Sgurr a' Mhaoraich |
Monday 9 September 2024
Sgurr a' Mhaoraich
A' Ghlas Bheinn and Glomach Falls
Falls of Glomach |
Friday, 6 June 2024
Ascent: 1269 metres
Distance: 27.5 kilometres
Time: 7 hours 36 minutes
A Ghlas-bheinn 918m 3hrs 10mins
Falls of Glomach 331m 4hrs 38mins
It was another magical day with added heat from the September sunshine. John was to climb A'Ghlas-beinn and Beinn Fhada with Keith, I had decided to give Beinn Fhada a miss, I had been up a couple of years earlier and made a long intended walk to the Falls of Glomach instead. We parked opposite the Morvich campsite and began walking to Gleann Choinneachain, which bisects the two Munros and leads to Bealach na Sgairne. The path rises steadily through woodland first and then on the open hillside crossing the fast-flowing burns that drain the northern corries of Beinn Fhada. We were joined by a young woman walker from Edinburgh and we learnt of her progress towards completing the Munros, she had climbed 216 and saw A'Ghlas-beinn as a warm-up for her climb of Liathach tomorrow.
We halted at Bealach an Sgairne, we had once contemplated dropping over to Sgurr nan Ceathramhnan from here to add another three Munros to the usual walk of A' Ghlas-bheinn and Beinn Fhada. Our ambitions have been moderated since those crazy days of Munro bashing. The temperature was soaring as we began the steep and relentless 400 metres ascent to A' Ghlas-bheinn, it is now the lowest Munro following the sad demotion of Sgurr nan Ceannaichean and Beinn a' Chlaidheimh. We caught a couple of walkers ahead as we sweated it out and then dropped at the summit and drooled at the magnificent vistas in all directions.
After a lazy lunch stop, Keith and John returned south to the beach and headed for Beinn Fhada whilst I spent 10 minutes rebuilding the cairn before beginning a romp down the crags to the north of the hill and over to the Falls of Glomach path. I had done this walk in the opposite direction on my previous visit. It has a lonely but mellow wildness as you navigate through the pathless undulating landscape, several deer were grazing close to the lochans. The heat had brought out the flies in huge numbers, I retrieved the midge spray but to little avail. As I scooted down the hill, the path was invisible from the convex slope of Meall Dubh and I was getting concerned until the path appeared complete with a woman returning from the Falls of Glomach.
We slipped into an easy conversation, she was a photographer and had hoped to capture some shots of the Falls but the lighting had not fulfilled her photographer's eye. I usually speak briefly to passing walkers but this was a long and fascinating conversation with someone who clearly loved the Scottish hills, seemed to have had a life of adventure and was wedded to outdoor pursuits. She had 16 Munros to reach her compleation and, as is often the case, they were all in remote locations. She felt that it would be useful to do these with others but was not in a club. I suggested that Keith may be able to guide her to some of these, he has guided dozens of others from his walking club to Munro compleations over the years. The conversation confirmed that one of the great delights of hillwalking is meeting like-minded folk who inspire you to keep going, although when she recommended a book 'Fit at Fifty' that says you can keep improving until you are 76, I thought I might have missed the boat.
It was with some reluctance on my part that we were going opposite ways. I started on the path down to the Falls of Glomach, it was a pleasant stroll at first before a series of zig-zags down 200 metres to the top of the falls. There is a final boggy section through long grass and then just the glorious gushing Abhainn Gaorsaic as it approaches the precipice and plunges 150 metres into the dark cool abyss. I sauntered down the path for 50 metres to take some photos, you can never capture the sheer force of a waterfall but I was probably 90 minutes later than the photographer and may have secured better lighting later in the afternoon. After twenty minutes or so I began the long walk back. I reached the high point of the path at 508 metres and took a break to decide whether I would have time to climb the nearby hills of Suie Dhu and the Graham, Carnan Cruithneachd which was 3 kilometres away over boggy ground. I figured it would add an hour and a half to the walk and we had arranged to meet back at the car at 6:30pm. It was already 4:15pm and a 7-kilometre walk back so I decided against it.
