Happy and Clyde at the Glasgow Commonwealth Games

Men's Hurdles At Hampden

Well despite the rain over the last few days, the shortage of buses to the athletics at Hampden in the first couple of days and the excruciating handover to the Gold Coast at the closing ceremony, the Glasgow Commonwealth Games was a roaring success. This could be measured by the full attendance at all events, loads of medals for Scotland and England, superb coverage by the BBC but most of all by a Happy and Clyde-friendly atmosphere and positive patter that was contagious during the 11 days of competition.

Unfortunately, my attempts to obtain tickets had not been very successful, mainly because I only tried for athletics and cycling and on my second attempt I was thwarted by the ticketing website crashing. Nevertheless, a day at athletics plus a couple of days in Glasgow and most evenings in front of the television gave a wonderful take on sport as it should be played and an enthusiasm from the spectators that was so infectious that Usain Bolt was dancing to the Proclaimers.

I enjoyed watching the Nigerian sprinter, Blessing Okagbare, the Grenadian 400-metre runner, Kirani James, and rugby sevens which is so much better a game than rugby. The success of Erraid Davies, the 13-year-old Shetland girl in the para-sport swimming together with Jo Pavey and Emma Pooley, two mighty tough women who won silver medals in their last events before retiral provided the most emotional victories. Most of all I was delighted that Geraint Thomas of Wales won the hardest event of all the 168km cycle race in torrential Glasgow rain. He was the only British finisher in the Tour de France this year and had led the peloton day after day riding with immense commitment and was the stand-out rider in the very disappointing Team Sky.

Daniel Purvis and Daniel Keatings, the Scottish gold medal gymnasts who train in England, were both part of the excellent tranche of athletes graduating from the Institute of Sports coaching that started in the late 1990s using Sports Lottery money. They are normally members of the unified GB team in a similar way to the Scottish cyclists who have trained at Manchester and the swimmers at Bath as well as Stirling.

Hampden worked so much better as an athletics stadium than it does for football. This is maybe because I prefer to stand at football matches and the tribal nature of fans is diluted in the shallow and spacious seated terraces. For athletics, the watching is more relaxed, more supportive of excellence and the underdog and certainly less trenchant. I was also pleased that England beat Australia in the medals table for the first time in a generation and that Scotland had their best-ever medal haul.

There had been a truce between the 'Yes' and 'No' campaigns for the Scottish Referendum during the games. Still, yesterday Nicola Sturgeon, the deputy first minister, broke the truce and reverted to type claiming that the cascade of Scottish medals would boost the Yes campaign. It is this sort of dubious statement that makes us despair of politicians whose motives are risible. My experience at Hampden was typical of thousands of others, we sat next to a young family who had originally hailed from Trinidad and Tobago and by the end of the session we were hollering with them for Trinidad and Tobago and enjoying their warm friendship. The cheers of the crowds throughout the games were for effort, grace and bravery rather than narrow nationalism.

If anything the games broke down barriers between nations as the crowds were unified in humour and humanity and the athletes displayed a humility that is sadly absent in most professional sports This was encouraged by the integration of the para-athletes into the games and by the emergence of new young talent in swimming and gymnastics in particular. Multi-sport games also dilute the win-at-all-costs mentality that sometimes dominates the Olympics. This has been the case since Rome in 1960 when the United States and the Soviets used sport as the frontline for political propaganda.

So Nicola I suggest you go away and think again. Everyone should be proud of what was achieved by Glasgow in the organisation of the games, by the Scottish team, by teams from the other home countries and by the developing  Commonwealth countries. Most of all we relished the friendship between nations. To claim that "the games have provided a perfect platform for a yes campaign victory" is a gallus and a sad indictment of small-minded politicians. It is certainly not in accord with the majority who have enjoyed the friendly games that, if anything, have reinforced a belief in both the 'family of home nations' and the banishment of intolerance amongst nations.

