Sourlies bothy to Kinbreack bothy
(10.5 miles/1,880 metres ascent)
The morning was beautiful, though - dry, and already sunny and bright - and so I soon shrugged off the misery of the night before.
The previous day, Steve and Lorraine had mentioned a plan to get up early onto the ridge and climb some Munros if the weather was good, and as we were all beginning to pack up they asked if I'd like to go along. I was excited by the idea of getting high onto the ridge in such beautiful weather, and happily accepted.
By 7.30am we were ready to go, and so we set off in the shade up the steep side of the hill behind the bothy, and aimed for the sunshine higher up. The first bit of the climb was a bit of a killer, after the rigours of the night before, but my calves soon began to loosen up...
...and by the time we climbed to the top of the lower end of the ridge I was feeling pretty good, and utterly exhilarated by the beautiful views back down along Loch Nevis emerging all around us.
From a little higher up I could just make out the tents still pitched by the bothy far below us...
...and I waved back down to the campers, just in case anyone happened to be looking up.
We finally climbed into the sunshine, and stopped for a breather on a knoll near Lochan na Craoibhe, where I sat looking back down Loch Nevis and, spotting a house, wondered what on earth it must be like to live in such surroundings.
The way ahead continued steeply up in front of us, though, and so we didn't stay long but pressed on up the ridge.
As we climbed higher, Eigg and Rum began to appear in the distance behind us.
Our first target for the day was Sgurr na Ciche, and it rose before us looking pointy, impressive and very mountainous! I think this was it, in the foreground :-)
It looked even more mountainous and pointy to me as we set off for the final ascent...
...but by 11am we were up there, enjoying fantastic views.
From the top of Sgurr na Ciche we were able to see the Cuillin Ridge far away from us on Skye, and I took a quick picture in case the weather changed and it disappeared.
The view back over to Eigg and Rum was even better than before...
...and someone kindly took a piccy to commemorate my ascent of what I think may well have been only my second ever Munro :-)
The views around us were maginficent in every direction...
...and as we advanced further along the ridge small patches of snow revealed themselves on the rocks ahead of us.
Lorraine and Steve were able to identify all the near and distant mountain tops for me, but because my memory for the names of Scottish mountains doesn't yet extend much further than Ben Nevis I'm sorry to say that I can't remember them now.
After Sgurr na Ciche the plan was to descend to a col, leave our packs and dash up to the top of Garbh Chioch Mhor. We duly descended and left our things on a rather precarious ledge, and then nipped up as quickly as we could. As we got higher we could see an ominous black cloud approaching us at speed, and that provided all the incentive we needed to get to the top as quickly as possible. It was freezing on the top and so we didn't hang around to take pictures, but instead got back down to the packs as quickly as we could to wrap up against the weather. Once there we stopped for a snack, and I was so hungry that I guiltily succumbed to the invitation to consume a p*rk pie... Trail mix and pistachios are all very well, but they're not in the same league in the lunch stakes as cheese and onion pasties and flapjacks, I reckon. Scottish supermarkets - please take note! :)
From the col we set off towards Garbh Cioch Bheag along a rather amazing high level wall, known as the Great Wall of Knoydart. It followed the craggy hillside up and down, and I can't begin to imagine the amount of work that must have gone into building it! At one stage I lost my footing and fell a couple of feet onto my side, nearly killing Lorraine as a pole shot out of my hand and almost speared her in the back of the head, and landing on my right side with my left leg stuck up in the air in a belated attempt to regain my balance. I didn't hurt myself, but my rucksack was jammed between rocks and Lorraine had to come and yank it out before I could get up :-) Steve retired to a safe distance, from which he appeared to be trying hard to keep a straight face, but since it struck even me as funny I was very impressed at the tactful way in which they both managed not to collapse to the ground in giggles!
At the foot of Garbh Cioch Bheag we stopped for another snack and a break in a grassy hollow, where we were protected from the wind, and enjoyed the afternoon sunshine - having gone once again from waterproofs to baselayers for the umpteenth time that day - as we watched a collie taking a dip in a little pool. Steve and Lorraine got out the map to consider their route for the following day, and I lay back against my rucksack enjoying the sun, albeit a little anxious at the possiblity of collecting my first ticks of the trip. In due course it was time to move on, though, and so we hoisted the packs and set off up the extremely steep ascent to the top of Sgurr nan Coireachan, our third Munro of the day.
