Date walked: 8th June 2016
Distance: about 12 miles
Map used: OS Explorer 413 – Knoydart, Loch Hourn and Loch Duich
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I had had quite a decent night in the tent on my level grassy pitch not far from the Inverie River. Decent by camping standards that is, which is never great.
Nice spot- though probably not advisable to camp near a river ‘cos of the midgies
After my failed attempt to climb the Munro Luinne Bheinn (3,061 feet) yesterday with all my camping gear on my back, today’s Plan B was to tackle a different mountain, leaving my tent and its contents behind. I intended to make for Ladhar Bheinn (3,346 feet), which, given that my starting point was around 100 feet above sea level was a fair old climb; my route would take me through the hills hidden by the low cloud in the above picture. But first I made a cup of tea, miraculously unbothered by midgies. Another banana breakfast. Self-catering in a tent does have its limitations; sturdy plastic trowel proved to be a useful addition to my equipment. I set out around 6.30 am.
As yesterday, the path was an easy walk at first – a wide, reed-lined track.
Knoydart was not over-populated with walkers
I passed a large corrugated iron clad shed that must have had something to do with water, though what exactly, I couldn’t tell.
Couldn’t have been sewage treatment – perhaps an old water supply
Over to my right, a small herd of deer eyed me cautiously but I was so far away from them that they knew I posed no threat, and they carried on grazing.
They are very easily spooked – quite understandably since we shoot them
The track met the quiet river at several points as it meandered in the valley bottom…..
…. before reaching Loch an Dubh-Lochain.
According to the rather crude map I had with me from my friend Bridget’s book of Munros, I needed to climb from here towards Mam Suidheig, about 1600 feet above me. Encouragingly, a grass path leading to a ruined cottage led me to think that I was at the right place to start the climb.
No mistaking the path
The cottage – on the map given the name Torculeaiann- inside suggested a recent previous life as something to do with fish-farming.
Google has not been able to shed any further light on it’s history.
But here my path ran out, so I began to make the most direct route I could up the thickly grassed and mossy hillside. The lush vegetation hid many small brooks trickling down towards the loch, making for slightly hazardous walking. It was pretty steep and slow going but as I progressed I had an increasingly good view of my surroundings.
After a while I lost sight of Torculeiann, and the vegetation thinned somewhat, revealing the bedrock. This was clearly a good habitat for the Cotton Grass, many clumps bobbing around gently in the warm breeze.
Pretty stuff
I made much better progress than yesterday, though still felt pretty weary by the time I reached thickly-peated saddle near Mam Suidheig.
It resembled a peat crater in the middle
Time to take stock. The route to Ladhar Bheinn from here would have involved a nearly two mile scramble up a ridge called Aonach Sgolte to around 2,800 feet and then another two mile scramble to a summit hidden in the clouds. I could see no sign of a track on the map or on the ground. I felt daunted by the prospect – actually a bit scared. I am used to walking alone in some fairly remote spots but factor in being in the harsh environment of these hills and I was flooded with personal insecurity.
somewhere above here is the ridge walk
To my left the mountain rose steeply to a peak called Stob an Uillt- fhearna.
The Corbett called Sgurr Coire Choinnichean is about a mile beyond this and 400 feet higher
Ahead of me, the ridge that would have been the route down from Ladhar Bheinn was in the clouds.
So I suspected the Munro itself would also be in the clouds
At the base of that side of the mountain-side was a path that was not only on the map, but which I could see. The path would head due West for a few miles before making a circuit though a wood and then turn south to bring me back to Inverie (where, if you have been reading my last two posts, you will know is a pub). And thus I formed plan C. This trip was not some kind of self-punishment or penance or test of myself. I was on holiday and I like walking and that to me looked like a good walk. With a drink at the end of it. Decision made.
After a steep section, the way down was relatively easy, albeit with a few deviations around boulders and various lumps and bumps.
I felt happier with every step!
On my way I saw many little purple flowers with yellow leaves that reminded me of an orchid…..
