The Hitchhikers Guide to Reality.The Ring of Steall #71,72,73 & 74

9 05 2017

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I saw them too late as I came around the bend on the Glen Coe road. Wally and Ollie, standing at the roadside, thumbs out on arms outstretched in hope of a lift , I was past them before I could do a thing. What to do? I drove further down the glen. I had to go back, my conscience¬† wouldn’t allow me otherwise. If I was to continue on up to the Glen Nevis car park, I knew that guilt would keep sleep at a distance. I turned the Land Rover around at the lay by next to the Clachaig turning and drove back up the glen. They were still there. I flashed as I passed indicating that I was turning round, I heard them cheer.

Wally and Ollie were from Cornwall and Bristol. They had left their car at the B road in Glencoe just down from the Red Squirrell Camp Site. They had just spent a glorious day on taking in the Pap of Glencoe and the Aggy Ridge. They were shot. We chatted briefly on the short trip to their car. I dropped them off and we said our goodbyes.

“You are a superstar Bobby, thanks so much” said Wally as she jumped out the back of the Land Rover.

“Remember to pick up all you gear guys” I said “phones, wallets…. don’t want you losing anything now”

“Really appreciate it mate, thanks so much” said Ollie, and he shook my hand.

I waved goodbye and headed toward Glen Coe village, pleased that I had saved a torturous walk for them and glad to just have been helpful. It crossed my mind that I may be in the same boat and need a similar favour tomorrow on my way back up Glen Nevis.

I arrived at the high car park at the road end in Glen Nevis at around 10:30pm. It was getting dark but the clear sky indicated that a moonlit night was on the cards. I had a beer, had a read and bedded down for the night.

I woke three times during the night. I was cold, not too cold to be uncomfortable but enough to waken me. In the end, it was a blessing. I got up at 5:00am dressed, ate and left at 6:00am.

My plan was to do the Ring of Steall, four munros in stunning scenery. I knew it would be a long day so I carried plenty of water and food for the trip. Almost immediately on the path into Steall Meadow I was stopped in my tracks by two deer watching me. They were just below me, about 20feet away and they watched as I fiddled with my Gopro to film them. I turned around and there on the path, six foot in front of me, was another one staring straight at me. We looked at each other before he lifted his head and jumped down off the path to join the others. What a start to the day!

Minutes later I was in the Glen Nevis meadow with the rope bridge approaching and Steall Hut – a site of many a good night in the past – sitting spectacularly below the Steall Waterfall. The river was easily cross-able, but the rope bridge was far too tempting. I climbed up and tic tac toed across the single wire. Great fun!

From this moment on, it was a day of glorious views and wonderful walking. Here are some photos.

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It appeared that I had the hills to myself for almost the entire day. It wasn’t until just before the Devils Ridge that I met my first walker. By the time I had finished the last one and began my descent into the glen, I was meeting them regularly.

“Christ you must have been up early today mate” said one young guy heading up as I was going down.

“Six O’Clock bud, I’m knackered”

With David MacInness’s words ringing in my ears “The descent is a knee buster”, I began my drop. He was right, after about 20 minutes of steep descent, I went over badly on my ankle. Cursing the clear blue skies, I sat for ten minutes to see if the pain would subside. It did gradually and I began my descent once more.

I reached the low car park in Glen Coe and turned right to head back up the road past the Poldubh crags toward the high car park. As I stepped onto the road, I immediately thought of Wally and Ollie and how they must have felt last night, my feet were sore, my ankle was extremely tender and my knees were creaking. on top of all that, the sun had shone all day and I was burning up. I could imagine how they must have felt, hoping for a lift, a good Samaritan,some respite from their efforts……

I felt good about myself, I had done a good thing last night, I helped a couple out like anyone else would do. I heard a car approaching. I stuck out my thumb. It drove past.

“Surely one will stop” I thought “The car park is a dead end, they can’t be going anywhere else”.

Not one did. Not one. Is that Karma?

The MunroBlagger

 





It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Number 69 & 70 Stob a’Choire Odhair and Stob Ghabhar

27 04 2017

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On days like this, you treasure every moment.

Having just arrived home from visiting my wee girl Ceri in Australia and New Zealand, emotional from the physical distance once again restored between us and raw from the news that a great man and good friend had been tragically killed in a biking accident when I was away, I took to the hills for some meditation and contemplation.