The path back from the high point of the Glomach path was rougher than I remembered. The compensation was the north-facing slopes of A' Ghlas-bheinn scored by dozens of burns that serrated the hillside. Even reaching the track through the forestry plantations .left me with a walk of 5 kilometres back to the car. I then received a message from Keith that they would not be down until 7:30pm. I was down by 5:45pm and after visiting the campsite to see if drinks were on sale, they weren't, I trudged another two kilometres to the Pitstop cafe, formerly known as the Jacobite. A beer and some chips helped me while away an hour in the warm late evening sun whilst the sound system played an appealing collection of Dire Straits, Fleetwood Mac and similar music. Another sun-filled day was forecast for tomorrow, life was good.
Looking across to Beinn Fhada from A' Ghlas-beinn |
A' Ghlas-beinn with KY cairn |
My route down from A'Ghas-beinn |
Top of the Glomach Falls |
Burn sculpting on the north slopes of A'Ghlas-beinn |
Pitstop Cafe |
The Saddle and Forcan Ridge
Forcan Ridge |
Thursday, 5 September 2024
Ascent: 1302 metresDistance: 17 kilometres
Time: 6 hours 41 minutes
Sgurr an Forcan 965m 2hrs 52mins
The Saddle 1011m 3hrs 32mins
Biod an Fithich. 646m 5hrs 20mins
The forecast was good and we decided to climb the Saddle, ideally by the Forcan Ridge. John had to climb Sgurr na Sgine as well to complete his fourth round. I had done it a couple of times in recent years, once to climb the Corbett, Buidhe Bheinn after the SMC changed the position of the summit 3 kilometres to the south despite both tops of the ridge being 885 metres. The excellent path from Glen Shiel rises to 500 metres below the impressive peak of Biodan Fhithich before it doubles back and climbs another couple of hundred metres to the northern end of the Forcan Ridge. There is a small cairn that is easily missed that marks the narrow path that shimmies its way to the rocky crest.
The climb is steep and becomes a bit of a scramble but it is an entertaining ascent. During our first long weekend of Munro bashing in 1989, John and I had reached the Forcan Ridge during a temperature inversion and I was mesmerised by appearing in the glory rings of a Brocken spectre, It had happened once before on MacGillycuddies reeks in County Kerry in 1975 but never since. Until today, when the Forcan Ridge and the sun's angle conspired with the dispersing cloud to provide several minutes of a repeat. As the ridge steepened and the scramble became more challenging, the sun took over and we entered the joyous pleasure of ridge scrambling on a perfect day for half an hour.
We passed the summit of the Saddle just before the Vanessa Trig Point and walked on for 50 metres to a point that provided views across to Knoydart. It was lunchtime and we dallied in the warm September Indian summer. There is a path down to Bealach Coire Mhalagain from here, a drop of 300 metres. John and Keith began the climb up Sgurr an Sgine whilst I traversed along to the footpath at the start of the Forcan Ridge. Time was on my side but I continued to the next bealach below Biod an Fhithich and made straight for the summit. A man and his dog were just ahead of me and I settled down for an hour on this superb viewpoint. The man from Perth was going to Skye for a couple of days to complete his final two Munros on the ridge. I took photos, ate an apple, sent some messages, browsed the map and was slowly baked. I eventually descended back to the bealach at 500 metres hoping that John and Keith would appear but after 15 minutes, the sun retreated behind the hill and there was no sign of them so I decided to walk back to the car.
It turned out to be a long wait but the van parked next to John's car belonged to Thistle Trekking and David Battle, the Director was eyeing up a place to camp for the night. We chatted for an hour, he even provided me with a biscuit and said I could stay in his van if John and Keith did not return. We eventually spotted them through his binoculars before he decided to head upwards hoping to find a pitch out of the strong winds that were forecast but high enough to enjoy the possible temperature inversion in the morning. John and Keith arrived shortly after he left and for the second day, we were only just back at the cottage before nightfall. The electrician had fitted a new electric switch box so I sent a photo to my brother who was above the Arctic Circle but able to switch the heating on from a smartphone.
