Steall, Glen Nevis

12 - 14 February 1999

Present: Kate B, Gordon C, Peter I, Jo L, Graeme M

In normal circumstances this would have been a well attended meet, but the rival attraction of the nearby CIC Hut had drawn away several regulars. Appalled at the prospect of empty bunks at Steall, Gordon had therefore extended an invitation to the Jacobites MC. How many would turn up was however unknown.

Imagine the horror in the FMC Edinburgh contingent, on leaving the bar of the Nevis Bank and starting to drive up the glen, to find themselves following an enormous tour bus. Was it crammed with Jacobites? At Poldubh the road narrowed and rose steeply, whereupon the coach driver at last pulled over, to pause and consider. His destination will never be known.

Having parked at the road-end, the party proceeded on foot up the gorge, before emerging on the magical meadow beyond. Shooting stars traced the firmament. Bobbing headtorches lit the path. Presently came the time-honoured circus act, as each took his turn on the high-wire bridge, spot-lighted from the riverbanks. One day, someone will fall in.

Within the hut, Peter was already a-bed, having arrived from Kinross in the late afternoon. The others soon retired too, with the author (who on expert advice had left his sleeping mat in Edinburgh) passing a creaky night on a MRT stretcher in preference to the wooden sleeping platform.

As someone wrote, If you lie hard you do not lie long. A fine morning encouraged everyone to set off early for the hills. While Gordon recrossed the burn and headed for the Aonachs, Jo, Kate, Peter and Graeme made their way up Sgùrr a’Mhaim, intending to encircle the celebrated "ring of Steall". As they climbed steeply through the birches, a sparkling view of Ben Nevis opened out to the north, before all eyes turned to the east ridge of Sgùrr a’Mhaim. This was climbed by a shallow snow-gully, where crampons became the order of the day.

The weather now closed in, and the traverse of the Devil’s Ridge to Sgùrr an Iubhair was accomplished in mist and frequent snow squalls. It was nevertheless a splendid ridge walk, culminating at the summit of Am Bodach in the heart of the Mamores.

In the prevailing hard conditions, the steep northeasterly descent from Am Bodach was unusually sporting, and might with hindsight have benefited from some bouts of step-cutting. Everyone came safely however to the bealach under Stob Coire a’Chairn, and even the wearier members somehow found the strength to continue over An Garbhanach and An Gearanach, where in the late afternoon the cloud began to disperse.

Torches were latterly deployed on the descent to Steall.

In the evening a knock at the hut door heralded the coming of the Jacobites. These numbered just three, including the engaging Sam, whose reputation as a fellow geographer had already reached Jo, and vice versa. The vegetarians now formed a tyrannous majority, who watched reproachfully as the author bit hungrily into his grilled steak. No lion feasting upon Daniel could have attracted more opprobrium.

Sunday was cold and windy, yet all but the highest tops were clear. Peter packed his rucksack making an even sharper exit than planned when he was informed of the date (14 February). Kate combined some reading with a blitz on the unsanitary kitchen; Gordon ventured far up Glen Nevis; and Jo and Graeme climbed Sgùrr a Bhuic and Aonach Beag, experiencing high winds and remarkably hard snow-ice underfoot.

No passing prince having borne her away, Kate had transformed the hut. Boots were removed at the door. Within, only vases of flowers were lacking. After snacking on last night’s leftovers, the party vacated the hut and walked down the gorge in daylight.

Graeme M