Journal 1999

New Year Meet, Alberta, Canada, December 1998 - January 1999

Present: Valerie C, Mark L, Andy R, Brian S, Nina T, Jeremy W, Randy

So much happened during this 2-week meet, that a complete factual write-up of the sequence of events would be too lengthy and tedious! So here are some snippets that should kindle images of the goings-ons, and probably jog some memories in the participants. Rather than a complete report think of this as a secret crib-sheet to encourage many hours of happy whisky-aided story-telling around the fire on future winter meets.

• Jeremy - for turning up with a $700 pair of “Beta-Carve” skis. Some Californian ski-shop owner spent his New Year in Hawaii courtesy of Mr Westerman
• Andy - for crashing out on Goat’s Eye, demolishing 20 yards of fencing, and diving head-first over the edge (all right, under the chair)
• Valerie - who didn’t want to ski, and ended up loving it
• Mark and Valerie - for having a sweet-smelling room to themselves while the rest of the mob lived in a steamy smelly kibbutz
• Randy - for making me stay up till midnight TWICE, in an underground car park decorating a van with stickers
• Brian - for avoiding group deaths in a highway pile-up on the first afternoon while driving back from Sunshine ski area (it wasn’t his fault and he did well to bring FMC members back intact - the car, however, was toast
• Bottle of red wine - for disappearing to the Love Shack room one evening at bathtime
• Jeremy - for climbing TWO pitches of ice at the Junkyards near Calgary and “almost enjoying it” despite some Pearson-style leg movements
• Randy - for leaving an ice-axe at the base of the climb and having to walk all the way back up in the dark to get it
• Brian -for leaving his whole RUCKSACK at the base of said climb and having to chase after Randy to join a tandem search (one torch between them) for the professionally abandoned gear
• Imagine the scene - we’re all relaxing in the hot-tub at the Traveller’s Inn after a hard day in wintry wonderland. The bubbly jets stop bubbling… An argument ensues about who’ll get out into the ice to push the “bubbly” button. Eventually Andy loses, walks over, pushes the button, and gets back in the pool. After a short delay, the bubbles effervesce again. Scarcely have the jets restarted their massaging effect when Mr S assertively instructs “Oh no! Someone’s got to get out and press the button - who’s it going to be?” Even the bubbles momentarily stood still in amazement!
• Valerie - for cutting Mark’s foot with a wineglass and spraying the bathroom with blood-coloured liquid….
• Randy - for giving the flu to Jeremy
• Nina - for being the only person capable of keeping up with Mr Shackleton in the icy stony bumps at Norquay, and for having the grooviest ski hat with a big quiff
• Jeremy - for giving the flu to Andy
• Randy - for his amazing 3-piece suit effect (including TIE!) and “Private Dick” coat on New Years Eve
• Nina - for enticing us to incinerate our mouths with flaming Zambucca, to the incredulity of the rest of the crowd in the Barbary Coast
• Jeremy - for actually being “in” with a couple of Californian Babes. We wrote “California Sex Machine” on his party hat, which got the girls genuinely excited and intrigued. True to form, he bottled out, got all embarrassed, and refused to wear it!
• Brian - for wearing FIVE party hats stacked up, with the top one marked “Shackleton of the Antarctic”. When approached and asked (quite reasonably) “Could I have one of your hats, please?” by a hatless chappie, Brian replied “NO, I need these, go away!!”
• Jeremy - for STILL being “in” after another hour
• Valerie - for pushing Jeremy’s chair from behind making him lurch forward into the girls and spill lager over his crutch
• The Californian babes - for CONTINUING to be interested in the computer programmer from San Jose
• The first ever impromptu street party at midnight in Banff, and the bemused small town police not having a clue how to deal with it - even a moose joined in
• The trampoline competition in the hotel room at 3am
• The headaches we worked off in the greasy Elvis Diner walking along the Bow Falls admiring the medieval hall at the Banff Springs, and ice skating.
• All the sweeties we bought, and Brian’s HUGE lolly.
• Nina and Andy - for buying 12 lift tickets ($600) for 6 people at Lake Louise
• Jeremy - for telling us on the chair lift about a black-bird he had been seeing. We all looked hard, but couldn’t see it anywhere and don’t really believe him without any further evidence.
• Brian - for being brave enough to try ice skating on Lake Louise, and being not too bad in the end and to Jeremy “f^%& this for a game of soldiers I’m off to the bar” Westerman for giving up after 5 minutes
• The people in the bar at Lake Louise - or all being incredibly smartly dressed, pompous, stuck-up, totally loaded with cash, and miserable
• Andy and Jeremy in the bar at Lake Louise - for being scruffy, outraged by the bar prices, and having a great time laughing at the posh miserable ones
• Jeremy - for going back to the Sunshine State without any phone numbers
• The huge icicle that Mark and Brian just HAD to climb in Johnson Canyon
• The big cat - who left scary paw-prints along the 14-kilometre ski-in to the Bryant Creek Hut
• Valerie - for making snow-angels in the powdery stuff by Bryant Cabin
• Brian and Mark - taking us on a 10K trip in the woods, with full packs, to, well, back where we started
• The 14K we still had to do to get back to the cars.
• The amount of food we ate when we got back to Banff
• The stupid races we had running around the snowy viewpoint at the Spiral Tunnels, while waiting for a train to come. I think the conditions dominated over ability, as we all seemed to take - 8 seconds (except Valerie, who disappeared with a loud “clump” after 4 seconds and reappeared limping and covered in snow 48 seconds later)
• The scenic and un-happening town of Field, where everywhere had vacancies, but nowhere seemed to actually be geared up to fill them
• Skiing across Bow Lake, wondering just how thick the ice REALLY was …….
• Brian - taking his first ever winter fall, faceplanting 100ft off the ice headwall. Fortunately no physical injury, and the ice-screw held OK
• Andy - being much more sensible and sledding on a new shovel, and digging a snow-hole.
• The warm fire, hot chocolate, and sticky cakes at the Bow Lake Chateaux, as opposed to the dark snow and ice that Brian and Randy stayed out in until 10PM
• Brian - for not seeing the car-key strapped to his rucksack, and (ever trying to better himself) goes one bigger than leaving his rucksack behind and leaves the entire car behind 20 miles from the Hostel. His excuse was that they only had one torch because Randy didn’t have one. NEVER go out with Mr S without a torch.
• Randy - for having one of those handy emergency fluorescent sticks that don’t emit any light whatsoever for 6 hours when you’re out in the ice and snow, but will successfully blind everyone in a cosy bar and hostel bedroom
• Brian - for throwing away his Glencoe tools and buying new Charlet Moser’s
• Mark - for wearing down my file to nothing on his tools and crampons to compete with Brian’s new toys
• Andy - for tucking into a strangers order of chicken-wings at the restaurant
• Valerie and Nina - for being groovy dancers until 3am in the Rose and Crown
• Everyone except Andy - for going ice-climbing the day after dancing until 3am.

Andy R

Burns Supper Meet, Lagangarbh, Glen Coe, 22-24 January 1999

Present: Maureen B, Tony B, Valerie C, Gordon C, Verity C, Katherine G, Stuart, Andrew H, Willie J*, John*, Debbie K**, Tony K, Adrian K, Jo L**, Mark L, Steve R**, Brian S, Nina T, Gail W, Neil W

* Guests, ** Saturday night only

The 1999 Burns Supper Meet took place in the SMC hut at Lagangarbh at the base of the big Buachaille (Buachaille Etive Mor) and attracted a large turn out. The meet secretary used his influence to book additional places such that by Friday evening 20 members and guests started to gather in expectation of fine wintry weather and even better fayre on Saturday evening. Gordon volunteered to arrange the catering side of the meet since Brian had conveniently opted out by arranging a business trip to California for the 3 days preceding the meet.

Saturday

Saturday morning dawned mild and wet with a rapid thaw of any snow, particularly disappointing after reports of cold wintry weather during the week leading up to the meet. Andrew and Maureen sensibly visited Fort William while the corbett baggers Neil, Gordon and the two Tonys headed off in search of some elusive summit (Garbh Bheinn 2835ft!) behind the Aonach Eagach. Willie and John set off to attempt Raven’s Gully but decided on the North Buttress of the Buachaille in the thaw conditions.

Those ever-optimistic mountain men Mark and Brian suggested a visit to the Lost Valley for the remainder for some ice axe practice and snow craft despite the driving rain and soggy snow! After much stalling in the hut, and adjusting of crampons and helmets for those not in possession of such toys, the party headed off in the rain. Displaying a great sense for self preservation, Nina and Valerie turned back at the entrance to the Lost Valley thus abandoning the novices to Mark and Brian so they could enjoy coffees and hot chocolates in the comfort of the Kingshouse. Despite this however, all seemed to enjoy practising ice axe arrests and returned safely, albeit wet, to Lagangarbh.

