July 23, 2009
I have come across another mountain related saying in my pamphlet of Gaelic proverbs:
Anail a Ghaidheil, air a mhullach!
The Gael’s breathing place – on the summit!
Is that so? Why is it so many of my neighbours have never set foot on a footpath let alone a hillside?
July 19, 2009
I have been eagerly awaiting the new Sunday night offering from BBC1, that starts on 26th July at 9pm. The series, River, will see presenter Griff Rhys Jones celebrate the different views, roles and aspects of rivers in the British Isles.
Last autumn, the film crew were in the village with Griff to film for the first programme in the series, that saw him climb down the Grey Mare’s Waterfall and visit the Blackwater Dam to learn about the power of water. As the local community trust chairman, I had met with the series producer to help with some background information and put the programme makers in touch with people who could help make the programme. I am looking forward to seeing local lady Avril, tell Griff about the role of the river in the making of aluminium in this part of Scotland and the communities that grew up around the industry.
If the recent press articles I have read about the series are anything to go by this is going to be another high-quality, fascinating offering from the BEEB. You should take a look at Griff’s account of swimming in the River Tay in the Mail on Sunday, it will bring a smile to you face even if it didn’t to his.
Related links:
Mail on Sunday Preview Article
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July 16, 2009
Your perception of distance can play tricks on you in the mountains. Perhaps, it’s the unique mountain light that causes your brain to go haywire and pretend that the summit in the distance is closer than you think. More likely the boost of exercise related hormones, that are triggered when you lace up your boots and put one foot in front of the other, have clouded your judgment and estimation of your own abilities. We have all been there, leaning against a summit cairn taking in the panorama around us when our eyes alight on another airy ridge and a temptingly gnarly summit just beyond. In that moment of “topping-out” euphoria your brain’s normally fairly accurate computation of time and distance fail, egged on by your own sense of achievement you find yourself stepping forward to bag that extra peak. After all, you are so close; it would be a shame to miss it out. If the body produced a reality hormone it would be coursing through your veins by now triggering an involuntary but rational movement of arms to map and then focusing of eyes. This simple physiological move would confirm that the summit is further than first thought and involve a nastily steep ascent following that knee-crunching descent. All to be repeated in the opposite direction. In combination with the “let’s be rational about this” hormone this would result in an abrupt about turn and murmurs of, “perhaps I will leave it for another day.”
Setting out to bag the lonely peak of Gulvain there was no risk of overestimating my own abilities but I had lost all sense of distance. Striding out along the track beside the Fionn Lighe, the heat of the early morning sun already rising, I knew that it was a long walk in before we would start climbing. Pausing briefly as we crossed the river I gazed in to temptingly cool, inky black pools as the water lazily slid underneath the bridge. Yet still there was no sign of my goal. I quickened my pace beside the forestry plantation desperate to get to higher ground. There I knew I would be out of reach of the slashing, slicing razor-sharp teeth of the clegs that hovered around me, ready to silently ambush any exposed piece of skin. They had plenty to aim for as I had foolishly opted to wear walking shorts for this outing, providing a Heathrow-sized space for these airborne insect terrorists to hijack my blood. A decision that I came to regret the next day as my legs turned to itchy islands of blotchy, red inflammation and swelling.
The welcome first glimpse of the twin-peaked Gulvain, the footpath leaving a clear stony scar on its lower slopes, encouraged me onwards. Yet no matter how many steps I took forward the mountain never seemed to get any closer.
Push forward one hundred metres. Stop. Look upwards. The mountain seemed further away than ever.
Focus on the summit whilst walking. Surely, then it will gradually seem closer.
Another kilometre effortlessly glides by and the grassy slopes obstinately stand still.
Temporary distance perception disorder had definitely kicked in. Then all of a sudden it disappears as the steep slope towers above you, shutting out any view of the first summit. The path zigzags relentlessly upwards, the clegs left safely behind. Instead I am joined by bumblebees heavily laden with ruby red pollen and jewel-like dragonflies, emerald green, sapphire blue and jet-black darting to and fro. Their target the carpets of wild thyme and lady’s mantle providing a purple and yellow fringe to the path. These natural delights divert me from the climb and soon I am leaning against the trig point of the minor top. Glancing at the Munro beyond, I wondered if my brain is playing distance tricks again. The summit looks suspiciously close and the drop before any re-ascent only minimal. Not wanting to risk a step too far I check the map. It’s only six hundred metres with a drop of fifty. No delusional distances.
On fine summer days you linger at the top desperately wanting to make up for all those days where, blasted by wind and rain you barely pause at a summit. I did just that on Gulvain carefully crossing off the other mountains I could identify, noting the enticing ones not yet climbed. I wanted to remain high for as long as possible as I retraced my steps along the ridge. Even more so, when confronted with a squadron of flying insects primed for their next kamikaze mission towards human skin.
