Seanna Bhraigh

Seanna Braigh

Monday 3 August 2009

Ascent:     1275 metres  
Distance:  34 kilometres
Time:        11 hours 27 minutes

Seanna Bhraigh                  927m      3hrs 37mins
Eilidh nan Clach Geala     928m     5hrs 22mins
Ceann Garbh                     967m     6hrs 17mins
Meall nan Ceapraichean   977m     6hrs 28mins
Cona Mheall                     980m     7hrs 36mins
Beinn Dearg                      1084m   8hrs 27mins     


Meall Chuaich had been a warm-up for this fine round of five mountains in the Inverlael forest. We stopped at Aviemore to buy a cheap torch, I had left our head torches at home. We drove up to Loch Broom where we grabbed our overnight packs and set out just before 6pm, slightly later than hoped. We had originally intended to pitch the tent below Seanna Bhraigh and climb the summit to watch the sunset over the north-west highlands. As it happened it was a grey evening and the views would not have been what I had hoped that Gregor could witness

It is a long walk-in to Seanna Braigh, there had been quite a lot of felling since my last visit and a new path eased progress up the steep climb at the end of the afforestation. Once above 500 metres it is a delightful walk on well-graded paths and alongside a series of lochans. Beyond here the going is less obvious as you traverse across an undulating plateau towards the cliffs, a couple of kilometres south of Seanna Braigh. This is where we camped for the fourth time in five visits to the hill. On the first visit in 1990, we had started early from Ullapool and passed this spot as an Australian was emerging from his tent mid morning on a two week walk over the North West Munros. It registered as a fine location for future excursions of the five hills. It is a well sheltered site at the top of the cliffs with a burn running through to provide water which on this occasion was used for soup, pasta, and tea. We turned in at 10:15pm  to get rest before the long day ahead.

We had a surprisingly dry night and we set off  to climb Seanna Bhraigh from the camp, which is at 720 metres. We arrived on the summit just after 8 a.m. and enjoyed great views to the west: Stac Polly, Cul Mor, Cul Beag, Suilven, Canisp and the rest of the spectacular Assynt summits were sashaying in the breezy morning light. We ate some food and just chilled at this superb viewpoint before a speedy return to the tent where we had some rice and a brew before packing for the long haul ahead.

We found a good route back towards Eididh nan Clach Geala cutting up to the ridge at just the right point to avoid unnecessary ascents and descents, the experience of previous walks had taught me something. It was very windy on the summit so we continued and found a good route down to the bealach. The climb up the slabs to the top of Ceann Garbh can be tricky but we kept more to the north and then climb southwards to the cairn. On the short walk over to Meall nan Ceapraichean we passed a runner coming the other way. We once again kept moving, it was cool in the wind and we dropped down to the bealach below Cona Mheall where we took some lunch.

We left our rucksacks here whilst we made the ascent of Cona Meal through the dense boulder field. We met a 70-year-old walker, Peter Dawson, who had recently lost his wife and was coping by attempting to climb the Munros from his camper van. He was at number 48. He asked about continuing to Am Faochagach, a walk I had done on my last round of these hills. I explained that it was a long haul out and it might be better to climb it separately from Dirrie Mor. He was not to be dissuaded so I explained the best route and wished him well. We returned to collect our rucksacks and to make the 260 metre ascent from the bealach to Beinn Dearg. We were walking well and made the summit in good time.

The choice then was whether to return to the bealach and follow the good path down or to descend the long ridge to the north-west, which is good for a few kilometres but leaves a steep and knee jarring descent to the Gleann na Scuaib before reaching the plantations. We chose the latter and were rewarded by walking through a large herd of wild goats. We made the car by 5:20 p.m. I left a note on Peter Dawson's car saying that he had gone from Cona Mheall to Am Faochagach. It would be long after dark before he returned. We drove to Ullapool for a meal and then continued to Achiltibuie where we rented a caravan for the night so that we could be rested for Suilven on the morrow.
   