The usual evening of overeating and overindulgence in beer/wine ensued, although for once the quantity of potatoes and vegetables had been underestimated. The definite highlight was the entrance for dinner by Nina, Valerie and Jo in their tartan regalia. Jo’s tartan tights and purple blanket masquerading as an evening dress were rivalled by Nina and Valerie’s mini skirts conjuring up memories (for some!) of the Bay City Roller fans from yesteryear.

Sunday

Sunday morning was much more the thing with sunny spells and a drop in temperature bringing new snow to the tops. Andrew, Maureen, Adrian, and Neil set off back to Auld Reekie but everyone else made it out onto the hill. Steve and Debbie headed for Beinn a’ Chrulaiste 2805ft (a corbett) on the other side of the road, followed by the two Tonys and Gail. Mark, with Valerie and Nina, and Brian with Verity, Jo, Katherine, and Stuart found separate ways up to the north summit of the wee Buachaille (Buachaille Etive Beag).

Once on the wee Buachaille all made use of their newly acquired skill to use their crampons for the descent from the north summit, Stob Coire Raineach (3029ft) after which Mark, Brian, and Nina completed the traverse to Stob Dubh (3130ft) the south summit. Valerie meanwhile put her leadership skills to the test by taking the rest of the party down the snow slopes from the col and back to the cars. An orderly retreat to clear up the hut then followed.

Many thanks to Gordon for organising the food for Saturday evening, to Mark for assisting with transport arrangements ahead of the meet sec’s return on Friday afternoon and to Steve for doing the honours in the toast to the memory of the bard! As usual the club is grateful to the SMC for the exclusive use of Lagangarbh for the weekend.

Brian S

Steall Hut, 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 Sgurr 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 Sgurr 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 Sgurr 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 Sgurr 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

Ochills Hut, Crianlarich, 26-28 February 1999

Present: Both nights: Gordon C, Jo L, Morag M, Froach

Just Friday night: Pete I

Just Saturday night: Debbie K, Steve R, Brian S, Nina T

Sunday morning: Willie J

Failed missions

Debbie and Steve to climb Ben Vane (behind Ben Ledi) - too windy. Brian and Nina to ski anything - too wet. Pete to oven cook his croissants and pain au chocolat - no oven. Gordon, Jo, Pete, Morag, and Froach to get onto a hill - too wet and windy. Brian, Gordon, Jo, and Nina to visit Stirling Castle - too expensive. Brian, Gordon, Jo, and Nina to visit Bannockburn Battlefield - closed until 1 March.

Successful missions

Brian, Gordon, Jo, Morag, and Froach to walk the dismantled railway in Kilin. Brian, Gordon, Jo, and Morag to eat cake and drink tea in a Kilin teashop. Everyone to get to Jo’s for a Sunday night wine tasting session.

Notable event

Froach threw up on Jo …

Notable quote

Brian “It’s so better with 3 people cos one can take photos …”

JL

Braedownie, Glen Clova, 12-14 March 1999

Present: Kate B, Helen I, Pete I, Willie J, Jo L, Colin, Brian S, Nina T

Carpeted walls, hhmmm, interesting!

Saturday

Kate and Jo climbed Driesh and Mayar, poor views as the day was generally dull, damp and snowy underfoot. On Mayar a couple of guys were not going to be convinced by a pair of ‘girlies’ that Driesh was to the East not the West as they reckoned. Thankfully for their safety (but not their pride!) cloud lifted high enough and long enough for the very obvious (easterly) path (hee hee!!) to come into view! A navigational triumph to Kate me thinks! Helen and Peter also climbed Mayar and Driesh going up Corrie Fee and returning via the Shank of Drumfollow. Brian and Colin (from the Lakes) and Nina and Willie climbed in separate pairs.

Sunday

With car keys safely (!?) in Jo’s grubby mitts Brian and Colin set off up Glen Doll with mountaineering skis with the hope of being picked up ‘somewhere’ along the Glenshee road later that afternoon …..?! Having custody of said vehicle, Kate & Jo drove through the wonders of Glen Isla onto the Braemar road to the Spittal of Glenshee. They attempted Glas Tulaichean but with time being tight decided to leave the summit for another time! Incredibly Brian and Colin were located ‘somewhere’ along the Glenshee road - and before dark, which we know for Brian is a novelty in itself! Willie and Nina also went ski-mountaineering up the side of Meall Gorm from the car park south of the main ski area. They ended up on Glas Maol before making use of the main piste and tows. Pete and Helen scooted off home straight from the hut. Revived in the hotel at the Spittal of Glenshee with hot chocolate and vital carrot cake in front of a rather nice log fire.

JL

Inver Croft, Achnasheen, 26-28 March 1999

Present: Kate B, Valerie C, Gordon C, Willie J, Jo L, Mark L, Nina T, Martha & Rob W

Saturday

The ice climbers (Valerie and Mark; Nina, Brian and Willie) set off at the most ridiculous hour in the morning, so ridiculous in fact it could still have been the night before. They headed up into the Torridon area and, after a long walk in, ice-climbed on Liathach. Mark and Valerie, faced with a long road walk back to the car, managed to cadge a hitch with a rather startled passing American tourist!! Inevitably (being with Brian), the others summitted well after dark, returning ‘home’ after 1am (taking care that they made enough noise to wake everybody else in the hut!?!).

Gordon fought his way across peat bog towards a pair of Corbetts to the east of the hut, but only got as far as an outlying top before a knee problem forced a retreat. Kate put her newly found navigation skills from the last trip into practice successfully summitting Fionn Bheinn to the north. The key, however, had not been left where arranged causing Kate much angst until Gordon the magician produced it from under a gas cylinder …..

Jo (also on a solo navigation exercise) Martha and Rob all claimed Moruisg and Sgurr nan Ceannaichean. Wonderful day, crisp snow on the summits, and amazing weather patterns in the valley not affecting the ridges. Evening meals were an extravaganza, no-one can fault the FMC for it’s incredible ability to turn the simplest of ingredients with the simplest of facilities into gastronomic wonders - what is the recipe for your chicken Gordon? The wine flowed and by 10pm most of them were wearing party hats, which had come from the crackers left over after the Inver Christmas party. Increasing concern about the missing climbers was countered by increasing wine consumption. Since driving anywhere was by now out of the question, no alternative action could be taken and the collection of empty bottles grew ever more impressive.

Sunday

After a cold night for some (how many hats do you have on Martha?!) and with the late arrival of the intrepid ice-climbers activities for Sunday were tame. Jo, Rob and Martha went to investigate capercaillie at the Highland Wildlife Park (and saw wolves too!). The others slowly packed away and visited Rogie Falls to look for salmon, before an early drive home.

Gordon C

Ling Hut, Torridon, 16-19 April 1999

Present: Mike H*, Helen and Peter I, Graeme M, Steve R** and Brian S * Friday night only; ** Saturday and Sunday night

The Spring holiday weekend in Torridon was enjoyed by a small number from the club based at the SMC Ling hut. Most met up on Friday evening apart from Mike who had travelled up early and Steve who arrived later on Saturday after exploring the hills at the head of Glen Connon.

Saturday saw a number of long outings. Peter and Helen went to Beinn Alligin getting as far as Tom na Gragaich until poor weather and static manifesting itself as buzzing from axes and crampons encouraged a return to lower level. Meanwhile, Graeme and Mike completed the traverse of Beinn Eighe having been dropped off by Brian 1km west of Kinlochewe. A fine recently improved path follows a burn towards Coire Domhain and provides easy access to the main spine of the mountain. Brian drove down to Aviemore to meet up with Nina T and Gus M to take advantage of the late snowfall and carry out a ski tour along the northern corries of Cairngorm.

Sunday’s weather in Torridon was generally better than Saturday although much new snow lay on slopes above 1000ft. Pete ascended Beinn Eighe by Coire Mhic Fhearchair and traversed as far as Spidean Coire nan Clach from where he descended by snow towards Ling hut. Brian and Graeme walked round Liathach by the Coire Mhic Nobail path into Coire na Caime struggling at times through thigh deep snow. The hard work was rewarded by an enjoyable ascent of Terminal Buttress (Grade 3) onto Meall Dearg and traversing the northern pinnacles to Mullach na Rathain. The quantity of unconsolidated snow made the traverse itself generally grade 3 rather than grade 2.

