Evelyne Droege
Jenny Smith
Graeme Morrisson
Fiona Cuninghame
Bob Macdonald
Dan Moysey
Rachel Higgins
Katie Griffiths
Donnie Mclennan
Dave Maclean
Maggie Duncan
Claire Proctor
Brent Craig
Natacha Mihajlovic
Bob Vincent
June Simpson
John Henderson
Jenny Graham
Jake Lee
Most of the above made it to that perennial favourite, Lagangarbh. The wet and mild conditions making for interesting choices of activity; though in Glencoe, choices are never limited. We had sole use of the wonderfully atmospheric hut, though that didn’t deter a number of our party deciding to litter the glen with a variety of rusting hulks masquerading as utility mobile accommodations. (Tinkers).
A strangely subdued Friday night meant that the club were off like the proverbial flock of turtles come Saturday morning. It being Jenny G’s 23rd birthday, the ever gallant Presidente Moysey allowed her to choose the day’s route. A considerable amount of time later, both Katie and the birthday girl were not too sure if the Aonach Eagach ridge had been the best choice for a celebratory stroll, but it’ll be a birthday to remember.
Rachel Higgins, Jenny Smith, Claire Proctor, Maggie Duncan, June Simpson, Bob Vincent and Cally the dog went up Buachaille Etive Beag. A far too early start allowed the group to enjoy the good weather and ensured that there were views at the first summit (Stob Corie Raineach) – fab as it was Maggie’s first ever Munro! Then across to Stob Dubh and the cloud descended. Back to the car by the ludicrously early time of 1pm so the group were obliged to go to the Kingshouse for a pint or two………
Fiona Dave and Bob, took advantage of the facilities to enjoy a more leisurely breakfast and clambered up the Buichaille Etive Mor finding the good new path which avoids the dreaded scree higher up.
It was good to see John H back out with us for a weekend. Mind you, with his penchant for obscure lumps in the middle of nowhere, he often ploughs a lone furrow these days, so little was seen of the man on Saturday as he did a solo ascent of the remote Graham, Meall Garbh – via Dalmally and Glen Strae. Then fully refreshed at the Green Welly café in Tyndrum, was ready to tackle one of the mole hills, on the way back (well, how could he resist!). This little hill, Glas Bheinn (501m), has great views across the watery landscape of Rannoch Moor, and also the rugged hills of the White Corries, and the Black Corries.
Given the less than encouraging forecast, it was with commendable ambition that Evelyne and Natacha headed off for Glen Etive with the intention of bagging the 3 most westerly Munros: discretion saw the better part of valour and they completed a fine day with the ascent of Ben Starav and Glas Bheinn Mhor in initially fair weather conditions which deteriorated to most unwelcome clag and gusts in the afternoon. They enjoyed the walk along the narrow and scrambly ridge between the two Munros. No wildlife and hardly any human life form were spotted through the day. Strange that.
Donnie, Graeme, Jake and Penny TWD went on a potter known as the Clachlet Traverse (a classic high-level route from Inveroran to Kingshouse). Less of a ‘traverse’ and more like two days walking cobbled together to make one very long one. Typical.
Brent and Derrick had a fine adventure on the Saturday. Brent’s mountaineering skills being matched by his considerable literary ones as this report attests to:
“A good night in the bothy at Lagangarbh saw us in good spirits on Saturday morning though I was slightly stiff from previous days of walking. We had already decided upon Beinn Trilleachan the night before, mainly based on the fantastic views Andy Lawson had captured the previous summer. We set off early after a good breakfast and were soon driving down Glen Etive where traffic was light. Plenty of camping seen along the road spoke of the reasonable conditions of the last few weeks, though I expect the canoeists wished for more water. After sometime we reached the small car park at the end of the road by Loch Etive. We got ourselves ready whilst talking to a more mature couple who were preparing for a two day canoe trip down the loch. Down the road we could hear the sound and see the loading of logs to a boat on the loch, an excellent and very sensible transport method; it would be a nightmare if the road was filled with logging wagons! The route follows the edge of the treeline up to the ridge that traverses the peak from north to south, this being the only feasible route. The whole mountain beetles with huge crags and is very steep on all sides even this ridge was steep and rough, requiring a meandering route between steep walls and slabs. We were soon working up a sweat slogging up the ridge but before long we had reached the much gentler slab infested summit ridge. We had passed very steep drops to our left and an interesting gully that ran steeply straight to the loch; an interesting winter ascent perhaps? All around the Etive hills rose out of the peat, steep and foreboding, littered with rock faces, their summits wreathed in cloud. Ben Starav was the most prominent and looked almost impossible from this side. Across the loch we could see the vast sea of slabs that encrusted the hills in these parts and as the sunlight lit them the sparkling of the mica flakes lending a fascination. This is a huge glen and because of its more open nature makes a good counterpoint to Glencoe. A sudden steep drop through huge slabs and boulders soon broke us from our reverie and we picked our way carefully unable to see the bealach ahead through the mist. looking back it seemed quite innocuous but it was clear that in bad weather or winter conditions it could easily catch out the unwary. The last pull up to the summit was a doddle in comparison and even though the cloud had now enveloped us we glimpsed occasional tops in the distance. Sitting eating our lunch we gestured around us pointing out Ben Cruachan in the distance looking steeper and harder than it is in reality. We then watched a couple of Jelly babies making a final summit ascent of the cairn before Yeni greedily swept them up and stuffed them into his mouth claiming he needed the sugary energy. The descent was boring, being a direct return of our route up but without the bonus of any views as the cloud and fully closed around us. Back at the car we replaced wet gear with dry and set off up the road towards the Kingshouse. This time the road was much busier with constant pulling over and at one point making way for some boy racers behind us. At the Kingshouse we bumped into Jenny, Claire, Rachel, June and an ecstatic Maggie who had completed her first two Munro’s – fantastic well done. Also there was Bob who generously bought a beer for everyone whilst we gabbled animatedly about our day and past adventures.”
