Coire Lair Munros

Start of the Coire Lair path

Sgorr Ruadh and Beinn Liath Mhor from Coire Lair

Beinn Liath Mhor summit 

Liathach and Beinn Eighe from Beinn Liath Mhor

Liathach

Emili Sande rock sculpture - she's everywhere

Sgorr Ruadh - the final ascent

Torridon skyline from Sgorr Ruadh

Sgorr Ruadh summit with Chris

Beinn Damph and Maol Chean-dearg from Sgorr Ruadh

The walkout -  River Lair

Ascent:    1345metres
Distance:  18 kilometres
Time:      7 hours 25 mins

m  Beinn Liath Mhor    926m   2hrs 42mins   
m  Sgorr Ruadh            962m   4hrs 58mins

Some rare days just take your breath away and this was one. I had drooled over the forecast for the northwest and drove up on Wednesday afternoon. A deep frost overnight had brought with it the perfect day - cold clear air, pure blue skies and a whisper of wind to prevent overheating on the climb. It took half an hour from the cottage near Plockton to reach the start of the walk at Achnashellach station and the temperature was -3°C. There was parking for ten cars and just one other walker was getting ready. Chris was a climber from Sheffield, we started out at the same time and agreed to walk together.

We crossed the railway and entered the magical forest trail that follows the river which is an example of the fine path engineering that is typical in these parts. We split up at the junction with Chris going up the direct route to Beinn Liath Mhor and myself following the path into Coire Lair, I had done the direct route on three previous occasions and the gentler ascent into the Coire was more appealing and would give views from the Coire of the rock girt architecture that was decorated by bands of snow and ice.

It was perfect walking in the warm sun, I dispensed with my jacket and gloves and enjoyed the solitude of this majestic corner of Torridon. Only the occasional section of sheet ice on the paths disturbed progress. Before reaching the bealach at 670 metres I turned off to the right and cut under the cliffs that protect the route to Beinn Liath Mhor. I threaded my way through the rock, ice, snow and grass to reach the slight drop before the steep section. I found a gully to climb this and then climbed the last 75 metres of broken quartz to the summit.

The views were simply stunning with the Torridon giants of Beinn Alligin, Liathach and Beinn Eighe revealed in their scanty clothing of snow. I had expected to meet Chris at the summit and I waited awhile whilst feasting on the views, drinking some coffee and demolishing a roll. I sent some pictures to former colleagues penned in offices and gave my apologies for being so cruel, they retorted with a mixture of anger and envy about the sins of retirement. I was leaving the summit cairn as Chris arrived so we descended together and at about 750 metres we stopped at a rock platform for some lunch, it was a veritable sun trap. We were joined by a walker from Mull who was on his ascent and the three of us whiled away 45 minutes or so just soaking up the midday sun and sharing conversations about walks, places and life. I cannot recall what was said but it was a genuine interlude of comradeship.

We dropped to the bealach feeling lazy after our lunchtime break and then began the steep climb up snow-covered slopes to the ridge leading to Sgorr Ruadh. We were taking our time and absorbing the day with all our senses. Despite the hard-packed snow and ice we decided against crampons and followed rock blocks to the summit. There were great views of Maol Chean-dearg and Beinn Damph as well as across to the crenulated peaks of Skye. At the summit, I took more photos before we put on our crampons for the descent and just chilled although it was quite warm.

We were reluctant to set off down, days like this are for keeps and every minute was a reward for all those damp, cold, cloudy, windy expeditions that are the majority of outings on any Munro round. We found a long ramp of hard snow to speed the descent and, whilst we briefly considered climbing Fuar Tholl, once we found the path down to Coire Lair it seemed greedy to repeat a Corbett. Crossing the river was easier than usual and then there was just the last 400 metres of descent to Achnashellach down the staircase of rocks with the rippling burn providing the final sensation of the day. This had been a perfect day taking in the skyline of one of Scotland's finest corries, I used to rate all walks with a score out of ten during my first couple of rounds, there were only 3 or 4 times that 10 was given. Today would have been a definite 10.