Monday was a fine sunny day with much of the snow being melted in the warm sunshine. Most choose a small outing before heading for home, Brian and Graeme enjoying an ascent of Beinn Damh with grand views to Beinn Bhan to the south and the high peaks of Torridon to the north.

Overall, an excellent weekend in a fine location.

Brian S

Bunkhouse, Jura, 30 April - 3 Mat 1999

Present: Three nights: Gordon C, Tony K, Calum M, Fiona M, Steve Rd, Steve R

Two nights: Janey C, Sarah S, Jo L (tent)

Traversing the Paps

Having somehow swung a long w’end passout, I boarded the freedom express (aka Tony K’s company car) - destination the fabled Isle of Jura.

My impatience to see the mystical Paps for the first time made the journey along the twisty roads of Argyll a restless one, despite the prospect of a good forecast and a rare opportunity to “get out onto the hill”. The ferry journey over to Islay made me feel that I was really on holiday. There’s something about a ferry journey that transforms any journey into a wee adventure.

As we neared Islay, Gordon and I whiled away the time distillery spotting. Port Ellen, from a distance, had a picture postcard appeal to it with its whitewash cottages along the seafront - unfortunately it failed miserably to live up to one’s first impressions on closer inspection. The place had a “seen better days” feel to it, with many rundown and dilapidated buildings.

We didn’t see much of Islay as we sped across it to Port Askaig, the departure point for the late ferry to Jura. Despite being no more than a collection of a couple of houses and a hotel, it had a tranquil feel about the place. The lifeboat was anchored next to the hotel. It had a weird name, something along the lines of the “Herman Goring” - I kid you not!!! Probably named after the local foreign laird. The ferry timetable allowed for a swift pint in the local hotel, before the tiny ferry transported us across the narrow stretch of water to Jura. It was almost dark as we drove the 10 miles or so across the Island to the bunkhouse near Craighouse. The silhouette of the Paps could clearly be seen against the night sky.

Saturday; Tony K persuaded Gordon and I that a true traverse of the Paps would not be complete without taking in Corra Beinn. On the map it didn’t seem much of a detour, but distances on maps can be so deceptive; it took us a good few hours to reach its summit. However, it did give us uninterrupted views of the north end of Jura, and as far afield as Glen Coe in the north and Ireland in the south. Our joy at such a magnificent panorama was tempered with the realisation that the drop to the foot of Beinn Shiantaidh was considerable, the ascent through its scree slopes looked impenetrable, and that Beinn a Chaolais, our ultimate target, seemed along way away.

The steep descent to the col allowed for my first use of ski poles - yes those things used by old gits or those with doggy knees. Steve R had conveniently left his in the car, so I had borrowed them - thanks Steve. I was an instant convert, apart from the palaver with adjusting their length as the angle of the slope varied. We couldn’t completely avoid the scree on the way up, with one 30m stretch reminding us of Sean Connery’s punishment in the war film “The Hill”. The summit cairn had hidden within it a visitor’s book. We noticed that we had just missed 3 members of the “Transpennine Gay Hillwalking Club”, who had summitted earlier that day. Gordon was surprised that they would be interested in Paps, and thought they would be more at home on a certain hill in the Cairngorms (This may be too subtle or just plain homophobic!!!).

The weather improved and Tony changed into his shorts whilst Gordon and I were left with rolling up our tracksters to our knees in some psuedo-masonic ritual. Tony was left behind on the ascent up Beinn an Oir, as time was passing and the pace quickened. We spotted two fell runners headed around the Paps in the opposite direction at a fair lick. We questioned their sanity running over such rough ground in such temperatures. A leisurely late lunch was had on the summit admiring the fine panorama. Tony pointing out various features of his favourite holiday island, Coll.

Gordon and I once again struck on ahead, as we wanted to get back at a reasonable hour to prepare the dinner. The final ascent up Beinn a Chaolais was hard, as the days labours began to take their toll on our weary limbs. A brief rest and snack at the top allowed for the stupendous views to be taken in one final time before commencing the long trudge back to the hut. This took bloody ages. Gordon and I passed the time devising various methods of operating a ballot - if the case ever arose and a club meet was oversubscribed. This showed the depths we reached in order to distract our minds from our weary limbs.

SRd

Kinloch Castle Hostel, Rum, 14-17 May 1999

Present: Tony & Sheila B, Gordon C, Pete & Helen I, Linda M, John & Pete N, Gail W

All except the Ilieves (catching a later ferry) met in the Lochailort Hotel for a quick drink before finding a place to sleep (local laybys by Morar!). All were settled under a starry sky by 12:30am. The matter of a no overnight parking sign was ignored until Northern Constabulary arrived at 3am; who woke everybody to tell them that there was no problem with sleeping there. It transpired that one of the car boots was open, which is as near a suspicious incident as happens around Morar at that time of night.

A 4:10am gave us ample time to catch the 5am ferry from Mallaig. The harbour was already swarming with Jacobites, 20 of whom would also be on the island for the weekend. At this point Gail was told about the landing arrangements at Rum so had to hastily repack her assorted items. The Lochmor left on time, and made a calm crossing via Canna. There were good views of the islands, and Loch Scavaig and the Skye Cuillin looked particularly spectacular. A school of dolphins appeared, leaping out of the water as they swam by at speed. The flipboat was waiting in Loch Scresort but the large number of passenger necessitated 3 runs to transfer everybody to the island. The FMC group hastily booked themselves into the hostel and headed off for the day.

Gordon and Linda headed across the island to Bloodstone Hill, which after the day’s early start, was a good place for a snooze in the sun. Gail stayed close to the castle to do some painting, while the Nuttals headed for the end of the main ridge. Everybody had to return sharpish to get ready for the evening entertainment. Rum was having its biggest ceilidh for two years. Unlike the usual taped ceilidhs, a band had come over from the mainland. They had been spotted on the midday ferry, drinking heavily. By this stage they were all in quite a state, but could still play. They got a bit carried away and some of the sets were over 20 minutes, at an ever-increasing pace. After a wild evening they eventually stopped, and the survivors were treated to recitations of bad poetry. The last FMC member present was still standing at 2:30 am.

Despite the sleep deprivation of the previous day, everybody was up by 9 the next morning. Linda, Gail and Gordon headed out for a long day on the main ridge. The day started of looking dodgy and although Rum was dry the Skye Cuillin were obviously getting a pasting. There was good scrambling on the way onto Askival, with plenty of Manx Shearwater burrows to add some ornithological interest. The weather cleared on Askival, and we walked in sunshine until it set. A long bouldery descent took us to the top of Dibidil and the base of Trollval. Leaving our packs on the summit of Trollval, we headed out onto the pinnacles. The best scrambling on the ridge was to be found on the ascent of Ainshval. On the summit there was a party for a Yorkshireman who had just completed the Corbetts with his companions kindly giving out champagne and food. He could not have chosen a better mountain or day for his celebration. The western seaboard from Islay to Torridon was visible, and the Outer Hebrides were sharp and clear. The lightest of breezes kept things from getting too hot in the sunshine. Having reached this point, there was little incentive to hurry down, and a short stroll out to Sgurr nan Gillean, without packs, was gentle relief after the ascent. Rather than the steep descent to Dibidal, we descended via the ridge over Runcival. After a difficult and bouldery stretch this reaches Harris. Having come all this way, we took time to look around Bullough mausoleum. A landrover track leads from here, back across the whole width of the island to Kinloch. We climbed past herds of Highland cattle (including many of the original black variety) then goats and finally deer. The sun was setting behind the Skye Cuillin, as we passed through the centre of the island, and we could look back to the ridge. Being able to see the whole lot in a great arc and realise all that we had done would have been satisfying enough, but it had also turned a deep, rich red colour in the fading light. We finally reached Kinloch in the dark, after being out for more than 13 hours.

As we were about to tuck into dinner, we were invited to a slide show, by a member of the ‘Friends of Kinloch Castle’, who could best be described as fanatical (in the truest sense of the word) about the castle, and how it has decayed. The slides nonetheless gave an interesting insight into the lives of its original owners. Following this, wine and whisky consumption carried on until 2 am continuing the experiments in sleep deprivation, which had become such a feature of the weekend.

There were to be no long lies on Monday morning either, since all the luggage had to be ready to be put on the flipboat at 9 am, even though departure was not until the afternoon. The morning was spent with the obligatory tour of the faded decadence of the castle, followed by some lying in the sun, while we waited for the ferry. An extremely low tide meant that even the normal flipboat could not reach the pier, and two smaller boats were required to transfer people to the flipboat, which then transferred them to the ferry. The return to Mallaig was direct.

