Journal 2006
Nethybridge, 3-5 March 2006
The Smiddy, Dundonnell, 24-26 March 2006
There was almost a full house for this meet, with nine attendees - Brian and Anne, Steve, Audrey, John and son Peter, Pete and Helen and Graeme.
Coruisk Hut, Skye, 5-8 May 2006
Inbhirfhaolain, Glen Etive, 2-4 June 2006
Family Meet to Glen Feshie Hostel, 4-6 August 2006
CIC Hut, Ben Nevis, 18-20 August 2006
Present: Peter, Graeme M, Nina, Brian and Graeme T.
Ken Crockett, author of the definitive book on Ben Nevis, gave thanks to W A Mozart for helping him up the Allt a’Mhuillin on many a wild winter’s night. One assumes that the Walkman, primeval forerunner of the MP3, was the musical medium, for the periwigged composer himself would have cut a strange figure in the wilds of Lochaber. It so happened, however, that 2006 was the 250th anniversary of Mozart’s birth, and this meet to the CIC Hut coincided with a grand production of The Magic Flute in the Edinburgh Festival. Is it fanciful to draw a parallel between the weekend’s rigours and the trials that Tamino undergoes?
Let him who laden treads the path endure
Ordeal by water, air, then earth and fire.
Mastering fear of death, emerging pure,
At last from clods to clouds can he aspire.
The two Graemes left Edinburgh at lunchtime on the Friday and were looking forward to reaching the hut in daylight, for once. On the narrow Laggan road their hopes were dented when they fell in behind a gigantic low-loader. So wide was this juggernaut that oncoming vehicles were being forced on to the verge, and overtaking was quite impossible. On the infrequent straights it accelerated to 20mph but otherwise moved at a snail’s pace. Had the head-torches been packed?
At last, mindful perhaps of the dictum “frustration causes accidents” (not to say murders), the driver pulled over, and Spean Bridge was reached while the sun was still above the yardarm. At the Little Chef a waiting-lad earnestly reeled off the dishes-of-the day: not the dishes which were “on”, but the dishes - and they were numerous - which were “off”, owing to supply problems. Presently Brian and Anne’s arrival threw a further strain on the beleaguered commissariat. Little Chef? Little menu. Egon Roberts, take note!
Nourished after a fashion, all adjourned to Torlundy, where Anne took her leave and drove on to Bridge of Orchy for a sybaritic weekend with the SSC sciatori. The others shouldered their rucsacs and set off for the hut.
In bygone days the path up the Allt a’Mhuillin would have purified Tamino thoroughly, with its bottomless bogs and countless false trails. Now, apart from the first steep grind to the dam, it has been improved remarkably. Indeed, there was much tut-tutting on this meet about the ease with which the trainer-shod hoi-polloi might now stroll to the hut and beyond. Another novelty was the herd of red-deer hinds and calves, seen this summer and last just below the hut, their hides a glorious autumnal russet-brown.
Peter was already installed in the hut, having arrived from Kinross in the early evening. Much later, long after dark and just as thoughts were turning bunkwards, came Colwyn Jones and Ann Macdonald of the SMC. Their arrival triggered a further bout of tea-making; even Brian, usually an incurable optimist in matters meteorological, was writing off the weekend for rock-climbing, so surely a long lie could be guaranteed?
In fact Saturday morning brought some encouraging patches of blue sky, though cloud was still hugging the higher cliffs and the rock was conspicuously wet. In such circumstances the time-honoured tactic is to tackle a low-lying climb either on the Douglas Boulder or beneath the First Platform, with the option of continuing up the great ridges beyond should the weather improve. Accordingly Brian, Graeme T and Graeme M started up Direct Route 2, which lies to the right of the original Douglas Boulder Direct and (according to the guidebook) would give a Severe climb of some 200 metres. On the initial pitches route and route-description concurred, though the climbing seemed hard, even allowing for the wet and untrustworthy footholds on the slabs. Progress was inevitably slow, as protection had to be sought for moves that would normally be straightforward.
From this lofty vantage-point, in the early afternoon, a solitary climber could be seen approaching the hut with purposeful stride. This was Nina, who had driven up from Glasgow in the morning. After a civilised lunch with Huttwirt Ilieve, she climbed Carn Mor Dearg and continued over the arete to the summit of Ben Nevis, before returning to the hut via Lochan Meall an‑t’Suidhe. Peter, who was still recovering from an ankle injury sustained in the Cuillin, also made a short foray in the afternoon.
Meanwhile, half-way up the Douglas Boulder, heavy rain was starting to fall. Soon water was coursing down the slabs like monsoon rain on a tiled roof. Reaching for a hold, one felt the sleeve of one’s jacket fill like a rone-pipe, which discharged coldly at the midriff. The guidebook’s “steep upper section” and “crux at the top of the wall” (which unknown to the present party are now graded VS 4c when dry) were starkly unclimbable, so a detour had to be made to the left. Brian swam his way up a steep corner to a good stance, whence Graeme T made a bold lead on an exposed and poorly protected nose, before easier ground at last gave access to the summit of the Boulder. After abseiling into the gap beyond, the drookit trio had lost all appetite for Tower Ridge, so the rotten East Gully was descended and the hut regained in the late afternoon.
After this aquatic ordeal, it was good to find that the drying-room heater had been lit - itself a trial by fire, in which eyebrows are apt to be sacrificed. Clothes and climbing ropes were soon steaming in the infernal heat.
Having changed for dinner and uncorked a bottle of wine, one recalls with a jolt that the CIC lacks sanitation: the Erdeprobe has still to be faced. Toughest of all tests when undertaken in the small hours of a winter morning, it is exacting even in summer. Armed with a spade, or the medieval-looking crap-hole excavator, the climber must quit the enervating warmth of the hut, cross the spating Allt a’Mhuillin, and stumble into a rankly vegetated boggy hollow. Here must he ply the implement, turn a spit of well-manured soil, bare his buttocks to the blast, and only then return purified to the sanctum.
Sunday was initially damp, prompting a pusillanimous proposal to visit Polldubh or even the indoor climbing wall. Faint hearts! Having battled like Tamino durch Feuer, Wasser und Erde, would these Ubermenschen now demur at the final test, die Luft? Were they not man enough to confront the summit winds on Britain’s highest peak?
Rising to the challenge, Brian, Colwyn, Nina and the two Graemes climbed No 5 Gully and followed the Ledge Route to Carn Dearg. In clearing weather most of the party continued to the summit of Ben Nevis and traversed the arete to Carn Mor Dearg, before returning in saintly procession to the hut.
Wenn er des Todes Schrecken
Überwinden kann, schwingt er sich
Von der Erde Himmelan;
Erleuchtet, wird er dann
Im Stande sein, sich den Mysterien
Der Isis ganz au weihn.
But not a flute to be heard.
- GDM.