The magnificent Assynt skyline from Seanna Braigh

Breakfast in the summit shelter 

Our overnight campsite below Seanna Braigh, Cona Mheal on left

Meall nan Ceapaichean and Beinn Dearg from Eididh nan Clach Geala

Descending Beinn Dearg

Beinn Dearg wall

Meall Chuaich

Heading up the track next to the hydro scheme canal

Summit

More Munro baggers

A wide expansive view from the summit

Low flow in the canal

Sunday, 2 August 2009

Ascent:
Distance:  
Time:        2 hours 52 minutes

Meall Chuaich       951m    1 hr 32mins

Having finally recovered my fitness, it seemed timely to head north with Gregor and climb a few hills. We left home at 10:20 a.m. and the first stop on the A9 was the lone Munro, Meall Chuaich, just beyond Dalwhinnie. We had climbed this together when Gregor was just 8 years old and he had spotted a Fieldfare in the copse of trees adjacent to the house on the track that leads along the canal to the foot of the hill. I was uncertain but checked it on returning home and he was right. Today we were in more of a rush and it was a fairly benign day. It enabled an easy walk before heading up towards Ullapool where we intended to walk into the heart of the Inverlael forest and camp below Seanna Braigh before climbing the five munros in the Beinn Dearg group tomorrow.

We parked at the end of the track where the canal brings water down as part of a long-established hydro scheme and walked alongside the canal to the empty house and then to the ruin where you cross a burn and begin the steep ascent of the hill. There is an easily discernable path although it can become quite boggy in places. There is nothing difficult about the ascent and there were no Ptarmigan as on previous visits and no wildlife to enliven the walk. 

We had made good time, although I was surprised when I checked my log of the first visit that we had made the climb to the summit in less than 2 hours when Gregor was only 8 years old. We took a few minutes to eat lunch at the cairn. Although the skies were grey there was good visibility over towards Loch Ericht and Ben Alder. We skipped down the hill and then along the track, although Gregor took to walking along the inside of the concrete canal that was at low water and the evening surge to generate power was some hours away.  

Jaipur

Park Regis Hotel, Jaipur

We departed from Delhi at first light, travelling on the overcrowded Indian railways at a speed that was leisurely. The timetable was meticulously kept to and the seating and ticketing arrangements were organised with an empire-like care and attention to detail.  It took over an hour to escape the trackside slums that followed the railway out of Delhi. The towns we passed through were littered with debris from passing trains and town garbage. Even at first light, it was being raked over by dozens of children.

Just before we arrived at Jaipur we passed a train that had overturned the day before killing 6 passengers and injuring 25 more. Given the huge dependency on rail travel in India and that the trains are so crowded, it is inevitable that occasional accidents will occur but the sight of the crash made us feel very vulnerable, as did the feral monkeys that screamed at us as we alighted the train at Jaipur and crossed the footbridge, which was clearly their territory.

Jaipur was an altogether more relaxed city than Delhi. We were transported by a fleet of tuk-tuks to a three-star hotel that was more akin to a hostel. After tea and some fruit, we were free to explore the city. It was buzzing with bikes and motorbikes and it was not far from the market area where we roamed randomly, staggered at the range of goods on offer from textiles to building materials. It felt safe and the visit over the next two days allowed us to establish a rhythm of life and to visit some quite spectacular locations.

An early morning start saw us visit the Red Fort, a quite magnificent building on the edge of town.

Train crash on the Delhi to Jaipur route

Tuk tuk rank

A smiling taxi driver!

Into the markets

The boss

Veg Art

Colour me saffron

Crash helmets but only for men

Wired for free

Urban Boar

Casual vacancy

Morning commute

Red Fort

Inside the Red Fort

Ceiling in Red Fort

Procession of tourists to the Red Fort

Gardens at the Red Fort

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Museum

One size fits all

Colourful travel chaos

India in 15 seconds

Tuk tuk rank in Jaipur

Guide in rickshaw

Competing for road space

Granny's don't need helmets

Mobile

Holy Cow

Children begging

A tour of India sears into the senses like nothing else. It is easy to pick out highlights like the Taj Mahal or the Ganges but they do not capture the essence of the country. Conversely the sheer exhilaration of travelling in a rickshaw or tuk tuk across a road roundabout takes 15 seconds and dozens of images of India are woven into this scary tapestry of travel. The roads in the cities are tracts of asphalt that dissolve into dirt and maybe a pavement. Lane discipline is chaotic and approaching a roundabout brings no deceleration or fear of traffic coming from the right. India, in theory, drives on the left and roundabouts are tackled clockwise.