If anybody can arrange a better weekend than this, let us know.

Gordon C

Trip to Isle of Mull, 14-16 May 1999

Present: Jo & Val L

Friday

The cycle trip to Mull filled me (Val) with a certain amount of trepidation; it had been over 2 years since I had been on a bike, and this was to be a 3-day trip! However, I was not to be put off! We arrived in Oban just before the ferry was due to leave to the tune of ‘Oi, you two! If you’re catching the ferry bloody well hurry up!’ So much for peaceful laid back islanders. After studying the map the previous evening it had been decided that Salen, being central was a better place to stay than Tobermory in the north (also ‘only’ 10 rather than 20 miles distant. All went well and we sailed along. We’d arrived on Mull at 5pm and wanted to be in Salem before dark (10pm), so time was short! It’s great on the bike, you have time to look around and you’re often high enough to nose over garden hedges!?! You can let your mind wander and just enjoy the wind blowing through the hair. Wonderful views across the bay. Little breeze. Everywhere looked perfect. We arrived in Salen just under the hour (amazing - I felt really pleased with myself!). After food we wandered down to the bay. Suddenly we heard some panting behind us, so turned only to be faced with a bunch of runners! It was the island and hill race where competitors sail between three islands (Skye, Mull, Jura?) and on arrival some poor soul is rowed ashore in a dinghy and runs up the designated hill on that particular island…… The main hill on Mull (Ben More) is over 6 miles from the bay so they had a real excuse to be knackered!!!

Saturday

The next day, after a substantial artery-blocker breakfast, we were on the road! The plan had been to take the coastal road around the upper part of the island to Calgary, visit Tobermory in the afternoon and then back to Salen. There was no wind, the sun was out, no traffic, and few roads to take a wrong turning; just perfect really! We lunched on the beach (white sand, magic views), the sun shone.

We were nearing Calgary Bay when ‘BOING’! My chain broke. We stopped and looked at it awaiting inspiration. None came. Looked longer at it. Still no inspiration! As I free-wheeled into the Bay we were distracted from our own dilemma. A Cairn terrier, with lead in tow, shot across our path in hot pursuit of a flock of sheep. Total pandemonium. People everywhere where belting after this mutt (which had now singled out a lamb). The dog obviously thought it had found either a new playmate or his next months dinners all wrapped up in one woolly parcel. Luckily we didn’t find out as the owner took one final dive and grabbed the trailing lead and that was that. Back to the chain. We managed, with bikes, to hitch to the next village. In our naivety we hoped there would be a full range of shops including a nice friendly bike shop. Alas, not! The only cycle shop is in Salen. Hhhhhmm, how to get back. We sought inspiration in the local cafe. A second coffee (and ice-cream - ed) and a study of the road map. Then a Mars Bar. Still no answer, it really was going to be a matter of walking back (12 miles using the inner road). Jo’s idea to cycle to Salen and buy the link then come back sounded plausible. I started walking. However, an island ladies rugby tournament in the south meant Salen was deserted! The shop was open, but no-one was in sight. Jo eventually returned, having hitched. After a short time of walking together, a car heading in our direction stopped, I took the lift (with pannier) and Jo continued on the bike (making it to Salen in good time cos by using the luggage rack as a seat she could effectively ‘run’ on the bike ……. yeah, I couldn’t figure it either!). By this time the cycle god had returned and mended the bike for free as his wife had been in the winning team! We went to bed at dusk - that must be a first since I was about ten years old.

Sunday

The next day we headed to Ben More hiding the bikes behind rocks. The top was shrouded in cloud, however we hoped that by the time we got there it would have cleared. It hadn’t!, and we couldn’t see a thing. We didn’t hang about as it was pretty chilly, and we had to get back to find the bikes and cycle 16 miles to catch the last ferry to the mainland at 5pm. There was definitely a big sense of achievement as I was able to add another Munro to my ever increasing list (2 at the last count!). As we descended the cloud lifted, so at least we could see where we’d been! It turned into a lovely warm sunny day. Stacks of time before the ferry. Life was so simple. ‘BOING’! Jo’s back tyre went flat! Feverish pumping achieved nothing but a mild hissing sound (and lots of swearing when the pump broke - Ed). Suddenly the ferry seemed such a long way away. Oh what to do? Every idea seemed hopeless and there wasn’t time to go back to the magic bike shop. Jo wistfully commented that we just needed a van to come by. And then, as if on cue, around the corner came a trail of ancient motorbikes followed by their back-up van! We crossed our fingers, stuck out our thumbs and leapt into the van’s path. Luckily, our saviour, carrying replacement parts for the bikes that were touring Britain raising money for the Macmillan Nurses charity, had space for 2 further bikes, and was also catching our ferry!!

Once back in Oban we checked into the closest hotel on the quay, in sight of the railway station, so the bike could remain unrepaired until Edinburgh. In the restaurant we were serenaded by ‘A Scottish Evening’ that consisted of traditional Scottish dancing and singing put on by a local group. Just the thing to complete a really good weekend in Scotland!

Val L

Blackrock Cottage, Glen Coe, 28-31 May 1999

Present: Steve E, Debbie K, Mark L, Heidi P, Steve R, Brian S

Present: All sorts of people from all over the place. There was that old chap from Aberdeen, Sir Brian Shackleton or summit. Some other dude goes by the name Gordon. An Australian Sheila would you believe, with an Austrian name, sounds a bit unlikely to me Heidi. From that neck of the globe a Kiwi called Steve. Steve and Debbie were almost certainly there too. For sure I was there and all sorts of others I guess. You know who you are.

The weather on the Saturday morning was simply embarrassing. Rain, like antipodeans expect in Scotland. Rain like we hate. Then, some more rain arrived. Pretty cold and windy too. Not the perfect highlands I’d promised everyone.

By afternoon the downpour had subsided and we were all itching to get out. That cabin fever is a terrible thing. A huge gang of us, well about five or so, slipped into our respective running pants and scantily dressed set of for a jog along the West Highland Way. Gordon joined us for a bit of the way, but turned back to pick up the troop transporter and drive round to the end of the world. Heidi, Steve, Steve and I had a magic, blustery, atmospheric and scenic run across the wild moor and down to the bridge at the Inverornan. So good in fact that yours truly turned around and ran all the way back again! It was great on the way out, but needless to say a bit of an epic into the wind on the homeward leg – should’ve taken the transporter. Brian, I believe had lunch with the devil at his staircase and then went as far along the ridge to the normal start to the Aonach Eagach. Others for sure walked somewhere deep in the glen. They all had fun, there can be no doubt about that.

For a novel evening Brian, Steve, Heidi and I hopped into the yellow peril and scooshed down the road to that old stalwart Dave B’s ceilidh come party affair. Then, later, we scooshed back up to the hut!

Sunday was marginal. Not in a bad way, the hard decision was whether the reasonably sunny start to the day was going to be enough to dry out the rock after the overnight deluge. We wimped out. Instead a mass assault of the Aonach Eagach was undertaken. And what an assault. We were not alone. Word had leaked out just how good that fine ridge is and it was heaving with boys and girls (most of whom Steve the Kiwi invited to the BBQ in a few weeks time… errr, none came). Beautiful weather and fantastic mountains – a Scotland we can all be proud of at last!

The antipodes and I, being in a holiday sort of mood stayed up for the Sunday evening. An early rise and Scottish start (like Alpine but later) had us up at Rannoch Wall before anyone else in the world. We cruised the classic Agag’s Groove (Steve’s first ever climb and Heidi’s first multi-pitch). It was a perfect climb in perfect weather. We were half way up the route before we saw anyone else. We were on the summit of the Big One for lunch. We were back in the car in two shakes of a lambs thingy. We flew down the road to Auld Reekie. Five minutes later the train whisked our antipodean friends off to that London place. They must have been buzzing. Scotland in the sunshine – something to be proud of, even if it has very occasional embarrassing weather!

Mark Litterick

Summer Solstice BBQ, Achmelvich

Present: Kate B, Tony B, Steve E, Katherine G, Stuart, Jo L, Mark L, Ruth & Simon L, Anne M, Heidi P, Brian S, Nina T, Gail W, Robert, Fiona, Jamie, Emma, and Victoria F and Svetlana; Neil, Clare, and Gavin W

Friday evening and night was extremely cold, but dry. As a means to keep warm various amounts of alcohol was drunk (from brown paper bags!) whilst huddled round cars until very late indeed.

