need it someday.' Teasing me over my recent decision. The words suddenly took a new meaning. To stay single and wait for what feels right.
The day was glorious, setting off from Drumsallie and taking some four and a half hours to reach the summit with a total ascent of some 3700 feet. The initial part of the day was a long walk in on a track dwindling to a path, then an ascent of some 2150 feet over a one in three gradient. This gave my body a good test, I had recently lost eight pounds in weight, dropping to eleven stone ten pounds, the lightest I had been for over a decade. I certainly felt good for it so I figured that I had probably found my optimum weight. The lightest I had ever been at my adult height of six foot one and a quarter inches (the quarter is important) was nine and half stone, this was when I was nineteen and doing my degree. Due to pressure of work, and the fear of spending too much money, I had put myself on a meagre diet. At the end of the summer term I returned home to my parents. Knowing my Dad was asleep after a night shift I crept into the house and made my way to my room with a pile gear in my hands. I heard Dad call out "Steve, is that you?" I went along to the bedroom from where he had called. In the half light of the afternoon sun, blocked by the curtains, he could make out my silhouette. "Bloody hell Steve, your Mother is going to kill you" was his verdict on my frame. Despite the lighter me I still needed rests on this walk and during one such break I picked up a companion, Ann Robinson, who I would walk with on and off for the rest of the day.
I had driven up over the previous two days, taking it easy for once. Normally I would drive up in one go and then walk the next day. However I had two weeks off work and I only wanted to do eight Munros, reducing the target to a hundred to go. I had stopped for awhile in Glen Etive and filled my water bottle in the river that runs along the glen. Raising the water to my lips was a shock. I was waiting for the cold refreshing waters but instead got something quite warm. It then struck me that this was late in the year for me - July and not May, when there is still much melt water flowing. On the top of Gulvain I took in the views and contemplated some more. Voices were alive in my head - 'Seek the joy and the joy will seek you', 'Enjoy the now, it is all you have.' It was a sunny day, a little hazy with some high cloud and outstanding views. I could see across to the Isles of Skye, Muck, Eigg and Rhum whilst in the foreground I could see Glen Dessarry which I have walked in twice before. To my rear was Ben Nevis sitting with its head in the clouds. All quite beautiful.
I enjoyed the views so much that I wrote to a friend, currently going through a tough time, describing the views, hoping that some of the tranquillity would be conveyed by letter. Without a post box in sight I decided to set off back. A quick swig of water left me with a problem. I had run low, due to the purchase of a new, yet smaller, bottle. The old one had become discoloured to the point of appearing to be unhygienic. I pondered how I should ration myself the remainder of the water in the heat, I figured that it would be a few hours before I could get to water and went through a few scenarios of when I should allow myself to drink again. Dehydration can be a real problem in the mountains as it can lead to headaches, generally feeling ill and a long recovery time. I quickly annoyed myself with the rationing dilemma and removed the top from the bottle and swigged back the entire remainder thus ending any ideas of choice.
On my way back down I caught up with Ann Robinson again. Her knowledge and memory of the highlands was staggering. She could name just about every peak in view and when relating tales of my previous exploits she helped me out with the names where my memory failed the story. Back at the car I returned to Loch Lochy Youth Hostel where I discovered I had a bad case of pack rash. This is where the shoulder straps had caused irritation in the heat and both shoulders were raw with a septic rash. I was also relieved to find that what had felt like a pulled Achilles tendon was nothing more than a blister.
On Monday July the 3rd I took the short car journey around to Kilfinnan and walked the forestry track until the Allt Glas-Dhoire stream where I branched onto the path which divides the separate Munros of Meall na Teanga and Sron a' Choire Ghairbh. It was a lovely warm day and the views improved with the height opening up as I pulled myself onto the short summit ridge of Meall na Teanga. Here I was alone which was a good thing because I needed to do some back exercises. I had been visiting an osteopath to try and sort out the stiffness and pain that I was suffering in my upper back. I underwent some serious manipulation ranging from popping joints in my neck and back to being grasped from behind in a bear hug, told to force by buttocks into the table, and bounced up and down, and stretched, until I clicked. It was all a big unnerving and during the bear hug manipulation it did cross my mind that if I were to turn around and the guy was fumbling with his zipper then I'd have asked for my money back. Most of the upper back stiffness was apparently due to lack of movement between my upper vertebrae and some special stretches had been prescribed as a means to try and get things more supple.
