Arrochar Alps

Beinn Ime from Ben Vane

Summit of Ben Vane

Beinn Narnain from Beinn Ime

Loch Long and the Clyde from Beinn Narnain

Sunday, 29 August 2010

Ascent:         1855 metres 

Distance:      19 kilometres, 

Time:            7 hours 7 minutes

Ben Vane            916m.    1hr 56mins

Beinn Ime          1011m.   3hrs 34mins

Beinn Narnain    926m.     4hrs 49mins

The bluest skies in Britain were in the west of Scotland today and the mountain weather information service (mwis) had called it right. Loch Lomond was glistening in the sun but the choppy waters were indicative of high winds and cold weather reaching down from the north. I collected Mark from Callander and we got the best of a bright day on the Arrochar Alps; starting at Inveruglas on Loch Lomond we made a round of Ben Vane, Beinn Ime and Beinn Narnain. The stiff cold northerly wind was all that stopped this being a perfect day on these rugged mountains. We were walking by 9:00am from the Inveruglas car park and then up the track towards Loch Sloy which is littered with the paraphernalia associated with hydroelectric generation.

Ben Vane stood proud against the blue skies with scudding white clouds keeping well clear of the summits. We hacked up the boggy path which leads northwards from the track and meandered through the large crags. It was steady progress and in exposed locations, we were blasted by the wind and, unusually for August, it was hats on and wishing we had gloves, but the views were opening up and it felt a good day to be out on the hills. The final couple of hundred metres of ascent have a couple of false summits but when we reached the flat summit with its tiny lochan we were regaled with fine vistas to the west and north as well as across to Ben Lomond. Arran and Jura were visible but a little hazy. We hunkered down below the summit and had some food and drink and were joined by a lone walker who worked in Finland for Nokia. He was inspired by the Scottish Highland scenery after the flat monotonous forest landscapes in Finland.

We headed off to the west to Lag Uaine and a long drop to the bealach which was at 490 metres before setting about the steep slopes up to Glas bealach beneath Beinn Ime. The final 250 metres of ascent was another very steep incline with grass and exposed bedrock but we had the wind at our backs. We arrived at the summit which was surprisingly absent of other walkers and had some lunch whilst admiring the skyline to the north and west. As we left a party of twenty or so walkers arrived and proceeded to name all the surrounding peaks, most incorrectly. We let it be.

And then the long descent through wet boggy slopes to Bealach a' Mhaim before another steep climb up Beinn Narnain. I had not been up here on a clear day since 1989 when I did it on my way to work very early one morning. The views are spectacular down Loch Long to the Clyde in the south and eastwards across to Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine but the hills of the north rejoiced. 

It was a chance to sit and enjoy, the wind was still strong but the day had warmed in the sun and on the descent through the forest and back to Inveruglas, it was T-shirt time again. We caught up with an older walker making a round of Beinn Narnain from Arrochar and dropping down to Inveruglas and he extolled the virtues of the One Scotland Access card which gave him the freedom to roam through free bus travel.  I didn't tell him that I had one or that for 4 years or that I had chaired one of the groups that introduced it but it was satisfying to hear that all those meetings had been worthwhile. We were back at the car by 4pm and home not long after 5pm despite the long queues along the side of Loch Lomond approaching Balloch. It had been a good day with lots of ascent but conducted at a pace which did not tax the body unduly.

Summer Ebbs

Morning Dew on Web

There is a strange period of weather at this time of year as the summer heat, such as it is, gives way to cooler lazy still days and even the birds seem lethargic.   Last night we had heavy showers and this morning there was a heavy dew and a temperature inversion.  As I ran the meadows were covered in white spider's webs and the trees looked like they were draped in white nets as far as the eye could see. As the sun broke through the vistas changed with the speed of light and white shaded to green.  I returned home and the only photo I could get as evidence was this spider's web just before it collapsed in the heat of the sun.

