A collection of hardy weekenders boarded the Bella-Jane in Elgol bound for Coruisk. Coruisk, or Coir-uisg, is Gaelic for Corrie of the Water. Quite appropriate really as water was to become a major theme of the weekend.
Anyway, back to Friday night, a boat trip to Coruisk, something that tourists have been doing for about 200 years ever since the days of Walter Scott, Wiliam Turner, John MacCulloch and the like when steamers set off from Glasgow to carry tourists to Skye. But these days we have tarmac, the internal combustion engine and the Skye Bridge so boats are generally not required for trips to Skye unless you’re going somewhere particularly remote.
And remote Coruisk certainly is. After discussions with the owner of the Bella Jane and some umming and erring the decision was taken to go. After all, if it is too windy for the boat to retrieve a group from the hut, and the river levels are too high to afford safe crossing at the Coruisk stepping stones or at Camasunary there is a real chance that a group could be stranded. And with the weather forecast ahead of us, that was a real chance.
Nevertheless, 13 MMC members, one welcome guest Kenny and Penny TWD boarded the boat during a lull in the weather. The bags were successfully unloaded with only one mitten falling into the water (thanks Dan for rescuing my mitten) and the JMCS hut was opened for Friday night merriment.
Three tents were pitched while the weather remained fairly settled. There was the club tent, which is a rather fine white canvas tepee, or tipi, but having previously been chastised for my incorrect spelling of the word I’ll resort to the correct name which is “Soul Pad”. Pitching the “Soul Pad” involved several people under the close inspection of a certain “Kim Jong Lee” whose barked orders of “Do not secure the guy ropes at this time” were heard echoing from the bare Gabbro walls surrounding Loch Scavaig. Job done and Kim Jong Lee’s minions were able to admire his massive erection.
The group started the evening in a fairly disparate manner, split between the “Soul Pad” and the hut, with the odd pessimistic (or perhaps opportunistic) person taking a wander to Loch Coruisk while the weather held. As darkness fell everyone gathered in the hut to plan escapades for the following day. Some were keen on the Dubh Slabs, possibly the world’s best scramble, and best done from the Coruisk hut, while possibilities of capturing the end of winter and getting some rare May snow and ice climbing in Sgurr nan Eag’s Chasm were also discussed in hopeful tones.
However, as Saturday dawned dull, driech and stormy enthusiasm for the hills quickly dried up. So did the hut’s water supply. With nothing better to do and the odd seagull spotted flying backwards past the hut an expedition was launched across the bay and the wet slabs to the Mad Burn to try and fix the problem. The party soon split when a couple of them looked back towards their temporary home and saw that the “Soul Pad” was in the process of making a bid for freedom. By the time they scarpered back in the wind and rain, emptied the tent and took it down the A frame holding the doors had buckled but thankfully the main pole and canvas were intact. The “Soul Pad” lives for another day, and provided extra entertainment when one poor soul believed that it had indeed been blown away in entirety.
The remaining plumbing team soon discovered that the pipe had long since broken and an end had been stuck in a much smaller burn to supply water to the hut. Unfortunately the wind had grown to such a strength as to blow the burn back uphill thus away from the pipe leaving a thoroughly drenched workforce without a water supply. A fix ensued and was successful and so for the remainder of the weekend the hut was supplied with water. Perhaps “hill soup” would be a better expression for what came out of the tap, given that every mouthful contained bits of goodness-knows-what but it tasted ok and if made into coffee the bits became invisible.
Unfortunately with the new-found water supply also came the realisation that the water supply to the toilet didn’t automatically shut off when the cistern has filled so well timed use of the hidden “wee cocky” around the back of the toilet was required to ensure the delicate balance between a full cistern and an unflooded floor.
But, seeing as this is a Mountaineering Club and not an Amateur Plumbing Society some tales of mountaineering exploits must be told for the Saturday. Kat, Jenny and Andy walked, or were blown to, the foot of the Dubh Slabs, and fought their way back to the hut against the driving wind and rain. Upon returning they were informed that the “Soul Pad” had completely blown away along with the contents, and for a short period of time one of the group believed this version of events, much to the hilarity of some of the crueller members of the party.
