Monamenach

Very unusually, I did this hill with my best man who admittedly was unfit, smoked heavily and was a little hungover. He did remarkably well considering and made it to the top in good time. Probably one of the easier Corbetts but quite steep in places. The views were good from the top though to the Caenlochan glen, Glas Maol and Mount Blair. Davy felt the need to prod at a crevasse and disappeared up to his gonads. Rather humorous. A nice wee stroll and relieved the whisky-fuelled hangover headache for me.

Shalloch on Minnoch

Forecast - superb. Hill choice - one that would afford me peace and quiet - Shalloch on Minnoch.
Would I do this one again? Not on your nelly. Why? Bog, confusion and loose woman.

The road from Straiton to the Bell Memorial car park is classified as a B road. The fact that it's classified as a road of any sort would have the Romans choking on their alli olio. Anyway, as I got ready to go, a woman in the car approached me and asked if I was going up Shalloch - I said aye. She wanted to warn me that she'd tried in October but got turned back by incredible bog and confusion. I was confused already. We discussed the route and tactics with the map - she said she'd follow me but thought she wouldn't keep up. Psychological tactics here? With my reputation? Gonnae no.

I pinged off down the road and on to the land rover track, passing an old ruined cottage with an oddly new white garage - so out of place. I was glad I'd lathered on the Factor 25 as the sun belted down and I began to relax intermittently checking behind me that thon wifie wasn't hot on my tail. I'm fine with looking after myself but truth be told, I wasn't down here to get someone to the summit. On a Corbett on a fine day too. I passed the old SOM farm and found old rifle cartridges - lots of them. Was that a banjo I could hear? I followed the burn up to the old sleeper bridge - a test of nerve to cross this and midway, a voice shouted near tipping me into the burn - the pursuer had caught up with me. I thought 'FFS!' and said hello. She must have run down the road after me. Well, it was time to turn on the after-burners and see ya!

I headed up the burn and found a wee path which meandered through the trees. The going indeed become extremely boggy. After 15-20 minutes meandering through the trees, I eventually emerged on to the hill proper and began the ascent up on to SOM. The wifie was nowhere to be seen. Am I bad for leaving her? I just wanted some peace. Having arrived at the trig point, the views across to the Merrick, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, Ailsa Craig and Mexico were excellent. I had lunch, bounded over to the true summit and then down a bit of uppydowny to Tarfessock and Kirriereoch Hill before returning over to Tarfessock and back down towards the conifers and burn. I should say by the time I arrived at the true summit, the wifie arrived waving her arms maniacally. Indeed.

Now, the SMC Corbett book says that some 'occasional meandering in and out of conifers' is needed to return to the SOM farm. Can I just state here and now that this is a load of b*llocks. Yes, you do meander but the use of occasional in this instance is like saying that 100 lacerations across your face and body with an acid whip is occasional. I was not impressed. I did eventually re-join the route back to SOM farm and enjoyed the last part of the walk. Not before I was joined by a rather bewildered wifie who thought she'd never get off the hill. This level of consternation I had not seen since the time I was at an awards party with MC Hammer and Chico and someone asked them what the time was.

I am sure there is an easier way off this hill but my advice is go armed with a suit of armour. Who says the Corbetts are easy

White Coomb

As I set off from the excellent NTS car park on my sojourn, I recalled a joke which rhymed with White Coomb. A young lady was eating lunch alone at a restaurant and couldn’t help overhearing a discussion among four men at a neighbouring table. Said the first man, “Just spell it the simplest possible way—W-O-O-M.” “There’s a B in it, you dope,” said the second. “It’s spelled W-O-O-M-B.” “You don’t have enough letters,” objected the third. “I think it ought to be spelled W-O-O-O-M-M-B.” “Nonsense,” said the fourth. “It’s ridiculous to put in all those letters. Besides, there’s a final R. It’s W-O-M-B-R-R.” The young lady could stand it no more. Having finished her meal, she approached the other table and said, “Gentlemen, if you’ll consult the dictionary, you’ll find that the word is spelled W-O-M-B. That’s all.” And she walked away.

The men gazed after her with astonishment. “Do you suppose she’s right?” asked one. “How can she be?” said a second. “A slip of a girl like that! I’m sure that never in her whole life has she heard an elephant fart underwater.”