Forcan Ridge |
Me in the Brocken spectre from Forcan Ridge |
On the Forcan Ridge, rebuilding the cairn |
Keith and John on the Saddle |
Forcan Ridge from the Saddle |
Looking south to Knoydart |
Sisters and Brothers of Kintail |
The Saddle from Biod an Fithich |
Loch Duich from Biod an Fithich |
Five Sisters |
Biod an Fithich |
End of a perfect day - Glen Shiel |
A' Chrailaig and Mullach Fraoch-choire
Glen Shiel and South Cluanie ridge from A' Chrailaig |
Wednesday, 4 September 2024
Ascent: 1182 metresDistance: 18 kilometres
Time: 6 hours 37 minutes
Mullach Fraoch-choire 1102m. 3hrs 31mins
Stob Coire na Craileig. 1008m. 4hrs 12mins
A' Chrailaig. 1120m. 4hrs 56mins
On the Mullach Fraoch-choire ridge |
A'Chrailaig Cairn |
Moody Glen Shiel Munros |
First part of descent from A' Chrailaig |
Ciste Dubh from A'Chrailaig |
Tuesday 3 September 2024
Out and About in London
Thames from Blackfriars Station |
Francis Crick Institute |
Chinatown |
Mo Mowlem in the National Portrait Gallery |
The Last Portrait by Sasha Sokolova in National Portrait Gallery |
Courtauld Institute - |
Van Gough's Presidential pose |
Local breweries are flourishing in London. |
Three days after walking out and about in Paris, I was back in London and had some free time. I am no plongeur but I decided to do the same in Central London. The days were perfect with the late August sunshine having lost its midsummer heat and humidity. I had walked 29,000 steps in Paris and I managed 23,000 in London where I spent more time visiting museums and buildings that represented the old empire and the new digital London. As in Paris, I had no preconceived plan but followed my instincts, taking in any scene or building that tickled my fancy. It was a good way to compare Europe's two great capital cities.
I caught a train to St Pancras, not from Paris but from Tulse Hill in South London. I chose St Pancras because it is one of my favourite buildings that was rescued from demolition by the Poet Laureate, Sir John Betjeman. The red brick Gothic Hotel that fronts the station was designed by the Victorian architect Sir George Gilbert Scott and the massive cast iron vaulted roof was the largest in the world when it was built. St Pancras like most of London's buildings had suffered from smoke, fog and underinvestment after the war and, unlike Paris, demolition and replacement by commercial retail and office blocks were the modus operandi of developers. The outcomes were dire and whilst there have been many remarkable buildings constructed in the past twenty or thirty years, London is a smorgasbord of architectural styles whereas Paris has retained most of the buildings that Hausmann incorporated within the planned development of the core of the city in the nineteenth century. The lack of high rise buildings makes Paris more uplifting than the chaotic mix of new and old and low and high buildings in London on a street pattern that evolved over the centuries with no overriding design.
I visited one of the new buildings across the road from St Pancras, the Francis Crick Institute and looked at an exhibition of the workings of the brain. A massive foyer with the innards of the lift system revealing the glass dominating The coffee was bland unlike the cafe coffee in Paris which is freshly ground, served quick and enjoyed slowly as you observe the street life. I went into the British Library and joined so that I could look up a review for a robot mower in Which Magazine. After finding the right floor and section, I had to queue to make my request. Ten minutes later I was told that they didn't have the recent edition I requested because they had not yet re-ordered the magazine twelve months after the cyber attack. It was a different reason than Lambeth Library had given me the day before, they had not renewed membership as part of their austerity savings. Still, I managed to have a good look around the library.