Ray stood at the kitchen window of the hut drinking tea and watching his tent being blown flat for a while until he decided that it really would be a good idea to take it down and join the former residents of the “Soul Pad” as refugees inside the hut for the Saturday and Sunday nights. Some wildlife was spotted in the shape of seals playing in the sheltered anchorage of Loch Scavaig (sheltered but still with plenty white horses and spume hurling across the surface of the water) and the occasional jump of something that may have been a porpoise. Otherwise it was a day for mooching and occasionally popping ones head out of the door to check that yes, the shuddering of the hut really is being caused by the wind and indeed, it is still lashing with rain.
Sunday morning started dry and bright, though still very breezy. Ray sensibly left early enough to walk around Loch Coruisk and return to the hut before the heavens opened.
Jake, Kenny and Joe left a bit later and circumnavigated Loch Coruisk as well as taking a wander up into the dark depths of Coir’-uisg where they thought they could just about see dragons through the odd gap in the cloud. It certainly was a new altitude record for Jake and Joe – the lowest maximum altitude yet attained on an MMC meet, at about 100m. The rain rolled in during their return along the side of the loch and the rest of the day stayed wet.
Most of the group headed up Sgurr na Stri where some views and sunshine were apparently encountered, before the clouds rolled in and everyone was drenched. Dan, Jenny, Kat, Graeme M and Penny TWD included a visit to Camasunary in their day and so had a pleasant round trip which included views up Loch Coruisk and a Golden Eagle and even some basking in the sunshine on the summit whilst the Black Cuillin remained shrouded in clag. They returned by the coastal path and infamous “Bad Step”.
The whole group congregated back in the hut by mid afternoon to put the kettle on and hang up wet clothes. Cups of tea were passed round and some folk opted for something a little stronger. Other more self disciplined types stuck to the old German tradition of “kein Bier vor vier” so by four o’clock the “tshhh” sound of cans being opened resonated around the hut, accompanied by the dull booming of the wind on the cliffs behind. A fine evening was had with entertainment being provided by fiddle, whistle, guitar and songs and recitations including the Glaswegian version of Hamlet as penned by Adam MacNaughton and the wonderful tale of “The Gowk” and his search for Peregrines’ eggs on an Ayrshire cliff. Other notable cultural interludes included delightful limericks such as “There was a young man from Bombay…” while one club member spent a good part of the evening convinced that he could support his weight on two empty beer cans… if only he could spread the weight evenly enough. Several crushed cans and potentially dangerous falls later there was still no proof that this couldn’t be done, just the he “must try harder”.
Monday dawned wet but not quite so windy everyone rose to an easy morning of packing up and shifting out and a pleasantly calm boat ride back to Elgol. However, this was no reason not to engage in more plumbing and so Andy enthusiastically got to work with the toilet cistern. So enthusiastic was his work that nothing but success would shift him from the cludgie, and so during the course of the morning the odd person was seen shuffling off out of sight with a spade in one had and a bog roll in the other while this maintenance was in progress. After a good morning’s work Plumber Brooks managed to fix the cistern much to his delight, and I imagine the delight of the hut custodian.
And speaking of bathroom matters, two of our number were brave, or daft, enough to have a bathe in the cold clear waters of Loch Scavaig. Jake (AKA Gollum in his Goonie) and Dan dived into the frigid water and survived a good splashing about unscathed by the cold, the barnacle-covered Gabbro or the sharp-toothed seals who looked on with slightly disdainful disapproval.
Coruisk is a very special place. Admittedly better when the sun is shining and the tops are clear and bright, but even under the conditions that the club encountered it is still amazing.
The aforementioned John MacCulloch gave an account of a visit to Coruisk which makes for good reading and was included in the SMC’s 1899 Journal under the heading “Early descriptions of Skye”. And, on the subject of such historical visits Turner’s famous painting from 1831 can be seen here.
But from the past to the future, and I’m sure all would agree that this is a place to return to. Club tradition dictates an island meet for the May Day long weekend and next year’s is scheduled for Rum but though there are many island destinations to choose from I’m sure Coruisk will remain a firm favourite with the Moray Mountaineering Club.
Author: Joe, Photos: Kat