Saturday

Grey wet morning, grey wet lunchtime, grey wet afternoon. Spent a number of hours sheltering in the Coffee Shop past Lochinver, much to the initial joy of the custodian until he realised we could make one cup of tea and a sticky bun last several hours! Robert and Fiona made it to the waterfall, but no-one else felt particularly inspired! Anne and Brian went to the Hydroponicum in Ullapool (or somesuch place!?) to see plants growing in water …. they could have just joined Robert and Fiona at the waterfall! In the wet evening a few with cabin fever had to go for a walk so Kate, Jo and Nina, with Jamie in tow went investigating soggy beaches just north of Achmelvich bay.

There was a mass sharing of Pringles and dips in the toilet until the rain finally stopped …. and as quick as a flash we were out, armed to the eyeballs with petrol and kerosone. BBQs were swiftly fired up and much meat and vegetarian things (that disintegrate into the BBQ) were soon flame thrown in that traditional Armadillo way (crunchy on the outside, soft (raw) in the middle). Various ballgames were indulged in on the squelchy grass and we witnessed Steve in action with the girls (generally under five (years old) though!). As the night darkened, as tummies filled with wine and food, a fiddle and a couple of whistles were produced allowing an impromptu sing song and dancing. All told, after a bit of a doubtful start the night was a great success.

Sunday

Virtually as a single body we uprooted from Achmelvich to Reiff although the family groups chose to head south earlier. Gail and Simon cycled from the campsite meeting us at the sea cliffs in good time for plenty of climbing. Jo actually managed to get up a few routes this time having discovered the benefits of rock boots over trainers. And aside from a rather expensive friend deciding it had found its nirvana and wasn’t going to be budged, the whole day was a really lovely happy sunny affair!

JL & ML

CIC Hut, Ben Nevis, 16-18 July, 1999

Present: CIC - Margaret (Mags) B*, Peter I, Brian S, Nina T (* Guest)

Italy - Mark L

Grey Corries Traverse - Jo L

The original June visit to the CIC Hut was delayed to July due a SMC maintenance/gas lift. A small select group set off for the hut on Friday evening from the new car park at Torlundy. Meanwhile Jo left the yellow peril 2km beyond Corriecoille, walked to Lairig Leacach bothy in the sunshine before summitting Stob Ban (it was now cloudy and damp). Continued to Stob Chorie Claurigh then along the ridge to Stob Coire an Laoigh where a cloud curtain call revealed breathtaking views of the Allt Coire Rath to the south and magnificent sunset oranges and reds over Aonach Mor to the west. Pitched the tent in rapidly fading light on a level(ish) spot on the Allt Coire Easain side of the traverse to Sgurr Choinnich Mor.

Zzzzz. The morning was cold and clear with the first rays of light dancing seductively over the horizon as we clipped into our crampons and scratched the frozen surface of the glacier. A night of listening to lashing rain and sliding down the unlevel tent was only rivalled by a morning of lashing rain and sliding down the unlevel tent!

Time for a pee and a nice cup of tea. No climbing likely today with mist levels just above the hut - the lower part of the Douglas boulder was only occasionally seen - late breakfasts all round! After a few hours or so of crunching up the slope and around the crevasses we were right below the main summit spire of rock and ice, etching into the clear blue sky. Cloud, cloud, cloud, nothing but cloud, eventually decided to make a move, couldn’t stay there forever I guess - soon summitted Sgurr Choinnich Mor before battling onto Aonach Beag.

What is the point when its like this, lets just have another cuppa and wait around for some improvement. The climbing was in fact straightforward, scrambling really, like Observatory ridge but with a bit better weather I’d wager. Puff, pant, this tent and stuff weighs a ton and its’ removal would result in it being left behind - lunch was a thoroughly saturated slimy Snickers found in my pocket (money making scheme no. 4538656, waterproof chocolate bar wrappers….). Someone’s removed Aonach Mor (well, I never found it!)

Slurp. The clouds lifting but the rain is coming down. I’m breathless as we near the summit, spectacular snow wedge with awesome views of the other Monte Rosa peaks. Strange how much I enjoy this sort of thing, roaming around, navigating, bagging, fresh air and solitude, what is this madness?

Somebody’s humming “like a virgin”, must be too much bromide from the tea. Back now at the Madonna’s feet. I squelched onto Carn Mor Dearg, a soul destroying series of false summits. At the summit thoughts of ‘Lets get ootta here’ overrode any desire to consider Ben Nevis so headed off down the steep scree in thick cloud into Coire Leis … never has anything so contrasting to the landscape as the CIC’s bright orange gas cylinders been such a welcome beacon!!!

Even in the CIC there is a limit to the amount of tea that can be drunk! The meet secretary found himself venturing outside and making his way up into Coire Leis in the afternoon to see if there was any sign of Jo. In the poor visibility there was a risk of her missing the hut whilst descending a first time to this side of Ben Nevis. However, she was soon spotted half way up the Coire and before long was safely across the swollen waters of the Allt na Mhuillin and heading down for the warmth of the CIC. The heat is just too much, glaciers are the hottest place on earth, huge parabolic skin burners. Bright orange gas cylinders, and now Brian, I must be hallucinating! I waded across the river (after Brian asked if I was wet cos it was running high … !?!) before collapsing into the CIC Hut, the warmth of which was made all the more welcoming with whisky, tea, and the removal of that pack!

Better get the kettle on. The water has run out, but the end is in sight.

That last cup was exceptional, even if I do say so myself, and what better place to chill-out than the CIC. Sitting at last, reflecting on a fantastic ascent of Pollox with a German friend that I see all too infrequently. Changed now, and settled into the hut (well chuffed too cos the others have been stuck here all day and I’ve had an epic).

It’s not about what you climb or where you go, it’s just about getting away…

Sunday was marginally better than Saturday, drier but with a cold wind blowing mist around thus making climbing unattractive. Jo and Pete headed home whilst Brian, Nina and Mags went to Poldubh Crags with Sinclair and Philip from the Langside (who’d camped above the CIC). At Poldubh the rock was dry enough to climb on south facing crags so Dundee Buttress was chosen, giving 2-3 short routes ranging from HS (Hard Severe) to HVS (Hard Very Severe). The others headed home to Glasgow, leaving Nina and Brian to finish the day on Cavalry Crag Buttress starting up Vampire (HS,4a). The climb to the top of the buttress was completed up Storm (VS,4c) via the hanging belay at the prominent pine tree! In conclusion, it although it was disappointing not to climb at the CIC, most folk got something from the weekend with the climbing at Poldubh giving some compensation.

Overall report by Brian S; triology inserts mastermined by Mark L and additions by Jo L

Family Meet, Glen Feshie Hostel, 16-18 July 1999

Present: Neil, Clare and Gavin W, Steve R, Debbie K and Cormac R

After the success of the 1998 Family Meet, another was organised at the same venue. Unfortunately due to holiday commitments, birthdays, and the switching of the CIC meet, this year’s Family Meet was only attended by the Williams and Reid/Kelsos.

Nevertheless, both parties headed north determined to enjoy themselves. It was a rare opportunity to make for the hills, and with a reasonable forecast promised, hopes and expectations ran high. An early arrival in Glen Feshie gave them enough time to prepare a communal meal, after which the adults sat down and attempted to relax whilst the children ran amok.

It was threatening rain Saturday morning so Neil and Clare decided to take advantage of their family membership of Edinburgh Zoo and head off to the Highland Wildlife Park at Kincraig. This gave the opportunity for Gavin to stand up in the back seat whilst his daddy drove round the park - an action which would be deemed foolhardy and dangerous on the open road. Steve and Debbie took Cormac in the backpack round some forest walks round Feshie Bridge. Although they had not been out much since the birth of their son, they still felt that they could accomplish either the 4km walk in less than the recommended 3 hours, or the 2km walk in less than the recommended 1 hour. Talk about being over cautious.

Regrouping for lunch back at the hostel, both parties went for an afternoon stroll round the local forest paths. The weather improved dramatically, becoming positively warm and sunny. Fine views down Glen Feshie towards Aviemore were obtained in between fighting off the swarm of flies that followed them around. Encouraged by the good weather, they decided to have a cycle down to the end of the road and back before tea. Gavin and Cormac seemed to enjoy themselves in their child seats. Gavin looking especially cool in his smart shades.

The weather was good enough to employ the disposable BBQ. The hostel was equipped with a permanent BBQ site, and soon the fine selection of meats was sizzling away. A fine evening eating al fresco was only slightly spoilt, for his parents at least, as Gavin demonstrated his stubbornness by refusing to acknowledge his obvious need for the toilet, with inevitable consequences.

