Cnoc Ceislein (NH589706; 523m)

Saturday 26 August

Start Point: Fyrish Car Park (NH627715)

Distance and Ascent: 10.3k, 380m

Weather: Rain, mainly light, but with two downpours

My intention had been to take in a hill by Carrbridge today, on our way back from Alness parkrun. Then, as we sat in Erica-the-Campervan in a secluded car park on the Black Isle last night, with the rain drumming down, it occurred to me that I pass by Carrbridge far more frequently than I pass by Alness (in fact, to the best of my knowledge the only other time I’ve been on that bit of the A9 was in 2008 on a bus from John o’Groats), and thus it made sense to take in a hill up there instead.

parkrun was damp but not as wet as forecast, but as we sat in Morrison’s café afterwards it started teeming down. It was still coming down when we reached the Fyrish car park, but an amount of faffing meant it had eased by the time I set out.

I even took my jacket off at one point on the ascent, only to put it back on within two minutes.

Even in the rain, I could appreciate that the surroundings were rather pleasant, through an old, non-commercial forest on a track that is narrower than it once would have been, with greenery taking over its edges.

Track

Looks like someone thought it appropriate to take a car up there

Goodness, the ground was soggy, though, with the track soon resembling a burn more than solid ground, and with all low points having filled with water.

The most extreme water obstacle. Long and deep.

All of the puddles were easily bypassed; stepping through the wet heather got plenty of water into the shoes, but not as much as wading through the puddles would have done.

The point where I left the track to find the trodden line up the final reaches of the hill was also masquerading as a watercourse. My summit is under the cloud on the left of the shot.

Continuing the theme, the trodden line up the hill was running with water, with the bare peat threatening to be slippery on the way down.

Being in the cloud by the time I reached the trig point, there wasn’t much reason to linger … 

...until suddenly a hole appeared and I got a view down to the Cromarty Firth and a pier that I thought might be the one I’d run along earlier (I’ve since checked and it wasn’t; there are two relatively close to each other). Alas, by the time I got my camera out of its Ziplock bag, the view had become slightly obscured again, and was soon gone completely.

The descent would have been a straightforward retracing of steps, except that…

…see that track? The reason I didn’t take it on the way up was because I’d read reports that it no longer exists on the ground. I didn’t doubt those reports, but when I saw that there was a clear track at each end, I couldn’t resist taking a closer look. Whilst the track only exists for short distances at either end, its course is still reasonably clear, and there’s a trod along much of its length, but it’s so overgrown with trees that it wasn’t possible to stick to the original line for the entire distance. It probably goes without saying that the going was also excessively wet.

Looking back the way I’d just come

Looking forward

On this occasion it probably would have been faster to take the longer route, as I could happily have jogged back down the entire track, rather than meandering and fighting my way along the shorter route.

The next heavy shower hit as I made my way along there, but it eased off as I did the easy final distance down to the car park, where I arrived in a decidedly soggy state. A good time had been had, though, and another hill ticked off.

 

Creag na Doire Duibhe (NN615905; 571m)

Tuesday 22 August

Start Point: informal, deep layby by track end at NN635909.

Distance and ascent: 5.7km, 275m

Weather: rather damp on the way up, fine on the way down.

It’s been a while since I accidentally revisited a hill in ignorance of my previous visit, but that’s exactly what I did today. With my two visits having approached from opposite directions, the first I became aware of the inadvertent repetition was when I just went to save today’s gpx file to find that I already had two files for this hill, one labelled ‘bike’ and one ‘walk’. My previous visit was on 17 May 2018, and now that I’ve refreshed my memory by reading my blog post, I remember it well.

Other than a waste of fuel, I’m amused, but in no way annoyed at the repetition, as despite the terrain being decidedly soggy on this pathless hill, and notwithstanding the horizontal drizzle that hit me for most of my ascent, I had a really good outing. Somehow yomping through (relatively easy, in the grand scheme of these things) heather and bog on this hill was more pleasing than another march up an engineered path or track.

The rain drifted away as I completed the final bit of the ascent, so I had a view to the south from the summit…

whereas the rain that had recently left me was curtailing visibility to the north.

Obligatory summit selfie.

As can be seen from the map snippet, I didn’t exactly retrace my steps on the way back. Some bits of my descent route were better than what I’d chosen on the way up, others weren’t. The key tip that I’d read on hill-bagging.co.uk* was to turn right at the fork in the track that leads the first few hundred metres towards the hill; it’s just a pity that I’d forgotten that tip until I reached that very point on my return.