Calum and I picked up John, Peter and Ritchie at the Drovers; we had booked in the Beinglass campsite for the night for some beer, chat and an overnight stop; I dropped them all off at the entrance to the Tyndrum campsite. Their plan was to walk the West Highland Way path back to the Drovers, whereupon I would meet up with them after my solo day on the hills Blagging some munros to add to my tally. I headed for Inveroran, the weather looked good, the peaks looked clear and it looked like how it would eventually turn out, a great day. The best of days in fact.

And then there was Ewan.

I had been sitting in the departure lounge in Queenstown Airport, traveling with Arlene, Calum, Ceri and Louie back to Melbourne for a few resting days at the end of our holiday. I had been in negotiations with the airline staff to get my guitar on as hand luggage and it was looking like they were going to insist it went in the hold. I was not pleased at all and ready to go off on one if they refused me taking it on board with me. As I sat waiting, I checked facebook. Ewan had been tagged in a post which announced that he had been killed on his motorbike on the A82 that day. I read it three times before it sank in. I could feel my whole body shake. I looked at Arlene, “Ewan Smith’s dead” I mumbled. I watched her burst in front of me.

The cabin staff walked over to me. “I’m sorry but your guitar will have to go in the hold”.

I nodded numbly and looked at Arlene, “Fuck it, its only a guitar”.

Ewan was a wonderful guy, a great friend and probably never knew just how much of an impression he left on people, he certainly did with me. We had some great adventures together, we climbed munro’s with his boys Fraser and Luke (go back in this blog the ascent of Stob Coire Sgreamhach via the Lost Valley), we holidayed in Spain on a Trailblazers off road trip and, we shared a bunk for 7 days visiting St Kilda which turned out to be the most incredible experience of my life. We shared the best of times.

I posted this on facebook:

Today we said goodbye to a great guy and good friend. I got to know Ewan some years back when he was working at N G Bailey. Noticing he had a motorbike calendar behind his desk, we hit it off with a common interest. We soon became good friends. He had worked on St Kilda a couple of times and I listened to his stories with interest – he knew it was a place that I had long wanted to visit. I got a call from him one day asking if I fancied joining a diving party to St Kilda he was going on. I jumped at the chance and what transpired was the most incredible trip of my life. I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to spend this trip with Ewan. I’m sure he knows it, I told him often enough, but I am forever indebted to him.

I will miss your chat and your good company bud, I will miss your advice on all things Land Rover and bikes and life in general. I have the lowering kit for my bike still here waiting for that day you would help me fit it – it won’t happen now sadly. The last text I have from him is when I said I couldn’t make the last bike trip as I was in Oz. It said simply “don’t worry bud, always be time later in the year, enjoy Oz”.

Ewan was a gem, he talked fondly and often of his two boys Fraser and Luke, and of his wife Marie. He loved them all dearly and was a proud dad and husband. Your family did you proud today bud.

You are sorely missed.

As we were about to fly to Spain last year we were walking through the duty free shop when Ewan says “I’m gonna get a bottle of Monkey Shoulder, you getting something for the room?” I suggested that we’d probably find a place in the village where we could get a bottle, to which he replied

“I’d rather be looking at it than looking for it!”

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You will be sorely missed indeed bud.

So I had to get to the hills. For various reasons, but mostly for mediation and making an attempt to get my tally into the 70’s. I pulled up at the car park before the Victoria Bridge and got my stuff together and ready at 10am. The book time gave 8-9 hours for both, so I knew this was going to be a longish day. I bumped into John about half way up the steepening to the Odhair summit, he was nursing a blister. We got chatting and after a few minutes we set off together on what would become a really magic day on the hills. As we approached the first top I took the opportunity to mention to him that I wouldn’t be going to the top, that in fact I never go to the top. He laughed and shook his head. “Brilliant, well that’s a new one on me”.

Its really hard to do this walk justice, in words or in pictures. The greatest compliment I could give it is to say that I would definitely go back and walk these two hills again. The route was never boring, offered a range of terrain and levels of walking difficulty and offered the most spectacular views across Rannoch Moor and over the the Buachaille and further to the Ben an the Mamores. Good company helps, but it was simply stunning.

Here’s some pictures:

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We got back to the car park in a surprisingly quick time of around 6 hours and 45 minutes. My Brother in Law John had called me when we are at the top of Stob Ghabhar to let me know that they had popped into the pub in Crianlarich and there was a distinct possibility that they would not be walking the last few miles back to the Drovers as the beer was flowing and a pool tournament was in progress!