Fissiparousness

I came across a new word at a Board meeting today: 'fissiparousness'. Its definition is 'a tendency to divide into separate parts and groups'. The meaning resonates with my frustrations about the way that organisations have become more and more specialised and have spawned far too many self protecting units usually abetted by professional bodies. It goes against the reality of everyday life, which brings together people and recognises that the strands of their lives overlap on both obvious and mysterious ways. The same applies to business, which works best not in isolation but as a network or part of a wider community of interest.

An antifissiparousness strategy could resolve a lot of society's ills.  It would focus on the citizen, encourage more openness and mutual support and deliver both improvements and efficiencies. The more successful new businesses are already there. Check out  What Would Google Do?

The coalition government are already a case study of fissiparousness, aided and abetted by government departments. I can't see Cameron and Clegg tackling the coalition's fissiparousness any time short of the next election.

Little People

One, two, three and Awaaaa ya

We had our niece and young family for their summer visit this weekend and enjoyed the scintillating company of little people of nearly two and almost four (on a scale that makes me just over 50). The 6:00am wake up call was the start of some serious TV watching with old favourites such as Postman Pat, Mr Men comparing well with more recent offerings such as Dirtgirlworld on CBeebies. The Duplo came out as did the dinkys and a torch for chasing beams across the ceiling. It was raining hard so we went for a walk and they splashed through every puddle with immense satisfaction. We stopped and watched a slug walk about 2cm in about five minutes on the way to see the local pigs.  The pigs wouldn't come out of their sty because it was still pissing it down so we went to see the sheep, the ducks, the ponies and plop stones in the puddles.  We played one, two, three Awaaa ya all the way home with laughter still lingering in the memory.

Twenty to twenty five years ago this was us and it brought back fond memories of the radical innocence of children and less fondly the sleep deprivation that they cause.

Day 101

It is day 101 of the new coalition government. Nick is in the house, Dave is on his holidays. The coalition has set out with strong intentions of reducing the debt and the housemates have been given silly things to do as Humphrey Lyttleton used to say.  How long will it be before they repeat 'I'm sorry I haven't a clue'!

Michael Gove has been a clear leader so far with his proposals to halt the building of any new schools, many of which have been in the pipeline for up to five years, and to create 'free schools' in 3 months by transferring the running of schools to parents/teachers. He should know better. The pre-planning, design and selection of a provider of a new school require genuine consultation with users, staff and the wider community and represents up to 20% of the total cost of the project. The preparatory expenditure on 700 plus new schools has been lost by his decision to scrap these schools, as has as the goodwill and trust of these school communities.

And most parents have had their fill of organising their children's lives by 9:00am on Monday morning. They are not particularly keen on managing a 'free school' as well or, even worse, letting that self-opinionated mother with the 4x4 whose husband is a banker and whose child always gets the best part in the school play assume charge of the school. Despite setting short timescales so that the transfers from education authorities could take place over the summer, very few schools have completed the application. It will be another folly to eliminate the support services that education authorities provide, they are vital not only to headteachers, who should be focused on the children, but are essential to safeguard the most vulnerable children.  Having said that he is probably right to reduce the cascade of national regulation and withdraw the curriculum police.

In the last week, Eric has started to compete with Michael in the search for silly and ultimately sullied government ideas. You would expect someone with a name like Eric Pickles to enjoy a pint, a pie and a game of darts; but watching him on TV makes you think it is more likely to be several pints, a shed load of pork scratchings and then an afternoon nap. He is the token northern soul amidst the Eton and Oxbridge types in the cabinet. Unlike many of them he does have real background experience, he was the leader of Bradford, as well as having a bluff Yorkshire manner beloved by the tabloids.

That's the bloody Audit Commission sorted

First, he published all expenditure of over £500 in his Department of Communities and Local Government. There is nothing wrong with greater transparency apart from the conclusions that were inferred and encouraged by the minister. His acolytes, the Daily Mail and other papers duly obliged. Public sector workers were berated for using taxis, staying in hotels, going to racecourses and worst of all going to Blackpool. Shame on them it's our money they are wasting screamed the headlines.