Cul Mor and Cul Beag

Cul Beag and Stac Polly from Knockan Fault 

Inchnadamph Lodge

Few places in Scotland capture the imagination like the Inverpolly National Nature Reserve. It has haunted me since spending part of the summer of 1970 working there. It hosts four of the very best mountains in Britain: Suilven, Stac Polly, Cul Mor and Cul Beag. They stand proud as inselbergs formed of the oldest rock in the UK and surrounded by dozens of small lochs and lochans. It is a wild country seldom visited other than to climb the amazing hills. The terrain is notoriously difficult, a melange of boulders, heather, bog and rock face. 

I had never climbed Cul Mor or Cul Beag and, on the hottest day of the year, we set out to tackle them both from Inchnadamph Lodge. Unfortunately, John and I had underestimated the time to traverse between the two hills, because the timings in the SMC guide to the Corbetts were, unusually, too optimistic and we hadn't checked the drop in altitude to the low point between them. As a result, our planned afternoon excursion to the Summer Isles after we had been picked up by Aileen had to be cancelled as it would have prevented Aileen and Bridget from catching the ferry. We were rewarded by landscapes and waterscapes that will linger forever, they captured the essence of the thrusting primaeval geology of Inverpolly. The Summer Isles also proved a magical trip for Aileen and Bridget.

John topping out on Cul Mor

Suilven from Cul Mor

Cul Beag from Cul Mor

Loch Voyatie below Suilven

Stac Polly from Lochan Dearg a' Chuil Mhoir

Stac Polly from Lochan Dearg, the low point between Cul Mor and Cul Beag

Stac Polly and Loch Lugainn from Cul Beag

Stac Polly

Friday, 25 July 2014
Ascent:       1445 metres
Distance:    19 kilometres
Time:          7 hours 28 minutes 

Cul Mor       849m   1hr 46mins
Cul Beag     769m    5hrs 22mins

We managed to get breakfast at 7:45am at Inchnadamph Lodge and set off for the 11-mile drive to the start of the path to Cul Mor adjacent to the Knockan Crag Geopark by 8:30am. It was another day of perfect sunshine and, as we discovered later, the hottest day of the year although the two previous days had been similarly blessed. The sun was even too much for the Assynt midges that had made unloading the car the evening before an act of extreme masochism. John and I had calculated that the round should take us 6 hours assuming that we finished by dropping down to Linneraineach on the Achiltibuie Road to be picked up and taken to Achiltibue for a boat trip to the Summer Isles.

The excellent stalkers' path up Cul Mor enabled us to stand on the summit well under the two hours we had scheduled. We responded by relaxing and taking in the breathtaking scenery, particularly towards the northwest where Suilven presented its awesome south face. The old red sandstone provided some finely fluted tors as we descended towards the col beneath Craig nan Calman. We headed eastwards at first and then curved to the right to cut under the layers of sandstone cliffs. This was a wild country with just the occasional deer track to aid progress as we dropped down the boulder-strewn heather slopes. We envied how painted lady butterflies and wheatears flitted across the impenetrable ground cover in contrast to our journeyman efforts. Wilderness like this is difficult to find but it nurtures the human spirit just as certainly as so-called civilisation discharges it.

This was slow walking even with the sparkling waters of Lochan Dearg a' Chuil Mhoir spurring us on. The ground was mainly dry until the edge of the Lochan and then it was a case of battering along heather-clad rocks with the occasional section of bog. At the outflow of the Lochan, we headed south, climbing slightly over a ridge and then making a long descent to the next Lochan Dearg with its red sand beach beckoning. It was after noon when we arrived and had to acknowledge that there was insufficient time to climb Cul Beag and descend to pick up a lift at 2:30pm. We decided to have lunch and enjoy the sunshine in this remote and wild place. We had dropped to 100 metres, much lower than our starting point at Knockan so that the next ascent would be bigger than climbing Cul Mor.

The climb involved a sharp scramble up the boulders and heather to reach a broken rock ledge that led upwards to the start of a steep ramp to the col between Cul Beag and its northern top. The final 180 metres was a steep but easy path through the rock bands and the summit a fine perch overlooking the impossible-to-miss Stac Polly. We sat in the heat of the afternoon for a good half hour just absorbing the atmosphere of this podium.