Back to the hill. The excellent path up to the Grey Mare's Tail elevates you in double-quick time. Apparently, there are nesting peregrines up here but I only saw a group of mountain goats and anxious sheep - me, here, with my reputation?? The great path was obliterated just past the spectacular Grey Mare's Tail by a tonne of snow. From here to do the whole round would require a good physical effort. However, I ploughed on and frustratingly could see damn all due to the cloud level sitting at about 650m. Was that White Coomb on the left? Was that Lochcraig Head ahead? I could only wade and hope it would clear. Before long however, my journey along the Tail Burn came to an abrupt and beautiful end at Loch Skeen. The babbling burn was silenced and a sound couldn't be heard save the bleating of mountain goats and a forlorn cry from a disturbed bird-of-prey. Bliss. I sat for 10 minutes and revelled in the serenity.

I felt a chill and set off again, heading for the E shoulder of LochCraig Head. As I floundered through the snow, I could see a group of mountain goats across the loch all huddled together. There was I suppose an underlying menace to the locale; if the weather changed and in the last 48 hours a huge amount of snow had fallen, it would be a rather inhospitable place to exist i.e. nae food. I began to climb steeply into the cloud and as I walked up beside the fence (which was more or less under 3-4 ft of snow), I entered a murky world of monochrome. The walk along to LochCraig Head and then down and up to Firthope was obscured by cloud and snow - it was difficult seeing what was what and eventually as I headed South towards White Coomb, it began to show itself. At last, some mountain views again. The summit was curiously bereft of snow and a small summit cairn seemed wee compared to some of the more popular hills. Yet, this was a wild place and as such, it was nice that not many had passed this way. The views opened up to Hart Fell and back across to Lochcraig Head. The descent followed a dyke and was treacherously slippy in places. However, it made for quick down-time and I was back at the burn in good time, just in time to meet the less well-equipped walkers hoping to see Loch Skeen. Jeans, trainers and the usual lack of preparedness. I bade my farewells and returned down past the Grey Mare's Tail. Another great Corbett day out.

Ben Ledi - Bochastle route

Decided to do this last minute with a couple of friends from Callander. Uncharacteristically for me (but not for them), we arrived at the car park at 1100 on a Saturday. Mobbed. Instead, we drove around to the newish car park at Bochastle, just past the Lade Inn. Only 1 car so it would be a quiet way up most of this hill. And there's a lot to be said for going up this route. You have views from almost minute 1, the new land rover track offers an easy amble up past the conifer-line (not represented on the map) or you can just walk along to the adjoining path from Leny car park. We decided to head up past newly planted conifers, which was a little awkward on the feet - what a right mess the Forestry folk leave behind - scarcely nothing of wildlife resides in such an area. A falcon let out a forlorn cry as we ascended as if to say "nothing for me to eat here". Eventually, we connected with the well-used path and began the climb over the various shoulders up Ben Ledi. Views across to a partially frozen Loch Venachar to the South, Ben More and Stuc a Chroin to the East were fantastic and as we gained height, a biting Northerly wind sought out exposed flesh. Although this is a Corbett, it's extremely popular (almost as popular as Ben Lomond, in my opinion). After one or two false summits, we came across the curious iron cross and plaque commemorating a Mountain Rescue member and soldier. Quite sad really and unusual for such things to found on hills these days - the phrase 'I love the hills' resonated with me and I am sure many others. We walked a further bit across the plateau to the trig point and took photos of summit shots and admired the views but not for long, as the wind was really brutal. A quick descent at 1630 but still we met walkers ascending, some with camping equipment. A young couple were plodding up and if she expected a night of passion in that cold, she'd have more chance of winning the lotto than finding..... . A relaxing day out on the hills and Winter is still with us in the high places....