From Meall na Teanga I descended back the way I came to the path that followed the stream up from the forestry track. From here I made the ascent of Sron a' Choire Ghairbh following a zig-zag path whilst soaking the heat of the sun. As the gradient levelled out and the zig-zag path, historically plotting the route of many walkers before me, diminished along with the need to be reassured that many walkers had suffered the same arduous ascent, I turned west towards the summit. I settled with my back to the summit cairn and soaked up the views in the heat, I was treated to an air display courtesy of the RAF. To many people the noise of Tornados practising in the glens is disruptive and a waste of tax payers money. I have a lot of sympathy with this point of view, but I can't help being impressed by the technology and the skill of the pilots.
From the summit I had a choice, to either back track the way that I had come or to carry on down the ridge that I was on and try and make my way back to Kilfinnan that way. On talking this through with a fellow walker I elected to return the way I had come because he had heard that there was a lot of deep bracken on the slopes off the ridge into Kilfinnan. Back at the Youth Hostel I chatted, briefly, to the lady warden about my day. She had walked the same mountains before and, the previous evening, had given me some route advice. While we were talking an old guy, also staying at the hostel, approached her and started to tell her of his Fort William to Mallaig steam train ride that day. I did not take a great deal of notice in the story because I was too busy making sense of his English accent, kilt, short stature, full white beard, bald on top with long white hair down the sides. He obviously wanted the attentions of the warden so I departed to the kitchen where I could not help but notice two stunning women cooking their dinner. I went about my food preparation whereupon Uncle Albert re-appeared and started to chat to the two women. They were clearly Eastern European and I thought 'you have no chance.' He asked where they came from and they replied "Czech Republic." On this cue Uncle Albert started to speak to them in perfect Czech. I retired to eat my pasta.
High Level Train Spotting
Tuesday July the 4th took in a slightly longer car journey to the start of the walk. This was from Fersit just off the A86 Spean Bridge to Newtonmore road. As I got ready I played mellow music on the CD player in my car and mellow was how I set off. It was a cooler day and I was able to make good progress, in fact I had noticed that my general level of fitness on this trip had been high, and reached Stob a' Choire Mheadhoin in under four hours then a deep descent and climb to the summit of Stob Coire Easain. During the ascent I watched a train rattling its way down the West Highland line towards Corrour Station, earlier I had watched a freight train making its journey northwards. Sheep wandered off the saddle between the two Munros, dislodging rocks and creating clatters to advertise their presence. I felt warmer and had to remove my fleece - an option not open to the sheep from which the garment had once come. Once on top of the second Munro I looked back to Stob a' Choire Mheadhoin and could pick out some figures, the first I had seen all day. There was more cloud about than in previous days but there were still enjoyable views. The events of the walk back were highlighted by spearing a sheeps turd with one of my trekking poles and having to wrestle it off with the other pole. On the final leg of the descent I spent some time sat on a large rock munching gorp, listening to the wind gently whistling around me like a familiar friend. It was good to climb these two mountains, I had previously planned to do them on two occasions (1990 and 1996) but in both cases events had prevented me from bagging them.
The following day I spent leisurely buying equipment and food in Fort William followed by a drive to Tulloch station where I boarded the 1232 train south, the very same train that I had watched from the mountains on the previous day. Now as a passenger I alighted at Corrour, a remote stop not serviced by public roads. I enjoyed the fact that a lady was waiting at the station to collect a food parcel that the ticket inspector had for her, a hint of how life was in times gone by. I left the station to the sounds of "thank god it's here this time, last week my shopping ended up in Edinburgh."
I negotiated myself onto the fifteen minute walk to Loch Ossian Youth Hostel which was to be my home for the next two nights. The hostel did not open until 1700 so I was a little worried about turning up some four hours early. Run by a German couple, Tom and Marion, I found them painting the inside of the roof of the common room. I offered to help but they said that they were okay and kindly allowed me to retire to the male dormitory. I laid on my bunk and read and listened to Tom and Marion talking to a stalker. I drifted off for awhile to the smell of paint and the wood burning stove. I got up to use the toilet, outside. The route passed through the washroom where, on my return, I idly read the signs on the use of water. 'Bucket for fetching water from the loch only. Bowls for soapy water only. You are welcome to have a dip in the loch but without any soap or shampoo, as the loch is our drinking water supply.' Having just used the toilet I realised that buckets play a key role at Loch Ossian. I retired back inside to the dormitory and shut the window, securing it with a hook over an old nail. This was my kind of place.