I walked to Tottenham Court Road and the retail areas and pottered round some furniture shops before seeking somewhere to eat. The number of homeless people in tents and empty shop entrances was far higher than I had noticed before and the homeless seemed a lot younger. The pubs were too McPuby, the sandwich bars were overcrowded and the restaurants too expensive for lunch so I drifted into John Lewis so I could have a look at some trail shoes and furniture and grab a quick meal and a sit-down. I have occasionally bumped into long lost colleagues and friends here so I always keep a sharp eye for people who may now be thirty or forty years older than our last acquaintance. It can be one of life's pleasures meeting someone from the distant past and discovering the bones of their life's journey.
The afternoon began with a jaunt down Oxford Street and Regent Street. As I approached Trafalgar Square, I was tempted to spend some time in the National Portrait Gallery, a place that never disappoints. I was greatly taken by John Keane's portrait of Mo Mowlem and enjoyed the 2024 Portrait Annual Award exhibits, there is a people's award ao I voted for Aleksandra Sokolova's portrait of her elderly father who had also been an artist..
I meandered through Chinatown towards Covent Garden and called in at the hotel where Aileen and I had stayed for her 70th birthday on our last trip to London together. It was a perfect weekend and I wanted to recapture the memory. I had never managed to visit Somerset House so I dropped down to the embankment and walked along past the solid sandstone buildings that were built in Victorian times. The traffic was heavy, although most of the cabs are electric nowadays. The bar outside Somerset House in full swing with lots of office workers taking a late lunch or swanning off early to steal a bit of the summer that had only just turned up. I walked through the courtyard where children were running through the fountains and found the entrance to the Courtauld Institute. I wnnt up three flights os stairs to the Impressionist room and spent half an hour in a near-empty gallery admiring the fine collection. I was amused to see Van Gogh's interpretation of the Trump assassination attempt, the bandaging was far better than the Trumpian swab.
It was time to head home and I decided to travel from Blackfriars Station. Its platforms are on the bridge over the Thames and provide an amazing view of the city skyline and the boats on the Thames. On the train home and later in an outside bar attached to the local brewery afterwards, I tried to draw some reflections from my time out and about in Paris and London.
The Thames is wider and murkier than the Seine and it seems to divide the city into north and south. There are many bridges but mainly for rail and traffic. Whereas the Seine seems to unite the right and left banks by numerous bridges some of which have been pedestrianised and provide public spaces where people do yoga and other workouts. London's South Bank is an attraction in itself but it seems a distant add-on to the central area apart from where the Millennium pedestrian bridge links across to the Tate Modern.
Paris was more tranquil and quieter despite the wonderfully executed 2024 Olympic and Paralmpic Games but Paris is always empty of many of its residents in August. Paris seemed full of Americans and visitors from the rest of Europe. London was hoaching with tourists at the end of the school holidays with visitors from all over the globe, particularly from the developed Asian countries. Parisians seems more laid back as they glided round their city with restful cafes and independent shops always on hand, Londoners seemed more on edge as they dodged the traffic, queued for lunch and shopped in the mainly franchised stores
London had many areas where mini campsites had grown for those sleeping rough. Paris seems different although there were stories about shipping out rough sleepers for the duration of the Olympics.
London has the better range of museums, cultural and sport stadiums to visit but Paris has the intimacy and charm of its cafe culture.
As a visitor, prices appeared cheaper in Paris for food, drink and even clothing. Train fares are certainly a lot cheaper but rail travel in both cities was working well. If you throw housing and other services into the equation, various studies have found that Paris is 15 -20% cheaper to live in than London. Housing and travel being the main areas of difference.
On architecture and urban design, Paris wins hands down but the often eccentric new buildings in London have created a skyline of modern art and the fine adaptions of old buildings like power stations and railway buildings (King's Cross) provide examples of less coherent but more imaginative buildings. Paris does this less often and even the Pompidou Centre and the new Westfield shopping centre at Les Halles goes 3 floors underground They do not break the symmetry of the city centre skyline.
