On Wednesday night I’d mentioned to Mick a couple of options as to what I might do on Thursday morning, neither of which was remotely high level, so he was a bit taken aback when, on Thursday morning, I announced that I was going up Carn Dearg. My reasoning: the forecast warm and dry day may prove to be the best (in a prolonged period of showery weather) of our stay in Newtonmore. What the forecast hadn’t covered (understandably, as it’s not its job) was the fact that it was ‘flying ant day’ in the Monadhliath and I was going to spend my morning with flying ants almost constantly landing on and crawling over me. Add in the bigger ‘normal’ flies that just wanted to circle my head, and at one point some clouds of midges, and I can remember few outings when I have been so plagued by insects.
Because I’m lazy at heart, I had Mick drive me up to the top of the Glen Road and set out from there. As I turned to head up the Allt Fiondrigh, I could see a few people ahead of me, two of whom I soon passed. A chap in red seemed to be going at about the same pace as me, but he was gaining on the two in front. I passed them all as they took a break at the bridge over the burn, from where (after a decent track up the glen), I was onto an ATV track that was boggy in paces, but perhaps not quite as wet as I’d expected.
We’ll skip swiftly over the incident where I missed the path with my left foot and took a tumble down a short, but steep, bank, giving myself a friction burn down my shin from the heather. No harm was done, save for the burnt shin, but that must have been what distracted me from the fact that in the next 50m there were pallets over the muddiest bits of the ATV track. When I came across them on my return leg, and having no recollection of their presence, for a few moments I wondered if I wasn’t where I thought I was.
Up Glen Ballach the soggy ATV track either petered out (or I lost it), but there was an obvious trod, complete with boot prints, so I followed that. When that petered out (or I lost it), I took what looked to be a reasonable line to my objective, trying to traverse around the head of the glen, rather than dropping down to head more directly up the other side. I’ve come to the conclusion over the years that it’s often quicker and easier to forge your own path (i.e. to keep moving forward) rather than to spend chunks of time trying to find or stay on a path that may not even exist. In this case, the going was initially easy enough. Then it wasn’t so easy. Then my right foot wasn’t enjoying the slant of the hillside. With my objective not getting any nearer and my progress slow (allowing the flies to plague me even more), I acknowledged that I had not taken the most expedient route – a fact that I considered to be confirmed when I came to the baggers’ path as it emanated from the glen.
By then, however, I was almost at the summit. My stay on the top would have been longer if: a) I’d had anywhere near enough food with me, as a sandwich would have been welcome at that point; AND b) if there had been enough of a breeze to keep the insects at bay. As it was, even the few seconds during which both of my hands were occupied sending Mick a message had me dancing around needing a hand to slap the flies off me.
Pacing around, I considered the map. To go back the way I’d come (more-or-less, I would have followed the trodden path) or to continue along the ridge and drop down the burn just N of Carn Macoul. I opted for the latter, although with no decision made as to what I would do when I got into Gleann Ballach. I must have been focussed on that question, and scanning the landscape on the E side of the ridge, as I went over spot height 923, I failed to notice Loch Dubh below me to the west.
The descent down the burn was pleasant, and by the bottom I’d decided to climb back around the N side of Creag Liath to rejoin my outward route. My desire for lunch sooner rather than later suggested better the track I know, and down which I could jog, rather than a potentially slow slog down Gleann Ballach to Glen Banchor.
As I regained a phone signal, about 2.5km from the road end, I sent Mick a message requesting a lift. Whether it was the lack of food and water*, the heat and humidity of the day, or the fact that it’s quite a long while since I did any significant pathless yomping, or just plain laziness, by then I was ready to be done and an extra 2km, all on tarmac, was in no way appealing.
As for people, after passing the three chaps by the bridge on the outward leg, the one in the red top then chased me up the glen, before he continued straight on as I veered left around the head of the glen. I didn’t see anyone else until I got back to the car park. Maybe everyone else had seen a flying-ant forecast and had been put off?
(*I’d undercatered, but not gone completely unprepared. I had 0.5 litre of Tailwind, 0.75 litre of water (but it was a hot and humid day), two milk rolls with jam and two emergency gels. I had one of the gels, but didn’t have the other as it was a poor substitute for the savoury sandwich I wanted. My time estimate for the outing was 4-4.5 hours, and I came in at 4 hours, so the undercatering was purely lack of thought about the time of day (i.e. I set out at 0945, which is really late for me and I’d not considered that I would be spanning lunch time), rather than being out longer than expected.)
A typical Munroing day. My records tell me I did this on on 23td. November 2003. I have no immediate recollection. You are there at the height of the insect season - not so many in November.
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