Carnethy Weekend, Glencoe
4th/5th November 2006

Hill running is technically demanding. No more so than Saturday night at the bunkhouse
- Kate was faced with feeding 18 hill-weary runners with one cooker the size of a large frying-pan. Ingenuity won out, diverse receptacles including an old pressure cooker were brought into play, filled to the brim with tomato, meat and chilli (or veggies for the pure amongst us), while Hilary stoked apples from the hospital grounds into a crumble in the oven below. A feast. While the pots simmered, the crew were introduced to a strange game involving flat hands on the table that utterly escapes comprehension.

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But we got there safely through the rain late on Friday, and took in a good night’s rest before the trials of the weekend, though some eccentrics arrived with the next dawn. Saturday half the group took off for Kinlochleven, while others decimated Munros and the war-injured vengefully studied their maps. Eight hardies headed out of Kinloch on this dreich morning. After a few navigational hiccoughs (never trust orienteers) we regrouped to find the track up the side of the Blackwater gorge. Spectacular in fine weather, but heavy going on a very damp and sometimes impossibly slithery surface. Gear was a problem, trainers and shorts fought an uphill battle. A few accidents narrowly averted, we were relieved to see the dam of the reservoir, in two tiers. We diverted NorthWest, Nick inspired a splash over the river to inspect a monument to the Bishop of St. Albans who died on that spot in 1857. We’d expected to be at Loch Trieg by late lunchtime, a logistic error of nightmare proportions (mea culpa) and in the event half the group headed back at the Allt an Ruadha Dheirg crossroads while the stalwarts did the extra mile to the Loch Chiarain bothy, newly refurbished by volunteers (for details see here). Four, and a brave but muddy Jack Russell called Arkle, lunched in sublime isolation, both from the world and the present day, with the remains of a gas lantern or cooker, half a century old, preserved on the windowsill overlooking the deserted loch. Andy penned a note of our visit in the book, and we closed up to follow the others on the long hard wet road back, over Meall na Cruadhe and down to Loch Eilde Mor, the final steep descent into Kinloch running with the abandon of children, through forests caught in their autumn red, green and gold splendour, where the path is sometimes a stream, and the stream is often the path.

Saturday night, the chilli was accompanied by excellent craik, as some had earlier slipped out for some refreshment, the management of the nearby Claichaig Inn was alerted that some sweaty hillrunners had invaded the front lounge pretending to be posh people (they cunningly slipped through the security net by not wearing crampons) but promptly decanted to the boot bar at the back with the rest of the proletariat. From the carpark we could see a large group descending the precipitous path down from the Aonach Eagach in pitch darkness making painfully slow progress despite headtorches.

Looking out the bunkhouse on Sunday morning, the clouds were streaming across the sky (and hills) and the strong wind was buffeting the trees, so the planned scramble along the Aonach Eagach was called off. The trepid eyed the treacherous grey skies and headed for the safety of the Pap of Glencoe or to Meall a Bhuiridh, while the intrepid eyed the heights of the Munros of Beinn a'Bheithir, or the Ballachulish Horseshoe as it's more commonly known, specially chosen so that Joan and Colin Wilson could do a tick on their second Munro round!

Even walking up though the forest the wind was quite vicious and then the rain came in. Not looking good for a circuit of the tops. However, as is often the case, once we'd emerged from the steep, screey climb onto the ridge to the west of Sgorr Dhonuill (the western of the Munros), the wind didn't seem as bad. It was obviously gusting into the corries below, and the rain stopped (for the rest of the day, as well!). The rest of the walk up Sgorr Dhonuill was an easy climb in the clouds. A quick stop at the cairn to mark Eli Scott and Emily Seaman's first Munro (with a typical photo of a cairn in a cloud! How many more like this will they take?) before descending the rocky ridge to the col. Then, suddenly the winds ripped the clouds apart; a "wow" factor as an amazing view appeared - it always seems more impressive when you've been in clouds. Great views all the way to Loch Leven and Glencoe (see photo – horseshoe from the Pap of Glencoe)
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But with the increase in visibility came an increase in the wind and the climb up the next Munro, Sgorr Dhearg, turned out very interesting to say the least. It was impossible to stay upright as we climbed the ridge and as each gust came you had to crouch and hang on. By dropping below the ridge it was possible to move in a sort of sideways motion. Colin's hat soon disappeared but luckily he doesn’t have any hair, else that would probably have disappeared as well ! Instead his map bag and two maps soared away towards Loch Etive. The only casualty was Joanne Thin, who was blown over and, landing heavily, damaged her knee. The party staggered to the top, but there was no shelter as the cairn is one of the smallest cairns on a munro, just a few stones, so we had to sit in a line behind Andy Spenceley (being the fattest - well, Shane Bouchier had dropped back on the climb as he didn't want that honour!). Then it was straight down the long northerly ridge that heads straight towards the Ballachulish Bridge, hanging on at the narrow rocky bits to avoid getting blown off, before it widened to a lovely grassy ridge. We finally dropped steeply down through some replanted plantation (so that orienteers such as Emily could feel at home) and back to the cars and the Glencoe Tea-shop.

A good day out, and a splendid weekend. True thanks to the organisers.

Andy Spenceley and Richard Lathe.