In short, Paris slows you down and London pumps you up. They are both successful world cities adapting in different ways to retain their primacy in countries of comparable size and lingering self importance. In this respect they have hollowed out the investment in other cities by their agglomeration of political, cultural, academic, financial and sporting activities. Other European cities do not have the same level of primacy which is why Munich, Barcelona, Milan and their non capital cities provide alternative nodes for the economic well being and equality in their countries. Devolution in the time of primacy is a necessary condition for sustainable development.
Monday 2 September 2024
Out and About in Paris and ....
Hotel de Ville, an Olympic venue |
Monday 26 August 2024
After one and a half days in Eurodisney, I needed to escape the queues, fast food and saccharine-fuelled atmosphere. Never had I queued so long, whether for short rides or for overcharged franchised food, drink and commodities. Nevertheless, I had to admit Disneyland created a vibrant and happy clientele and Minnie had said she liked me. After a morning with the family reprising favourite rides from yesterday and gently baking in the late August sunshine, I caught a train to Paris. It is only 35 minutes away by the double-decker RER train that serves the eastern suburbs. I alighted at Les Halles, now the location of the massive underground three-story Westfield des Halles Shopping Centre.
I had no real plan other than to spend some time in the Musee d'Orsay and meander around the glorious streets, and buildings and walk along the Seine. I pitched out on the west side of the Westfield des Halles centre and sauntered along to the nearby Bourse de Commerce, but was captivated by the gothic splendour of Eglise Saint-Eustache providing some architectural elegance. I followed my nose through the narrow streets, alive with lunchtime cafes, towards the Louvre. I found a passage into the courtyard and then drifted towards the Pyramid. There were gobsmacked visitors from around the world but it was far from crowded. I lingered awhile absorbing the magnificent public space inside the Louvre Palace with the epoch-defying Pyramid taking the limelight.
Crossing the Seine to the Left Bank reminded me that I should sample a Parisian cafe and I found a corner cafe not far from the Musee d'Orsay. The service was instant, the food was good and relatively cheap compared to the UK and Disneyland. A beer conveyed me into the mid-afternoon as I watched the street scene from a pavement table. It was dominated by bikes and pedestrians with the occasional vehicles that were mainly electric adding to the peaceful ambience of summer in the city. The Musee d'Orsay was closed, it was Monday so I would have to find other impressions.
It was easily done, I recrossed the Seine by the impressive Passerell Léopold-Sédar-Senghor, a footbridge to view the river traffic and watch Parisians doing exercises. The massive river boats were conveying hundreds of tourists in perfect conditions that the Olympic athletes were denied on the wet Friday when the Games started. I was excited to see Catherine Deneuve pass under me while on the bridge. I walked westwards along the quayside past the Orangerie to the Place de la Concorde which was sealed off for the start of the Paralympics the following day.
This gave me the chance to saunter back along the Seine Quais to the Pont des Arts where the Institute of France houses the various artistic and scientific bodies that have been the drivers of French cultural and scientific advance. I drifted deeper into the left bank towards the Sorbonne with the density of cafes and art galleries increasing as the age of the crowds decreased. Returning to the Seine, I crossed over the Pont Neuf to examine progress on the Notre Dame. Even here the crowds were light but a viewing gallery, presumably for the Olympics, gave a splendid place to sit and observe the near completion of the restoration.
There was time to visit the Hotel de Ville which had hosted the start of the marathon at the Olympics, just one of the many significant buildings that had infused the Games with historical references. I drifted back towards the Centre Pompidou that was being refurbished. Still, the quirky fountains in the nearby Place Ivor Stravinsky provided the artistic humour that Richard Rogers had bestowed on Paris when he designed the Centre Pompidou in the 1970s. It was time to return and the hardest part of the day was finding the Platform for the Cessny train back to the alternative world of Disneyland. I was in no doubt which I preferred but I was still looking forward to another session in Walt's World.
Eglise Saint-Eustache |
Louvre Palace and Pyramid |
Pyramid as Prism |
Left Bank cafe view |
Belle de Jour |
Quai Francois Mitterand |
No silos just a synergy of knowledge |
Notre Dame- almost repaired |
French Humour in Place Igor Stravinsky |
Place Igor Starvinsky |