I asked him to text me what he was doing and, if need be, I could pick them up on the way back. As I got myself out of my sweaty clothes, thanked my new found walking partner John for his company and chat during the walk and said our goodbyes, my phoned buzzed. Message from John from two hours ago “We’ve left the pub, see you at The Drovers!”.

I picked up a bag of chips from Tyndrum on the way home and headed to the campsite. The first Guinness was wonderful, the last was at least one too many and our walk back from the Drovers to the campsite saw us finding a locked gate to be climbed!

Not before we took the night stars in on a black sky.

“Friends and family are everything, Music is the glue, You know who you are, Tonight I’m with you.”

The MunroBlagger

I’m doing this for my friend Corinne’s charity Finding Your Feet. https://www.findingyourfeet.net/

My Just Giving Page is here

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Bobby-Motherwell1

 





Grateful #64 & 65 Carn na Caim & A’Bhuidheanach Bheag

17 09 2016

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Hillwalking is not for me. I determined this many years ago and I am yet to be convinced otherwise. Today’s hills epitomised all that was wrong with the Munro bagging, tick list obsessives who would sacrifice a glorious day on the crags of the majestic Buachaille or the imposing grandeur of the North Face of The Ben, for a dull unrelenting plod over featureless humps in search of that valuable “tick”.

My venture into the world on Murno Blagging came from a comment someone made many moons ago that “Bobby is not a ‘getting to the top’ kinda guy”. We were on Goat Fell in Arran and my objective was to get to Chir Mhor to get to some climbing on its granite face. The walk to Chir Mhor took us over North Goat Fell and then dropped down to gain access to the climbs. One of the walking party was perplexed that I wasn’t interested in gaining another¬† 50ft to get to the summit of North Goat Fell. The moniker stuck and I became “Bobby, who doesn’t go to the top”. In the hillwalking community, this was perplexing to say the least. From my point of view, it was perfectly natural, I was there to climb and the more I walked, the less I could climb. Summits were irrelevant.

As a means of creating my own joke tick list, I used to tick all the Munros by claiming the tops of the ones I had merely seen from the top of another. You could pick up a fair few from The Buachaille and the Ben! I then decided that if I was to do this properly, I would have to set out and deliberately NOT get to the top of every one, including all the boring featureless lumps, like these two today. So here I am.

I had been in Inverness the night before. I had a meeting with an Architect in the morning and a contractor at midday. When I had finished I headed down the A9 and parked up just after Dalwhinnie to walk these two hills. These are the pictures, as I walked, I sang along ironically to The Lemoneads “Outdoor Type”.

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“Never had a roof above me, always paid the rent,

And I never set foot inside a tent,

I couldn’t build a fire to save my life,

I lied about being the outdoor type.”

I returned to the car after four and a half hours on the hill. Had I enjoyed it? In a strange way I had. Would I rather have been on the Buachaille? Absolutely! however there was a strange meditative thing going on; and maybe that’s why people walk hills, and walk them alone?

On the way home, I tuned in to Bryan Burnett’s Get It On as I always do. Tonight theme was songs which describe you. There was only one for me. I stopped and text this to Bryan:

Bryan, I am just heading home from Inverness. Working there this morning then took the opportunity to blag a couple of Munros on the way home. I’m a very lucky man, I don’t know if this song describes my personality, but it certainly describes how I feel every morning when I wake up:

“I’ll never be cool, I’ll never be good looking, I’ll never be rich I know, but lord I am grateful”

Please play Grateful by the wonderful Ross Wilson and Blue Rose Code, it says everything about how I feel about my life. I even managed to make it onto the video for the song, and I’ve got the T shirt on as I drive home to Arlene and the kids.

Bobby from Howwood”

And he read out my request and played this beautiful song.

I am grateful for everything I have in my life. I know just how lucky I am. Lucky to have the friends and family I have. Lucky to have the forgiveness from them for the mistakes and errors I’ve made and at times the hurt I’ve caused. Lucky to have them all for their support and guidance. Lucky to have the hills and mountains, the music and the work which allows me to strike a beautiful balance in my life, and to feel fulfilled in doing so. Lucky to have my beautiful animal friends and the love they bring too (well Dennis anyway!). Lucky to have had the parents I did. And lucky to have the opportunity to be a parent myself. Lucky, and grateful.

Two dull hills, a grateful day nonetheless.