The hard facts show that, of the Department's expenditure of £314m in 2009, less than 0.3% was spent on 'extravagance' such as hospitality, hotels, and staff medical care, the latter was mischievously described as 'massages' by the Mail.  The real story is that almost all the expenditure had found its way to private companies, with outsourcing, consultants, telecoms, advertising, IT software and hardware and building services mopping upwards of 95% of all chargeable expenditure. If the aim is to make savings of 25% in the spending review then the victims will include the private sector companies, even those that provide taxis and hotels. This will be a problem if these companies are seen as the salvation of the economic recovery.  But this seems less important to Eric than planting the notion that the recession is the result of extravagant expenditure by the public sector. The government is creating a schism between the public and private sectors that is divisive and damaging to effective collaboration between them and the services that they jointly provide.

There have always been strong relations between the public and private sectors, it is what a mixed economy is all about. During the last government, the amount of work outsourced to the private sector increased dramatically and contributed to the increase in public expenditure. Instead of suggesting that the budget deficit is all about rampant waste in the public sector and driving a wedge between the two sectors, there should be a drive for increased productivity and cross-fertilisation of best practice. The vindictive elimination of the Audit Commission will not help. It is probably bloated, and it was used by the previous government to impose top-down solutions, but it has valuable information and experience as well as institutional memory that should be a vital part of the toolkit for making efficiencies. Mr Pickles seems unaware that bloated organisations, like people, can become slimmer and more effective with a bit of self-imposed exercise. But then he had a vendetta with the Audit Commission to pursue.

To avoid room 101 the government must stop blaming the public sector for the country's ills. The interdependence of the public and private sectors is vital, they can learn from each other both have strengths and weaknesses. The private sector is more focused on productivity gains. The public sector has an underlying strength which stems from an ethos of commitment to its citizens and locality.  There should be a crossover between these mutual strengths.

The emerging worry is that there are now other ministers cantering up Downing Street with plans for health, culture, and sport that seem to have had as little forethought as Michael and Eric's wheezes. The surprising exception is Iain Duncan Smith who has acknowledged that consultation is required and that there will be upfront costs in simplifying the benefits maze. However, given his track record, he will probably get this wrong and it could be the most explosive and damaging of all policy reviews.

Don't Worry, Be Happy

This morning was one of those days that just thrills you. The blue skies and light were so perfect at 7am that I thought I could see an eagle circling over the summit of Ben Lomond! It was decision time I had half promised myself a day on the hills, the Ben Dorain five by Bridge of Orchy or, on a day as good as this, go over to Garbh Bheinn in Ardgour. But with the wedding approaching and the plumber and tiler due on Monday, I had to strip the porch and bathroom and finish decorating a bedroom before the carpet fitter arrives next week. I went outside and felt the crisp early morning sun that makes you glow with happiness and saw a jogger patter past the house. That was the solution, a run and then some work on the house.

The run was going well, with each kilometre I felt the urge to push faster, the breathing was easy and by 5km I was ahead of my PB for the year and then the left calf tightened. I had no option other than to limp home from the most distant location on the trail. The tranquillity of the morning was stupefying and I forgot about the lost run and began to enjoy walking in the early morning, the sun angled in and lit up the forest and plants like a theatre set. The distant views had a clarity seldom seen and the clouds were straight out of the Simpsons. Then Bob Marley chipped in on my iPod with 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' and I was. I have now painted the ceiling and after lunch, I will be stripping the porch and I might join in if the sun persists.

Waltzer Economy

Model of Coalition Economic Policy

My favourite fairground ride as a youngster was the waltzer. It has three directional movement that is unpredictable, the inertia is reversible and with the loud music and screams gave the essential ingredients for a thrilling ride. Waltzer boys balanced precariously on the carousel and spun the cars randomly to increase the G forces. I was told by a girl friend that, in the late 1960's, I looked like the waltzer boy in the film Sky West and Crooked, I took it as a belated compliment.