We decided to head back to the car as we had forsaken our lift and headed eastwards down to a col and then over the top of Meall Dearg before tumbling down the heather to the long flat broad ridge of Creag Dubh. It was pathless and energy-sapping until we reached the stalker's path for the last couple of kilometres back to the road and then to Knockan. We were back at Inchnadamph shortly after 6pm and never have a few pints been so welcome. It had been another day to celebrate the best of corbetts in this geological wonderland.

We revisited the Knockan Crag Geopark interpretation centre the following morning where I listened to Horne and Peach, the Victorian geologists who had first explained how the Moine Thrust fault had inverted the rock strata.

Bronzed Geologist with Horne and Peach

Cairngorm and Bynack More

Cairngorm from Aviemore

The Commonwealth Games were set to start today, but the lack of tickets suggested that I would be better off taking advantage of the remarkable summer weather and heading north. I still had to climb Cairngorm and Bynack Mor to finish off all the Cairngorm Munros. Aileen was attending a French class but could catch a train up to Aviemore at the end of the day and we could spend a night there before heading for the far-forgotten north-west of Scotland. I arrived at Loch Morlich at 11:30am after the usual plod up the A9 dodging camper vans and having to play follow my leader with the trucks and Nissan Micras. I decided to drop in on my niece who is an outdoor instructor at Loch Morlich and walked across the deep, soft, hot sand on what must be one of the best beaches in Scotland. She was out kayaking with a group so I parked my car behind Glenmore Lodge and decided to walk up Cairngorm from Loch Morlich instead of starting at the ski car park. I have done that on numerous occasions, and it always felt like cheating to start at 650 metres.

Meall a' Bhuachaille from Allt Choire Chais

Loch Morlich and Aviemore from Cairngorm ascent

Beinn Mheadhoin and Derry Cairngorm from Cairngorm

Cairngorm Corries

Loch Avon and Beinn Mheadhoin

Loch Avon from Cairngorm

Granite Tors just below the summit of Bynack More

Barns of Bynack

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Ascent:        1360 metres

Distance:      20 kilmetres

Time:           6 hrs 49mins

Cairngorm          1244m      2hrs 35mins        

A' Choinneach   1016m      4hrs  5mins

Bynack More      1090m      4hrs 42mins

Starting behind Glenmore Lodge had seemed a good idea, I could return from Bynack Mor via Ryvoan but it involved a long climb up to the start of Cairngorm just below the ski car park. I followed the paths that twisted around Glenmore Lodge, they were a veritable maze and it took almost half an hour before I emerged on the road to the ski slopes. I vaguely thought of hitching a lift to make up time but there was little traffic and the path that followed the river through the Caledonian Forest was the very best of walks. I emerged just below the car park and tried to find the start of the footpath shown on Harvey's map up An t-Aonach. The path was faint at first, no longer used now that there is a more direct route from the car park, but it held a good line cutting through the rough granite and heather-clad slopes. I had been walking for an hour and a half getting this far and I stopped after crossing the ski tow at 750 metres to have some lunch and admire the view back to Loch Morlich and the Spey Valley. 

Suitably reinvigorated by the break it seemed easy going to the summit, first meeting the broad path from the car park and then climbing steadily to the Ptarmigan restaurant. Several walkers were on the descent, having presumably caught the mountain railway to the restaurant. I managed to get in by knocking on one of the doors, replenishing my supply of water and took a look around where tourists were tucking into cooked lunches before their descent.  I managed to find a way out of the restaurant which seemed to be hermetically sealed from the great outdoors. There is a fenced-in granite staircase that ascends 160 metres to the summit of Cairngorm and a few neophytes had escaped the clutches of the restaurant to climb their first Munro. The ugly cairn held no attraction so I ambled off to find a quieter spot overlooking Ben Macdhui and Loch Avon and to finish my lunch. The conditions were perfect with just a gentle breeze to fend off the afternoon sun and insect life.