Maybe I am beginning to get this walking thing?……

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I’m doing this to raise funds for my friend Corinne’s charity:

http://www.findingyourfeet.net/

I have a Just Giving Page here:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Bobby-Motherwell1





Lucky to be feeling the pain: Ben Lui and Beinn a’Cheibh #60 and 61

16 08 2016

Having watched some of my mates from Finding Your Feet cycle around Arran the day before, a combination of guilt and a compulsion to add to my tally saw me head toward Tyndrum in search of Ben Lui and its pal.

The weather forecast was for a cloudy and patchy day, clearing later. With this in mind, I set off later than usual, hoping for some clearing in the afternoon. No such luck. On arrival at the parking spot just off the A85 I was greeted with midges, a water crossing requiring the boots and socks to come off, and a scramble commando style under a railway viaduct in around 2 feet of water. Magic, soaked before I had even started!

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I made my way uphill, following a party ahead of me who were making slow progress early on. We bottle necked at a pichpoint in the overflowing burn. A tatty rope and spindly birch tree made for a makeshift bridge. I waited as they crossed, then followed behind. The next granny stopper was a “bit of a leap” across the burn between to boulders. My compatriots warily body swerved it and forged off to the left. I stepped across the gap – it was no leap. From there I made my way up an overgrown land rover track till it was crossed by a proper road. I turned left and followed it to the bridge from where the path finds its way through the forest.

It was a bog trot!

On clearing the forest, I took a right and headed up the grassy expanse which leads to the northwest ridge of Ben Lui.

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Ben Lui – yes, I know about the flag now!

I headed back down to the Bealach between the two summits. That’s when the pain started. A shooting pain up the outside of my right knee. No matter which way I tried to go down it was agony with every step. I cursed myself and punched my knee as if in some way that may relieve the pain. As I began to feel sorry for myself and questioned whether I should just do one and leave the other for another day, an image came to me of Becca on Arran the day before. Becca is one of my climbing buddies from FYF and she has a prosthetic leg. I thought of Becca peddling all the way round Arran yesterday. 90 odd kilometers, over hills and through a blowing wind she did it, completed the whole bloody course, and here was me, with a sore leg, one of two perfectly good legs, ready to take the easy option and opt out. What a loser!

I shamefully descended to the bealach between the two summits, ignoring the pain. I dumped my rucksack and headed up the other side, carrying only my phone and the Finding Your Feet flag. I got to the top in jig time, meeting a wonderful wee dog called Archie on the way helped no end.

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Beinn a’Chleibh

I turned and headed back down. The pain returned. This was going to be a long journey back to the car.

And it was. But I’m #grateful

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I’m raising funds for Finding Your Feet, if you can spare a couple of quid, you’ll find my just giving page under the Munroblagger.





I’ve been away, but I’m back with 3 more summits avoided – 48 and counting..

6 09 2015

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Its been a wee while since my last post, however in the interim I have managed another 3 avoidance excursions. Here they are:

Sgor Gaoith

On the way back from a work visit to Balvenie Distillery, i nipped up and blagged Sgor Goaith in the Cairngorms. A rather uneventful walk as it happens, had hoped for company on this walk as the Glasgow comedian Gary Little had arranged to join me the night before only to call off in the morning when he realised that it was HIS birthday and he didn’t think his girlfriend would take too kindly to him missing the meal she had organise to celebrate! Next time Gary.

Gaoith FYF

Stob Coire Sgreamhach

A soaking wet day in Glen Coe with great company, Ewan and his two boys Luke and Frazer joined me in a soaking. A wet walk up through the path leading the the crossing of the river below the zig zags, saw us coming a cropper early on as the river was in full flow and absolutely no chance of getting across (See picture at top!). We made a detour through woods on the right hand side and dropped into the Lost Valley. The famous disappearing burn was making no attempt to live up to its name, I have never seen so much water in the Lost Valley!

Lost Valley and the Disappearing Burn

Lost Valley and the Disappearing Burn

Anyway, what was looking like a wet walk into the Lost Valley turned out to be a summit attempt after all. Entirely due to the enthusiasm and fitness of my fellow walkers it has to be said.