So the Governor of the Bank of England, that nice Mervyn King, is now admitting that the economy is not quite as good as it looked earlier this year. He has not gone as far as telling the government they are wrong, he has seen what the coalition do to naysayers; he has chosen to buff up his pomposity instead. The threat of a double dip recession is becoming real as contracts from the public sector dry up, jobs are lost and people are saving rather than spending. Or if they are spending it is only to beat the next increase in VAT in January after which we will be in dire straits and I am not referring to 'Money for Nothing'.

The coalition seem thirled to the belief that the private sector will mop up all the lost jobs in the public sector and expand rapidly. Listening on the radio to spokespeople from the job agencies today suggests this is only a half truth. The majority of any new jobs being created are temporary and many of these are part time. Needless to say there is no guarantee of a workplace pension with these jobs so add that to the long term costs to the government. Meanwhile existing pension pots are being squeezed and many companies are aggressively ditching existing pension schemes.

Government action has hugely reduced capital projects in the public sector thus reducing the number of contracts and making tendering by the private sector even more of a lottery. A financial director of a large construction company recently told me that the costs and time associated with procurement in a much diminished market are threatening the long term future of the company. The savings targets will massively reduce the number of jobs in the public sector over the next few years and assuming that the private sector have the capacity to take up the slack is not going to happen sometime soon. It is an economic fantasy that even the markets don't believe nor do an increasing number of companies. They liked the rhetoric of eliminating public sector waste but are now realising that the majority of public spending on capital and supplies passes through to the private sector and many suppliers and contractors are going bust as the public spending cuts begin to bite.

Whilst I am not a fan of quangos, which are often bloated with their self importance, some of them perform important tasks in taking risks, being creative and encouraging best practice. There will be a vacuum in advancing new ideas and front loading investment by a cull of quangos particularly in the arts, leisure and the environment.  Amalgamating public sector organisations is another way of sterilising progress whilst management is waltzed around like deckchairs. The increasingly macho utterings from Dave and George seem detached from the reality of what is happening.  Companies are worried, the markets are stumbling, employees are in fear of their jobs and the confidence in the country particularly from the young and early retired is plumetting. And this is before the spending review is completed.

Perhaps we should think of the economy as a waltzer. The carousel (the state or public sector) is a large undulating lazy susan which is directly driven by public spending and rotates clockwise. The cars (private companies) are set on the carousel and freespin using the centrifugal forces of the lazy susan to generate their own momentum. This may be aided by waltzer boys (the quangos and public agencies) to take account of local circumstances. When the carousel slows down so do the cars.  The problem is that George has slowed down the carousel and cabinet colleagues have withdrawn the waltzer boys. The cars ain't spinning any more but the government is.

Grandad

I was at my brother's last week sorting out my parent's old photos and I found this one of my maternal grandad taken in 1950 when I was 2 and we lived with my grandparents. Arthur was a kind, principled and devoted man who introduced me to many activities that have shaped my life. He was the middle one of seven siblings, the first of four born to his father's second wife. He was badly injured in action in the First World War in Flanders and was hospitalised for a long while. He was nursed to health by a formidable Yorkshire woman (are there any that aren't?) from Denby Dale and she became my grandma. 

My mother was brought up in Lancashire but nurtured by a huge cast of Yorkshire relatives, my grandma came from a family of 13 children. Grandad had lost the ability to straighten his left arm because of shrapnel wounds, not a big disability apart from the fact he had been a successful left-arm spin bowler and had to give up cricket which was one of his passions.

He worked most of his life in the cotton mills and his working day brought a rigid timetable to the household. The mill hooters went at 7am, 12 noon, and 5pm. He walked through the door at 12:07, ate a lunch that was pre-ordained by the day of the week, and left to return to the mill at 12:22. Fortunately for him and the rest of us, Grandma was an excellent cook - although the tripe and onions on Tuesday were only eaten by grandad - and made the house run like clockwork. This included vacuuming, dusting, stoning the step and cleaning the door brass every morning before Music while you work on the BBC light programme was finished.

