Aonach Buidhe

Aoach Buidhe summit

Tuesday, 31 August 2021

Ascent:      985 metres
Distance:   34 kilometres (25km by bike)
Time:         4hours 50 minutes

Aonach Buidhe    899m      2hrs 48mins

I normally look forward to climbing hills for the first time but I was unusually anxious about two of my last four Corbetts. Aonach Buidhe and Beinn Dronaig are quite close as the crow flies, a mere 6 kilometres. The terrain between them is pretty rough with 600 metres of descent, rivers to wade and I reckoned 55 kilometres including a 25-kilometre bike ride. It would have the sort of challenge that appealed in the past but time is less precious after retirement and with stamina on the wane.

I had been working on Monday, the first time in a couple of years, but spotting a couple of dry days in the northwest highlands, I decided to take the plunge. I thought about taking the tent but the midges would be at their most bothersome so I booked an Airbnb in Lochcarron so that I could shower and have a meal at the hotel. I had figured on 6 hours 30 minutes for Aonach Bhuide with the journey up to Killilan at the head of Loch Long adding a further 4 hours taking account of the slow procession of vehicles that are an inevitable feature of travel in this part of Scotland. 

I left home at 7:45am, the morning conditions were perfect with not a cloud seen before Fort William but the hills to the north of Fort William were lost in the clouds. I parked at the car park just shy of Killilan and assembled the bike quickly encouraged by swarms of midges. The first part of the cycle ride is along a well metalled private road but it deteriorates into a gravel track after a few kilometres and begins to climb slowly. I passed the path to the Glomach falls and promised myself to visit someday but not today, there was not much water in the river and time would be tight. I arrived at the small copse of trees by Iron Lodge within the hour after a few photo stops and pushing the bike up a couple of hills. There were four bikes already there but I had not seen a soul.

The route up is by the south ridge and I followed the footpath for a kilometre and stopped for some lunch before beginning the ferociously steep climb up long grass adorned with the odd boulder. Although it looks like a well-defined ridge on the map it is a broad ridge with variations in steepness once you get above 450 metres. Despite the cloud cover the heat made for lethargy as I slogged my way to the summit. I looked over to Beinn Dronaig, tomorrow's hill, and thought more of this to come. The views were good but the cloud cover meant that the clarity was not as good as I had hoped.

I decided to descend to the west, a steep drop keeping to the north of the burn. Again the long grass made for slow progress but at least the dry August meant that the normally boggy ground was not an added inconvenience. Reaching the footpath made for an easy couple of kilometres back to Iron Lodge. An elderly couple were unlocking their electric bikes from a signpost. The woman had just climbed An Cruachan, a very remote Graham requiring a 17-kilometre walk there and back from Iron Lodge. She had only two Grahams left to climb having already completed the Munros and Corbetts. Her husband accompanied her on the bike but had given up on the Grahams. We had a friendly chat before they set off back to Killilan. 

I unlocked the bike and had some food and drink before starting the cycle to Killilan. There were some uphill sections but it was mainly a speedy descent. I passed the couple before running into a couple of hundred sheep charging up the track, they saw me and turned to run back towards Killilan. The woman farmer was following in a truck and she hollered me to get off the road. I did by climbing up the bank and the sheep charged past at a gallop. The last couple of kilometres on the smooth road made for a fast ride despite the sheep droppings. 

I was back by 5pm and after loading the bike and speaking again to the couple who had arrived at their large motor home, I travelled along the narrow road alongside Loch Long that is dotted with new houses and on to Lochcarron to the Airbnb. An excellent meal in the Lochcarron Hotel set me up for an early night with the prospect of a tough day in the saddle tomorrow.

The track up Glen Elchaig

The route to the Glomach Falls

Loch na Leitreach

Looking down Glen Elchaig from start of Aonach Bhuidhe

Faochaig

Looking north to Torridons

Summit looking east

Faochaig and Sguman Coinntich on descent

Descent route to An Crom Allt

Iron Lodge

 

Devon: South Ham

South Pool

The first family holiday since Covid took us to South Devon. It was 556 miles made even more difficult by the closure of the M6 in Cheshire resulting in a 3-hour hold up and then various other delays as the summer traffic on the M5 backed up and brought us to standstills in Birmingham and North Somerset. We had wisely decided to spend a night in Somerset and the Devonshire Arms in Long Sutton provided the perfect place to rest up before the final 100 miles to South Pool. 

We arrived on Saturday lunchtime with other family members arriving at 4pm from London and 7pm from Glasgow. The narrow Devon roads, with high hedgerows and frequented by lots of high-end SUVs, only rarely driven by folk with any courtesy, made the last twenty miles more threatening than Covid. It was summer staycation in full swing with no quarter given. The tide was out but the local pub provided a chance to relax after the long drives whilst we waited for the Glasgow arrivals.