Ewan, Luke and Fraser

Ewan, Luke and Fraser

Sgreamhach

Sgreamhach

 

Carn Mor Dearg

The North face of Ben Nevis from Carn Mor Dearg

The North face of Ben Nevis from Carn Mor Dearg

So, another trip to see my distillery friends in Dufftown, followed by a wee trip in to see Andy and Al at Scottish Mountain Rescue to discuss Big Hex attempts in September, found me driving west to get to the North face car park for about half three. I decided to take a walk in to look at the North Face, I figured that if I got to the CIC Hut early enough, I might even take a wee trip up to Carn Mor Dearg and blag another munro. On the walk in, just shortly after crossing the fence at the MR Car park where it meets the Alt Na Muillin I noticed a rather boggy path heading off to the left. It was apparent that it was an approach path for CMD. So I decided to take it. Always good to try something new! If I’m being honest, I had no real intention of ticking this one, it was late and I was tired – I’d been up since quarter to six. If I could see the North face in all its glory, that would be enough for me today.

And, hey presto, I made it to the top.

Nearly at the top....

Nearly at the top….

The sun setting on the way down.

The sun setting on the way down.

The North Face of The Ben

The North Face of The Ben

I arrived back at the car at 8:00 and headed home. The car broke down just south on Bridge of Orchy. Pitch dark and with no mobile signal I left the car to start walking towards Tyndrum. it was 9:15. I heard a car draw up in the lay by behind me and a very kind Aussie couple offered to drive me to Tyndrum. When I got there i called the AA and they got a truck from Lix Toll garage to come for me, take me to Killin and give me a car to get me home.

I arrived home at 1.35am having left the house at 6:00am the previous morning.

I had a beer and fell into be exhausted!





Number 40 – Ben Vorlich (Loch Earn)

19 02 2015
The view on the decent opens up. Loch earn in the distance.

The view on the decent opens up. Loch earn in the distance.

I thought I’d take a walk today,

It’s a mistake i sometimes make,

My children lay asleep in bed,

My wife lay wide awake,

I kissed her softly on the brow,

I tried not to make a sound,

But with stony eyes she looked at me,

And gently squeezed my hand,

Call it a premonition, call it a crazy vision,

Call it intuiton, something learned from mother,

But when she looked up at me, I could clearly see,

The sword of Damocles hanging directly above her,

Oh Lord, Oh my Lord…..

Nick Cave sang to me all the way along the winding Loch Lomond road. The darkness of the early morning start began to clear and the steep slopes on the far end of Loch Lomond could now be picked out against the slowly lightning sky.

“Be early to get a parking space at the side of the road” the guide said. I was. Arriving at the start of the guide route for Ben Vorlich and Stuc a’Chroin, only two cars occupied spaces at the roadside. The day was bright enough, and Loch Earn was still, but looking up I couldn’t see my target for cloud. I packed, dressed and headed up along the track which meanders slowly above Ardvorlich House.

Today’s plan was to avoid two summits, but as each step took me closer to Vorlich, the chances of nailing the two diminished. By the time I had crossed the first decent snowfield and entered the clag, the visibility low and unrelenting, I had made my mind up that one tick would be the best I could hope for. The realisation that a return trip and a retracing of my steps would be required at a future date to enable me to tick Stuc a’Chroin was all too clear to me and took the shine off each upward footstep.

A break on the way up and a chance to weigh up my chances...

A break on the way up and a chance to weigh up my chances…

And then a thought occurred to me. Those fell running shoes I bought with every great intention, yes the ones which haven’t been outed in anger, this wee hill would be an ideal early test for them in summer conditions. The path and gradient were perfect for all terrain running. With that fixed as a plan for a return visit, I enjoyed the day more. Only one tick today, however on the bright side, it was a landmark tick, number 40.

The summit cairn. painfully close!

The summit cairn. painfully close!

I had made it to the top without crampons, however it was quite apparent that i would move faster on the way down without them. I detached them from my rucksack, sat down for a bite to eat about 10ft from the top and waited for 20 minutes to see if the clag would lift, it didn’t. Suitably spiked, I made my way down. As I got to a level where the clouds dispersed, I could see the winding trail of walkers below me on their way up the path.

“That “early start” advice in the guide seems justified” I thought as I headed down.

Be back here soon no doubt.

the summit view.

the summit view.

I’m doing this for https://www.findingyourfeet.net

You can donate at https://www.justgiving.com/Bobby-Motherwell1/

Thanks





Number 37 – Sgurr Eilde Mor. A clearing of the head

8 01 2015
Sgurr Eilde Mor from the approach walk in

Sgurr Eilde Mor from the approach walk in

Another early start for us, and an new addition to the climbing/walking team in the form of a different set of wheels. I decided recently that the old trusty Big Hex Merc had done enough mountain miles, and in truth, with or without winter tyres, it still wasn’t exactly perfectly equipped for winter driving conditions in Scotland. Luckily I haven’t been caught out in bad driving conditions in the Big Hex mobile so far, but I figured that it was best not to push it. So a Land Rover was purchased, and is now the new Munroblagger vehicle of choice.

