Saturday, 30 March 2013

Breakfast at Lime Craig

Cruach Ardrain, Stob Binnein and Ben More

Ben Lomond

Ben Ledi

Nine o' clock shadow
After two weeks of bitterly cold east winds, snow flurries and mammals still in hibernation, easter Saturday brought sunshine, still air, hard frozen ground and bird life making whoopee. I was inspired to run up Lime Craig to take in the views, this despite tired legs from five days running this week, . It was a slow plod, 300 metres of ascent and a round circuit of 11 kilometres is a big ask before breakfast. There was some snow left at the top but the general snow level on the hills seemed to be at about 600 metres.

On the descent I came head to head with the competitors in a mountain bike event, the first customers were zinging along the zip wires at Go Ape and the village was all puffed up with visitors. Now for breakfast.

Thursday, 28 March 2013

Slums, Dogs, Billionaires



Danny Boyle was interviewed last night on the Culture Show by Mark Kermode. Ostensibly this was about his new film Trance, although it was more a profile of a life less ordinary. Not only is he a prolific film-maker and national treasure but artistic director of the Olympic spectacular opening ceremony. The programme prompted lots of thoughts. Why is someone so grounded in northern reality able to make the harsh realities of ordinary lives into fantasies? And why are the coalition government equally adept at translating their policy fantasies into harsh realities for ordinary folk?

The answer was probably hinted at when Boyle, brought up a catholic and at one time destined for the priesthood, described himself as "a very flexible, malleable atheist not an agnostic". Someone whose spirituality and faith are authentic but doused in the school of life. Someone who is genuinely interested in people and their circumstances and wants to convey them so that society understands the power and frailty of the human condition. Speaking about the Olympic opening ceremony, he attributed its success to the volunteers from the NHS and elsewhere. He explained that when asked to direct it in June 2010,  a lot of people were certain that it would be a disaster. But he thought he was qualified, he lived in the area, probably had enough authority to force through his ideas and most of all trusted the cast of volunteers. It was mutually inspiring and he realised that "it might not be shite."

The programme followed several news items over the past couple of days that could be seen as the coalition's attempt to reprise Slumdog Millionaire with their own twist of fate. We had Ian Duncan Smith telling the poor, the downtrodden and the disabled that they would lose their benefits if they under-occupied houses. An extra bedroom, often required for storage in the tiny properties and future slums that are currently being built in many of our towns and cities, is deemed justification to warrant a move to a property with fewer rooms for those in rented accommodation. Yet it is an inescapable fact that the greatest level of under-occupancy, measured by either rooms or square metres, is by our wealthy retired, single-person and two-person households as well as second homeowners.

Compare the average household size in Kensington and Chelsea (2.02 persons per house) where houses are well endowed with space and rooms and the population is declining with rapidly growing Newham, the location of the Olympic village. It has not only the highest level of poverty but the highest average household size 3.01 persons per house. Needless to say, houses here have fewer rooms and are smaller. Yet Council Tax payments for band H properties, large detached houses or apartments, often five or six times as large and gurgling with water-based devices are only twice that of a shoebox-sized, one-bathroom and two-bedroom rented house occupied by Duncan Smith's victims. The unfairness is palpable and exacerbated by the tax evasion tendencies of many of the wealthy occupants of the larger properties.  And to make matters worse the new planning legislation introduced by Eric Pickles has been doctored to allow more new private houses to be built on greenfield sites. This will make it less likely that run-down inner city housing will be redeveloped with a proportion of social housing. Rhe outcome will be a further increase in overcrowding and confining more people to live in the coalition's slums.

Next, we heard of the tragic death of a young girl in Lancashire, only 10 miles from Boyle's home town of Radcliffe. She was savaged by five dogs including a couple of Staffordshire Bull Terriers. The government had failed to take any action on proposals to change the law surrounding dangerous dogs which were put forward by the select committee following several similar incidents in recent years. The select committee recommended extending the law to include dogs on private property and the introduction of dog control notices, which are used in Scotland. A dangerous dog tax would make far more sense than the bedroom tax.

Early in the week, one of the many of UK's wealthy billionaire Russian citizens was found dead, following several unsuccessful assassination attempts. London has now more billionaires than any city in the world and Boris Berezovsky was one of those who had been found guilty of fraud and embezzlement in Russia (as well as supporting Boris Yeltsin) so he bought his way into the UK in a way that the asylum seekers could never achieve. An interesting twist on the way that scroungers and strivers are often classified the wrong way around. But then the coalition has never deviated from its underlying principle of allowing power and money to hold sway in the lottery of life.

All of these events occurred after we were told that the government had agreed to spend £150m on adapting the Olympic stadium to accommodate West Ham United, who will have to find £15m, or half the price of Andy Carroll.  The legacy of the Olympics is that Britain's 68th richest man, worth £500m acquired from owning half the porn industry in Britain and convicted of living off immoral earnings, gets £150m of government funding. Meanwhile funding for sports across the country has been drastically cut, so that clubs are struggling to meet the interest of youngsters inspired by the Olympics. Stadiums such as the athletic track in Sheffield are closing. The government truly live in a trance.

This week's stories alone should make us think about someone like Danny becoming champion of the world, or at least PM; it might just stop the government's decisions being shite.

Wednesday, 13 March 2013

Buchaille Etive Mor

Buchaille Etive Mor
This is a mountain for special days and this was my first day as a bona fide pensioner. After the recent snows and with the continuance of cold northerly winds, I guessed that the Buchaille would be in good condition for a winter climb. I had been saving it for a summer's day but this was my nearest unclimbed munro, there were no avalanche warnings and my crampons were getting rusty and needed a polish.