Meall An Fhudair

Ben Lui 4 from Meall an Fhudair

Ben More range from Troisgeach

Meall an Fhudair

Ben Lui from Meall an Fhudair

Ben More behind boulder vegetation

Ascent:      920 metres
Distance:   13 kilometres
Time:        4 hours 10mins

c  Meall an Fhudair     764m      2hrs 18mins

At last a given day as they say in Shetland. I defrosted the car and headed off at 8:20am, there was no news on the radio because of a strike by BBC journalists opposing compulsory redundancies. A temperature inversion meant that the low-lying valleys that the roads follow were in mist. The A85 before Crianlarich was being resurfaced so it was after 9:45am before I was parked by Glen Falloch farm to climb my nearest unclimbed Corbett. It was still cold and after following the zig-zags of the track through a herd of cattle, over the railway line and past the phone mast, I began to climb a steep ramp to the ridge leading to Troisgeach. There was a walker ahead who was taking the same route. I was overheating badly and had to stop to strip off my jacket, hat and gloves. After a drink, I felt at one in the still cool air but the sun was warm and there was not a breath of wind. This was more like a day in the Alps.

The snow level was down to 500 metres and the crusted and granulated snow surface eased the ascent although there was the occasional collapse of snow to keep me alert. By the summit of Troisgeach, I had caught up with the other walker, he was 69 and attempting the Corbetts after recently completing the Munros. He had set demanding targets for himself but he was well-equipped and had an air of confidence and an easy cadence as he walked. We had a drink and chat before walking and talking our way across to Meall an Fhudair. The conditions were perfect and the views were impressive with the four Munros of the Ben Lui range on our right and a view down Loch Fyne and Loch Lomond to the south.

At the summit, we stopped for a drink and continued our discussion until I decided to return on a similar route but cutting under Troisgeach.  He decided to descend to the south and make his way back along the glen. The route back involved avoiding the small lochans, which were frozen over and covered with snow, and then coping with the rough ground before eventually hitting the track at 300 metres. I was down just after 2pm and decided to return via Loch Lomond to avoid the traffic on the A85. The views were sparkling all the way home; this had been a good start to what I hope will be a full year of walking.

Copenhagen - wonderful but cold

City Hall - the setting for the Killing

City Hall  - Art Nouveau splendour

Christiansborg Palace, home of Danish Parliament and Birgitte

Children and Bikes, the currency of happiness?

Queen's Tapestries of  Danish History - Bikes defeat Hitler

New Opera House

Opera House interior

Industry in the city

Frederikskirken - the Marble Church 

Little Mermaid seeks Prince

Kronberg Castle and DanishTardis

Holger Danske in the Kronberg Castle vaults

Elsinore

I am  a swan and that ugly country over there is Sweden

Safe streets - the Danish Royal Guard marches down the Stroget

Nyhavn - heritage harbour and food paradise

Hans Christian Anderson outside the fairy tale that is the City Hall

Tivoli Gardens during winter closure

After a winter of watching Danish TV dramas, Copenhagen sounded a wonderful idea especially as flights in January were cheaper than a rail ticket to Aberdeen. The Scottish weather came with us and grey skies, sleet and sharp cold days were not the ideal vacation weather. Denmark has been recognised recently by an OECD Better Life Index as the country having the 'best satisfaction with life' and the 'best work-life balance' of 36 countries surveyed. The relaxed way of life is apparent all around from the easy-going travel, the dress down style, the sensible working hours and the recognition that it is children and relationships that matter not the accumulation of wealth.