The Williams had to head back to Edinburgh fairly early on Sunday as Gavin had a wild party to go to that afternoon. This still gave them enough time to cycle around one of the many forest trials in the morning with the other three. The younger ones did well considering the bumpy nature of the terrain, with only the minimum of minor complaints from the backseat drivers. Steve and Debbie enjoyed a peaceful lunch in Kinguisse, and with the sun shinning brightly, they decided to prolong their stay by cycling up the west side of Glen Feshie, until the complaints from junior forced them to return.

In all in was a fine weekend, a real pity however that the club made a considerable loss on the meet. Lessons hopefully will be learnt when organising the next family meet.

SR

The Smiddy, Dundonnell, 13-15 August 1999

Present: Alison B, Steven C, Gordon C, Lynne E, Lachlan L, Caroline L, Pamela T

The FMC response for this meet was disappointing, but most of the places were filled - by people poached from the Jacobites at the last minute!

Friday night was spent in the Dundonnell Hotel, and most did not make an early night.

Saturday dawned clear, sunny and still, not to mention very midgy. A mass ascent was started on An Teallach. The lower slopes were not a suitable place to hang around if you did not want to lose too much blood, so the pace was fast. The cloud then closed in on the ridge, denying us views. A downpour started just before the pinnacles, which would add extra entertainment to Lord Berkeley’s Seat, although the view between our feet was nothing other than cloud. The weather would then pull another trick by reverting to its sunny state on the walk out.

After a further night in the Dundonnell Hotel, and waking to a rainy morning, the main event of the day was lunch in Aviemore.

Gordon C

The meaning of Life?!, Indonesia, 28 August 1999

Strawberry Cottage, Glen Affric, 3-5 September 1999

Millions and millions of Strawberries…

Present: Katherine G, Stuart, Pete & Helen I, Mark L, Calum & Fiona M, Bob P (and possibly others not in my archive photos)

The midges were rife when we donned the packs in beautiful Glen Affric. It’s September, shouldn’t they all be dead? Never mind, the team soon set a cracking pace way beyond the air speed of your average 2mm long pest and within hours we were approaching road-end. In a close escape that nearly blackened the clubs safety record the Ilieves arrived with their hundred or so horses and ran us all over. Shame they hadn’t arrived a wee bit earlier they could have carried all the stuff.

There was an issue. I remember. Someone was in a huff…. but that was a long time ago and nobody bears such grudges in this club. Hell, we only remember the good times, which is why we are all still friends, eh? Something to do with coal, or oil, or gas, or something. Pete sorted it out though. Or was it Helen. Maybe in fact it was the beer…

Prior to the meet I had had a word. The word was sunshine. An arrangement with Him (Her, Ed!) upstairs. I promised everyone but they wouldn’t believe me. Hah! Saturday morning was out of this world. Perfectly sunny. Perfectly still. Perfectly clear. Perfectly darn perfect.

The only thing missing was the promised strawberries so we had to set out in search of them. The party split into at least two. The main team, beginners in the field of strawberry hunting, set of for a hill they could never, ever, ever, hope to spell – Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan (spell-check suggests “Sugar Nan (no spelling suggestions)”). I rest my case. The other more advanced (in many ways) team set off for much more advanced (in many ways) hills. That big one behind the hut (Mam Somethingorother) fell to the Ilieves.

We had a brilliant walk in great company but not a single strawberry to be found. The stress was a bit much. The failure. We slipped into silent strops and the party diverged from the summit. Two went that way. Two over there. Bob and I went the other way. Or more precisely the wrong way. Away from the hut and down to a shimmering sea of diamonds. Well OK, a loch actually. We fished amidst the splendour with the usual success. Trout about the size of strawberries, but none the right colour or shape.

Back at the hut we exchanged stories about strawberries and the ones that got away. We drank beer that could have looked like strawberry juice in the right light. We drank Bob’s whisky, which might have been near some strawberries in its 12 years. Some people ate some red things. But nobody really had any strawberries.

The morning was bright and clear but simply not as perfect as the morning before. So being fussy sorts we decided that breakfast in the garden was the way to spend the morning. The whole morning. And what a garden… a view to nearly but not quite die for. Who cares about the strawberries?

Mark L

Jock Spot’s Laggan, 24-26 September 1999

Present: Helen and Peter I, Marcellus S, Anne M and Brian S plus Fen*.

*Guest guard dog in the car!

There have been some very successful meets in the past to Jock’s Spot, which is conveniently situated on the Newtonmore to Laggan road between Speyside and Lochaber. The hut’s position makes it possible to go east to the Cairngorms, along the road to Creag Meagaidh or west to the Grey Corries/Aonachs/Ben Nevis! On this occasion, however, the poor weather and a small turnout resulted in a somewhat less than memorable meet in mountaineering terms.

Having collected the hut key from the Braeriach Hotel in Newtonmore, the small select group made their way to the hut to find that two members of the JMCS (Edinburgh), who own the hut, were in residence having spent the week ticking off various local Corbetts. Given the small FMC turnout, however, this was not a problem and a convivial evening was enjoyed by all.

Activity on the hill was limited to Saturday due to the weather. Pete and Helen went up Creag Pitridh and Geal Charn (Munros) whilst Marcellus, Brian and Anne along with Fen ascended the nearby Creag Dubh. This was Marcellus’s first meet and he had hoped to tackle some of the Creag Dubh crags had the weather been better so had to content himself with looking at the routes from the safety of the grass below! Brian and Anne meanwhile ventured down the north side of the hill in an attempt to make a circuit but were forced to reconsider their decision when rifle shots from a nearby stalker broke the afternoon silence. After staring at the stalker through binoculars doing the same thing for several minutes, they returned whence they came and joined Marcellus in crag gazing lower down!

After the usual overindulgence of food and alcohol on Saturday evening, little more was done on Sunday and everyone made their way home early. Marcellus, Brian and Anne stopped at Creag an Eighe north of Dunkeld, en route, to fit in some crag climbing. The weather away from the hills was indeed much better and the dry rock provided late consolation for the lack of any climbing in the area of Jock’s Spot itself. As usual, we are grateful to the JMCS for the chance to visit Jock’s Spot and look forward to better weather on a future occasion.

Brian S

Tweedsmuir CTC Hut, 2-3 October 1999

Tour of the Closed Down Cafes; The Curse of the FCC

Riders: Debbie K, Calum M, Fiona M, Steve R, Charlie S

The meet surprisingly followed the format of previous FCC meets (approx 12 to date).

The state of the riders was very poor. Steve was dying with the cold. Debbie had been on nightshift and had had 2 hours sleep. Fiona and Calum were on their first ever cycling meet and were cowed by presence of such greatness. Charlie was still recovering from Paris-Brest - Paris followed by the previous week’s Edinburgh marathon where he had excruciated a calf muscle.

We said a tearful farewell to Cormac at 1pm, then went to Crusader (?as in tank) Crescent in Roslin to join up with Fiona and Calum.

We had the usual headwind all the way via Auchencreach Moss to West Linton.

Then the curse struck. The usual tearoom in the centre of W Linton was closed down and the fancier one in the very centre wouldn’t serve us. So we went to the Old Toll House at the SW edge instead. About 6 out of 10. Not as nice as the closed down ones. It rained at Broughton Heights so we had to stop at the Greenmantle Hotel (7.5 out of 10) to balance the outside water with inside water. On the way the cafe on the Biggar road seemed to be closed but not closed down. It was the first time we had stayed at the hut since its Golden anniversary refurbishment in 1997 - we missed 1998 due to apathy/ Great Caley Run. A very cosy place but a little too cosy if you are over 6ft long.

The Crook Inn (7.5 out of 10) was up to its usual welcoming standard. Slight query over the Steak and Kidney Pie - Debbie and Calum could supply samples. There were two Bristolettes who had cycled the Tweed cycle Path from Berwick that day and were camping and cycling back on the Sunday. Mountain bikes with knobbly tires - too taxing for the FCC I fear.

The night sky was much nicer than Edinburgh. The steak pie gave Debbie plenty of opportunity to see it.

As hoped nobody wanted to do Talla so Sunday was back into a headwind via the hill to Eddleston and then a detour back to the Horseshoe Inn (6.5 out of 10) for lunch. The Scots Pine was closed with no explanation. We felt somewhat underdressed and underwashed for the Horseshoe.

Then back into the headwind at the military medium pace of 10.4 mph and back home in time to see the All Blacks disappoint in only beating Tonga 45-9 and S Africa really stuff Bonnie Scotland 46-29.

Ornithological Note (to fill up the page). We saw 2 herons - one near Kailzie Gardens and another 2 miles S of Leadburn Hill.