So you are in a tuk tuk, a three wheeled chariot which has seating for two passengers but seldom carries less than 4 and whole families of 6 or 7 are often arranged in and on the vehicles. Traffic moves at no more than 10 mph, dictated by the speed of the rickshaws. A smorgasbord of other vehicles comply with the velocity of the slowest. Motor scooters - where white haired grannies bravely sit side saddle in their brightly coloured saris behind crash helmeted males; cars with vintages and dents going back thirty or more years, trucks garishly painted with favourite Hindu gods on their sides and buses which are grossly overcrowded. The odd Police 4WD or Ambulance is compelled to travel at the same speed, they cannot go any faster than the torrent of traffic in which they float. The sound of bicycle bells, horns, noisy engines, and shouting drivers is interspersed with the odd moo from a cow, usually facing the oncoming traffic and grazing on the excrement that is veneered across the road surface. Children of 5 or 6 year old tout their younger siblings as they beg at the passing vehicles. Then, about 15 seconds later the centrifugal force of the roundabout disgorges you onto an exit road where goats are on sale, young boys are changing gearboxes on scooters and motor bikes. Global brands of drinks and electrical appliances are advertised on huge wooden hoardings as if emerging from the roundabout has loosened the grip of your wallet.

Milton Friedman would have been suitably convinced that this is a victory for the free market. There is no discernable regulation, everyone is in it for themselves and they seem to survive. For the disciplined European it feels more like a fairground ride than a part of the journey. You are convinced that you are about to crash or run over someone but the collective sang froid of the drivers is laced with a deep humanity that respects all other users, even the Police. The crescendo of horns and noise suggests that the traffic is chaotic. But it is organised not on a principle of size, or caste of vehicle but by a human collective that respects diversity and ensures that everyone is given equity in the movement stakes. Roundabouts are a moving tribute to socialism. There is only one traffic master and that is the cow.

Delhi

India Gate

Our Hotel was somewhere along here

Evening promenading in the smog at India Gate

Night shift at Delhi Station 

An early start for the rail journey to Jaipur

Retirement had allowed us to travel more widely than during my working years when I had generally limited myself to two weeks for an annual holiday. In this time span, the thought of long-haul air travel had little attraction. My initial attempt to walk the GR20 in Corsica in September 2009 was postponed because of severe storm warnings. We decided that a 3-week trip to India and Nepal would have to satisfy my wanderlust for this year.

An old work colleague who had travelled widely warned me that nothing prepares you for the poverty and overcrowding in India. We had worked together for many years in Glasgow and spent a lot of time supporting and developing projects in poor communities but she was right. Arriving at Delhi airport and travelling to the centre of Delhi in a taxi almost as old as myself was a devastating experience. It took an hour and a half, and the taxi driver could not find the hotel in the back streets of Delhi. The pungent odours of street food, stray animals, polluting vehicles and the steamy heat were an assault on all the senses as we wended our way through the pavement vendors to the hotel that hardly merited its 2-stars.

I had booked us onto a small group tour of northern India and Nepal and the hotel was an inauspicious start. We rested for a couple of hours before a meeting with the guide at another nearby hotel that had none of the faded charms of the Raj. The rest of the group were mainly in their late twenties and early thirties so we were the oldsters of the group. Normally, this would not have worried me but I had damaged my back through heavy work refitting a patio a couple of days before leaving, which restricted my movement and gave me severe back pain that prevented me from sleeping.

In the evening we had our initial briefing and went to India Gate. The civic splendour of the site at Rajpath in the centre of Delhi provides a green lung in the densely peopled city. Thousands of local people were promenading in the twilight and it had all the pomp of a ceremonial setting. We walked to the nearby new underground station with modern trains that marked Delhi as ambitious. city. We emerged in the heart of Delhi and were taken to a restaurant for the first of what became twenty or so consecutive curries.  The noise and smells, as well as the visible street poverty, contrasted markedly with the vibrant hotels, restaurants and shops. We returned to our hotel by the modern underground in the hope of catching some sleep. With the noise from the chaos in the street and my back pain that proved impossible.

We were up at 4am the next day to catch a train to Jaipur. Although a very early start, we were not displeased to be leaving the noise, dirt and smells of Delhi. The train station even at this hour was bustling with travellers. The next hour saw us emerge from Delhi through concentric bands of slums with dogs and children playing and scavenging on heaps of rubbish. Further along the track, we passed the previous day's train crash near Jaipur, the train for Delhi had been derailed killing 6 passengers and injuring 21. This holiday was not for the faint-hearted.