Wednesday, 13 March 2013
Ascent:     1205 metres
Distance:  14 kilometres
Time:        6 hours 58 minutes
m  Stob Dearg              1022m        2hrs 36mins
t    Stob na Doire          1011m        3hrs 37mins
t    Stob Coire Altrium    941m        4hrs 28mins
m  Stob na Broige          956m         4hrs 49mins 

Coire na Tulaich
Stob na Doire

Bidean nam Bian from Stob na Broige


Ben Starav and Loch Etive from Stob na Broige

John on Stob na Broige

It was a reasonably early start at 7:45am and after collecting John from Blairgarry we were parked and walking from Altnafeadh on the A82 by 9:40am. This was my sixth visit to this inspirational mountain and I knew from previous visits that whilst Stob Dearg may provide the iconic view to passing traffic, once you reach the ridge it is the most tedious ascent of the four peaks that make for a splendid ridge walk. Getting to the ridge is a different matter and would require some winter walking skills on a day when it was below freezing at road level and the snow and ice looked to be welded onto the upper reaches of the mountain.

We crossed the wooden bridge and walked into Coire na Tulaich. Looking at the head wall plastered with snow we decided to climb the buttress to the right but after  ten minutes we came across pillows of ice. We contoured back round to the corrie and followed the path until it too became impassable with ice. It was time for crampons and ice axes. There was a party of four well ahead and they were roping up for the steep section leading to the col at the head of the corrie. From 600 metres we were climbing the snow slopes which were becoming ever steeper, we veered to the right to avoid the roped party but seemed to have inadvertently selected the steepest gully.

The snow was hard and in places the sun of yesterday had converted it to boiler plates of ice. We were climbing on adrenaline, hoping that our ice axe skills would hold us if we lost our footing, at least there were no cliffs at the foot of the slope, just a jumble of rocks. The final 75 metres of the climb are at an angle of 45 degrees but each step was getting us nearer the ridge. It was an immense sense of relief as we hauled ourselves onto the col after 40 minutes of kicking our crampons and planting our ice axes into the snow and ice.

The walk over to Stob Dearg from the col is a steady plod; there is no sense that you are climbing one of the finest looking mountains in Scotland and the final flatter section drags out for 400 metres before the cairn. We were there for midday. The cold northerly breeze which had been absent in the corrie soon cooled us down and after some food and coffee we put on extra layers for the walk along the ridge. Stob na Doire looked very inviting with a finely sculpted ridge of snow and it seemed massive compared to Stob na Broige and its top beyond. The sun made some intermittent appearances although a layer of dark cloud was massing over the Mamores to the north. Despite the steepness of the ascent it was an easier climb but crampons were still needed for the frequent icy sections. At the top of Coire na Doire we looked back and saw the party of four who had eventually made the climb up the corrie and looked to be heading across the ridge towards Stob na Doire.

We headed down the steep descent, carefully threading the rocks and ice bands to reach the col below Stob Coire Altrium. Above here there was thick snow all the way to the top which arcs round in a perfect crescent. The cornice was collapsing in places so we kept our distance, a lesson we had learnt the hard way on Meall na Teanga many years ago when John had fallen 75 metres through the cornice but landed in soft snow. The walk across to the munro of Stob na Broige is a comparative easy section with the tantalising views down Glen Etive with the massive presence of Bidean nam Bian and all its satellites forming the views to the west.

We had completed the traverse of the ridge and after a few photos we returned to the col below Stob Coire Altrium and found a route down the snow fields to Lairig Gartain. There was still a lot of ice down to 600 metres. Below this there were several herds of deer grazing and we crossed the frozen river Coupall without getting wet feet. I reminded John of a previous walk when I had descended directly from Stob na Broige to the Lairig Gartain on the way to climbing Buchaille Etive Beag, a brutal descent that should be avoided at all costs. John reminded me that we had also made that descent in 1991 and he thought I would have known better than repeat the mistake.

The walk out is on a good footpath alongside the river Coupall; we made good time as it started to snow or whatever you call micro hail. The thought of reaching the A82 was unusually appealing although the last kilometre walking alongside the road made me angry at the littering habits of the motorist. Maybe it is just my prejudice but coke bottles and cigarette packets seemed to predominate. We were back at the car by 5pm after a classic winter outing and I was home for 6:30pm.

Bidean, Buchaille Etive Beag and Mamores from Stob na Broige

Monday, 11 March 2013

Running: play for pensioners

The reason
Running up the hill
Early morning art

Trails galore

Homeward Bound
The pavements were glazed, the trails were white, the buzzards were circling, the last of the oak leaves were rustling in the breeze and the sky was devoid of grey. It was my last run before I become a fully fledged pensioner. Tomorrow I hope to be in the mountains and then I'll be running out of time not running to get a time.

It had started as a typical morning run but the sheer beauty of the day made me reflective. Thirty years ago I had started running seriously. A two mile fast loop around Queen's Park in Glasgow, usually after 9pm after the children were in bed and the tea had been digested. Every run was an attempt to get a personal best. By June, I had completed my first half marathon and by September a marathon as well. Thirty years, 25,000 miles, 120 races and 45 pairs of running shoes later (15 of which still loiter in the depths of a wardrobe) I am still going and still largely injury free.

I am no longer training for anything and often wonder why I am still pushing myself in the morning. It is a habit and addictive, and unlike so many other things that we do, there is really no need to bother. But it is a form of adult playing, you make up the rules as you go along and finish when you like. Breakfast is more enjoyable, I have communed with the wildlife, passed the time of day with dog walkers and cyclists and bought the newspaper. The day has been launched, my senses are stimulated and if I fall asleep later I have an excuse.