Arthur worked at a mill that made plush velvet and he was always smartly turned out in a suit, polished black shoes, short sleeve pullover, a trilby hat, and gabardine in winter. He supervised quality control at the mill and all windows and doors in the house were well draped in rejected maroon plush velvet. He took snuff but only drank on Saturdays before and after the football. He was a church elder but I suspect mainly to please grandma who was active in the choir and as a volunteer looking after elderly members of the congregation. Grandad read Shakespeare, which he would quote at length, as well as the News Chronicle and the local Evening Post. He had an impish sense of humour which was not always appreciated by the rest of the household, including my mum and dad, particularly on the occasions he used to lift me onto the clothes rack in the kitchen and hoist it up to the ceiling. It was fun and I was on Grandad's side in his attempts to breach the rules of the house.

He frequently walked me around the neighbourhood when I was toddling and unlike responsible adults, he did not insist I go in the pushchair, I should walk 'that's what legs were for'. A regular destination was the local park which was a mile away with 14 streets and the main road to cross. When I took my friend Maureen to the park on an impromptu adventure one afternoon when I was three and she was four I landed in trouble. We were brought home by a friendly policeman but Maureen's parents, who ran the local newsagent and sweet shop refused to let her play with me again, it was the end of free pear drops and glasses of dandelion and burdock. Grandad shouldered the blame for showing me the way to the park and encouraging me to wander, but he continued to walk me to other places of interest such as the millpond which was deep and dangerous.

He worked alternate Saturday mornings but on his week off he always took me to the railway station to see the steam locomotives on the station platform. I was mesmerised by the smell, the power and the shape of the locomotives particularly the LMS Duchess class Pacifics that frequented the station. As I gawped at them the train drivers would ask him if I wanted to step on the footplate, and he would never refuse me the chance. This prompted me as a schoolboy to become an avid train spotter and I travelled through much of northern England bunking engine sheds, seeking out rare locomotives and enjoying the fantastic rail network that existed in the late 1950s. By the time I started secondary school, I was well travelled by trains, thanks to grandad's pocket money, and bike although my parents never knew that I rode 60 miles to Carnforth and back as a 10-year-old because there was a rare Jubilee class under repair in the sheds. I also learnt to fend for myself in the territorial pissings of boyhood survival that were endemic in finding the best stances to watch the trains.

A Rediffusion radio was located on a shelf behind his armchair and every Saturday we would listen to the football results on Sports Report at 5pm with Raymond Glendenning. It was like poetry with teams with poetic names like Partick Thistle and Wolverhampton Wanderers and the scores read out in the lilting voice which told you the result without having to hear the score. Watching Grandad check his pool coupon was an early lesson in arithmetic and geography, subjects I have always enjoyed the most. Grandad watched most of North End's home games so every second week he was not home until after the reading of the results. I sat in his chair when I was three and four and tried to remember them for him and one week I got them all correct, as he realised when he heard the latecomers reading of the scores. It was a eureka moment for him and in subsequent weeks he brought home his friends after the game and I had to recite the results to them. Ernie Rigby, the co-op manager, was so impressed that he gave me sixpence for getting Division One right and he came every week so I realised early that listening pays dividends. Apparently, Ernie's weekly quip was 'Aye, he's a good 'un Arthur'. There wasn't much else to attract a young child's attention in those days, Listen with Mother was a bit tame and watching grandma stoning the steps always made me think why does she do that?

On Saturday evenings my parents would go out and I would accompany Grandad to the Acregate Arms to buy a large jug of ale. Their friends would arrive for a card school and I was allowed to play a few hands of whist and newmarket before being subjected to a dose of Yorkshire discipline by grandma and sent to bed, even grandad could not save me. Later on, I would be awakened by Ada Hogg, my grandma's friend and a soprano from the church choir singing her party piece: Sally, a Gracie Fields' song - it could wake the dead. At the age of 4 years and 4 months, we moved to a new house about 2 miles away but I saw Grandad a couple of times a week and he always came on Friday to give me pocket money and talk about everything and anything really, we never ran out of things of interest.