It is a country steeped in democracy, with a real-life female Prime Minister, Helle Thorning-Schmidt, leading a centre-left coalition. The Royal family are almost cherished with an 80 - 90% approval rating, the third world and United Nations are strongly supported and green politics are firmly embedded in the psyche of the nation. Despite the harsh January cold, most people seem to travel through the city on bikes; 34% of all journey to work trips in Copenhagen are by bike. In the countryside, trails sweep through the low lying forests and even on a freezing day with a thin veneer of snow, there were dozens of families out on their bikes. Research has found that cycling makes people more relaxed and add years to the life as well as life to the years of active cyclists.

Children and families are given priority by local and national government policies. Nurseries and playparks abound. Higher education tuition is free, which is attracting a lot of students from other parts of Europe, particularly since English Universities have bumped up fees. Copenhagen feels a far more cosmopolitan place than most European cities with English understood everywhere and spoken as the first language in many settings, including on many university courses.

The Danish for food is 'mad' but this is a misnomer: fish, ham, beef, dairy produce, salads, fruit and some surprisingly good bread make for good eating. The public transport is well thought out, punctual and relaxed. After a night in the new Opera House, the vast majority of the audience went home by bus. The trip from the centre of the city to the airport takes only 12 minutes and there is no half mile hike from the station to the departure gates when you get there.

We quickly realised that there is no way you can take in all the sights in 4 days, so we went Danish - relaxed and just sauntered round the streets visiting design centres, museums, cafes and the large selection of independent shops. The quality of the museums was exceptional with the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek having a collection of French Impressionists and a cafe in the winter garden to make your day. The National Museum of Denmark had displays on early history and folk stories of Denmark that provided a compelling understanding of the country in a way that focusing on powerful personalities can never achieve.

I had wanted to travel across the Oresund bridge to Sweden but it seemed a waste of the day. We went by train to Helsingor for a visit to Kronsberg Castle. It was undergoing a great deal of restoration work but the guided tour was revealing and highlighted the long standing feuds with Sweden; Scania, on the other side of the sound had been part of Denmark. King James VI of Scotland had visited Kronberg Castle after his marriage to Anne of Denmark. At the time Kronberg was the gateway to the Baltic trade routes and a tax haven in the true sense of the term. Later we took in the Louisiana Modern Art Gallery in northern Zealand where the superb setting overlooking Oresund and  Henry Moore sculptures were the highlights.

But best of all were the settings for the Killing - the City Hall, and Borgen - Christiansborg. The city hall is a superb art nouveau building with an interior spilling over with features and finishes. Even the plumbing was a design detail. It had just hosted a Fashion week and was very much the epicentre of city endeavours.  Sadly there was no filming taking place either there or at Christiansborg so we could see Birgitte in her home environment, although we did manage to watch an episode of Borgen 3 whilst staying in Copenhagen.

Christiansborg was displaying the 17 commissioned tapestries, designed by Bjørn Nørgaard, covering Danish History which were presented to Queen Margrethe II on her 60th birthday in 2000. They hang in the Great Hall and capture the mood of the country in all its glorious informality. Even the Queen's sons are made to look like rock stars and Hitler is woven in below a Danish woman riding a bike - Danish humour is dark and has a woman's touch.

Time flew despite inclement weather and we encountered only civility and friendliness, any angst seemed reserved for the Swedes. Would I go back? Yes, and it would be a good place to live if it had some mountains as well. However it made even Scotland seem balmy in February.

Bikes rule

Norman Duerden, FRSA, 1919 - 2013

A couple of years ago, I wrote a post about Norman Duerden after discovering some of his photographic books in a Lake District bookshop. He had been my primary school teacher 50 years ago and had been instrumental in encouraging the class to understand and enjoy the natural environment. In the way that the internet works, his family found the blog a couple of months later and made contact. We exchanged several emails and Norman was said to be"genuinely delighted to hear that you had remembered him and valued his input in your life." Norman sent me a note which was very touching:

"Thankyou indeed; golden days, eh? - a mere step from 92 years to wayward cricket balls and leg-breaks over the school roof. Please remember me to the glorious hills at your very back door, won't you? I hope that my little friend the dotterel still rides the June snow-storm on Drumochter."