So, as I said, an early start. To climb, perchance to walk… perhaps just a clearing of the head after the events of the festive period which saw me lapsing in my vegan diet and pigging out on cheese and crackers and crisps, drinking too much beer and, sadly, trying to keep myself together for my kids on the news of the tragic death of my son Calum’s friend in a terrible accident in Manchester on New Year Day. Calum and his friends had been down in Manchester to spend four days doing what boys do, nightclubs, drinking and generally being lads. Sadly, a tragic accident on the very first night, Hogmanay resulted in death of Kyle Doherty aged 19. I had the dreadful task of driving to Manchester on the 2nd of January, in the newly acquired Land Rover to pick up four broken young men and five pieces of luggage. The boys thanked me for coming to collect them, I told them I would have driven around the world to pick up my son and bring him home, it was my pleasure to do so, unfortunately Kyles parents would not be so lucky. Their journey home just does not bear thinking about.

As you may gather, I needed a clearing of the head.

Binnien Mor

Binnien Mor

We left at at 6;30am, Pete and me. Struggled behind a car on the Loch Lomond road which was being driven at 20mph. “Drunk driver” Peter suggested,¬† just as he mounted two wheels on the grass verge before correcting himself.

“See”

I saw. He was, we got past him quickly and his lights disappeared rapidly in my mirror. Before too long we were at the “good good” shop next to the Green Welly in Tyndrum. A wee stop for some coke and crisps and the warm “good good” welcome from the cheery chap shop owner. Always a delight!

Glen Coe looked gloomy, the snow line was high. Even the Zig-Zags above the Lost Valley were stripped bare. The only climbing would be in SCNL. Pete wasn’t too keen on the trek, I wasn’t either. We headed on to Kinlochleven, Plan B – we walk to Binnien Mor. It was a Munro Pete still had to bag, and one I had still to blag. Seemed like a plan.

Our plans rarely come together.

We readied ourselves at the car park, this place was becoming familiar, even to me. And off we set. The weather was promising, the skies looked to be clearing in the direction we were going in and the clag which enveloped Kinlochleven was distancing itself from us every step we took. We got to the wee bench at the end of the initial rise and joined the Land Rover track as it wound around the hillside below the buttress which leads to Na Gruagaichean. The path gradually met the snow line, and pretty soon we entered the bowl between Binnen and Sgurr Eilde Mor. It was breathtaking.

Milky Lochans

Milky Lochans

The skies were clearing and a beautiful day developed in front of our eyes. Both of us were beginning to feel a bit fatigued by now, and both with one wet foot as we had simultaneously, and with impeccable choreography, fell through the snow into a burn. A quick consultation, and we decided to head for Sgurr Eilde Mor which was the nearest option. Sadly for Pete, there would be no new ticks for him today. A kind gesture bud, it would at least mean I could Blag a summit. We had some grub and headed upwards. A scramble up a small boulder field saw us almost at the top. Another summit avoided. And beautiful conditions too.

Another summit blagged!

Another summit blagged!

So we didn’t climb today. There’ll be another chance this winter. We had a walk, it wasn’t death defying, it was in beautiful daylight, it was a lovely walk. Nonetheless, it was what was needed, with my good companion and outdoor buddy Pete.

Peter with his intended peak in the background. Another day bud.

Peter with his intended peak in the background. Another day bud.

On the way back down we retraced our death defying steps.

“Look! that’s where you fell down on the way up!” says Pete, pointing to the 2 foot deep footprint in the snow with his Leki.

And then proceeded to fall straight down the same hole. Cameras are just not easily to hand when you need them.

Pete having some grub and a rest while I tread carefully on the frozen lochan...

Pete having some grub and a rest while I tread carefully on the frozen lochan…

Note: I’m doing this for my friend Corinne’s charity Finding Your Feet. Any donations would be extremely welcome at my Just Giving page https://www.justgiving.com/Bobby-Motherwell1

You can find out more about Cor and FYF at http://www.findingyourfeet.net/

Thanks for reading my blog!

 

Bobby

 

 








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