We stood outside, alone. I could see her breath in the air as she spoke. “I’m up for it. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. I can’t make that judgement call, and if you’re not sure about it that’s fine…” Her voice trailed off and white vapour evaporated in the inky black air. I looked down at the frost glistening on the tarmac road, and then up. Up to the mountains. The steep craggy flanks, the snowline, the ridges above and the sky beyond. Clouds flitted across the sky, above the tops, sometimes in front of the full moon that hung there like a light bulb. I knew it would be a long slog up the first hill. I knew it was a long and demanding ridge and there was little hope of completing it all in time, because I knew the weather was coming in. The clouds were already forming, the wind was increasing. Not here at the bottom of the glen where it was eerily calm, but up there, on the tops. I knew it was a serious place to be caught out in a storm. I knew we were both already tired and could easily become exhausted and disorientated battling through wind and rain, or snow.

I hesitated, turned to her and smiled. “I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

Jane and Joe, though almost last to arrive at about 10pm decided that the views were just too gorgeous to be ignored and the mountains were sitting there, bathed under the moonlight, begging to be climbed. The forecast for Saturday was wind and rain, with perhaps some more wind and rain to add to the bargain so it was an easy decision to make – either sit around with a few drinks and wake up to dreadful weather, or shoulder a pack and head for the hills. The hills it was. The moon was so bright it was like stepping out into daylight. Each blade of grass sparkled as the moonlight bounced off the heavy frost clinging to it and the ground crunched underneath their footsteps as the pair made their way up the hillside.

A long and steep ascent from sea level to almost 3000 feet in one fell swoop. The frost was gradually covered by snow as height was gained and the snow imperceptibly grew deeper and deeper. Steep sections were negotiated and cliffs were turned on left and right, with the odd scrambley section of rock and steep grass covered in powdery snow. Enough to conceal and make things more difficult but nothing solid enough to take an ice axe or a crampon. The views though were superb. Beinn Fhada and Sgurr an Airgid glowed white and lights twinkled from houses along the edge of Loch Duich. It wasn’t a night for star gazing, the moon was far too bright, but Jupiter rose magnificently from behind the craggy west ridge of Beinn Fhada and the twin stars of Castor and Pollux punched through the night, glowing in the east, as if to tempt the pair of walkers over the tops of the Five Sisters of Kintail.

The summit of Sgurr na Moraich was finally reached sometime after 1am but by this time the forecasted front was beginning to show its presence. Odd wispy clouds had come and gone but now a blanket of cloud was making its way across the sky. It was still high and the moon, though covered, still gave out sufficient light for progress to be made along the hillside and for the views to be savoured. The wind was picking up and the great hulk of the hill was no longer providing a barrier to the strengthening Westerlies. The descent was not straightforward, with more small cliffs to be turned and negotiated and each footstep delicately placed through the snow onto whatever underneath might hold it. Eventually the bealach was gained.

This was decision time. Either climb up out of the bealach towards the next summit, knowing that that would commit them to traversing a further top beyond because the ridge between them would be too steep to descend from. Also knowing that the summit might be in cloud, and that cloud, darkness, difficult snow conditions and worsening weather are a bad combination. Or descend. It didn’t take long to decide to descend. However, the northern slopes that would have led the pair to the lower altitudes of Gleann Lichd and then to their accommodation were steep in the higher parts. Very steep. After the descent to the bealach it would have been difficult and dangerous to attempt this descent off the hill. The southern slopes looking much more promising. A straight subsidiary valley cut into the hill leading down to Glen Shiel, then a walk along the road back to Morvich. This made sense; a long road walk in the early hours of the morning would not be much fun but it would be easy. But no! Closer inspection of the map showed steep slopes and cliffs lower down. This would be tricky and dangerous. A path was shown on the map winding its way around these features but how could a path be found in these conditions? Further east and west the line of cliffs extended and there was no enthusiasm to retrace steps back up the hill. A plan was hatched to descend a couple of hundred metres or so and then cut out rightwards, skirting round the hillside in a huge long traverse trying, as far as night navigational skills and the darkening gloom would allow, to stay above the line of the cliffs until they were almost above Morvich, and then descend from there.