We'd done a number of steep climbs that day, but this one really wiped me out, and both Steve and Lorraine had been some time at the top and were probably verging on hypothermia by the time I panted up to them. The view back down towards the hills we'd done soon made everything worthwhile, though...
...particularly as it was possible to trace the line of the wall along the crags descending in our wake.
There had been talk of continuing along the ridge to Sgurr Mor, but eventually it was decided to save that one for another day (phew!) and we began to make for the point at which we could descend from the ridge towards the path down to Kinbreack bothy.
I took a last, long look at Eigg and Rum in the distance, and then the long descent began.
As is often the case, I began to feel tired when I realised that the end of the day was in sight, and so it was a bit of a blow to learn that the bothy was still some 7 or so kilometers away. The path down was pretty good, though, and we got to the bottom in pretty good time and began the long trudge along the track which led eventually to the River Kingie. Lorraine had pointed out the bothy to me from way up on the side of the hill, but it was a bit weird the way it just didn't seem to be getting any closer at all, despite the fact that we seemed to have been walking towards it for an unfeasibly long time.
At some stage along the way someone noticed a small herd of deer watching us closely from the hillside up to our left.
After a quick look we pressed on towards our destination, and eventually we arrived at the point at which the river crossing was likely to be easiest. We were lucky - the river was low - and so it wasn't a problem to get across. My feet were already soaked from the boggy ground approaching it, and so I didn't bother to take off my socks, and instead just walked straight through. That brought us to within a couple of hundred meters of the bothy, and eventually we were there.
By that stage I was completely destroyed, and after a quick scan inside - it was all pretty damp and gloomy downstairs, but there was a nice dry first floor with a fireplace at one end and a sleeping area at the other - I sat down outside on a rock and began to gather my wits together. Tony Hardman - on his 10th crossing - was already there, and planning to sleep inside, whilst Gavin and Graham had already erected their tent just outside the door and were cooking dinner. Lorraine and Steve sat down as well, and passed across a bottle of brandy for a restorative sip. Brandy has never tasted so good! Just as I was savouring the moment I noticed a couple of walkers arriving at the stream from what I think was the Glen Dessary direction, and was delighted to realise that they were Bob and Rose Cartwright, who are friends of mine. I hadn't expected to see them there, so the meeting was even more fun than it would otherwise have been.
Not long afterwards we all went inside and began to put out our kit in the sleeping area. Bob and Rose decided to camp, and so they went out to put up their tent. By the time I had my mat inflated and some of my things unpacked there was a fire starting up at the other end of the room, and pretty soon we were cooking our respective meals. After my disaster with the pasta the night before I took refuge in the safety of Beanfeast and Smash - a tried, tested and delicious combination for me - preceded by a sustaining mug of wild mushroom soup. Being interested in what people eat whilst backpacking I noticed that Steve and Lorraine had pasta in some sort of sauce, and that Tony had pasta mixed in with soup and fortified by Pepperoni sausage. Bob and Rose returned to the bothy to cook, and they went for a home-dehydrated gourmet concoction of some sort: it smelled quite fantastic.
Everyone was tired, but the atmosphere rapidly livened up when a bit of burning newspaper fell out of the fire and ignited Lorraine's sandals. It was really quite exciting for a few moments :-) A group effort eventually succeeded in dousing the sandals, but not before they'd done a bit of melting at the ends.
After that things calmed down again, until Lorraine detected a tick embedded in her right shin!
Some urgent and informed debate took place about the best way to get them out, but in the end Lorraine went for the "suffocate it with Vaseline" method, and after that Steve removed the offending beasty with a pair of tweezers. That was really quite exciting as well! :-)
The fire provided an opportunity to try to dry my socks and Roclites...
...and we sat around, hypnotised by the flickering light, in the way that people tend to do in the presence of an open fire.
We drank a little whisky, just for the principle of the thing, but fairly soon Bob and Rose departed for their beds, and not long after that we all made our way over to our own mattresses and lay down to fall asleep.
Return to Home page -- Previous page -- Next page