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If anywhere seems like some last post of
civilisation between Glasgow and the Great Glen then it's at Corrour,
which is exactly why I was pretty glad to be there. Better still, it was
the first of three days that I spent in the Highlands. This trip came
about when Colin replied to a club-distributed email, and we agreed to
get to Corrour for early-morning. I got the sleeper from Westerton
station, he would meet me at Bridge of Orchy having driven from Fife.
Travelling Up
When I need to get up early, I kip on the couch. The alarm was set
at 4.45am though I didn't see sleep until the early
hours. With
breakfast down and gear packed, I walked the half hour to Westerton and
sat waiting at the station platform. The cold air had sunk into the
lowlands which brought
frost and more importantly inversion conditions to Glasgow. I got on the
train just prior to 6am, out of the cold and into comfort. I never
slept, but listened to music and rested my eyes - Dalmuir, Dumbarton and
Helensburgh passed by in a daze of empty streets and haze-shrouded
lampposts.
The train climbed out of Garelochhead and climbed high onto the bank of
Loch Long, where it climbs to about 150m above the sea. And here I
climbed straight out of the mist and above the cloud, funnelled as it
was into the groove of Loch Long. The full moon, dead ahead, was setting
on the western horizon, illuminating the tips of the cotton wool cloud
below. Face pressed against the window, I sucked up the scene although
taking a photo would have been hopeless and way too difficult to try.
I could only have tried if the train weren't moving. Some scenes exist in memory alone.
At Tarbet, the train crawled back to sea
level and into the mist again. At Bridge of Orchy I waited expectantly
on the train for Colin and was glad when he stepped on - him and another
guy who was also heading to Corrour to walk up the lochside. He said he
wasn't on the hills anymore because of shot knees. Toward Rannoch, we went in and out of
mist banks, observing the frozen moor in passing from the train.
Surrounding peaks fired up into the most surreal pinks I have ever
seen.
No matter how hard it is to get up in the morning, I always know why I
come back here.
Carn Dearg
We stepped off at Corrour into a bright and silent morning. I
finished my free cup of tea and stashed away my camping gear, which I
ended up not using on this trip anyway. The guy we chatted to on the
train had told us the woman who ran the Corrour cafe moved to Lismore
and started up business there instead - for now the cafe was closed but
possibly only for the winter.
Heading toward Loch Ossian, I couldn't help but blurt out about all the
different mountains coming into view. When I'm planning a trip, I seem
to put up my own physiological barriers against going as far out on a
limb as somewhere like Corrour, but now here in front of me were all
these big and remote mountains, so close you could grab them, so
suddenly accessible. There is a lot of untapped potential in this area
and when I've done a trip once, it opens the floodgates to go again.
Without a cloud in the sky, we walked to the
Youth Hostel and beyond, cutting up towards 'Peter's Rock', a stone
above the loch bearing the memorial to a Peter J. Trowell, who died in
1979, six months short of the age of 30. We missed the plaque on the
day, but it's at a junction with a couple of tracks. We headed south
along one skirting the side of our first Munro, Carn Dearg, deciding
after a while it'd actually be better to cut up the mountainside instead
of contouring. Lower down, snow lay among clumps of heather but above,
we found reliable snowfields consisting of a toughened base covered by a
couple of inches of bone-dry powder. It was a complete joy to walk in
with the stability of the lower snow pack, kicking the shining crystals
out the way with each step, a more delicate version of scuffing your
feet along a shingle beech.
And what to say about the views? Well, simply among the best either of
us had ever seen. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, the creases of
mountain chains weaved their way around the horizon and the southern
valleys and Rannoch Moor were coated in a layer of sunken cloud. I
haven't found anything like the experience of seeing these conditions in
the mountains. They're often make my best hill-days.
The wind picked up at the final stretch to
the summit of Carn Dearg and we stopped in the shade of it's enormous
cairn. I got something to eat, took a panorama (or four!) and then we
headed off again this time towards the second Munro Sgor Gaibhre, out of the wind once more.
Sgor Gaibhre
It also struck me how close Ben Alder looked from here. I harboured
an ambition to, at some point, walk over the mountains from Corrour to
Culra bothy on the far side of this monstrous Ben Alder. On a day like
today it did look achievable. Colin was quite right to add something
along the lines of it looks so close because it's so big, and
quite right because the mountain was actually still 8kms away.