Charlie S

Inbhirfhaolain, Glen Etive, 15-17 October 1999

Present:

Both nights: Gordon C, Jo L, Martha W, Rob W

Saturday night only: Robin B, Valerie C, Mark L

Friday

After a dull week, Jo with Rob and Martha set off early to the cottage tonight with the intention of arriving early, to get a roaring log fire going and to just relax with a chilled glass of wine. That had been the intention. And may well have been pulled off if the key hadn’t inadvertently been left on the forecourt at the Green Welly. Whether this was to test the honesty and integrity of the locals (as if we need to), or to determine the durability of the hut key to 1 tonne loads (as if we care) shall not be discussed here! - but, best laid plans and all that!?! The stags were out in full voice, pretty eerie as their ‘roars’ echo through the valley!

Saturday

Valerie and Mark, although having danced Friday night away at H’s 40th birthday ceilidh bash, still had the energy to climb a couple of routes on Buachaille Etive Mor, namely Curved Ridge and East Crowberry Tower (with Robin) before summitting the hill (in the cloud, doh!). Rob, Martha and Jo, who’d enjoyed great views up and down Stob Coir’ an Albannaich and Meall nan Eun at the southern end of Glen Etive, were also plagued by cloud on the summits and along the connecting ridge. Gordon set off to do his own thing after arriving late last night from Manchester.

Sunday

A glorious morning with a wonderful light shining through the trees reflecting on the river which runs along the back of the hut. Perfection would have been the delivery of a Sunday newspaper in order to make the most of the very thoughtfully placed dry stone walling armchair by the river!!! The trio in the yellow peril (Robin, Valerie and Mark) bombed up Beinn Trilleachan whilst the rest of us headed more sedately back to Edinburgh.

JL

Annual Dinner Meet, Birnam House Hotel, Birnam, 29-31 October 1999

Present: Maureen B, Tony & Sheila B, Tony B, Geoff & Janet B, Graham & Mrs.C, Jo C, Keith C, Valerie C, Gordon C, Verity C, C & N D, Peter F, Katherine G, Stuart, Richard G, Andrew Hand three nieces, John & Diane H, Michael & Mrs.H, Tony & Fiona K, Laubie L, Jo L, Mark L, Tom & Julie L, Morag M, Cathy H, Fiona & Calum M, Bill M-R, Anne M, Edel & Gerry M, Bob P, Heidi P & Charlie, Debbie K, Steve R, bump 2 & Cormac R, Steve R, Justin R, Charlie S, Brian S, Hillary & Rona S, Nina T, Gail W, Jeremy W, Neil, Clare & Gavin W, Brenda, Simon Y & bump 1 (62.1!)

Probably the biggest dinner meet of all time! The 44th Dinner Meet certainly seemed to set a lot of records. The wettest Saturday (although probably not…); the first Ceilidh (a great success); the shortest speeches (hurrah !); the first female President (many congratulations!); the least hills climbed (2?); and so on…

Everyone seemed to have a great time, and just to check it wasn’t a fluke we’re going back again next year.

Saturday

What everyone did is a bit vague. Saturday was certainly wild, wet and windy, but Tony B certainly upheld the honour of the club by crawling to the top of Carn Liath on Beinn a’Ghlo when his companions all wimped out. Rumours are than even Brian declined to venture far that day - definitely another record! The Hermitage was much visited, being well sheltered from the soggy blast.

Although the majority preferred the soft life in the hotel, it’s good to record that a hardy few (Jo, Josie, Laubie, Calum and Fiona) continued their training as ‘hard men’ and preferred the camping option.

Dinner was served in the magnificent ballroom of the hotel, and much enjoyed by all. The ceilidh was notable in that just about everyone was up dancing - the bar was definitely inadequately propped up!

Sunday

After the night’s excesses, the nearness of Edinburgh proved too big a temptation to many in spite of the somewhat better weather. Nevertheless some outdoor activity was recorded. Tony B, Tony K and Hillary ascended Beinn a’Chuaillaich above Kinloch Rannoch although Hillary discovered that his waterproofs no longer met the specification! Meanwhile saner minds stuck to the lower ground with Jo and Josie ambling along the riverside down at Killiecrankie taking arty photos to be used as Christmas cards.

Apologies to anyone whose valiant exploits went unrecorded - I’m sure there were some. Anyway, a great time was had by all and with a bit of luck it’ll be even better this year!

Tony K

Roshven, 12-14 November 1999

Present: Maureen B, Tony B, Andrew H, Debbie K, Tony K, Morag M, Cathy H, Anne M, Bob P, Steve Rd, Cormac Rd (13mths), Steve R, Brian S, Neil & Clare W, Gavin W (3 yrs)

It was a stunning weekend, with lovely autumn sunshine, beautiful colours and crisp clear views. What more could you ask for?

The brilliant weather meant that everybody ventured out for some exercise or other, including the parents who used reciprocal babysitting to ensure they went out at least one of the two days. Various ascents were made, including Roshven (of course), Beinn Resipol, and a couple of the Glenfinnan Corbetts near Loch Eil. Brian managed to maintain his record of never having descended Roshven in daylight, but still made it back just in time for dinner.

Those who didn’t feel like hillwalking opted for lesser pursuits: walking to Peanmanach bothy (Morag, athy and Froach); cycling to Loch Ailort Inn (Andrew and Maureen) (and for once not going in, or so they would have us believe!); taking the boat out (Tonys x 2); and hardest of all, playing on the beach (Gavin & Cormac).

As usual there was a large communal meal on the Saturday evening provided by Morag, Neil and Debbie which was much appreciated, and a barrel on tap provided by Andrew. Thanks to all involved for a good meet.

CW

Milehouse, Kincraig, 26-28 November 1999

Present: Helen & Peter I

It was very windy on the Saturday so we decided to walk around Loch an Eilein and on from the far end through the forest to an MBA bothy whose name I can’t remember. As we were walking to the bothy we could see a large boulder on the ridge of Creag Dhubh, the northern end of the ridge on the western side of Gleann Einich. As the map showed a path up Coire Follais towards this rock I persuaded Helen that we should go up and have a look, and then come down the other side back into Rothiemurchus forest. The path may have been on the map but the vegetation had other ideas so it was a bit of a struggle, until we got onto the open hill where it became a different sort of struggle; one against the wind. Helen skipped the final bit to the boulder and went straight down Coire Buide on the other side of the ridge, but still got blown over by the wind. The boulder, marked on the map as Clach Mhic Cailein, or the Argyle Stone, didn’t seem nearly as big when I got close to it. The views were good with the whole hillside covered with streaming spindrift whipped up by the wind, all lit up by a low angled sun. On the way back down another path proved elusive and we eventually got back to the car in the Loch an Eilein car park just as it was getting dark.

On the Sunday we just came home.

Milehouse itself has changed out of all recognition since the last time I was there (I don’t know if the club has been there since it was upgraded). An extension has been built on at the back which probably more than doubles the total size. There is a fine bedroom with two sleeping platforms, loos, showers (I’m pretty sure there were showers), and lots of space inside the new door for kit. The old part of the building is now mostly a kitchen/dining/sitting area, with a small members’ bedroom. The kitchen bit isn’t well designed in my opinion and you would struggle to get 12 folk sat down to eat at once, but it is a fine place nonetheless.

Peter I

Aspiring Stuff, Mt Aspiring, New Zealand, 7 December 1999

What a peak. I’d seen it three years before, from a distance and in every gear shop in the land. Now, after several aborted attempts, we were poised in Wanaka with a promised weather window of a few days.

An early rise had us kicking up dust driving to the spectacular Matukituki valley. With about seven days food we were ready for a siege. With about seven days food we had huge packs. Heavy too. What with all that climbing clobber and all - serious shit. The walk though is fantastic. Along a track, through meadows, never far from the crisp river loaded with trout. Big ones too! But that, is definitely another story.

A river crossing soon had us cursing said river. Colder than a cold thing. But the main curse was still to come. The French Ridge. An epic tangle of twisted roots, narrow trail, landslides and all manner of obstacles. Add some tired trampers with the huge-ass packs getting heavier all the time and you will appreciate that after eight hours we were absolutely knackered. Fortunately the weather was going to be bad the next day so we would have a day of rest in the brand spanking new French Ridge hut.

The morning dawned with predicted mediocre weather, which rapidly improved to be perfect. Oh well, we could barely stand never mind walk anyway. Next again morning we were crunching up the glacier in the early light and it was brilliant. Brilliant weather. Brilliant views. Brilliant place to be. And it’s 6 December too! Brilliant. We padded up the Quarterdeck and summitted the nearby Mount French before dropping down to the Bonnar glacier and on to the Colin Todd hut. The views of the south and west faces of Mount Aspiring were just epic.

