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I climbed An
Cliseam during a week in the Western Isles and had spent the first
several days at the Hebridean Celtic Festival with Stephen (brother)
and some of my cousins and uncles. Once the Festival was over, Stephen, cousin Andrew
and myself drove down to Harris to spend a couple of days there. We spent the
night preceding An Cliseam at Horgabost in Harris, while as we camped on
the sand dunes, wind,
rain and a malfunctioning tent gave us a sleepless night.
Because I'd got so little sleep the night before, I was exhausted on the
Monday morning. It was cold outside and rain lashed down, so hardly the
most inspiring day for a hillwalk. Taking the tents down was a challenge
in itself because of the high winds, so I figured that the conditions
would be horrendous in the mountains. I'd wanted to climb something
during my stay in the Hebrides, but now I wasn't in the mood. I didn't
want to completely call it off, so Andy drove me to the foot of An Cliseam and
then I could reconsider. If I didn't feel like it, we could easily drive
on. If I was up for it, Steve and Andy could occupy themselves while I
was away.
We parked by Loch na Ciste, south of An Cliseam, where there is a lay-by not marked
on the map. This would give me the highest starting altitude although
it
would be trackless for much of the way. I was feeling better now and the
weather had eased a little. In a moment of can-do mentality, I decided
to go and gave Steve and Andy two hours; three if I was slow. I hoped not to be too long anyway:
going at full steam, two hours seemed reasonable.
They drove off and I spent a five minutes organising my gear. First of
all I realised I hadn't brought trekking poles and then realised that
I'd forgotten all my food and water. There was no going back now, and
even though I'd still go up the hill, but I began to doubt that two
hours would see me to the summit and back.
An Cliseam
I crossed the A859 and began to climb the slopes beside Sron Carsacleit.
It was very cold and very windy. Passing showers were forecast although
the rain wasn't on now. I tried to keep my pace quick with the two hours
in mind, but wasn't in the best of moods because I didn't know whether I
could make it. Not wanting to worry anybody, it was one of the first
times in memory that I'd kept the mentality 'there's no shame in
turning back', because it gave me something that I could potentially
abide by, should I need to.
Once past the steep lower slopes, the gradient eased off and then An
Cliseam came into view, almost completely mist-shrouded. I could imagine
the lower slopes ascending into a cone shape to the summit, although I'd
hoped it wouldn't be too far. Past the flatter terrain, I began to climb
the main summit cone. It wasn't long before I was up in the cloud and I
continued to climb upwards.
I was climbing primarily over boulder fields and steep grass, and the
map suggested that the slopes wouldn't become so steep as to turn into
crags. The rock was very grippy and rough enough for a small slip to
have left me with a cut. I kept a close eye on the time and tried to
compare the time against my progress. If I hadn't summited by 10am, then
I'd turn around. Perhaps if the top was within striking distance, then I
might make a dash for it. The rain was drizzling down too, but I went on
anyway, with thighs burning, wishing I hadn't said two hours. My mood
could have been better.
After climbing the steep boulder fields, I came upon the summit ridge,
where a boot eroded path would led me to the summit. The ridge was
fairly narrow and boulder strewn in places and I'd imagine it could be
quite exposed on a clear day. Today of course, there was nothing but the
rocks and the grey of the mist.
I arrived at the summit at 9.55am, five minutes before my turn around
time. Even if I had reached 10am and not been on top, I might have
continued given that the ridge was narrow enough to let me know I was
nearly there. The trig point was entirely encircled in a
windbreaker/wall, so I climbed in over the top to sit down on the more
sheltered inside. I'd only have a brief moment of rest because I'd have
to get going again. The rain on the final stretch had been heavy and
persistent, rain like I hadn't been in before, so I was glad to be in
some sort of shelter.
Descent
With a couple of minutes rest, I got going again and headed down the
ridge the way I'd came. On the way up, I'd used a distinctive rock to
mark the place that I ascended from, but missed this on my return. The
ridge broadened to the point that I realised that I wasn't where I
should be, but these slopes were much less steep, and would allow for
faster progress. Remerging from the cloud, I headed in the direction of
Bealach na Ciste, walking first over the flat ground before the final
descent into the valley.
Rain moved in from the west once more, and began to fall heavily. I was
happy enough though because with the ascent behind me, I found the
descent quite enjoyable. The rain was refreshing, even though it was
intense and I was drenched. When my finishing point was in sight from
above, there was no car, but I continued to descend with speed in mind,
therefore running at points. I arrived at the lay-by at Loch na Ciste,
with no pick up in sight. My frantic pace, rooted in uneasiness, had
seen me up and down 15 minutes shy of two hours.
Post-walk
I'd have some waiting to do. The bealach was very cold, windswept and
hardly the place to be waiting for a lift. A couple of more showers
passed through, but I was more than happy to sit and wait, even if it
became cold at points. Steve and Andy pulled into the lay-by at 11am,
ten minutes late but hardly a concern to me. I was more worried of being ten minutes late for them. With the Stornoway - Ullapool boat
booked for the next morning, we stopped at Dalmore and Calanais en route
to the Butt of Lewis, before heading back to Stornoway for a final BBQ
and night in the pub.
See all my Western Isles holiday photos
here.
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