I don’t think that I have ever seen this before- any suggestions?
…. and countless more near-white flowers that I knew to be orchids…..
All of them were white or off-white
…. and. of course, a lot of cotton grass.
This valley is called Gleann na Guisserein
When I reached the Allt Coire Torr an Asgaill river (these Scottish place names are a right mouthful)…..
….. I celebrated my non-Munro-climbing status by taking my boots and socks off and giving my feet a long soak in the cool clear water. It was probably more refreshing than an ice-cream.
Do you think I should see someone about my bending in big toes?
The little track followed the course of the stream; its burbling sounds continuing to refresh at a distance.
It passed through a group of low walls which I would normally interpret as sheep folds; perhaps they were but Knoydart does not appear to currently have any sheep.
Perhaps the remains of a small settlement?
With the Munros now behind me, I was able to enjoy this wild landscape for its lower level beauty.
The river had widened now and flattened out.
This river was joined by another called Abhainn Beheag which flowed in from another valley running north.
Loads of cotton grass in the foreground
Shortly after this confluence of rivers I stopped for a rest and some rather soft chocolate and to take in the warm sun. It was entirely quiet, save the gentle noise from the stream. On the side of the hill opposite I could make out a low-walled enclosure, more convinced now that sheep must have been here once.
I could see a sheepfold marked on the map, so I was right about that
The path had become a wide track, winding ahead of me through a plantation wood of coniferous trees.
It was really quite hot now and I was flagging and glad of some shade as I walked through the wood.
The track though the woods was now heading due south offering me a view of Inverie Bay and a renewed fantasy of a pint at The Old Forge.
As I neared another plantation I could see a solitary figure making their way off the hill to my left. I recognised this as Chris, who I had met on the ferry. We walked and chatted together as we dropped down to the village. He had “done” the Corbett that I had earlier rejected and declared it to be quite challenging. As we neared habitations a post lady raced up in her van to the drive of a timber clad cottage and raced off again.
The pub was closed, which was a bit of a blow. The tea room nearby was open, though and the best news was that they would be serving food that evening. Chris was either on a tight budget or was not feeling sociable and he resolved to go back to his bunkhouse by the bay to cook some food he had brought with him. I was not unhappy about this; he was emerging as very dull. So I enjoyed a very long sit on their balcony until they were ready to feed me at 6pm.
Fabulous spot
I’m embarrassed to say that I can’t remember what I ate (something with salad) but it was very nice.
By 7pm I set off back to my tent. It was the most beautiful evening, the low light shining sideways through the trees.
I still had an hour or so of light left. In my tent I had several anti-midgie rings that you light and they smoulder and give off fumes that put off the blighters. I set them up all around me, lathered myself with my anti midge cream of choice -“Smidge”- and then went to get something else that I had no intention of taking home -a half-bottle of honey-laced Jack Daniels. Time for a sit and a think.
In truth I had made this trip quite hard work for myself. I had gone with a very naïve idea of what climbing Munros would be like and very unrealistic expectations of my ability to do so with full camping gear. When I look at the map now it strikes me that I should have chosen to explore this beautiful place on its paths and tracks in the valleys and coast rather than its hills. But hey, you live and learn.
Deja vue – read this last week but couldn’t open in browser – thankfully learning never stops – what a stunningly beautiful place it is. You have old man feet?
Vu
Ah, but this version had quite a re-write at the end. How could I possibly have old man feet at my age?
Charles feet look as if he’s spent his life in high heels with pointy toes. Strange that I never noticed that he did that.
Might I venture to suggest that if ever you’re planning a walk, you should check out the excellent blog written by Charles Hawes. Full of useful info. For example had you read his post about his first day walking this peninsula, you would have discovered that the pub is closed on Wednesdays. We’re both from the generation that didn’t understand about shoe shapes and how they impact on our big toes. Don’t worry about it. Otherwise some lovely views although I see I’m not the only one getting a strange sense of deja vu!