There is a long descent down to Loch Avon, I reached the crags above the loch and had to detour around them to reach the saddle and the excellent path that winds its way through the granite to the plateau-like top of A' Choinneach. It was a blazing heat and the long gentle drop and climb to Bynack More took longer than I remembered. The granite tors to the south of the summit beckoned and I looked down to the Barns of Bynack and across to the massive northern corries of Ben Avon. I stopped on the jumble of rocks that provided a fine summit to Bynack More and ate the last of my food.

Time was getting tight, I had to be in Aviemore by 7:30pm to meet a train and I had a notion to climb the Corbett, Meall a' Bhuachaille, above Glen More Lodge. I began the charge down the rocky ridge and then the long but well-graded and recently built path to Bynack Stables from where it would take another hour and a half. Sadly, despite still feeling frisky and making good time, I was 30 minutes too late to attempt the Corbett. I had wasted time at the start of the walk so I had to content myself with a walk back through the beautiful Ryvoan pass. It contains An Lochan Uaine where some local teenagers were enjoying an evening swim. I was in Aviemore by 7pm on a perfect summer evening with the tourists lapping up the sun and the train disgorging another batch of holidaymakers including Aileen who had travelled up from Glasgow. The Cairngorms had provided ideal conditions for walking on one of the hottest days of summer.

Rois Bheinn

Three Corbetts and the glorious Druim Fiaclach ridge

Thurday, 10 July 2014
Ascent:       1560 metres
Distance:    18 kilometres
Time:         7hours 39minutes

Druim Fiaclach            869m     2hrs 11mins
Sgurr na Ba Glaise        874m     3hrs 23mins    
Rois Bheinn                 882m     4hrs
Rois Bheinn (w. top)   878m     4hrs 12mins
An Stac                        814m    5hrs 41mins

This was the best of weeks with the sunshine lingering in the west and the visibility quite exceptional. I had originally decided to walk on Wednesday but became so absorbed in watching Germany overrun Brazil in the World Cup that I postponed the walk for a day. I had been saving the three Corbetts overlooking Loch Ailort and the small isles for a day such as this. I was away by 7am and after a stunning drive through Glencoe, which was mesmeric in the low angled sunlight, and a brief stop in Fort William for fuel made it to Inverailort by 10:15am. I had read a number of walk reports and decided that I would start by climbing Druim Fiaclach, which although not a corbett was described in the SMC guide as the finest of peaks. It would allow me to spend the rest of the day walking westwards towards the sun and sea views as I climbed the three corbetts.

It proved a good decision, although the walk up from the parking space at Inverailort was a march through a bog just after the massive lochailort salmon farming recirculation unit. My feet were soaked before the walk began but on a hot summer's day they would dry when on the tops. I arrived at a massive new track being bulldozed up the glen with a couple of diggers working to extend it, I presumed that there must be a micro hydro scheme being installed and this was verified by a search when I got home. The development is of a run of the river hydro power scheme which will generate a maximum 979kW on the Allt a Bhuriridh on the Inverailort estate.

Further up the glen I crossed the burn and began the ascent of Beinn Coire nan Gall. Although the sun was beating down, it was a dry heat, so no sweat and progress was steady interrupted only by a stop to fill up with water from the sparkling burn. I made for the bealach below Druim Fiaclach and then dodged round the exposed rocks to reach the summit. It was a revelation perched at the end of a long ridge coming out from Sgurr na Ba Glaise and giving extensive views to the small isles with Rum and Skye blue serrated profiles in the distance. The three corbetts that were the reason for today stood as the peaks of an equilateral triangle and all offered the prospect of even closer scintillating sea views. I sat in the extensive cairn and had the first half of my lunch and then began the amble across the crest of one of the most delightful ridges,  the walking was easy and the views were sublime.