Later, as he was beginning to have difficulty of recall, he wrote me a poignant note in what he described as 'my terrible scribbles'.
"That peerless Victorian naturalist, Richard Jefferies was never to experience the dubious delight of old age, but he lived long enough to realize the truth - that faces fade like flowers. Neither is there any recall. I listen to music, but can no longer hear the Willow Warbler. Computers are a complete mystery, I can no longer cut my own toe nails, but enjoy fish and chips. I am 92 next month. Thank you so much for remembering me. Norman"

A few weeks ago the family contacted me to say that Norman was in a nursing home and had not long to go. I attended his funeral on 11 January 2013 and reflected that he had made a difference in the way that teachers and others can, not by supervising and controlling children, but by giving them respect and imbuing their charges with a sense of wonder. The funeral was in the Overdale crematorium near Horwich, where he had stayed during his last year to receive care and support from his family. As always with people of his vintage, his peers and friends had mainly passed away but the minister conducted a reflective and reverent service for family and friends. This included moving tributes from two of his stepsons and an old friend.

Norman was indubitably linked with the Ribble Valley. After serving in the RAF as a radio operator and photographer, he played football with Preston North End and became a teacher in that remarkable tranche of post war teachers who were trained after the war and brought real life experiences into the classroom. He lived in Ribbleton in Preston and taught at Ribbleton Hall Primary School, he went on to become vice Principal of Alston Hall College of Education, which sat on a scarp slope overlooking the River Ribble.

He lived out his years further up the Ribble Valley where he was close to the Yorkshire Dales and the Trough of Bowland. He had been celebrated as a photographer for his slide shows that were primarily about bird and wildlife but also captured the geological splendours of the limestone country around Malham and Settle. An area that captivates the spirit and detonates a yearning to return. These are areas he captured in photographs, sketches and sound recordings which became the basis for his lectures, radio broadcasts and books.

His writing had an authentic quality that is reflected in his broadcasts and books. This extract from one of his books on the Dales provides an insight into his deep appreciation as a naturalist of the limestone country of the upper Ribble valley.

'Each of its many manifestations - pavement, scarp, pothole, scree and outcrop - provides a new array of species particularly exciting to the newcomer. Half a century on, one remembers above all the initial impact of its austere beauty and its infinite photographic possibilities. Its high places were more frequented by waders _ golden plover, lapwing, and dunlin _ than by humans. Foxes infrequently seen by day were revealed by an abundance of cat like prints after overnight snow; badgers had frolicked on the fell side..'

He corroborated in the publishing of books about the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales and the Birds of Scotland. These included publications with Denis Healey and Melvin Bragg as well as other  eminent photographers. Norman was not only a notable photographer but also an artist with a large portfolio of paintings, both oil and water-colour, that are to be shown in a retrospective collection later this year. He visited Scotland frequently and as his note indicates he was inspired by some of Britain's rarer species that breed in the Cairngorm mountains. The photographs below are taken from his published books.

Dotterel at  Drumochter

Peregrine Falcon

Although he was firmly grounded in the delights of the Ribble Valley he had a wider compass and was a regular visitor to Grindelwald in the Swiss Alps, which sits adjacent to the alpine meadows below the Eiger in the Jungfrau region. He also travelled wider to South Africa and the Middle East photographing the fauna and flora.

Norman opened the minds of many of his pupils to the environment around them and was recognised as an authoritative voice and authentic recorder of natural history by his peers. He did this with a modesty and style that showed his passion for the wildlife and natural environment of the Ribble Valley and the Dales. He is survived by his wife Maureen and daughter Pam.

Snow Fish

Basking Pike

Cushioned trail

Lochan Spling

Today was in monochrome, there had been an overnight dump of snow and the light was fully stopped down. The two inches of snow provided perfect cushioning for the morning run. I had seen an otter a couple of days ago and I searched for its tracks in the snow along the river bank but without success. The deer and foxes had left their trails in the virgin snow but the real surprise was a rare visit from the golden eagle which soared over the river.