Looking at the hill on my way out

Looking back at the hill on my way back

(*Oh dear! I now realise that one of the logs I saw on hill-bagging was my own. I only got as far as ‘from Wolftrax’ and stopped reading as that start point was irrelevant to me today. If I’d just skimmed the second line I would have seen my blog address.)  

Meallach Mhor (NN776908; 769m)

Sunday 20 August

Start Point: Nature Reserve car park at NN776998

Distance and Ascent: 23.3km, 695m

Weather: Overcast and breezy, but dry save for one short, light shower

Couldn't fit it all on one screen grab

I’d intended to do the head of the lollipop of this outing in the opposite direction (i.e. along the ridge to my objective, then back along the glen), but having parked in the Nature Reserve car park for the second time this week, and made my way along the Speyside Way off-road route and into Glen Tromie, the wind direction and speed suggested that a reversal would be more comfortable. Heading generally SW along the ridge for just shy of 7km, against a SW wind of between 20 and 25mph didn’t sound like the most fun approach.

As it goes, I’m not sure I picked the most fun approach in any case, although I suppose it depends on one’s definition of ‘fun’! The usual approach to this hill seems to continue along Glen Tromie (often on a bike, which makes perfect sense if you have one at your disposal) and approach it from the east. That route is 3.25km further than doing what I did: going via Coire Bhealaich.

Initial indications were promising, when I found an excellent grassy track exactly where I wanted to head up.

That it went straight through a large collection of beehives was unfortunate, but I made it through (with bees bouncing off me) unscathed.

View back down Glen Tromie from the midst of a big patch of bracken. This route would be easier in winter. 

The initial grassy track soon became a rough ATV track, but it had been used recently enough for the bracken in between the tyre tracks to still be semi-flattened. It veered off at the 440m contour, so from there I was yomping through heather and long grass, with some boggy bits. Had this been an obscure Marilyn, I would have considered it reasonably good going, but as it’s a Corbett, I had the nagging thought that there was probably a trodden line on the usual route. That seemed to be borne out when I finally reached the low point between Meallach Mhor and Meallach Bheag and picked up a good trod that I could see coming up from the glen. Looking now at my kilometre splits, I see that my pace per kilometre during that rough climb was 16, 19.5 and 18 minutes, so even if going the more usual route would have been easier, due to the extra distance, it wouldn’t have been quicker (the good old ‘distance versus ease’ conundrum).

The views from the top were magnificent. Alas, my snaps don’t even start to do justice to the reality of the vista (and whilst the air clarity wasn’t first class, I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as my photos make it look):

Whilst I was curious to see if the baggers’ trod did go the whole way down to the glen, my desire to do the ridge route (and avoid the glen track) was greater. Happily, the going along there was far easier than my ascent route, and ATV tracks and narrow trods took me the whole way with ease, and the views in every direction were superb.

Spot the path

Dressed to match the heather.

Eventually I reached the path I’d ascended on Tuesday (on an outing to visit a bridge that doesn’t exist), which took me back down into the glen, from where it was just a simple 3km back to the car park.

It’s probable that other people did visit this hill today (surely? On a Sunday in August with a good weather forecast?) but I saw not a single person, even from a distance.  

What were the planners thinking?! 

4 minutes after the snap above. That's better! 

Sgor Gaoith (NN903989; 1118m)

Thursday 17 August

Start Point: car parking area just before Allt Rhuadh bridge in Glen Feshie (approx NH853012)

Distance and Ascent: 15.5km, 880m

Weather: Sunny intervals, but with the effect of laminar flow, breezier than expected.

It’s always a risk setting out early up a big hill as to whether the morning cloud will clear before you get to the top, and this was one of those days. There were some big clear patches of sky as I drove towards Glen Feshie, with cloud just sitting over the higher summits, and with a forecast that said it would lift.

A big bank of cloud over the ridge to which I was heading

Initial signs were positive, as the cloud seemed to be rising at about the same rate as I was – a fact that I discussed with a group of five I passed not far before the ridge. We also agreed that the wind was far breezier than the forecast had suggested it should be – particularly noticeable as it was dead in our faces as we made our way up the well-trodden path.

Alas, the cloud got stuck at 980m, but with glimpses of brightness I was still optimistic that it would suddenly clear.

As I reached the low point on the ridge coated with springy moss, I opted for a minor short cut, heading on the diagonal to intersect the baggers’ path that I assumed would branch off in my direction. What I managed to do was parallel that path, not far distant, for around a kilometre, but the going was easy enough.