Over the next couple of days, we visited the local attractions: Kingsbrdge, Bigbury, Burgh Island, Bee Sands, Salcombe, and best of all the coastal walks. The weather was not the best but the real problem has been the narrow roads clotted with cars and jammed by oversized vehicles. Car parking has been almost impossible and on two occasions we simply had to abandon plans and find alternative destinations. 

The secluded beaches are fine if crowded but it has proved almost impossible to find anywhere to eat given the number of visitors. Devon has an enviable reputation as a holiday destination but I suspect it will suffer a decline next year as people reject holiday traffic jams and the rising costs of UK hotels and holiday lets and return to the better value and weather that Europe offers.

Cyder House

South Pool

Burgh Island from Bigbury beach

Bigbury on Sea

Burgh Island Trailer as the tide recedes

Burgh Island Hotel and Bigbury car park

Paddling back from Burgh Island

Salcombe

 

Buidhe Bheinn

Loch Hourn and Ladhar Bheinn  from the southwest top of Buidhe Beinn

There are some hills that you resent climbing. In this case, it was the surveyors who were to blame; they had reclassified Buidhe Bheinn as the Corbett rather than its twin peak, Sgurr a' Bhac Chaolais. I had climbed the latter three times during walks along the South Cluanie ridge. On the last of these occasions, I had camped just below the summit of Sgurr a' Bhac Chaolais and could easily have popped over to Buidhe Bheinn, before climbing Sgurr na Sgine and the Saddle on a glorious morning. I was back in Glenshiel by 11am and caught the morning bus back to Fort William, but it was a waste of a good day. 

With only five Corbetts left, I had decided to take advantage of the good weather for the week and take my bike to this area to climb Aonach Buidhe by Iron Lodge and Beinn Dronaig, deep in the Attadale Forest. My car developed a fault, and it was difficult to book a garage appointment, so I lost the 2 days I had planned. I decided to use the one day I had free to tackle Buidhe Bheinn. It was a 300-mile round trip with a 5am start so that I could be home for a meeting at 8pm. 

Wednesday, 21 July 2021

Ascent:       1659 metres
Distance:    23 kilometres
Time:          8 hours 14 minutes

Sgurr a' Bhac Chaolais       885m    2hrs 21mins
Buidhe Bhenn                   885m     3hrs 22mins
Buidhe Bheinn SW top      879m     3hrs 50mins
Sgurr na Sgine                  945m      6hrs 24mins
Sgurr na Sgine NW top      944m      6hrs 36mins
Faochag                             900m      7hrs 6mins

I packed the night before, the only weight in the rucksack being the 2 litres of water, the forecast was so positive that there was little need for any spare clothing apart from a waterproof. Sun cream, sunglasses and a peaked cap were the essentials and no chocolate because of the heat.

There was low cloud at 5am, and driving through Rannoch Moor required headlights in the murky morning gloom. Only as I began the descent into Glencoe did the visibility improve, but the clouds were still enveloping the mountains. There was little traffic at this time of day, so the journey was relatively quick, even Fort William was quiet before 7am. I arrived at Glenshiel by 8am and parked by the footpath that climbs precariously over to Glen Quoich. 

It was cool, the cloud level was down to 300 metres, and I was relieved that the ascent in these conditions would not be too exhausting. The normally wet boggy path to the Allt Mhalagain was almost dry, and the river crossing was an easy hop, step and jump before beginning on the narrow path that follows a burn as it twists its way to Bealach Duibh Leac. I was not walking well; maybe the lack of sleep or the three-hour drive had drained my energy. It took an hour to reach 400 metres, by which time I was sweating in the humid conditions. I had spotted a walker about ten minutes ahead, and he provided a target so that I could muster a reasonable pace to the bealach. I had almost caught him, but he went left towards the South Cluanie ridge, and I turned right to head up alongside the wall towards Sgurr a' Bhac Chaolais. 

The sun was now the sole occupant of the azure blue sky, but there was a light breeze to make walking conditions enjoyable. The views from the centre of OS sheet 33, my favourite map, were perfect. I had not intended to climb Sgurr a' Bhac Chaolais but it was too tempting, and it would provide me with a view of the surveyors' teasing alternative summit. To be fair, it is a fine summit with exceptional views in all directions. I stopped for my first drink, took some photos and dealt with some emails and messages. 