Meall a Bhuachaille

Unusually, I find myself writing with a hangover - a 21-year old from Glengoyne did the damage - was good at the time but I'm suffering today. Apologies if this report doesn't really flow or have any jokes. I returned from the Cairngorms after a magical outing - one of those days that doesn't really require a full verbal account of what happened - hopefully the photos do it justice. I had longed to do Bynack More for yonks but knew that the snowfall was immense and I'd likely be wading for hours before giving up and returning Munro-less or worse, actually become part of hill folklore - "he just waded into the sunset and was never found again - sometimes you can hear him cracking jokes and laughing at his own tales - then you hear the wading again...he wisnae right...." Sorry, where was I? Got up to Glenmore Lodge quite late in the day - 1330. I parked just past the Lodge and as I disembarked, I was rounded up by two excitable collie dogs - Come High! The path down through and on to the Ryvoan gap is a simply magical place to be - the different fauna and flora are outstanding and I was lost in a world of idyllic surroundings. As things tend to happen, this simple walk turned awkward when I obviously began ascending up Meall a Bhuachaille too early - it was rather steep going - so steep that I had to grab heather and roots to pull myself up - I had clearly taken the wrong way up. It did however provide rapid ascent and fantastic views across the Cairngorms - and there was Bynack More popping out in the distance. The only problem I have is the ski paraphernalia which really leaves a sour taste in the mouth as these hills are beautiful to look at. By using strategically placed trees, I was able to capture the hills minus the bumpf. I plateau'd out and enjoyed the final walk up to the huge summit cairn - I donned all my gear, sat down and just revelled in the heat on my face, while being insulated against the perishing Cairngorm wind. It was a beautiful 10 minutes of afternoon peace - probably about 1645 and not another soul on the hill. Quite a moving experience and I was genuinely reluctant to get up and move on. However, I did and although I wasn't planning on the full traverse of Creagan Gorm and Craiggowrie, they did look very tantalising. No, it was getting late and I had to get down - although fun at first by virtue of skooting (ski-ing in Scarpa boots - quite fun), the snow softened up further down and I was actually wading back to the forest. The track alongside the road brought me back to my starting point. Once again, another brilliant Corbett in the bag and a superb day out.

Hart Fell

On the way back up from England, I decided to swing past a hill and not miss Moffat's offering to the Corbetts.
I had decided to do the Blackcraigs horseshoe but didn't get to the car park until 1300 - I'd need to motor it if I was to get roon aboot. The view up to Saddle Yoke was quite spectacular and I couldn't wait to get high - yeah man...groovy.
Heading back along the road for 200m, I began the walk up towards a large cleft in the hillside - a faint path skirted this and by god, it made for a lung-bursting ascent. By the top of this I was sweating buckets but the views across to Saddle Yoke were stunning. Geologically, also quite an interesting hill and almost Torridon-like. As I continued up on towards Swatte Fell, I stumbled across about 10-12 mountain goats, the first time I'd ever seen these on a hill. Curious creatures but they had a couple of kids with them so I took a wide berth. At this point, the views really open up and I was slightly surprised to find that Hart Fell was still some distance away. That old illusion of it'll just be over this brow - no, the plateau offered some nice contours around the corrie but it was still at least an hour's walk. A most enjoyable jaunt takes you down a 100m descent before a re-ascent and up on towards the trigpoint, which is cocooned by a nice cairned shelter. I stopped for lunch and took in the views across to White Coomb - leaving late in the day meant I hadn't passed a single person - however, the silence was shattered when a large group plodded their way towards the summit - obviously, reversing my route. Or was I reversing their route - philosophical conundrums entered my brain as I had time to cogitate and digest the meanderings of the mind. It was time to turn and burn. I passed them and bade 'fitlikes' before swinging around some large cornices and on and up to Saddle Yoke. As the afternoon sun dropped, so did the temperature and I had to don the fleece - ah, sheepy goodness ye cannae bleat it. The final up and down over Saddle Yoke was quite spectacular and reminded me of the double peaks of Ben More and Stob Binnein - a nice sense of exposure was had up here and by this point, you're not actually that far from the car park - I made a quick, quad-crunching return to the land rover track and timed it as a 4 hour jaunt. It could be done in a lot more relaxing time and should be but I was keen to get home and see my lovely. Once again, I am blown away by the Corbetts and what they offer - this excursion is very dramatic, scenic and offers everything to the hillwalker. Much recommended.