When I was six it was my Grandad who took me to my first football match, a morning kick-off on Good Friday against Tottenham Hotspur and we won 2-1.  I watched in awe as thirty thousand people urged their team on and I became an instant fan.  By the age of eight, I was a seasoned supporter sitting on the cinders by the corner flag and watching almost all home games during the glory years of North End between 1956 and 1958 when they finished third and second in the First Division. And on Friday discussions with Grandad revealed the intricacies of the game for me. In 1964 when PNE made it to the FA Cup Final and tickets were like gold dust it was Grandad who got me one and a train ticket down to Wembley. We lost 3-2 to West Ham United, then no more than upstarts, but the consolation was being pulled by a Britannia class Pacific locomotive, Iron Duke I think, in the dying age of steam. He also taught me to bat and bowl at cricket and spent hours throwing me balls so I could practice diving catches.  He died before I was offered the opportunity to play minor counties cricket but he would have been well pleased. In all of this, he was a mentor and someone whose support was unconditional whatever I did.

Later when I was at secondary school I used to call in once or twice a week on my way home from school to see them and partake in grandma's home baking. My Grandad retired in 1965 and my Grandma died the following year shortly before I went to university. He had lost the very people and activities that gave him a structure to live: his wife, his job and the timetabled regime that they provided. Although he always encouraged me to break the rules, he needed them. When I left home to go to university my dad hired a car and Grandad came with us but he seemed unusually downcast and it worried me. We had spent at least a couple of hours together every week and he was almost always upbeat, he didn't do morose. Now I would see him only three or four times a year when I returned home. I had everything in front of me but he had everything behind him. He struggled to cope on his own and whilst he remained active and walked miles he passed away just 3 years later. He had watched me grow and given me the self-belief to follow my instincts. He was slow to chide and swift to bless. It was only on reflection that I realised the impact he had made on my life. Thanks, Grandad.

Lochnagar and the Eastern Grampians

Black Spout, Lochnagar

Tuesday 3 August and Wednesday 4 August 2010

Alex, Gregor, John

Distance:    18km and 26km

Ascent:       960 metres and 650 metres

Time:          4 hours 42 minutes and 7 hours 2 minutes

Remains of Canberra bomber on Carn an t-Sagairt Mor

Carn a'Choire Bhoidheach, possibly the most boring Munro

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

Carn an t-Sagairt Mor,            1047m. 2hrs 20mins 

Carn a Choire Bhoidheach      1110m. 3hrs 

Cac Carn Mor                          1150m. 

Lochnagar: Cac Carn Beag     1155m. 3hrs 47mins 

This was a bonus outing, Alex had e-mailed me at the weekend to ask whether we could meet up for a walk and, if so, when and where. Gregor had two days off work and the only reasonable weather was in the east so I suggested that we meet at Auchallater just south of Braemar at 2pm which gave me the chance to sort out some work on the house first. We all arrived at 2pm exactly and after packing the rucksacks and roughly agreeing on an itinerary we set out up the Glen just before 2:30pm.

It was the first visit to Callater Glen and on a serene summer afternoon the water sparkled and the Dippers flitted about on the Burn. We reached Lochcallater Lodge within the hour and struck uphill on the excellent and well-engineered path rising above Loch Callater, there were a few walkers about presumably trying to get their walks complete before the start of the shooting and stalking on 12 August. Only the last 100 metres of ascent to the summit of Carn an t-Sagairt Mor required us to leave the path and we meandered through the wreck of the Canberra bomber that went down on 22 November 1956. Although I had seen it before I had not realised it was a Canberra until I searched online. My father's brother had been a test pilot for this plane in the early 1950s at Wharton, near Lytham, and I remember him bubbling with superlatives about it when he came to visit after morning testing sessions.