It was a purgatorial process with each foot having to be placed carefully through the snow onto the rock, scree or heather below, ready at all times to be caught off guard and ankles soon aching from the constant angle. At one point a deer track was found and followed. Heaven! Feet could stand flat on the ground; muscles and ligaments could return to their natural angles. But after 50 yards or so it petered out. Back to the grind, and worse than before. As the sky clouded over the temperature had risen and the powdery snow became heavy and sticky. Not just a visual barrier but extra weight clinging to boots and gaiters, slushy slidiness to increase the chances of a slip or a fall. The cloud base kept descending and though every footstep had to be careful and precise it now a race against time. It would be a hell of a lot easier to get down if they could stay below the cloud. And hopefully the cloud would stay above the cliffs.

Eventually the view started to change. Sgurr an t-Searaich was no longer to the left, motionless, acting as a guide to the altitude of the traverse, but by now had slipped behind and lights could be seen along the shore of Loch Duich. Vehicles started to drive along the road as night became early morning for those down below with work to go to. Then, yet another spur was gained and a corner turned and the two distinctive lights on the outside of Kintail Outdoor Centre could be seen. By now the cloud was well below the summit of Sgurr an Airgid and a fine drizzle had started, but it was a straight plod down. Darker now, mistier, definitely dark enough for headtorches but after six hours of using natural light they weren’t about to start now. Down now, walking, stumbling, climbing deer fences, the terrain becoming flatter, easier, and finally back to base for six o’clock. Seven hours on the hill and time for bed. Not even beer, just bed.

Evelyne and Ray also managed a walk on Friday, though at an earlier hour and in poorer weather. They had intended to traverse the tops of the North Cluanie Ridge, or Three Brothers, but after reaching the summit of Saileag in a blizzard decided to retreat. They ventured out on Saturday, up the glen to the bothy at Glenlicht House and were soaked to the skin long before they had returned to the centre, two and a half hours after leaving it.

Andy L was also out on the hill on Friday and enjoyed an ascent of Carn Mhic an Toisich, passing monster pylons, a 1950s Vauxhall car and the odd snow shower en route to the top. He then left early on Saturday to attend boiler problems at home… or was that a good excuse to escape the weather out west…?

On Saturday, Sgurr an Airgid was the goal for Dan, Simon, Alan D, Fiona D, Graeme M, David, Penny TWD and Malcolm:

“The forecast for Saturday was grim…persistent rain and strong winds. Most normal folk would have been content to snuggle up by a roaring fire, but no one had told the wood fairy to bring fuel. So, into the hills we went. The consensus of opinion was that the shortest hill day worthy of being called a hill day was an ascent of the Corbett Sgurr an Airgid, which had been spied as a snowy silhouette against a starry sky from the front door of the hut the night before (but now shrouded in cloud). So off we set. It was an easy stalkers path to the bealach and then on towards the summit. The wind was gusting on the way up, but that was nothing compared to the onslaught experienced on the summit. Lunch was eaten in the shelter of a large boulder and then we descended. The rain hadn’t really ceased all day and so it was a rather soggy crowd that returned to the drying room. Character building stuff so they say!”

Brent “decided to do a low level traverse around the Corbett, Sgurr Mhic Bharrach. Starting at Sheil Bridge campsite already donned in waterproofs and with the rain cascading down, I set off into the hinterland. The path is good and soon a steady rhythm was enjoined parallel to the river for quite some time. After about 20 minutes the first trickles of rain inside my waterproofs were felt and I set myself for a damp day. Climbing upwards along the track I encountered what was a raging torrent but previously a gentle burn. Wading through I was glad of my gaiters and the fact that I had remembered to put waterproofs outside them. Continuing upwards I again encountered a raging mass of water overflowing the banks. I started to cross using my poles, an indispensable tool for river crossings when calamity one of the poles snapped clean off. Teetering on the point of balance I was thankful that I had placed both poles and managed to right myself and drag myself to the far bank. With one boot full of water due to its lengthy immersion I squelched up to the bealach.

No respite here I met the full force of the wind battering me with gallons of water and so I trudged across and down the other side. The path down was tricky as the underlying rocks were awash with a fast flowing torrent of water. Finally I managed to get out of the worst of the strengthening wind and magically the rain ceased for 5 minutes and a sheltered spot allowed me to eat my sandwiches. The rain was soon back with a vengeance and I contemplated the river driving over the roadway in front of me. Just below I spied some rotting planks across this torrent, clearly not used as a bridge for a couple of hundred years I did not fancy it at all. However I fancied the walk back or the climb to the top of the gorge that was the rivers source even less. So with my heart pounding I edged across expecting at any moment to drop into the boiling frothing mass of water below me.