I followed the trodden line on the way back, so you can see how closely I paralleled it on the way out.

There had been two cars in the car park when I arrived, and I surmised that the group of five had been in the one with UK plates. The other vehicle was on NL plates, and my assessment (based on accents) is that its occupants were the two bejeaned chaps that I met within 100m of the summit.

Summit selfie

I sat at the summit for a few minutes for three reasons: 1) having battled the wind on the way up, it was calm up there (turbulent air flow caused by the crag, as opposed to the laminar flow I’d experienced up to that point was the assessment made with Mick in discussion later); 2) I was hoping the periods of brightness would develop into a sudden hole in the cloud, giving me the spectacular view down to Loch Eanaich; 3) I had some dithering to do as to my return route.

The cloud didn’t oblige my desires for a view, and that had a bearing on my decision as to whether to continue to do a circuit along the ridge to the north (another factor was speed, as I had things to do in the afternoon). It was probably fifteen minutes after I set out to retrace that I realised that I had made the wrong decision.

Had I continued along the ridge, I would have dropped below the cloud (that was still sitting at 980m), and almost certainly have had these lovely-looking sunny tops to myself.

Nowt to be done about it by then, so on I went. I can’t describe the number of people I passed ascending whilst I went down as a constant stream, but many greetings were exchanged. By the time I got back to the car park there were 15 vehicles in and around it.

The colours on my ascent/descent route were glorious

It was comforting that my last glimpse of the ridge on my descent showed it still to be in cloud, not that I would have kicked myself for the early start in any case; I’d rather have the solitude than the view. That said, if there should be a clear blue skied day whilst we’re here, I wouldn’t write off the possibility of me repeating this one, not just for the summit view but to put right my failure to do the circuit.

 

Meall na h-Aisre (NH515000; 862m)

Sunday 13 August 2023

Start Point: Garva Bridge

Distance and Ascent: 17.5km, 660m

Weather: Sunny intervals, a few showers (and rainbows) around, but only a handful of light raindrops hit me. 15 degrees at start.

I looked at combining this hill with Gairbeinn, even though that would involve what the map suggests would be a reasonably arduous 6km boggy yomp between them, but I wasn’t in the market for an outing that long today. With the weather forecast looking pretty good this morning, I decided instead to split them, and go for Meall na h-Aisre today and, at the cost of some efficiency, tackle Gairbeinn another day.

Mick came with me, not to accompany me on my hill, but for his first little jogette post-L100 (result: some soft tissue behind his knee is still too disgruntled). Our routes coincided as we crossed Garva Bridge, then diverged, as I veered off to join the new track to the relatively newly installed substation.

I’m not sure what the purpose is of the motorway-esque track that leads from the substation to within 0.5km of Meall na h-Aisre’s summit. I can only assume it was related to the laying of the underground cables that run adjacent, and maybe continues to exist for their maintenance? Whatever its purpose, it simultaneously creates a scar on the landscape, and gives remarkably quick and easy passage up this hill.

From the end of the track a section of bogginess led to nice, firm, short grass and soon the summit was before me.

Once past the substation, most of my ascent had been sheltered, but (obviously) I was fully exposed on the summit and the breeze was uncomfortably cool. I could have put another layer on, but it didn’t seem worth it when I knew I’d need to take it off as soon as I got back to the track. So I just wandered around the contenders for high point, took a few snaps, had a quick snackette and headed back down the way I’d come.

By the time I got back to Erica-the-Campervan the parking area was full, but I’d not seen a single other person, even at a distance, on my hill. 

 I've superimposed my route onto a dated map. The track I followed is shown on more recent maps.

This would have been a nice walk before the installation of the infrastructure related to electricity transmission (including the track).

The track from sub-station to nearly-summit was more pleasant, with flowering heather to look at, rather than pylons and telegraph poles.

Summit selfie, but neither the trig nor the slightly-higher boulder behind are the summit – that’s a few paces away to my right.

Mick walked through that windfarm when it was still under construction, camping in amongst it at Chalybeate Spring.

Had I continued on to Gairbeinn, I would have aimed for the lochan on the upper right of this shot.

 

Carn Dearg, Monadhliath (NH635023; 945m)

Thursday 10 August 2023

Start Point: parking area at end of Glen Road, Newtonmore

Distance and Ascent: 19.9km, 800m

Weather: warm and humid (24 degrees in glen at start; forecast said 14 at 900m), but mainly overcast.