The light coloured Moinian schists are set in short grass and small lochans are dotted along the ridge. I looked northwards towards the white sand beaches of Arisaig with Skye lurking beyond. I picked out the peaks of Knoydart and the nearer munros of Sgurr Thuilm and Sgurr nan Coireachan, all visited six weeks ago. A group of four walkers sauntered along in the opposite direction, they lived locally and had saved this ridge for a perfect day. We chatted for five minutes before I reached the high point of the ridge at An- t-Slat bheinn and gave myself a break on nature's emerald green mountain garden.

Only now after 3 hours walking was I about to start on the three corbetts, the diversion to Druim Fiaclach had added a couple of hours but what a worthwhile dividend, walking does not get much better than this ridge. Sgur na Ba Glaise was a bit of an anti climax, a hundred metres of ascent to a conical summit but with excellent views. I had the rest of my lunch and headed across to Rois Bheinn, the most westerly of the corbetts with the promise of the best of all sea views. From the bealach there is a long ascent of 170 metres, mainly alongside a wall before you arrive at the summit with its tiny cairn adjacent to the wall. The big cairn is 500 metres further west. It overlooks the awe inspiring coast of Loch Ailort and Moidart with dozens of tiny islands and some very exquisite looking beaches. It was only just past 3pm and the sun was still too high in the sky to get the best of the seascapes. I sat down on the giant Juliet balcony and soaked up the sun and the to die for views.

I still had to climb An Stac and there was a sizeable drop down to 550metres. I returned over Rois Bheinn summit and then down the wall and continued to the col before Sgurr na Ba Glaise before descending down a steep grassy slope to the bealach. On reflection I should have followed the wall down and saved myself 15 minutes. I was not looking forward to the final climb but I found a steady pace and was soon sitting at the top of An Stac. A tiny cairn at the top of a rocky summit, but as throughout the day encircled by short spongy grasses that would make for a perfect bivvy and chance to get those evening and dawn photographs.

I had read that the descent would be tricky threading through the rocks but I found a faint path and was soon down to the col before the outlying hill of Seann Cruach. I could either drop down to the glen of Allt a' Bhuiridh where I would pick up the good path or proceed over the top of Seann Cruach which would have given a good route but instead I chose to contour round and ended up in clumps of grass with numerous hidden boulders with all the discomfort of contouring. I continued over the final top and then suffered a dreadful descent through a new birch plantation on a very steep slope. It was a delight to hit the path back to Inverailort which snakes through the lower slopes until the coastal plain. I went knee deep in a bog before reaching the salmon processing factory and reaching the car. It was a glorious summer evening and a fine end to one of the very best of walks along the enchanting ridge of Druim Fiaclach and over the three corbetts. If the munros were Brazil and the corbetts were Germany, then this outing would have been a walk over for Germany.

The icing on the hot day was the drive home, I stopped at Glenfinnan to admire the views down Loch Shiel, called in at the Corpach Coop for a bottle of lemonade to slake my thirst, and then cruised through Glencoe and Rannoch moor elated by the clarity and beauty of the mountainous landscapes on what had been a perfect day.

Rois Bheinn and An Stac from the slopes of  Beinn Coire nan Gall

Rum 

Three Corbetts and a spot of cloud

The Arisaig coastline, Rum and Skye under cloud

Why I walk

An-t-Slat-bheinn summit - ravishing

Now that's what I call an infinity pool on the Druim Fiaclach ridge

Eigg and Rum from Sgurr na Ba Glaise

Ross Bheinn  from Sgurr na Ba Glaise

Ross Bheinn west summit

View from Ross Bheinn to Eigg and Rum

The Druim Fiaclach ridge

Bidean nam Bian on the way home

Glenfinnan looking down Loch Shiel

Le Tour de France over Cotes de Buttertubs

Public Art above Simonstone

Usual generous Yorkshire hospitality

No Brad or Millar so Cav and Yates get the support 

Le Tour meets Wensleydale 

From Scarborough, Yorkshire but they didn't throw out any samples

French silliness on a Skoda

King of the Mountains

The moment we had been waiting for as the peleton sweeps into view

Head of the Peleton

Peleton on Buttertubs climb

Would they miss one of these?

