The Rossendale Rambler

Or - Wish You Were There ?

by Walter Waide

At the risk of boring you, dear reader, you may have heard about the trip that 10 Rossendale Ramblers, as well as Jim Rostron’s party of three, made to the Western Highlands at the beginning of May this year. Richard Sumner was the architect behind a trip that proved spectacularly successful and what is reproduced below, is the writer’s effort to condense and blend, two lengthy accounts of the holiday prepared both by Richard and myself. I hope it gives a taste of the wonderful cameraderie, friendship and scenery that was enjoyed by all those who took part:

The First Walk - Sgur a' Mhaoraig and Am-Bathaich.

The party soon gained height along the Bac Nan Canaichean ridge and we settled down to a sensible pace. As we reached the rough shoulder of Sgurr Coire nan-Eiricheallach the ground turned from a dampish hillside to a rocky switchback and the path wound its way around boulders. The clouds began to gather and some light drizzle or sleet fell. As we climbed further through the thin cloud, the splendid views we had enjoyed on the climb, were lost and we began to pay serious attention to climbing the little exposed scrambles that were beginning to appear, some of them covered in snow! At last the summit cairn appeared through the mist but sadly, no views. Richard and Jim compared compass bearings to find the narrow way off which led steeply down to the bealach. Whilst negotiating the tricky descent, without warning the clouds suddenly disappeared . At once dramatic views of great sweeping hillsides appeared like Coire a Chaorainn with a fearsome boulder field cascading from the summit ridge. Far beyond we could see Glen Loyne disappearing into infinity. As we reached the bealach we could see Loch Hourn a great fjord-like sea loch, winding towards the Sound of Sleat. The steep, pathless and rocky ascent of Am Bathaich left us all in varying degrees of exhaustion at the summit but there, in brilliant sunshine, the whole of the western Highlands were on display! The walk along the ridge was delightful and the descent at the other end was smooth and grassy; those of us who arrived at the stream ahead, were able to watch as the others came zig-zagging down the long, grassy slope. The day remained fine and the long walk back to the cars was pleasant, passing by exquisite waterfalls until finally opening out onto a Landrover track along an arm of Loch Quoich reservoir.

An evening meal of pasta prepared by Susan, a couple of pints of Guinness and it was time for bed and to dream of the days ahead.

The Second Walk - Garbh Chioch Mhor & Sgurr na Ciche from Strachan.

From the bealach we began a long and undulating walk along a rocky path, following a strange and superfluous wall. Several ‘peaks’ were climbed and at the top of what we thought was the last one, Sgurr na Ciche, our minds were blown by the stunning views that assailed us: We drank them all in feeling heady with the experience. Knoydart lay before us north of west and beyond that the Cuillin Hills on Skye. Due west we saw Rhum and Eigg, each clearly identifiable in the clear air. It was at this stage that we were all brought down to earth with a bump as we were told we were not on Sgurr na Ciche but on Garbh Chioch Mhor! That lay half a mile away and meant a long, rocky descent of around 400ft and a further, steeper ascent of some 600ft to the top of the beautifully formed mountain and the highest point of the day. After the descent, most of us left our sacks at the bealach before climbing Sgurr na Ciche. There we were given an encore of the panorama we saw earlier.

On the way down to the glen we descended a steep but beautiful gully before beginning the long, soggy and somewhat arduous trek back to the cars. But it was worth every bit of the effort for the views from the top! That evening there was great excitement in the pub attached to the bunk-house: Keith was chatting up a young woman doing the ‘Ultimate Challenge’ but whose companion had withdrawn due to blisters. We watched proceedings with awe as Keith talked himself into the long walk to Montrose, even though he had not brought the equipment needed. His mind was set though and the following morning we would see him set off in an easterly direction with a large grin on his face.

The Third Walk - Leana Mhor x2 from Glen Roy.

After yesterday’s exertions we took things fairly easy and reached the top of the first peak at a leisurely pace. A short stop at the top for a drink and we dropped down a heathery hillside towards the river at the bottom. Looking back, the mountain looked quite attractive but as we got to the road, we knew that the Roy had to be crossed to get to the other Leana Mhor. Before that we stopped for lunch on a beautiful eyot in the river, where, on clean white rocks, we relaxed for a while in the warm sunshine.