I was feeling fresh and frisky as I began the walk along the so-called ridge to Buidhe Bheinn. In practice, it is a series of rocky hills that straddle the arc of a circle that is dotted with several lochans. It's not a walk to speed along, although it took just an hour to the summit of Buidhe Bheinn, slightly ahead of my hoped-for time. This had consequences as I decided to walk over to the southwest top that bears the name of Buidhe Bheinn, but is 6 metres lower. It is a fine vantage point as I discovered when Loch Hourn and Knoydart were revealed in their naked sunbaked summer plumage. 

I tramped back over to Buidhe Bheinn, energy drained by the midday heat and filled up with water. I had hoped to climb Sgurr na Sgine and the Saddle, but the visit to the southwest top had taken over an hour with the photos and after a lunch stop at the summit, it was now almost 1pm. I decided that I would just climb Sgurr na Sgine and descend to Glenshiel via the steep path down Faochag. I made a bad route choice that I have made many times; instead of following the tops of the five hills between the two ends of the twin Corbetts, I undercut them and made for Bealach Toiteil. It saved some climbing but a long contour amongst the crags is never easy and hard on the feet. The consolation was a burn dispensing cool water and a herd of deer in Coire Reidh, who scattered as I entered their domain. I arrived at the bealach well exhausted from the heat. 

I did think about heading straight down to Glenshiel but my pride wouldn't let me, so I aimed for the wall south of Sgurr na Sgine, followed it until the end and then climbed the ramp to the summit. Surprisingly, the climb was not nearly as tiring as the previous contouring. I wasted little time at the summit, walked over to the nearby top and then followed the ridge around to the impressive Faochag. It is just not high enough to be a Munro and does not have a 500-foot drop to justify Corbett status. I knew from previous experience that the path down was relentlessly steep as it twisted and twirled through the rocks. I had chased Mark and Gregor down the path during a ridiculously quick 40-minute descent in 2005 on a day trip to climb the Saddle and Sgurr na Sgine.

Today, it took over an hour to make the descent; it is a path that I never want to descend again. My thoughts were echoed by another walker who had decided to give it a break about halfway down. I continued but each step was an assault on the feet and ankles, and my shoes had decided to transfer the agony to me. It was after 4:30pm. It took an age to change shoes, rehydrate, and prepare for the drive home. I stopped at Spean Bridge to buy a bottle of lime and lemon sparkling water to quench my thirst. The traffic was lighter than expected to Fort William, although a car towing a caravan pulled out in front of me adding at least 10 minutes to the journey home before it pulled off at Ballachulish. I arrived home in time to join at the start of the Zoom meeting that had been postponed by 15 minutes. Only four Corbetts to go.

Sgurr na Sgine and Faochag emerging from the morning cloud

Like so

Bealach Duibh Leac

Buidhe Bheinn from the bealach

Sgurr a' Bhac Chaolais

Sgurr na Sgine and the Saddle from Sgurra' Bhac Chaolais

Five Sisters

Ladhar Bheinn from Sgurr a' Bhac Chaolais

On the way to Buidhe Bheinn and Ladhar Bheinn

Looking back to Sgurr a' Bhac Chaolais

South Cluanie Ridge

Ladhar Bheinn from the Buidhe Bheinn ridge

Top of Buidhe Bheinn

Southwest top

Buidhe Bheinn and South Cluanie Ridge from sw top

Deer in Coire Reidh

Final ascent of Sgurr na Sgine

The Saddle from Sgurr na Sgine

South Cluanie Ridge from Sgurr na Sgine

Sgurra' Bhac Chaolais to Buidhe Bheinn

Five Sisters from Sgurr na Sgine

The Boris Johnson Interregnum

 

Last Judgement on the Johnson Government

As we wait with bated breath for the oft-promised inquiry into the UK response to COVID-19, we should remember that the politics of fear are the underlying currency of this shameful government. The only question we should ask is when and how the Boris Johnson interregnum will end.

According to Boris Johnson's once trusted maverick sage, Dominic Cummings, the PM himself had said he was unfit to be Prime Minister. He was obsessed with the media, made constant U-turns and Downing Street was like an out-of-control movie. 

As if to confirm this character assassination, Boris Johnson's attributed quote about his former Health Secretary, Matt Hancock, "he's effing hopeless", resulted in no attempt to sack him even when he was filmed in full lockdown with one of his advisers. "The matter is closed" said Johnson until the media exploded with belated indignation and effectively rooted out the Health Secretary. At which point Johnson said Matt Hancock was found out yesterday and he was replaced today. Johnson's 20/20 vision seems as unfocused as that of his former advisor. Despite the catalogue of failings, the only criticism levelled at Johnson by the popular media and others, like the BBC, who aspire to be more objective, has focused on the redecoration of the Downing Street flat and Carrie's criticism of John Lewis home furnishings. 