By nightfall Valerie had 15 men to sleep with. Despite this we were up by 3am, and almost last away from the hut as the other (guided) parties had set out a while ago. The route passes a straightforward (II) gully that pops you onto a feature called The Ramp. The ramp is just that, 600m of rising traverse sloping at about 45 degrees. Brick hard neve. A fall was out of the question, so we roped up and moved together like a steam train we soon overtook the guided parties who were pitching the route. Limited by our two snow stakes we did 150m runouts between stances. Regrouped and padded off again. Take that, calves.

Soon we were out of the shadow and into the sun. The long northwest ridge taking us all the way to the classic pointy summit and a view from coast to coast, peak to peak. Wah! Mount Cook hundreds of kilometres to the north, nearby mountains all dwarfed by the Matterhorn of the south. The only drawback was you couldn’t see this Matterhorn, but believe me you could feel it!

The descent was steeper than the ascent, as you can no doubt imagine, so we pitched down the ramp and into the hut after a textbook ascent of New Zealand’s finest. The rest of the day was spent recovering and feeling pity for the late arrivals – these guys were getting value for money from their guides! Still Valerie managed to mouch some real food (oh, I forgot to mention the other helicoptered-in nearby with real food, cheating but better fed) instead of the freeze-dried yuk I’d been force feeding her.

Next morning was another alpine start with huger than huge smiles as we scrunched our way up the Bonar and down the Quarterdeck to the medusa of the French Ridge. Epic tales of long walkouts notwithstanding the thought of beer and pizza dangled in front of us for a 14+ hour day covering some ridiculous distance all the way out to the car and the paradise of Wanaka.

Aspiring stuff.

Mark L and Valerie C

Christmas Dinner Meet, Muir of Inverey, 10-12 December 1999

Present

Both nights: Maureen B, Lorraine, and Lorraine’s daughter, Josie C, Keith C, Gordon C, Andrew H, Pete & Helen I, Willie J, Tony K, Laubie L, Jo L, Morag M, Fiona & Calum M, Anne M, Bob P, Cathy H, Brian S, Tiana S, Neil & Clare W

Saturday night only: Steve R, James R

Friday evening

Most arrived on Friday night to help unload the monstrous bird from the Kinghorn’s cavernous boot and prepare both it and the vegetables for the following days anticipated feast. Whisky and wine helped the rest of the evening disappear smoothly.

Saturday

Pete & Helen went with Tony up Glas Maol and on to the top Little Glas Maol in atrocious weather conditions. Tony successfully navigated the trio by walking on bearings and counting paces, - and a darn fine job he made of it as they hit all the points we were aiming for spot on. As Pete’s glasses kept getting fogged up, or plastered with snow, his view most of the day with his head down against the wind was Tony’s feet. A worthwhile day, if on only to build up an appetite (Rubbish! It was great - Tony).

Jo & Josie took the yellow speed machine on a quick excursion down to Braemar on the pretext of getting more decorations, but actually to test the car’s cornering ability (no, not really Mark, honest …). They then set off for a spot of ice axe and crampon practice (on a square inch of snow) on the side of Carn Mor. Tiana went for a cycle whilst others went pootling, rambling, walking, or marching, up various hills, tracks and glens.

Brian, Willie and Laubie attacked Lochnagar; the climbing was the easy bit, it was getting off the hill in a white with only one person with a compass that proved more ’exciting’. Even after such a valiant attempt though at getting lost, they still weren’t the last back! That honour goes to Keith. However, as he’d a) climbed Carn Ealar and An Sgarsoch and we figured he’d be a little while yet, and anyway, b) the first course was ready, we decided to get on with the meal. After a heap of mulled wine and a gallon of wonderful soup, calulations were made of Keith’s ETA, and decisions made on whether anyone in a fit state to drive. Morag went for a quick whizz up the Linn of Dee, but on coming back empty handed we decided to launch into the main course in order to leave the decision-making to the next course. Thankfully Keith returned so no rescue operation had to be put into force. On reaching the first summit at sunset he’d decided to continue on the dubious grounds that a black-out is no better (or worse) than a white-out!!!

Pudding was as huge, tasty and satisfying as ever. There was the traditional walk up to the Linn of Dee followed by yet more wine and whisky.

A truly successful evening - many thanks to all the chefs and chefettes both before and during the day, and to those who embarked on and beat the challenge of the washing-up!

Sunday

Jo and Steve made a rapid exit on Sunday morning to head up Carn na Drochaide getting back to the hut just after lunch so Steve could make a quick getaway back to Edinburgh. Josie and Laubie climbed the same hill at a more reasonable hour, at a more reasonable pace, whilst Gordon, Calum & Fiona went for a walk through the Mar Estate. As usual, the stragglers got rich pickings from the roasted beast; the pudding tasted heaven with a cleansed palate. A supremely well attended and well enjoyed weekend.

Ella P

Mount Cook, New Zealand, 21 December 1999

‘‘course you can get up Mount Cook’, Mark commented, I’ll remember to keep my thoughts to myself in future!!!

A year or so later I find myself on the other side of the world, about to take off in a ski plane, heading for the Plateau glacier. What a flight, amazing views up the Tasman glacier, snow capped mountains, crevasses, icefalls and then ‘if you look out your left window you will see Mount Cook’, WOW, then oh my good gracious or words to that affect I’m climbing that tomorrow!!!! Made it safely to the hut, said hi to our fellow guests then, ‘Hi Valerie, weren’t you in NZ three years ago’ then after a quick double-take, ‘different bloke though, eh?’ sometimes the world can be a little too small!!!!!! 8pm bedtime with that nervous tummy you get when you are sh*t scared or slightly nervous. Up at midnight getting dressed trying to force food down with your body screaming ‘excuse me what are you doing’. After much faffing we step out in the dark, starry night, full moon, and head in the direction of the string of head-torches. Easy going in the compacted footprints zig-zagging our way across crevasses, thank goodness for the dark. More crevasses, then puke!!!! Not mine but a group in front is having difficulty so we pass them in the dark, pleasantries shared. Later we saw the group head back for the hut.

Sunrise, what an amazing sight, oh how I wanted to stop and take it in, take a deep breath and really let it all in, but we have to keep moving across the top of the Linda glacier and under the Gunbarrel; very unstable sections, no time to waste. Talking of waste I would like to apologise for my call of nature and the poor bloke who had to share my experience, the highest……………… you get the picture. He and his guide turned back shortly after!!!!

I look up and to my amazement then eventually amusement there is a Frenchman trying to climb five pitches of snow/rock using every part of his body. Then he decides he can’t go any further and proceeds to abseil back down while Mark is climbing up!! We eventually got going again with my nerves a little rattled about the impending climb, elbows and knees at the ready. No knees required I’m glad to say just some enjoyable climbing (Scottish grade II).

Tired, tired, tired; 9 hours of climbing and I’m tired. We traverse on hard brick snow onto a final pitch of ice then the summit, 3750m. With a grin as big as the biggest Cheshire cat I’m standing on top of the world. Over to my right, the Tasman Sea; in front, Mount Aspiring rising like the Matterhorn of the South, breathtaking just breathtaking. So with another breath we start to head down.

Descending, descending, descending; onto ice then abseiling off remarkable tat into a sense of humour failure. ‘We are going to die if we don’t get going’, so tired puppy but still smiling runs across the Gunbarrel and leaps through the now soft snow and then the crevasse field. Thank goodness we crossed them in the dark on the way up. It is funny how you think treading lightly is going to take away the fact that your pack and you weigh a ton. After fourteen hours I lie down. With the threat of crevasses swallowing me up and falling seracs I decide I have had enough. I’m going to stop right here. Only the thought of flying out gets me up from the soft snow and back to the hut.

I was flying out no matter what so I had a very sound sleep. We started to walk out at 10am, oh joy, oh happiness, oh rapture. Too much wind, my arse. We soon found out why people fly in; the scree went on forever and it was my turn to have a sense of humour failure. Eventually onto the moraine and the cruel final hike up to the hut we settle down in the knowledge that tomorrow we finish our Mount Cook trip. After a relatively short walk, we were picked-up by the friendliest bus driver known to woman. He enthuses about our trip and really brings it home; I’ve just climbed Mount Cook, good feeling.

‘So tell me about that bit and that bit and … no I don’t want to know any more’! Poor mummy, well she would take me up Ben Nevis when I was nine.

Valerie C