After lunch it became clear that most people were not keen to cross the river and only Richard Sheila and myself took our boots off for the (easy) crossing of the river. On the other side we found a gate in the deer fence and began the heathery ascent which was quite arduous in the hot sun; the top was flat and featureless but the views were good and a pleasantly cool breeze fanned us. Our problems began as we descended towards a farm called Cranach where, the map and Richard assured us, there was a bridge. Unfortunately both were wrong and all there was, was an unpleasant fellow who abused us roundly and was very unhelpful. The upshot of our situation was that we had to walk back a matter of some two miles to a crossing place and then another two miles to get to the spot on the other side of the river to where we were, before having to walk another three miles or so to the bunk-house. What should have been a nine mile walk turned out to be 16 but I would not have missed it for the world. Richard, for his ability to not find bridges, was dubbed ‘Bridgefinder General’ because I had already experienced his shortcomings in the area of bridges on a previous trip to Scotland! We returned at 6.00 p.m. - people had been worried about us; so much so, that they had to take copious quantities of alcohol to manage the stress.

The Fourth Walk - Meall na h-Eilde and Geal Charn from Eas Chia-aig Waterfall.

A short drive to the Eas-Chia-aig waterfall where we met Jim, Bertha and Ann and then a strenuous climb through pine woods, levelling out and then coming out into the sunshine where the mountains all around shimmered in the heat-haze. By a clear stream we stopped for a rest and to replenish waterbottles and then set off again towards our first objective crossing first a nice little bridge which was not marked on the map. Soon we were climbing along the side of a huge gully and I began making for the Bealach an Essain but it soon became obvious that the main party behind was heading straight for the first peak, some distance to the left of where we were heading. Four of us were under the mistaken impression that Meall an Tagraidh was to be climbed but this was not a Corbett. We all joined up at the top of Meall na h-Eilde and pleasant banter was exchanged on the attractive top where the temperature turned out to be 82º C. We lay down on what would normally be damp moss but was like a tinder-dry soft carpet into which we sank pleasantly. After a long lunch we set off again towards Geal Charn, another nice little Corbett, this time with a trig-point at the top. Everyone managed the climbs without struggling and it was clear to see that stamina was developing in people’s legs. On the gentle but oft slippy descent, Jimmy Fradley fell badly and banged his head on a rock. He showed signs of concussion and when we returned he went straight to bed and sadly took no further part in any of the walks. For the rest of us the walk back out was pleasant and undemanding and we stopped to paddle in the Allt Dubh before reaching Lock Arkaig and then walked the road back to the car park. The evening was spent unashamedly discussing the possible exploits of Keith who would now be spending his second night with Lisa!

The Fifth Walk - Creag Meagaidh from Aberarder Farm.

We would be climbing the highest peak of the week at 3700 feet. The approach was a long one, winding its way ever-upwards along the Allt Coire Adair to the huge, natural amphitheatre made by the huge black cliffs of the Coire Adair from which gushed great hanging waterfalls - truly awesome. As we began the climb towards the Lochan a Choire, we could see the huge notch, called the ‘Window’ which would be our immediate target; from there we would begin the final slog to the top. The day was humid rather than sunny and there was a smell of rain in the air. The climb to the window was full of contrast beginning with a steep grassy slope which turned swiftly into a giant scree slope filled with boulders growing larger as we climbed. At the Window we stopped briefly before climbing up to a huge snowbank some 500 feet above us. It had to be negotiated and proved quite tricky. The top was anticlimactic though still awesome in size: A vast expanse of tundra-like landscape stretching into the distance. The summit was still some distance away but it was reached with ease. On the way, we saw a flock of dotterell, pretty, delicate birds, running and fluttering among the stones. Lunch was taken at the summit and before long, the trek back to the car. As we strolled back along the way we came, the smell of rain became increasingly stronger and by the time we came to the car, there was not even time to take our boots off before the rain fell in great plum-sized blobs. But it subsided as soon as it started and the black skies passed over leaving the day much brighter. That evening, Douggie, Alan, Richard and I drank far too much whisky but it was Douggie’s birthday and to quote Susan; “You can’t have good whisky going off and spoiling!

The Sixth Day - Richards get his Freedom.

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