 Read on to find out why I wouldn't recommend this route in its entirety

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.

It's a good track up Glen Fiondrigh and the Heather is in bloom

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.

Slightly rickety bridge over the Allt Fiondrigh, and aforementioned chap in red. 

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.

Looking down Gleann Ballach, the sky looks deceptively moody as it was a hot, dry day with an unfortunate lack of wind. 

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.

Summit selfie

Summit view

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.

Not low flying aircraft. I kept capturing flies in my snaps. 

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 Wetherlam and Swirl How Circuit (incl Great Carrs and Brim Fell)

Wednesday 14 June

Start Point: Coniston

Distance and Ascent: 15.6km, 1100m

Weather: wall-to-wall sunshine. Breezy on the ridge.

On Tuesday afternoon I’d contemplated what to do on Wednesday. I didn’t want to have to drive anywhere, and knew that I had no unbagged Marilyns to collect, so I turned my attention to what other summits were nearby.

After an extended period of failed password resets when I feared I may have lost access to my log of bagged hills, I finally managed to access hill-bagging.co.uk and establish that I’d not yet been up Wetherlam or Swirl How. “But you’re not bagging Wainwrights” observed Mick. True, but that wasn’t a good reason not to go up them, nor was it a reason to omit an out and back to Great Carrs that sits so close to Swirl How, with barely any difference in elevation, that it would have been silly not to visit it and gain a tick, even if on a list that I’m not collecting.

The weather was once again a little cooler than the day before (16 degrees at 6am today, with a forecast high of 26 or 28 depending on which forecast you looked at), but even so I was out walking at quarter past seven, so as to be back in time for elevenses.

A fabulous morning to be out. What colours!

On the shaded side of the valley, but still warm enough for a short skirt and vest.

The initial ascent up to ‘Coniston Fells’ was a path I’ve used a few times before, although always in the opposite direction. From there I was surprised to find my onward route to be a little trodden line, often grassy, rather than an eroded, well-used path. That surprised me, as surely Coniston is an obvious starting point for Wetherlam.

Where I’m headed. The trodden line was more obvious in some places (like in this snap) than others, although even where not so well defined, it was never faint enough to lose it.

Summit selfie atop Wetherlam.

Over there next

The next ascent, seen from closer-to

I passed three backpacking chaps on the next ascent. They were the only people I saw sufficiently close to talk to until I got back down to the mines. Having compared intended routes, onwards I went.

I was on my way back to Swirl How from Great Carrs when I met one of the backpackers again. He was also just doing an out-and-back, and I’d assumed from our previous short chat that he was also going to Great Carrs, as he’d referred to another nearby Wainwright. It turned out he meant Grey Friar (I hope he did also do Great Carrs!), and he explained that it made sense for him to go and visit it now as otherwise it sits on its own and would be awkward to bag. In hindsight, at this point what I should have done was to turn around and go with him. Instead, I now have one hill ridiculously near to where I was standing that I will need to visit separately (using the word ‘need’ in a loose sense, given that I’m not actively collecting Wainwrights…).

Whilst I’d completely failed to notice the sense of visiting Grey Friars, I had noticed that there’s the tiniest raise in the ridge to the north of The Old Man of Coniston that is also a Wainwright, and when I got to the point that I had intended to descend to Levers Water, I was having such a nice time that I thought I may as well quickly nip up it. Hence to Brim Fell I went. A look at the map suggested that the most obvious way back to Coniston from there was over The Old Man, and I dithered for a couple of minutes, eventually deciding that having been there only the day before, I would stick to the original plan (ignoring that I’d veered off it!) and descend via Levers Water. I passed the three backpackers on the way and having told them my route (which I clearly wasn’t on, and was now heading back the way I’d come) they playfully asked if I was lost.

Brim Fell with The Old Man of Coniston a short distance (and barely any ascent) away

I’m not sure the Levers Water descent was the best decision. The horribly eroded steep initial section was undoubtedly slower going than the engineered path off The Old Man would have been.

Incredibly, given that it hasn’t rained for some time, I managed to find a small section of bog as I made my way pathlessly past Levers Water. 

Levers Water, with my descent route beyond.

Then, having narrowly avoided a volley of flying rocks ejected with force from the rear wheels of a passing United Utilities vehicle as it negotiated a tricky bit of the track, I jogged back down to Erica, where Mick had cake waiting for me:

Another fabulous outing, and I could have happily chosen another one for the following day, if it wasn’t for the fact that we needed to go home.