At 0710 the following morning I set off and walked to the end of Loch Ossian. Here a venison processing plant is being constructed, the noise was deafening against the backdrop of nature. It took me an hour and a half to reach the end of the loch before branching out for the slopes of Sgor Gaibhre which I reached after approximately four hours of walking after taking in the lesser summit of Sgor Choinnich. There were good views and in a little over another hour I reached Carn Dearg. I sat for while and again watched the 12.32 from Tulloch make its way down the line. I knew other people from the hostel were out so I waited at the top of this second Munro for about an hour and a half until somebody appeared. I had a brief chat and then set off back to the Youth Hostel where tame red deer were busily munching grass.
In the male dormitory there were some new arrivals including an old chap that proudly announced that this was his 148th night spent at the hostel over a period of many years. I enquired "Have you ever considered counting them?" A chap called Mark, up from the New Forest with his wife Marie, touched me on the arm and gave me a smile as you would to a naughty child that you know has done wrong but nonetheless has amused you. The evening was lovely, sitting chatting. Marie had blistered badly on one of her ankles so I administered some second skin plaster. You have to first cut away dead skin, clean and dry the wound then heat the special plaster by hand then apply and hold in place for at least a minute. A Danish girl was staying who I had a few chats with, although I think some of the subtleties of the English humour were lost on her. Come to think of it there are not too many subtleties in the English humour! A young super fit German chap arrived and announced he was immediately going off to bag Beinn na Lap, my Munro for the following day. I told him about the 'Under an hour club' and tried to persuade him to have a go. This is a recorded list of all those that have run round Loch Ossian in under an hour. It requires a great deal of fitness and I was hoping to witness this guy having a go. Later a group of us were sitting outside chatting when we saw the German chap come down off the mountains, a few minutes later there was an almighty splash as he went for a swim in the loch. He was annoyingly fit and full of energy and I could not help but notice the Danish girls eyes being impressed! Due to the cooling evening we retired back into the common room where Mark told us about his experiences with deer that day. He had been up on the ridge and had been navigating off boulders when one of them moved and he realised it was a deer. Later he was impressed by how tame the red deer were back at the hostel. "Well they are the bolder deer you see," I added whilst looking around for some acknowledgement of this pun; none was forthcoming as everybody had simultaneously lost the will to live.
A Sharing Of Views
The following day, Friday July the 7th, I walked Beinn na Lap. It is one of the easiest Munros because the starting point of Loch Ossian is so high above sea level and the summit is relatively close to the hostel in terms of straight line distance. However if you follow Cameron McNeish's Munro Almanac things become a little more difficult as an error with the grid reference puts the summit smack in the middle of Loch Ossian. A quick confirmation with the Scottish Mountaineering Club's Munro Tables confirmed the correct position. As I set off it was clear that a fellow hostel resident, Alan Watson, was making for the same Munro so we started our walk together. He soon commented that he would not mind if I went ahead because I was clearly much younger than he. I explained about my asthma and the restrictions in my breathing which caused my peak flow (maximum litres of air per minute) to equate to that of a seventy year old man, not a thirty five year old. He then told me that I was in good company for he was seventy in a few months time. After a pull up onto the ridge that leads to the summit we sat for a while and, from our high level vantage point, watched the 0851 Caledonian Sleeper service from London Euston pull into Corrour station, bang on time. It might sound as if I was train spotting; not really it is just that to see a man made object in such a remote location sparks the interest. Alan and I shared the same views on so many subjects that it felt as if I was talking to myself in the future. At the end of the walk I said, "It is so nice to have somebody to talk to who shares the same views." "Yes it is nice to have ones prejudices confirmed," he added.
Back at the hostel I had about a five hour wait for my train whereas Alan was heading south on an earlier train. He kindly cooked me lunch and we chatted some more before his departure. A couple of times there were pauses in the conversation. Old people liked to be asked about their kids. So I asked him about his kids. Alan also told me that a few years back a French guy had shot himself on Ben Alder, clearly a case of going to the mountains to find the meaning of life, failing and finishing it all off there and then. It could be said that he 'topped' himself, but that would be a little cruel of me and I withdraw the comment, but not before leaving it in the text.
We also discussed why more men walk the mountains than women. I came up with a theory that what men seek in the mountains is not what women need. Women form informal support networks where they can phone each other and get support and guidance. Whereas for us chaps we tend to have to head for the mountains to allow things to work themselves out. Women talk and men walk.
When the time came I was sad to leave Loch Ossian. I made my way back to the station and bought myself coffee and cake from the Corrour Station House. It is a strange place, quite elaborate for such a remote spot. As I waited for the train I reflected on a successful week, I had aimed to get my total down to 100 to go and I had. I felt fit, I had got good views and stayed dry. The train took me away from the remoteness and back to the modern world for another year.
Munro Count: 184 out of 284