Sgor Gaibhre, by comparison, was quite easy going. We descended to the
saddle known as Mam Ban, past the snowed up peat hags and onto the
summit. Like Carn Dearg, this hill wasn't really about the summit but
what could be seen and experienced from it. List ticking is fun and all
- not to mention extremely addictive - but often we're shown that it's
so much more than an egotistical pursuit. Today was a temporary paradise
on Earth.
Sgor Choinnich and Descent
But if you claim 'BS' about the idea it's not about list-ticking
then you'd be right too, because I scooted up Sgor Choinnich (Munro Top)
alone and met Colin on the other side. I phoned home on the way up and
let mum know all was going superbly. She said it had been cloudy in
Glasgow but was breaking up now. I also texted and phoned Dougie and
made plans for the evening - Dougie would leave work and catch a train
to meet me at
Bridge of Orchy. It all worked out as well and we did Beinn Dorain the
next day.
And with my phone calls made, I got to the top,
took a quick panorama and thought I'd better run down to catch Colin
again who was literally on fire - no time to hang around today. Just
only the descent to come, I found myself in a situation where I was in
my own wee version of paradise, but knowing that now I had to get back
to reality. I realise that this stuff can sound pretentious, but I'm
stupidly romantic about the mountains and make no apologies!
Corrour Lodge to train station
The mist was down at Corrour Lodge. We were
a bit knackered by the time we got down and with climbing Beinn na Lap out of the
question, all we needed to do was walk the miles along the loch to the train station. Time wasn't an issue,
(we had plenty),
but the miles would probably be long. We stopped by the lodge for a few
minutes, had a look at the architecture (money was invested in this
estate big-time a few years back, and the 3-dimensional glass-arrow window indicates such)
The walk along the lochside was nice, but only nice and nothing on what
we'd seen above the mist. Covered in sheets of ice, it was
interesting to hear the loch crack and groan. Otherwise the walk was
quite uneventful and makes me think it's probably better on a clear day
with views.
Darkness was falling when we got on the
right track back to Corrour and the station appeared gloomy through the
mist. The walk was done but we'd have to wait a while for the train. I
pulled the stove out and got tomato soup on the go which was a
life-saver - I would have been miserable without. We met a guy who'd
walked from Dalwhinnie with an overnight at Culra the night before. He
was more than happy to take me up on my offer of soup and it was that
cold, I would have done the same. When the soup was finished, the stove was
still handy for heat. (Something to remember for future winter walks)
With Corrour absolutely freezing, it was odd to think that the summits
of the mountains were warmer thanks to the inversion.
When the train finally came we
were all understandably grateful for it's heat. Fellow MunroMagic'er Pete Dorrington
recognised me on the train and we got chatting. (We'd known we'd be on
the same train though) He'd been at Tulloch station on the easterly Loch
Treig Munros. But Colin and I got off at Bridge of Orchy, Colin headed
home and I booked into the hotel bunkhouse, for an extortionate £18 a
night per person. They'd just
painted the bunkhouse hallway floor green and it was still sticky so if
you see footprints in the paint, they're mine. I still don't like that
hotel and avoid it like the plague (unsuccessfully - b******ds).
Oddly enough, the train station bunkhouse charged also £18 a night, or
would have had they not been shut by broken heating and a burst pipe.
It makes more sense to undercut the hotel's prices
rather than simply equal it when the rest of Scotland's bunkhouses settle on £15/16
a night. Nevermind.
Anyway! Dougie arrived on time, I met him at the station and we
had some drinks before bed. The next day we climbed
Beinn Dorain.
Panoramas
Carn Dearg 90°
zoomed: N to E. Creag Meagaidh,
Beinn Eibhinn, Geal-charn, Ben Alder, Tilt, Tarf and Pitlochry
Carn Dearg 90°
zoomed: E to S. Rannoch, Glen Lyon,
Ben Lawers and Breadalbane
Carn Dearg 90°
zoomed: S to W. Mamlorn Hills,
Bridge of Orchy Hills, Rannoch Moor, Blackmount, Glen Coe, Leum Uilleim
Carn Dearg 90°
zoomed: W to N. The Mamores, Ben
Nevis, Aonachs, Grey Corries, Loch Treig, Creag Meagaidh
Sgor Gaibhre 180°
zoomed: south
Sgor Gaibhre 180°
zoomed: north
Sgor Choinnich 360°
panorama
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