Looking back afterwards I tutted myself knowing that I would do it again anyway. The next leg of the journey was in the open with the wind and rain blasting straight into my face as I traversed the open hillside. Gratefully I reached the forest and followed the tracks before impatiently forcing my way through the close knit trees to the roadside. The rain had ceased for a while and I was greeted with fabulous views across Loch Duich from Mam Ratigain. the last couple of miles from this point saw a resurgence of heavy rain but I romped along happy that I had got out and even enjoyed myself in what for me was the wettest day of the year.”

Sue also headed up Gleann Lichd, turning back and returning to base when the journey seemed to be wet and futile, and potentially dangerous due to small burns in spate racing across the paths. This did, however, leave her back at the accommodation by lunchtime, so unperturbed, she set out for another adventure on a circular walk around Morvich, arriving back when it was definitely afternoon and sufficient fresh air and exercise had taken place to fully enjoy the evening festivities.

Bob, Andy B (sporting his recent purchase, a pair of trousers bought from his favourite shop, the Cat’s Protection League), Drummond, Ella, Margaret, Colin C and Sol drove up the side of Loch Long to Camas Luinie and intended to walk up Glen Elchaig to the Falls of Glomach. The first part of the path was quite wet and muddy until they reached a house and crossed the river onto a land rover track. They eventually reached the bridge just before Loch na Leitreach and decided that if they carried on to the falls it would probably be dark before they got back to the car so a decision was made to shelter in a small wood to have lunch before heading back to the cars.

Nobody was late back on Saturday afternoon. The drying room was filled with dripping garments and everyone was glad to be inside. Unfortunately nobody had asked the wood fairy to bring fuel for the stove but Malcolm saved the day and bought some wood so that everyone could warm themselves by the heat of the fire. Food and drink were then enjoyed and folk enjoyed the not-uncommon activity of sampling Speysides. This time was slightly different in that the Speysides in question were not the usual barley-based spirit but some of the finest wines and ciders to come out of the vineyards and orchards of Speyside this year, courtesy of a certain Mr Brooks.

On Sunday Dan, Simon and Jane headed for the hills. It must be said at this stage that Simon was looking alarmingly trimmed this weekend. His usual impressive flowing locks and beard having earned him the nickname “God”, or perhaps should that be “Hades” after last month’s excursion to the Underworld… But this time He appeared sporting close cropped hair and beard, possibly more aerodynamic and better equipped to deal with the high ascents and stormy weather described below:

“After Saturday, a forecast of frequent snow showers, white-out and circa 40mph wind seemed pretty attractive and so the plan to ascend Ben Attow by way of the west ridge was received with much enthusiasm. Said enthusiasm was less evident on Sunday morning, but nonetheless three intrepid explorers set forth from the safety of base camp. The route started with brown and somewhat boggy lower slopes, then traversed a towering serac (aka deer fence), before steepening as the snow line was reached. At this point, the weather closed in and Odell decided to return to base camp to maintain watch and report progress to the outside world. Mallory and Irvine continued. They were rewarded with fleeting views of the surrounding hills and a Golden Eagle, interspersed by some more “traditional” conditions. They were last seen going strongly along the final ridge towards the summit…”

Sue set off in a similar direction and walked up the glen on the far side of their hill, returning when she decided that she’d had enough of the wind, rain and sleet, and paths were once again flooded to the degree that retreat was more a matter of safety than trying to keep her feet dry.

Colin describes his Sunday adventure: “Bob dumped me and my bike at Glenelg village where I set off back up and over the Ratagan pass dressed like Scott of Antarctic as it was snowing a lot on the top on the drive over lots of smiles and thumbs up from the cars going in the opposite direction down the way probably saying look at that silly auld mannie must be from Buckie… But only had one shower on the way and snowing as I went over bealach. Hat and gloves back on for the long cold descent, still a lot of colour in the hills yet, great cycle.”

Not much else was accomplished on the Sunday. At least two different groups made plans to climb the relatively modest Am Bàthach at the top of Glen Shiel but were put off by the driving snow upon reaching the Cluanie Inn. It would be another view-less trudge, and would the road still be open?

Report Author: Joe
Photos: Andy, Brent and Dan