9 Munros: Toll Creagach, Tom a’ Choinnich, Carn Eighe, Mam Sodhail, Beinn Fhionnlaidh, An Socach, An Riabhachan, Sgurr na Lapaich and Carn nan Gobhar.
With the recent deterioration in weather I was desperate to get out for an overnight trip before winter gripped the western bounds of Scotland. The guest list was epic – Lester was just back from a couple of months at sea and Murray from leading a group trip in Borneo. It didn’t take much planning before the three of us decided to capitalise on last weekend’s half decent forecast and raced north in Lester’s van late on Friday night. Despite a heated debate, Murray and I managed to persuade Lester that the complete ascent of the entire Skye ridge was just too much of an undertaking at such short notice. I had a vague plan in mind and we agreed on Glen Cannich, just north of Glen Affric.
We arrived at the head of Loch Mullardoch to be greeted by a crisp clear and starry night. With the engine switched off we were soon transported from the drones of office air conditioning units, beeping hospital machines and chugging ship engines to the silence of a wilderness broken only by the frequent roar of an agitated stag. A light frost meant the kip in the van was cold and an early start was for once quite welcome. As daylight broke we were slightly disappointed; yesterday’s clear skies had disappeared and it was obvious the weather was turning. None-the-less, we soon set off from the south side of the Mullardoch Dam heading clockwise round the loch with the aim for the weekend being 9 Munros surrounding the loch.
The weather was looking even worse as we gained height up Toll Creagach and the blue skies to the west were making Lester mutter on about how we should have gone to Skye and “bloody hydro lochs”! While I shared his opinion on hydro lochs I tried to remain positive about the weather as we left the old scots pine forest behind us and ascended into a thick cloud. Mine and Murray’s optimism paid off as about 30 feet from the first top we just managed to level with the cloud, giving us partial inversions form the top looking south to Ben Nevis and north to Torridon – it was superb. And despite Skye remaining cloudless I doubt we would have seen any Brocken Spectres there. We briefly dipped back into the cloud in the Bealach before ascending the higher and more feature-full rocky slopes of Tom a’ Choinnich. The views here were even better and continued to improve as we walked along the ridge.
With kit for an overnight camp the pace was impressive. Murray had shed a couple of stones in Borneo and so finally Lester had someone who could keep up with him on the climbs… As for me there was a lot of panting, cursing and sweating as I struggled to match their pace on the ascents. We had considered taking on the three munros to the south west (An Socach, sgurr na Ceathreamhnam and Mullach na Dheirgain) but we were well aware our heavy bags would soon take their toll and given it was already 2pm and we had only 5 hours of daylight left we thankfully decided otherwise.
Dumping our bags on Carn Eighe allowed us to make the short return trip to Mam Sodhail in some comfort before heading north again and on towards Beinn Fhionnlaidh. To be honest I don’t remember much about the hills themselves – the views however continued to improve with broken cloud adding drama to the constantly changing landscapes around us.
There was no path descending Beinn Fhionnlaidh so we had to struggle down the steep grassy slopes on the western side of the hill, a laborious and time consuming exercise. The echo of roaring stags had never been far away, but as we headed down towards the west side of Loch Mullardoch we soon appreciated just how many there were. Barking and belching from all directions – we were surrounded. We drove a couple across the small river (Alt an Fhraoich-Chorie) before we ourselves had to pick a route across the rather wide and shin deep burn.
With the sun setting rapidly we made way to the loch and found several herds of hinds, each with a huge dark and fierce looking stag controlling the group. It was incredible to see the obviously anxious stags protecting their herd from one of the many solo stags throughout the glen. Unfortunately the fading light meant our cameras couldn’t capture the moment two stags squared up to each other and looked as if they were about to go for it before one opted for the “flight” instead of “fight” and effortlessly bounded away from the hinds over a sheep fence. Weary, tired and hungry we pitched the tents in silence taking in the noise these animals made – ten seconds wouldn’t pass before hearing another roar. It really was amazing to be in such a remote spot in the middle of the annual rut. Tents up and tucked in after a bowl of pasta by 8.30 and Murray and I nodded off listening to Lester’s dulcet tones as he read to us a chapter of his book The Blackhouse (fantastic book!) accompanied of course by the chorus of rutting stags.
The clouds spilled into the cold clear night and I woke in relative warmth to find a rather bleak looking day. Perhaps we should have gone to Skye after all? After a quick breakfast we trudged off up a stalkers track on the grassy slopes of An Socach. This was by far the worst hill of the weekend however a nice long ridge led from its summit on towards An Riabhachan and with more broken cloud we were gifted with fantastic views north and west. From here on the hills didn’t get much better and we spent the rest of the day in a wet and windy cloud. The highlight by far was lifting a covey of six Ptarmigan on the way up Sgurr na Lapaich, by far my favourite game birds, these ones had already gained their white winter coats.
A much slower pace meant that it was after 3 O’clock before we got to the last top. From here a relatively easy descent into the far glen lead the way back to the loch. For the first time that weekend we were on proper heathery moorland and, just as Lester and I predicted, a grouse lifted in front of us. For the first time that weekend the bellow from a rutting stag didn’t reach us – an obvious connection to the plentiful heather; and as the Scots pine wood around the Cannich estate came into view we talked about the damage caused by deer. A difficult moral dilemma between traditional stalking with a careful management plan and the mass culls often associated with the forestry commission. Right or wrong, it’s clear that Scotland would be a very different and perhaps even richer and more diverse in flora and fauna with fewer of what many consider vermin on our hills. On a more personal level, being this close to them during their finest hour was so impressive that I myself questioned whether I could pull the trigger with such a beautifully iconic beast in the crosshairs. A bit like Lester’s “bloody hydro lochs” I suspect this is a subject matter for another day. As we got back to the Dam we all cursed that we couldn’t cross it and pulled straws for the 3km jog on the tarmac back to the van. Naturally I lost but didn’t mind too much as when I returned in the van I found the lads scratching away in a cloud of midges! Middle of October and the midges are still biting!
What a fantastic weekend, rutting stags, ptarmigan, a lone grouse and of course bags and bags of Munros. The 30-odd miles has left my legs still sore as I write this a week later! It was a shame the weather didn’t hold on Sunday but the broken cloud on Saturday more than made up for it. So much so that I would say to any fair weather hill walker that sometimes the best days are cloudy ones.
A good description and map of the route we did can be found at Steven Fallon’s website here – http://www.stevenfallon.co.uk/mullardochmunros.html and for those of you who noticed Lester’s lovely red trousers… he blames the washing machine and a red sock! I think he just wanted to be noticed by a fellow blogger… http://lookatmyfuckingredtrousers.blogspot.co.uk