The giant pike on Lochan Spling looked as if it was dancing on ice. 

HMV

HMV has a strong resonance in my life and its disappearance will not only severely damage our shopping centres but also leave a significant gap in their offer. My father was a DJ in the 1950's and early 1960's and he kept a large collection of 78rpm records in a box in the hall. Record labels were colourful items in the drab 50's with labels like Parlophone, Columbia, Brunswick, Regal and Capitol but it was His Master's Voice that captured my attention. Why was a dog listening to Joe Loss or Perry Como? HMV may have been barking then but now they have fallen over the retail cliff.

I still have the remaining collection of 78rpm records and they provide the soundtrack of my childhood from Guy Mitchell, Petula Clarke and Alma Cogan to Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Doris Day and Eddie Calvert. Only Ella Fitzgerald still gets played. Every Saturday evening a taxi arrived to collect my father and take him to some dance hall, hospital or event. I loaded the taxi whilst he searched for his playlist and overcoat. He would set up his twin Connoisseur record turntables, wire up his speakers, microphone and decks to the amplifier and organise the dancing. It brought in about £2 per week, a 20% increase in his weekly wage although 10/- was usually set aside for new or replacement records, shellac 78s broke easily. During the Christmas party season he would run company children's parties and I was usually taken along to be the stooge demonstrating the Hoola Hoop, the Twist or whatever the latest craze was. He displayed an advert for HMV below his record decks and a generation of youngsters probably wondered why a dog was barking into a funnel.

The collapse of high street retailing is now in full flood.  The early loss in the last month of Comet, Blockbuster and Jessops came as no great surprise, although Jessops will be missed and leaves a gap in photographic retail outlets. But the loss of HMV is a different matter, I had shopped here for years, more than 50% of my CDs, DVDs and the unrecyclable pile of VHS videos came from HMV. I had bought presents from HMV the week before Christmas. This was far worse than losing Woolworths or Habitat which had outlived their time. HMV on the other hand was at the epicentre of a fast changing industry. Their shops have always been one of the anchors in any major shopping mall and they are usually crowded. I suppose that like many others I was seduced into buying CDs and DVDs online but I stopped using Amazon three years ago when they transferred their media sales to the Channel Isles to avoid paying taxes. Too late, they had eaten into HMVs margins and one of the few chain shops on the high street worth visiting for browsing and buying had closed its doors.

The accelerating decline of British retailers is damaging the vitality of our towns and cities and seriously reducing jobs. They were always going to decline when the internet became a trusted means of shopping.  Who wants to tramp round the same set of chain shops, pay for parking and waste time when you could be doing something useful. Give me some distinctive indigenous shops which help the customer and do repairs any time.  The chain stores became guilty of frisking the credit card set by importing cheap goods, marking up prices and cashing the difference. Britain may once have been a nation of shopkeepers but the internet global players have cut out the middleman (retail businesses) as well as the taxman.

An analysis of retailers going bust carried out by the British Retail Consortium reveals that the collapse is accelerating again after a recovery in 2009 and 2010. Recovery from the recession of 2008 seemed to be well underway until 2010 but with stagnant wages, rising inflation, higher unemployment and less secure and often part time jobs; people have reeled in their spending. At least one in ten shops are now empty, the Specials will soon be re-releasing 'This town is coming like a Ghost Town', although you will need to download it because almost all the record shops have been closed down.

Retailers going out of business
Year             Companies     Stores    Employees

2007            23                    2600      14083
2008            54                    5793      74579
2009            37                    6536      26688
2010            26                      944      10930
2011            31                    2469      24025
2012            54                    3951      48142

2011 was the year when the coalition government's austerity measures began to kick in and if shopping is a measure of our economic prosperity then we are in deep shit. There are more than 40,000 shops which are empty and that is not including all the charity shops and pawnbrokers that are now squatting in our town centres. Some serious thinking is required, not on how to relet the shops, but on how to redevelop our town centres so that they provide more housing, community run services and small business spaces that generate footfall and create the sense of place.