After the May elections, the popular press and media became ever more active in their firewall protection of the PM based on his assumed popularity. Instead of firing their ire on his consistent failures to make the right decisions during the Covid pandemic, and the dire performance of most of his cabinet, they have decided to denigrate Keir Starmer, Nicola Sturgeon and Mark Drakeford. These leaders have been more cautious, more objective, and less vindictive in their relationship with Europe and have a level of integrity that is far closer to the benchmark for political leadership. 

His erstwhile adviser Dominic Cummings summed up his inability to make decisions perfectly when he described Boris Johnson as a shopping trolley crashing from side to side down the aisle. Lest we get carried away with his ability to get away with no end of flaky decisions, it is worth reminding ourselves of his litany of bad decisions that Dominic Cummings allegations exposed for posterity.

Johnson has survived so far more by luck than judgement. It is generally overlooked or ignored by the media that only 29% of the electorate voted for his government in the December 2019 "landslide" election. This translated into an eighty-seat majority by virtue of the anachronistic first-past-the-post voting system. This compares to Mark Drakeford and Nicola Sturgeon securing 40% and 47% of the constituency votes respectively, Boris Johnson would be a big-time loser in any objective electoral system. He is dependent upon English nationalism that the Tories have reclaimed from UKIP and other populist parties that have been dressed up as the collapse of the red wall.

It is too easy to say that Covid would have stretched the leadership qualities of anyone. Boris Johnson's record of failure and false claims go back many years, but 'mea culpa' is the one Latin phrase that has constantly eluded his whimsical utterances. Dominic Cummings suggests that he will go in 2022 as it is no fun being prime minister and he wants to make shedloads of money. This is believable although by any objective measure of performance, he should have been outed long before then.

Lakes after Covid

 

Langdale sunset

This was our 36th year at Langdale, we had missed 2020 owing to the Covid lockdown. We collected Gregor in Glasgow, a city we had not visited for 10 months. It was also our first trip out of Scotland for 20 months. The A74 was busy but we made good time to the Lakes and dropped Gregor at Ormathwaite so that he could run up Lonscale Fell whilst we went to Booths in Keswick to buy food for the week. Keswick was mobbed and so was Booths, a supermarket chain like Waitrose but for folk with short vowels. The crowds of shoppers made us feel uncomfortable having been limited to our local supermarkets during off-peak times. 

We arrived at Langdale slightly early, the arrivals process had been organised to avoid any unnecessary contact, requiring us to book in online with card keys for the lodges being left in the letterbox. It didn't work that well and we had to retrieve the keys from reception as normal. The swimming required booking a session on arrival and we were lucky to get an early slot with changing facilities limited to family bubbles. The upside was a near-empty pool.

The good news was the weather was to be fine for most of the week and so it proved with sunshine and warm conditions every day. Unfortunately, week 26, which is normally quiet in the Lakes before the onset of the English school holidays was exceptionally busy. It was difficult to eat out and on the occasions that we managed, service was slow and menus were much reduced. The place was awash with new cars, mainly SUVs and very few electric or hybrid. There were also far more young people, presumably because there were no opportunities to go abroad.

We ate out three times at lunchtime, always outside and had one evening meal in a spacious restaurant. The local pub was always subject to a long queue so we gave it a miss. It saved money from the normal holiday splurge but prices had gone up significantly in those places we did get into since our last visit. Eating out is in danger of becoming priced out. We visited my sister who was enjoying a delayed Golden Wedding celebration at the impressive Samling Hotel near Ambleside. We spent a couple of hours catching up on the last eighteen months on a patio in the splendid gardens. We were in the company of bronzes of Roosevelt and Churchill on a bench that was a copy of the Bond Street bronzes  'the Allies' that had been bought by the hotel at auction. 

I managed two hill walks to Kentmere and Crinkle Crags and we climbed Catbells to enjoy the best of all Lakeland views over Derwent Water and the Vale of Newlands. I ran up Holme Fell after a walk to Little Langdale and a visit to the magnificent 'cathedral' by the quarry over Slater's Bridge. Everywhere we went in the Lakes there were lots of folk seizing the chance to walk/run/cycle the superb network of paths. The smiles and friendly banter were usually an indicator of 2 jabs, perfect weather and the splendour of the midsummer landscape. 

Meanwhile, Gregor met his match, after collecting half a dozen Strava crowns on the various hill runs, he took his girlfriend up Scafell Pike. She managed to capture 3 Strava crowns on the ascent of Scafell Pike despite being a comparative novice at both running and hill walking. 

Talking shop with FDR and Churchill

Catbells summit

Skiddaw and Derwentwater

Vale of Newlands

Slater's Bridge, Little Langdale

Slater's Bridge

The Cathedral, Little Langdale Quarry

The roof of the Cathedral

Hodge Close Quarry

Holme Fell summit

Oxen Fell