We dropped down to the Lochnagar path and found a place to pitch the tents on the Allt an Da Chraobh Bheath. It was still, clear and dry so we decided to climb Lochnagar via the underwhelmingly named Carn a'Choire Bhoidheach which has little to commend it other than its close juxtaposition to Lochnagar. And so on to the said mountain which for once was free of other walkers and provided us the opportunity to scramble about on the summit and to admire the deep gullies to the east including the Black Spout. There is something very special about being out on the summits in the late evening knowing that there is not a long walk out or a drive, just a return to the tents and some fine dining! And so it proved.

Wednesday, 4 August 2010

Cairn Bannoch       1012m.    41mins

Broad Cairn            998m.     1hr 18min

Tolmount                958m.     2hrs 26mins

Tom Buidhe,           957m.     3hrs 6mins

Carn of Claise        1064m.    3hrs 54mins

Cairn a' Tuirc         1019m.    4hrs 32mins

After a cold night at 950metres, we had a cold breakfast and in calm, clear conditions began the walk out to Carn Bannoch and then Broad Cairn, the most impressive of the hills with splendid views over to Eagles Rock and the White Mounth. Rough granite forms a tor at the top of Broad Cairn and gives a good view down Loch Muick.

The round of Broad Cairn and Lochnagar is a superb day's walk from Glen Muick but sadly we headed westwards across the peat hags to Tolmount and Tom Buidhe. These are far from spectacular hills but the compensation is the abundance of wildlife in these hills. We saw several groups of ptarmigan, golden plovers, dozens of mountain hares and deer.  Red Grouse were whirring all around us practising their take-offs for the tweed and gun set and the views to the Cairngorms were a permanent backdrop.

We were moving reasonably well and the next group of four munros east of Glenshee were within striking distance. We agreed that John and I would climb Cairn of Claise and Carn an Tuirc and then return to pick up the two cars at Auchallater. This would allow Gregor and Alex to do these two hills in reverse order and then continue over to Glas Maol and along the beautiful ridge wall to Creag Leagach. They could descend from her to the road and meet us after we had driven over from Glenshee. It was a good solution which gave Gregor and Alex a haul of 11 munros. I had already climbed these two hills on this round of munros.  Gregor finished the day on 100 munros in his second round. We were on the way home just after 3pm after a short but productive 24 hours in an area that never fails to prove enjoyable walking.

Sheep on Carn an Tuirc

Cloudberries at a secret location, worth their weight in gold

Fine Dining on Lochnagar

We had a fine dining experience for four last night. Camping out just below Lochnagar after an evening amble up this delightful mountain, I discovered that I had left my camping gas cylinder for my pocket rocket stove on the kitchen table. Fortunately, I had a 2-litre pan and John had brought his stove and cylinder but there was not much gas so we would have to eke out the very last therm. John and I had brought various packets of pasta, rice and cous cous, as well as some cuppa soups. Most of the packets were out of date having been unused on previous overnight camps but these are times of austerity. So the first course was cheese and broccoli pasta supplemented by a couple of packet soups -chicken and leek and mushroom I think, but this was less important than that they would considerably augment the e numbers.

To our surprise, the food was warm and tasty and we wanted seconds. So in went the egg fried rice together with lime and coriander cous cous and another packet of soup, I know not what as the writing had worn off the packet from numerous such jaunts in my rucksack. And again it was a culinary triumph with Gregor announcing to John that he was through to the next round.

Alex was bemused, this was his first overnight walk on the Scottish hills, and the minimalist style of our cooking was alien to his palate. He nevertheless gobbled it down with a plastic spoon from his Sheffield Wednesday blue plastic dish, it was the apex of sophistication and healthy eating. But then he comes from Yorkshire where fine dining means beetroot in white sauce to go with your pie Mcpie. There was no gas left for a hot drink so we drank some burn water with our lemon slices and had some peanuts before turning in. We were well nourished and all survived the night, Alex was no doubt thankful that he never needs to watch Ray Mears again before he goes camping.