A sense of place was the last thing in the minds of the property speculators over the past decade as they bullied planning authorities to give permission for the demolition of traditional properties to create space for pumped up retail developments. They may have temporarily hiked their rental streams but in so doing they wiped out the small independent shops that gave a place its identity. Whatever happens next I hope that HMV is resurrected perhaps with a more politically correct name.

Monemanach

Glenshee hills to north

North east to Mayar and Dreish

Upper Glen Isla with Druim Mor prominent

Tuesday, 8 January, 2013

Ascent:       470 metres
Distance:    4 kilometres
Time:         1 hour 14 minutes

Monemanach        807m      42mins

I had gained a free afternoon after completing two days work in Forfar by lunchtime. Rather than returning down the A90, a road even less inviting than the A9, I figured that I had time to take in Monemanach, a lonely Corbett at the head of Glen Isla. The early morning rain had finally stopped and the odd patch of blue was infiltrating the skyline to the west. I drove through Kirriemuir in the early afternoon without seeing a single soul and then followed the road less travelled across to Glen Isla. The final 4 miles from the castle at Forter brought me to the road end at Auchaven where I parked at the foot of the track.

I had thrown a pair of boots and waterproofs into the car just in case I could manage a walk. I changed out of my suit into some old trousers and a fleece jacket before starting the walk up a land rover track which zig- zagged its way up to 600 metres. It continued further but I had spotted a faint path which followed a line of fence posts more directly to the summit. I followed it for the last couple of hundred metres of ascent through the heather and mosses on a never ending convex slope. It was a hard slog in a fresh westerly wind although it was relatively warm for January. There was very little snow remaining on the Glenshee hills that became visible to the north.

Solitude was guaranteed although several red grouse squawked at me as I invaded their territory. The summit is spectacularly disappointing, a tiny cairn at the end of the fence posts. The hills of the north rejoiced even in their sombre winter colours but in the foreground the fickle sun was reflected in the heathers to give a bright umber glow. I was able to identify the route I had once climbed from Auchaven to Mayer and Dreish and then over miles of peat hags to Druim Mor, which was my penultimate Munro top in 1997. The trek over to Druim Mor provided one of the most tedious traverses. It was not appreciated by my then 13 year old son, who declared that he would not be doing any more tops. Nevertheless the descent down Glen Isla on that occasion had produced an enjoyable finale to a long day.

The descent from Monemanach was a doddle as I found a track down from the summit and it was a lot easier than the climb up by the fence posts. I was back at the car in double quick time, it was mid afternoon. Unfortunately, this was the last Corbett or Munro that I had not climbed in this part of the Eastern Highlands, an area I have begun to enjoy for the vast open views and abundant wildlife.

By travelling back via Blairgowrie I was able to miss the A90 and get through Perth before the evening rush, if such a thing exists in Perth. As always the Broxden roundabout provided a good proxy for city traffic congestion - if ever a roundabout would benefit by traffic lights then this is it - it is like jumping into a fast turning skipping rope, something I was occasionally invited to try by the girls at my primary school in return for inviting some of them to join the boys in a mass game of Den Relievo. How they managed to do it with two ropes and going pepper made football and cricket seem like simple pursuits.

Blue Skies and Green Futures

January Skies

Grey turns to Blue horizons

Green foundations

After 2 weeks of grey, wet days to bid farewell to 2012, we were exposed to the sun as 2013 dawned. The skies were blue, the mosses and lichens, drunk on the abundant rainfall of 2012, were oases of the brightest green. The soundtrack from the burn had a soothing rhythm. My optimism was alive as each year is a venture into the unknown.

If only Danny Boyle was the prime minister; 2013 could be the year that we stop taking George's medicine and released the potential of a more savvy, green and ethical Britain.