After so much activity, it is testament to the fitness levels of the dedicated athletes in the club that allowed some to remain awake (vaguely) and upright (largely) long into the night. Having seen the forecast, the wise and the idle had perhaps decided it was not worth saving too much energy for the Sabbath.
Not so for the majority, whose enthusiasm remained unquenched – though ultimately drenched.
El Presidente and Bob and Cally encountered most forms of precipitation in their pursuit of a couple of Munros; Creise and Meal a Bhuridh. Soggy but un-bowed, they concluded that a wet day in the hills was better than no day out at all. Mmmmm….
Rachel Higgins, one of the guest authors in this ‘cut and paste’ of a report, Jenny Smith, Claire Proctor, Maggie Duncan, June Simpson, Jenny Graham and Katie Griffiths made the hard slog up Sgor na h-Ulaidhe and were delighted to reach the summit and be greeted by a covering of scotch mist and bugger all views – I believe its known as the lost Munro (might want to double check that) but if true we know why! Then it was a race back down to the car and head for home with thoughts of dry clothes, a warm bed (with no snoring or farting!) and alcohol and chocolate!
Undaunted by the weather, and with typical cunning, Dave, Bob and Fiona tackled Nevisport direct. A fine route.
As keen with a quill as a pair of walking boots, Brent with insouciant wit has thusly described his day in the company of Natacha, Derrick and John:
“The weather forecast used every word but “shit” but the meanings were clear, it was not going to be a great day. We decided that we could not just leave from Glencoe and an excellent weekend without doing something. So we picked a Corbett that 3 of us had not done, Big John of course as an inveterate bagger was the exception. We started at a small layby just below the Visitor Centre swathed in our waterproofs which were instantly wet upon leaving the cars. Light bags on our backs we strode off chatting, laughing and joking into the misty drizzle so typical of Glencoe in spring.
The track up Gleann Leac na Muidhe starts off quite gently, passing through a farm and then a path around a house further up. The rain lifted briefly and we divested ourselves of some of our waterproofs, though this was to be very temporary. We easily crossed the small river flowing off of Sgurr na h-Ulaidh, where the path was now feint to non existent. Above us towered the hills steeply rising into the clouds giving a dank and oppressive feel to the morning. Looking up, back at the maps and finally consulting with John it was obvious that our route just went very steeply upwards for about 600m. So gritting our teeth and adjusting our minds we set off across the glen and onto the slopes.
The climb up seemed never ending, plod plod plod, driving rain and aching limbs we split to two sides of a spur. Finally we reached the top of Creag Bhan after 550m and the slopes eased back into a gentle summit ridge. Yeni and I had not seen the others for half an hour and thought they must be miles ahead. Then a few minutes later out of the gloom they appeared just below the summit, broad grins despite the obvious discomfort of the weather. We popped up to the top and rejoined them slowly descending down the ridge. Visibility was extremely poor so it was out with the GPS and backtrack along our path upwards. We had soon dropped below the shroud of summit clouds and descended slowly towards the glen floor stopping briefly for sandwiches and other sustenance. We continued with the monotony only broken by the occasional demonstration of break-dancing technique on the greasy surface.
Back at the cars we stripped, ignoring the passing traffic and wrung our clothes out making strained jokes about the conditions. A trip to Nevisports cafe revived our spirits and the lovely Natacha bought us coffee and cakes. A quick look around the shop reminded us that the stuff on sale is usually the crap they cannot offload in any other way! A great day despite the weather, its amazing how good you feel after achieving something; of course it helps to be be in such pleasant company.”
There were doubtless other acts of stoical pursuit, but they shall disappear into the mists and clag of Glencoe. Best place.
Earlier enthusiasm for a ‘three-nighter’ almost entirely vanished as the wage slaves, domestically encumbered and merely soaking wet, all fled for home, leaving Tigger to bounce around the hut all on his lonesome. Dedication was however rewarded with a very fine Monday. El Pres and yours truly making a great trip up Binnean Beag. A fabulous day, made even more enjoyable by the very welcome company of a hulking young Canadian by the name of Ned. We found him wandering around at the Steall Bridge and he decided to join us. Ned quite accurately described himself as something of a ‘Clydesdale’. His strength and power seeing him forge ahead on the flat, but as the terrain steepened, he slowed to a very slow slow. He was a game lad however and once he had a second wind, was at the summit and very pleased to be there. We made Ned an honorary member of the club by the powers in no way vested in us and it was one of those chance encounters that enhance days in the hill and the good folk you meet in them.
Yet another fantastic weekend of fun and no few hills. The only blight being the insanely irresponsible act of letting Jake look after the key, which immediately became accessible to no-one. The last thing that fool was responsible for was the class gerbil one awful Easter holiday in 1969 – and we all know where that ended. It was your fault Mrs Gibson. A tragic waste of rodent life.
Orlando