Ben Lawers

It has been a disappointing year for hillwalking in Scotland, despite being retired I have managed only 9 days on the Scottish hills. I had assumed on retirement that I would continue to average 60 plus munros a year as well as lots of other types of walking in the UK and further afield. Admittedly I have spent 2 weeks on Europe's best long-distance mountain walk in Corsica. Perhaps it is also the knowledge that I can choose to go out on the good days or simply that I have lost the momentum to hammer the hills at the weekend as an antidote to work. So after three weeks of rain and low cloud, I seized the first opportunity of reasonable weather to test myself on the nearest big walk: the seven munros that form the Ben Lawers range of hills.

Thursday, 29 July 2010 
Distance: 30km, start and finish at Ben Lawers visitor centre
Ascent:    2120metres,
Time:       9hours 23minutes
Weather:  Clouds on the tops and showers in the morning, clearing and bright sun by late afternoon
Outing:    The day progressively improved and provided a reprise of all that is good about long ridge walks

Looking east to Beinn Ghlas from Ben Lawers

Ben Lawers, An Stuc and Meall Garbh from Meall Greigh

Meall Greigh from Meall Garbh

Munro/ Top                       Height      Time

Meall a' Choire Leith          926m       1hr  51mins
Meall Corranaich               1069m      2hrs 42mins
Beinn Ghlas                       1103m      3hrs 18mins
Ben Lawers                       1214m      3hrs  48mins
Creag an Fhithich               1047m      4hrs  29mins
An Stuc                             1118m      5hrs    0mins
Meall Garbh                      1118m      5hrs  40mins
Meall Greigh                     1001m      6hrs  36mins

I drove to the Ben Lawers car park and started walking at the back of 9am. Although I had done these seven hills before I had usually arranged to be picked up at Lawers thus saving a long 11km trek back to the car from Meall Greigh.  It was an easy but brisk walk up the well-graded tourist path before turning off and scooting up the two munros to the north of Ben Lawers. The ground was wet after recent rain but the blaeberries were abundant and provided a healthy snack whilst climbing steeply up the grass slopes in Coire Odhar to make the ridge leading to Meall Corranaich. I contoured around the summit to the west and then dropped to the bealach between this and the most northerly hill, Meall a' Choire Leith. Good time had been made to the summit where three other walkers were gathered.

After a quick stop for food and drink, I returned by the same route. The rain began and the cloud level dropped to 800 metres during the climb to Meall na Corranaich. There were quite a few walkers around the summit so I continued down the path to the bealach and threaded my way up the direct route to Beinn Ghlas. It was still in the cloud so there was no pause before turning to follow the well-trodden track to Ben Lawers as the skies began to clear.  I arrived ahead of schedule, it was not yet 1pm and 4 munros were in the bag.

Twenty minutes were spent soaking in the views, eating a sandwich, and making some phone calls before sauntering off on the path down to An Stuc.  This is the steepest mountain on the ridge and on an afternoon like this looked like a painting by a child or maybe David Hockney,  - a bright green isosceles triangle. I was walking well and stopped to chat for ten minutes with other walkers on the summit.  The descent is by a steep gulley which is badly eroded and was very loose after recent rain. It was a reminder of why this is such a severe test in winter conditions. Meall Garbh is a welcoming hill with a level ridge, festooned with fence posts meandering to the east and views opening up to the gentler Perthshire countryside. The ground was boggy from recent rain and I surrendered my pace to the bog cotton flags which waved in the breeze. Meall Greigh is a gentle lump at the end of the ridge but its soft dry summit was a perfect perch to eat an orange and admire the vista of Scottish mountains to the west and north.

And then the long return, first a long descent over grass and heather to the Lawers burn and then a southwestward walk along a level track above Loch Tay.  I stripped to my shorts as I headed into the glorious evening sun with Loch Tay shimmering in the angled light.  At the end of the track, it was necessary to cross a deep gorge and then climb back above 600 metres to a ridge below Beinn Ghlas. From here it was a long descent to the Ben Lawers car park, altogether this added two and a half hours to the outing, the last 45 minutes over rough mountainside with my legs and feet beginning to feel the effects of the long day. I was back by 6:30pm feeling pleased that I could still make a reasonable pace on the big walks which have been such an abiding feature of the past 21 years.