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An amazing day
on the Buachaille Etive Mor.
Michael and I originally planned to climb the Munros Beinn Fhionnlaidh
and Sgor na h-Ulaidh from Glen Etive, though the single track road down
the glen wasn't gritted or ploughed. With several inches of snow on the
ground and more forecast, we couldn't chance getting stuck down
there. Sitting at the junction where the Glen Etive road meets the A82,
we decided upon climbing the Buachaille. We'd both climbed it, but it
would be a good adventure anyway: neither of us had done it in snow.
Ascent
We parked at Altnafeadh and got everything ready. This itself took a
while and since the weather was forecast apparently to be dreadful
today, (wind chill giving temperatures at 900m of -22˚C), it would be a
bummer to forget anything. We crossed the road and got on the path
towards the corrie. The wind had scoured the slopes and stopped build-up
of snow. In addition to this, winds would be high today and spindrift
seemed to be blowing around at the top of the corrie. The weather was
mainly benign for now and we made steady progress up the corrie.
Crampons and axes came out as we approached the headwall where Michael
and I disagreed on the route to follow to the summit ridge. He wanted to
follow a snow gully, I wanted to take the conventional route. I was
adamant it was a stupid idea to climb the gully, but Michael went
anyway. We'd split up and I'd hoped we could locate each other on the
ridge. Spindrift was pouring over the corrie rim and winds were sure
high up there. Winds were high enough in the corrie - when the wind
picked up snow, they
hammered us together and visibility temporarily became nil.
I climbed the final section to the ridge, not sure whether to go up or
down, whether to sit and wait on the ridge or try and locate Michael. I
almost considered descending, considering it the safer option but
feeling angry in a situation I didn't know the solution to. I climbed to the top of the corrie and
after a few minutes pondering over a course of action, I located the top
of the gully he'd climbed. Just as I found it, Michael climbed out the
top.
The winds had been high, and I was glad we'd met when we did - the winds
suddenly picked up and hammered us for several minutes, blasting fine
particles of snow across the ridge. I lay on my ice axe, which I'd
anchored firmly into the snow. With my face away from the inferno, I kept my head down.
Michael did too beside me and we waited for the conditions to settle,
for the moment we could get up again and carry on.
When the winds finally eased, we carried on and got onto the ridge towards Stob
Dearg's summit. The winds were still high though it was at least
possible to make progress. It
was a long walk to the top, but not as great a slog as I'd
remembered it to be when I was last on this ridge in 2005. We arrived on
the summit without incident and with conditions less than ideal and bad
visibility, we
only spent five minutes on top.
We met plenty of walkers - I counted about 14, including ourselves. Many
were on their way up as we descended, but when we arrived back at the
head of the corrie, we took a rest. This was enough time for others to
catch up and they became the first to discover just how bad conditions
had become in the corrie.
Descent down Coire na Tulaich
Since we'd climbed up the corrie, wind direction had changed 180˚ from
south to north. So even though we'd faced into the wind on the way up,
we'd be doing the same on the way down. All that snow that was
blasted into the corrie on the way up was coming straight back out
the way it arrived.
I looked over the edge first. Wind speeds were notably higher and the
blast of snow was unbearable. It was impossible to look into our path of
descent, the snow would whip our faces raw. I had goggles, but the ice
had already managed to get inside them (!) and a film of ice rendered
them
useless soon enough. I could scrape the ice
off, but the the residual water was just as hard to see through.
The couple of other people that were on the ridge weren't descending for
the time being, so Michael and I became the first to descend. Michael
went in front (he was using functioning goggles) and I followed, with my
face shielded by my jacket, leaving enough of a gap to see his feet in
front and to follow on. The angle of the face steepened leaving it easy
for my feet to slide away underneath in the powder snow. The snow slopes
became interspersed with rocks, leaving ledges to climb down. With wind
hammering upwards, it wasn't a place you could get comfortable. Every
energy was on staying warm and descending with care.
I didn't feel in any great danger though. The conditions were just so
inconvenient that any action became hard work and it was a battle to
stay on route, retain feeling in hands and keep warm, all while
balancing on snowy ledges with snow firing up from below. The one time I
felt any way in danger was where powder snow was covering a slab of rock
which still high in the corrie, sat at a steep angle. Once I'd climbed
down with Michael, it wasn't possible to get back up. With snow offering
no purchase, it was necessary to find handholds in the rock, either
digging about or swinging the axe into ground that looked secure. To get
to easier ground, we needed to traverse the slab which Michael did
fairly quickly.
I don't mind climbing above drops, but only when the holds are obvious
and sound. Dry-tooling with hidden hand and foot holds isn't my idea of
fun, but I got across by ditching the axe and using a crucial handhold.
I'd got across without incident but it had seemed dangerous. I'm not a
big one for cheap thrills, but it was exhilarating anyways. All the
terrain left to cover could be walked and once the angle of the corrie
had eased, all that was left was
descent to the car.
If all that had happened so far wasn't enough, the weather front from the north
that had hit us cleared over in an instant. We were nearly off when in a
period of
ten minutes, grey skies were replaced by a beautiful winter sunset.
The drive back involved several stops on the A82. Rannoch Moor and the
hills were thick with snow, bathing in the half-light with clear skies
washed blue and pink. We had these views until it became dark
around about Ardlui. It was the Southern Highlands at their best and a
magnificent way to round off a great day on the Buachaille.
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