 ey up lass - cavorting with the police outriders,

I had not been so excited for years, Le tour was in Yorkshire and we were only 50  miles away. We left Langdale and drove to Kendal and then on to Sedburgh. The small market town was heaving and the street market provided us with a picnic. The friendly Policeman thought we could get to within 2 or 3 miles of Hawes and suspected that there would be some enterprising Yorkshire farmer harvesting his fields with parking lots. We charged on, every lay-by was filled with cars and vans disgorging cyclists and the road was awash with velocipedes of every description. Tandems, road bikes, mountain bikes, children's trailer bikes, and hundreds of trusty steel framed touring bikes from the 1960's pedalled by men of the same vintage.

We managed to get beyond the Moorcock Inn, which some had warned would be the limit. Just before Hawes we were diverted down a side road to Simonstone, where a happy looking farmer was filling his recently cut hay field with cars for £10 a go. It made European 'set aside' money seem like small beer. We then had a mile or so to walk to the climb of the day: Buttertubs Pass which joins Wensleydale with Swaledale over Abbotside Common. A large bike had been painted high on the fell side, the village was awash with bunting, the pub was overflowing with pre noon beer drinkers and everyone was happy, very happy.

We found a comfortable bit of wall about halfway up the ascent to Buttertubs and settled down with hundreds of others to await developments. The occasional motorbike came through and there were dozens of cyclists making their own pre tour pilgrimage to the summit, only the tandem with a dad with his two children pedalling furiously received acclaim. The mood was like a carnival, the local residents were welcoming and you could use their bathrooms for a pound. Another farmer was selling grandstand seats in a field near the summit of the climb for £5, the seats were moulded out of bare rock.

The road had been relaid with a rough Yorkshire asphalt, the cats eyes re-instated and along with the cattle grids they would test those pesky cyclists. Lots of names had been chalked on the road, most notably Sir Bradley and Simon Yates. Cav had his followers too but Chris Froome was virtually absent on the road or flags. It may be that Dave Brailsford should have followed sentiment rather than cold logic when selecting his team. To deny the British public the chance to see the two most recent and only British winners of the tour in mortal combat is the sort of thing we expect from dodgy boxing promoters not the undisputed architect of British cycling success. Team Sky had only two British riders, one from Kenya and the other from Wales. How will that help British cycling in the long term, surely the experience of football should tell him that.

But enough of the grumbles, this was a wonderful spectacle which lurched into life when the caravan of sponsors began to assail us with loud music, gifts and gallic humour. The atmosphere was ramped up by dogs painted with red spots, fancy dress and raunchy comments as dozens of vehicles went through for the next fifteen minutes accompanied by French gendarmes and Yorkshire, Cornwall and Devon police on motor bikes. The Yorkshire Police were all brandishing grins that told us they were not used to being applauded, certainly not those from Yorkshire since the miners strike thirty years ago. 

There was a gap of an hour until the race began to approach signalled by four helicopters buzzing up Wensleydale at an altitude that would have scared the Viet Cong. Then a series of lead motorbikes and cars before Jens Voigt, the 42 year old veteran German cyclist, appeared as the lone break away. He was followed by thirty or more vehicles before 3 minutes later another two riders came through followed by the peleton. I was standing on the verge and was brushed by several of the passing cyclists as they jockeyed for position on the climb. Further up the peleton was stopped as the crowd squeezed them into an ever narrower file and standstill attempting to recreate the scenes on the big alpine climbs.

And then another phalanx of motor bike gendarmes and police. they stopped in front of us as the peleton stalled. An obviously chuffed Yorkshire police motorcyclist offered to pose with spectators for pictures as he lapped up the untrammelled popularity. The crowd was electric with excitement as we all returned to the fields to collect our vehicles.  The watching cyclists began to emulate their heroes after the sweep up car had passed through and started their ascent of Buttertubs. We drove home through the peaceful rustic Dales on a beautiful summer afternoon. Had we dreamt that Le tour de France had just passed through?

And then we remembered the beauty of the Dales