Heat, tiredness and mountain air all contributed to severe distance distortion when I reached the track below. Six kilometres seemed like sixty. The landmarks I had mentally noted in the morning, the tumble-down croft, the fire-break in the trees, the small bend in the track were all further apart than before. The car was never just round that corner or over that hump, instead I was always confronted with just dusty track stretching off into the distance. Eventually that track ran out and slumped against my car I realised that time, distance and space often have no real meaning in the mountains
Recommended Links:
Walk Highlands Route Description
“Cairn in the Mist” Blog Route Report
July 14, 2009
My discussion topic on the walkhighlands.co.uk forum has been converted in to a reader’s poll where you can vote for the three best pubs for walkers in the Highlands.
Two of the nominations are mine, one extremely obvious the second probably unknown to many.
1. The Clachaig Inn (NN 127 567)
This had to be nominated as the iconic climber’s and walker’s pub nestled in the heart of Glencoe. With The Three Sisters, the Aonach Eagach Ridge, Bidean nam Bian just a stones throw away most people when they have been out on the hills close by gravitate here in the evening. Good food (try the Venison Sausages), local beer from the Atlas Brewery and plenty of tall tales from the mountains.
2. The Creagan Inn (NM 973 445)
Just before the A828 cross Loch Creran on the way to Oban this pub used to have a pretty poor reputation. New owners and a major refurbishment have transformed it in to a great place for a drink and good food. The picture windows facing westwards out on to the give fantastic sunset views and if it is warm enough you can sit outside on the terrace decking. This is a good place to visit if you are tackling some of the Munros or Corbetts from Loch Creran such as Beinn Sgulaird and Creach Bheinn.
Not surprisingly the ever popular Clachaig Inn is the frontrunner at the moment. You can register your vote here, but you will need to register as a forum member if you are not already.
Related posts: Search for the best walker’s pub in the Highlands
Further reading: Forum discussing nominations
July 13, 2009
There’s a baker’s dozen of great walks still on offer in the summer programme of the Nevis Hillwalkers. This is my local hillwalking club and although I am unable to go out with them every weekend, whenever I am free I try and spend a day on the hills with them .
My highlights during the summer programme are:
I know that walking with a group of people is not to everyone’s taste but this club is a bit different. Even when there is a largish group (say 12) of us out on the hills, you can still get a feeling of solitude. If you want to walk slowly or fast you can do, no one is going to make you walk with the herd. Collectively we will all keep an eye out for each other but we all take individual responsibility.
This last weekend whilst out on Gulvain I opted out of joining the rest of the group for the “interesting” steep descent from the summit in to Gleann Fionnlighe and the cleg and midge delights that would greet them there. Instead, wanting to stay high, I walked back in the sunshine along the main ridge. That’s the ethos of the club, the programme is there as a guide but with enough flexibility for us to try different routes if we chose.
If you are visiting the Lochaber area over the summer and fancy walking with some local people take a look at our programme. Visitors can join us on three club walks a year before having to join. You’ll be assured of a warm welcome. .
You can download our programme here. Or find out more about the club here.
May 11, 2009
Alex & Bob’s Blue Sky Scotland
After the last week of poor weather in the Highlands I sometimes wonder if it ever stops raining in my part of the Highlands. So the premise behind Alex and Bob’s relatively new blog, that it doesn’t always rain in Scotland, is welcome. They take the attitude that it may rain frequently north of the border but it doesn’t the whole country all of the time. More importantly there is often an East-West split where one side can be in brilliant warm sunshine and the other enveloped cold grey drizzle.
Basing their walking trips on the weather forecast, they are flexible enough to head in the direction where the skies are clear, or clearer. This commonsense approach has allowed them to miss the worst of the British weather. As they are not chasing the high peaks it means less well-known areas of Scotland are featured. Recent reports have included Knockdolian (a 265m hill in Ayrshire) and Great Cumbrae Island off the north Ayrshire coast. This is great approach for a walking blog, proving that you don’t have to go high to be impressed.
http://blueskyscotland.blogspot.com/
January 5, 2009
Image via Wikipedia
I have been dipping in to the excellent book about Birds of Prey, in the New Naturalists series. Amazingly, due to the magnification ability of a Golden Eagle’s eyes, if it was flying 1500 feet above the summit of Ben Nevis it would be able to see a cat in a garden in Inverlochy!
Just as well Felix domesticus is not on the list of preferred delicacies for a Golden Eagle.
July 7, 2008
The latest two updates to my letter to a novice hillwalker have just been added. My thoughts on watching the weather and being prepared can be read here.
July 5, 2008
A forum post at www.walkhighlands.co.uk asking for advice for a novice hillwalker starting out in the Scottish Highlands, got me thinking about what advice I would give. There is so much expert opinion out there on the internet, in magazines and books that it can be bewildering to know where to start.
So I decided to jot down my top ten tips from personal experience since I started walking in Scotland last year. It is in the form of an open letter and the first two tips can be found here. I will be adding the next installments over the next week.
Follow my advice to a fellow novice hillwalker here.
Munro Musings 