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 female 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 for refreshments 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 by age since those crazy days of Munro-bashing. The temperature soared as we began the steep and relentless 400-metre ascent to A' Ghlas-bheinn. It is now one of the lowest Munros following the cruel demotion of Sgurr nan Ceannaichean and Beinn a' Chlaidheimh, both excellent hills.  We caught a couple of walkers ahead as we sweated it out on the ascent before resting at the summit and drooling at the magnificent vistas in all directions. 

After a lazy lunch stop, Keith and John returned south to the bealach 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 did not satisfy her photographer's eye. I always speak to passing walkers and sometimes stop and chat for a few minutes, but this became 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 it would be useful to do these with others, but she was not in a club. I suggested that my friend Keith might 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. She seemed interested and gave me her name, Anna. We swapped phone numbers, and she asked me to get in touch. The conversation was one of the joys of hillwalking, meeting like-minded folk who inspire you to keep going, although when she recommended a book, 'Fit at Fifty', that shows how you can keep improving until you are 76, I thought I might have missed the boat.

It was with some regret 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 before a series of zig-zags that descended 200 metres to the top of the falls. There is a final boggy section through long grass and then the sight of 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 a few hundred metres to take photos. I can never capture the sheer force of a waterfall. Even though I was 90 minutes later than Anna and with better lighting later in the afternoon, she had captured the falls perfectly. 

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. It would add an hour and a quarter to the Graham (Fiona), and I had arranged with John and Keith to meet them back at the car at 6:30pm.  It was already 4:15pm, and even after leaving Carnan Cruitheachd and dropping to a path, there would be a 7-kilometre walk back to the car. I decided against the diversion. I have no great desire to do all the Fionas, so I took the lazy option to be sure of getting down by 6:30 pm instead.

The path back from the high point of the Glomach path was rougher than I remembered. The compensation was the north-facing slope of A' Ghlas-bheinn, which is scored by dozens of burns that serrate the hillside, and they were magnified by the low-angled evening sun. 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 could and should have climbed the Fiona, nothing ventured! 

I made it back to John's car 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, and the Pitstop sound system played an appealing collection of Dire Straits, Fleetwood Mac and similar music. Another sun-filled day was forecast for tomorrow. Keith and John collected me from the Pitstop at 8pm. It had been another great day, a Munro, the Glomach Falls and Anna, 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 sculpture on the north slopes of A'Ghlas-beinn

Pitstop Cafe

Autumn Days

Autumn in Stereo

It is that time of the year again when morning mists and falling leaves make running so perfect. No humid heat to fuel perspiration nor the clammy cold of winter. Still in shorts but with gloves and a hat to fend off the morning chill. Yesterday I ran around the forest and was regaled by mirror images of the trees in the flat calm of the loch. Images that looked better than the real thing. Today I went out again with the camera to see if I could capture the subdued beauty of autumn. I had Aillen with me as a pacemaker on a bike, checking to see if my eulogies of yesterday were true.

The mists were still hovering over the loch, the leaves were turning, a red squirrel scooted across my path, and the river was back to normal flow after the rains of last week. I was running easily, seizing the chance to escape the bike on all the uphill sections and for the most part, keeping up on the flats. The end of summer always conjures a melancholy about the way that time and years ebb away. It reminds me of Who Knows Where the Time Goes by Sandy Denny, a favourite track that becomes more poignant with each passing year after retirement when you are able to observe the passing of time uncorked from the imagined urgency of the world of work.

I ran for over an hour and covered about 8 miles, my appetite for breakfast had been triggered and the feeling of achievement was real. A good foundation for all the other tasks that I had set myself from chopping wood, and cutting lawns to clearing mail.

Mountain ash

Bracken on the cusp of autumn

The mirror image is better

Reflections of a lochan

Keep up pacemaker

Placid autumn on Lochan Spling

Dory Previn

All the news last week was about Whitney Houston's death but Dory Previn died on Valentine's day with an irony in keeping with her songs. She didn't hang herself from the second or third letter 'O' of the Hollywood sign as she once sang but died at home at 85.

It reinforced my belief that music was never better than in the years around 1970. Groups like Cream, Fleetwood Mac, the Doors, Led Zepelin, Santana and Pink Floyd provided the driving soundtrack for our lives but Sandy Denny, Joni Mitchell and Dory Previn provided the poetry and pathos.

Mythical Kings and Iguanas was one of those LPs that mesmerised you with lyrics that were poignant, reflective, disturbing but real. Unlike her male contemporary, Leonard Cohen, who culled sadness for mellow sentimental songs; Dory Previn harvested the sadness to confront the cruelness of life.

She was never perceived as a great musician but I found this version of The Lady with the Braid on YouTube and it shows that even live she was an accomplished artist or try the original version of A Stone for Bessie Smith for sorrow. Lemon Haired Ladies exudes the melancholy of competing for the affection of a man with younger women and was my most played track on the album Mythical Kings and Iguanas. Sing it again Dory it sounds like the pathos was real.

Forever Changes

One of my favourite albums from the late 1960s was Forever Changes by the West Coast group Love.  They were more melodic but less raucous and rhythmic than the Doors, their stable mates on the Elektra record label.  Love provided my soundtrack on Wednesday morning before my iPod froze literally during an early morning run.  By this time I was already buoyed into my stride pattern and enjoying crunching through the ice puddles on the gravel tracks.  It had frozen hard overnight and a blanket of cloud had sealed in the frost along the river valleys.

When the music stopped during my favourite track Alone Again Or, the sound of silence was stunning. Then I heard the slow beating of wings as the Lemahamish Buzzard skimmed over me dipping its wings just a few metres over my head, I had not seen it for over a month and it was one of my imaginary friends - I was not Alone Again.  I had the chance to listen to Alone Again Or this morning when Ian MacMillan, the Barnsley Bard, requested it on Desert Island discs.  He also played John Cage's 4'33'' but all I could hear was the crackle of the transmission - it sounds far better live in the forest.