I liked your original posting re Poor Chris being as dull as dishwater and quaked (I think you’ve edited that bit out?). Gosh but that makes me terribly nervous of ever walking with you and then reading your write-up. “I was so grateful when David finally sodded off and an incessant desire to throttle him went with him.” Or something. I know now not to whistle at least. D
Hehe. I do put you through it. Which is a bit rough in a relationship that so far has only involved one brief face to face in a tent. Dave, I am quite certain you are not remotely dull. Though yes, you would be at risk of your life if you broke into a whistle. BTW don’t tell Neil, this. One day we will walk.
Hi Dave. I have it on good authority that putting up with Charles’ attempts at withering put-downs knocks years off purgatory. Well. There must be some reason why Paul and I put up with it on such a regular basis.
Charles: I must remember to whistle you my stonking extended version of the Blue Danube… Perhaps when we next eat out?
There is no purgatory, so we’ll have to find another good reason for you to put up with my teasing. But you must realise that whistling is the most annoying thing in the world!
I remember my first few trips into the Scottish hills, feeling that their scale was intimidating – quite unlike the experiences I had had in the Lake District and Snowdonia. Though many of them are no higher, there are so many of them, and still a real sense of wilderness and, therefore, isolation. You certainly chose in Knoydart a wonderfully challenging place to start!
As a matter of interest, did you weigh your rucksack? With camping gear, I imagine you had more than the 17Kg I recently carried between mountain huts in Norway, and I found that quite enough, thank you; particularly when navigating over uneven ground and feeling that it affected my balance.
Anyway, I’m sure the whole experience took your mind off the work issues you had at the beginning – and you brought back some great images!
Hiya
I did feel quite different about the mountains in Knoydart – and I have climbed some quite high bits in The Lakes and Snowdonia. I really think that for me it was the absence of paths that challenged me the most. Made me feel much less secure. The rucksack full was just under 15kg cos that was my hold luggage limit for the plane. So no real excuses there. Miracles have happened at work and Mad Manager has resigned!
What a spectacularly beautiful walk/hike this was for you! I know when Grace reads this posting, she will start plotting and planning a trip there as well. I was originally going to mention that this would have been a great hike to have been on with you, but then I started to dread how I would have been described…. colonial, boorish, no sharper than the handle of a spoon… 😉
Kevin, how nice to hear from you. Are you going to stop harassing those poor horses on your treks by trying to look a bit more human? That Gracie should be at home baking you cakes, not planning more international trips. Either that or repairing your spinnaker. You do have a spinnaker don’t you? I can see my blunt remarks about Chris have touched several nerves. Maybe this is why no one invites me to walk with them?
I think it is just American horses who find me horrifying… all the horses & ponies we encountered in Wales and Ireland were mildly interested in us, but not at all put off. Go figure! Gracie told me to warn you it looks like we will be back in your neighborhood next year again! Then YOU can bake me cakes (I wouldn’t impose on Anne like that…) Yes I have a spinnaker, but never use it on our lake. Wanna buy it? And for the record, I enjoy your blunt comments, but then, I never walk with you so maybe I feel immune??
Perhaps it is just the American horses that can read your mind. Great news about your return visit. I will be watching Bake Off with greater interest (little joke for the British Readers)
Thanks, Charles!
Most interesting with some wise words about the perils of hill-walking. Amazing how one never ceases to learn, despite years of experience.
Colin
Hi Colin. I didn’t intend to put anyone off – just acknowledge my limitations. I hope i continue to learn. It’s supposed to be good for the brain, isn’t it?
Thank you for your lovely posts which I always enjoy. I think your mystery flower might be a butterwort: pinguicula vulgaris (great name!) or posibly P. grandiflora, though with all the deja vu going on, you probably already know this…
Hello Sandra. Very glad you enjoy the posts. And thanks very much for your thoughts on the plant. I shall look it up. No, the deja vu (for which I must publicly apologise) hasn’t touched on the plant.
I think that the purple flower you ask for info about is sundew.
It eats insects, but not enough in midge season!