Ben Donich

Another addition to my mountain porn collection - the Corbetts - was given to me by my other half. A new book to read in bed and fantasise about. Fabulous. I had trawled through it in some depth, murmuring my approval while my other half told me to get out and satiate the hill-beast. I had decided on Ben Donich, only an hours drive from Glasgow and at 0645, I was on my way with the forecast of high pressure but with plenty of snow still on the hills. As I drove up Glen Croe, I had forgotten how beautiful it was. My last trip up here had been an 8-hour 'epic' trying to get a friend off Beinn Bhuidhe who had taken unwell on the way down - I thereby christened it Beinn Spewie. As I parked in the Rest and be Thankful car park, I made a stupid error and got the car stuck. Luckily for me, a truck driver had stopped to take a photograph of the fantastic vista on offer and he managed to get the car out, while I pushed - I actually thought he was going to drive the bloody car off but he was helpfully taking it back to the roadside - the cynic that I am. Appropriately I was thankful in that car park and the actual Corbett could begin. I walked along the B828 until I came across the Forestry Commission track. Even at this height, the views were stunning from the Cobbler to Ben Donich itself and Beinn Luibhean across the A83. This was going to one of those memorable days. I had recently bought 2 walking poles and I have to say, even in this short excursion I was converted. The rhythm was good and there is something quite special about walking through virgin snow with no other footprints (save the wildlife). It wasn't long before I reached the stile and the ascent began in earnest. I made good progress but I decided to sit down and relax during this walk rather than melt the snow with my after-burners. It lives longer in the memory. As I ascended, the scenes before me were breath-taking and I snapped happily on my camera - thankfully with a fully charged battery this time. I know Doogz had previously said in a post that all he could hear was the traffic on the road - I was lucky as they had closed the B828 to traffic and so the only music I heard was the crunch of snow and the beat of my blood.

I had read in the book that in deep snow, care should be taken with several rock fissures forming quite deep crevasses further on. As I approached the first crag, I was literally stopped in my tracks as the rock became split into quite large chasms full of snow - who knows how deep some of these fissures were but I certainly wasn't going 'direttisima'. I headed around the gaps as best possible but it did involve down-climbing, a little rock-climbing and a wee jump on to slippy rock to get past this - quite cerebral and I have to say an unexpected but pleasant surprise. This took me about 10 minutes to get round. Once past this, there are no difficulties and I began to relax. I had been conscious of keeping well back from the edges in case I was walking on any cornices. Without word of a lie, I was literally 0.5 km from the summit when I heard this almighty boom and rumble and I burst into a run quicker than a steroidal Ben Johnson. Anabolic Pollock? I don't know if I set an avalanche off down the N face but I didn't hing about to fun oot. It was very unnerving and I began to think it had been in my mind. I crossed the flat plateau to the OS trig point and sat and admired the view while getting stuck into my hot minestrone soup - one I had prepared earlier. Arran, the Paps of Jura and even Mull could be seen. Was that Newfoundland?!

The descent was less remarkable but still required care, reversing my route through and over the fissures. Once down and back at the car, I looked back and took in the view once more. I never saw a soul on the hill all day - wonderful. Corbetts? Yer damned tooting.

The Cobbler aka Ben Arthur

The itch had to be scratched once again and this time I had company for the trip, a Dutch guy called Mike who was over for 6 months to complete his Ph.D. Mike was keen to get some walking done and I thought I would introduce him to Ben Arthur, an unforgettable character. However, as we left the car park at Succoth, the clag was in and I couldn't even show him where we were heading. We took to the excellent path and it was a quick climb past the Narnain boulders - I regaled him with stories of folk sleeping under these giant rocks. I think he thought I was pulling his leg but I kept telling him he'd see some cracking sights today, what with the dramatic view of the Cobbler and perhaps the 'threading of the eye of the needle'.

This too was lost on Mike but I said actions would speak louder than words. We reached the bealach between our objective, Beinn Narnain and Beinn Ime. The cloud was beginging to lift and we sensed some fine views were imminent. I couldn't believe how good the path was up to the top of the Cobbler and before long, I told Mike we had reached our airy summit. Mike told me how much he loved his girlfriend and that he was happy just to take photos of me trying to attain the exposed summit. Threading the 'eye of the needle' wasn't the hard part - once through the other side, a potential drop on to some boulders of about 25 ft added some spasms to the sphincter. I gripped my way along the broadish ledge (maybe 2 ft wide) but it was a little damp and I took extra care along to the incline. Having done a fair amount of indoor climbing, it doesn't really prepare you for the feeling of cold damp rock. Philosophical questions filled my mind. Where were those jugs, who had the belay, did Mike love his girlfriend more than I did mine? I ungracefully pulled my weight up on to the summit and posed for the 'money shot'.

Once I had clambered back down, I was relieved to see Mike had been taking plenty of photos and I was relieved to be off the piece of rock, although it was rather exhilarating. A spot of lunch at the top, as the clouds parted and we enjoyed a chat about the Scots, the Dutch and a world going to pot. At least you can rely on the hills to restore faith and on the way down we must have said hello to maybe 50 or 60 people who were heading up. It was a good wee trip and one which I think Mike enjoyed although he did his best to remind me of the 3-0 victory in the football on the way back down. However, he was nae bad for a Dutch loon...