Sgurr Innse and the Lair Leacach
By Peter Krug - April 2006
“The situation is dire,” announced the President somewhat gloomily as he stomped up the high street in Newtonmore. “Here we are stuck in Scotland on the wrong side of the Drumochter Pass and we can’t even get pissed!”
How did this come about? Well unless you were on another planet you would be aware that I was organizing another excursion to Scotland and ten of you answered the call making up a crack, or possibly even cracked, team of eleven that assembled in Newtonmore in early March for some playing with the white stuff. This time we decided on the driving option rather than the more traditional fly-drive route taken in the past few years as we considered it cheaper and more environmentally friendly and indeed possibly slightly quicker.
Early arrivals were Mike and Steve who drove up on Tuesday night and spent Wednesday, whilst everyone else was either working or driving, playing on Dorsal Arete in Glen Coe and had a long but thoroughly good day before heading to Mrs Mac’s thoroughly salubrious bunkhouse to be joined by six other IMCers with the overspill ensconcing themselves in the Newtonmore Hostel.
The majority of the group were interested in doing gnarly winter routes but there was a group of wimps who were intent on doing something winter-hill-walkingish and bagging some Munros and Corbetts!
As we woke up somewhat bleary-eyed on the Thursday morning Louise, Fraser and I knew our objective. The target was Stob Ban in the Grey Corries, which Louise and I had backed off the previous year when we had felt we were there too late in the day for the whole group to make the top and be down before night fell. Mike who had been with us on that occasion was silently sniggering because he knew what Fraser was about to let himself in for!
What Fraser was about to let himself in for was an eight to ten kilometre route march along a track (with a sack on our back) up the Lairig Leacach just to get to a bothy at the base of Stob Ban! As we set off on the walk passing through some recently felled forest land (“I could have sworn there were some trees here last year” I muttered to Louise) it started to drizzle which was not what I ordered when arranging the meet! According to the forecasts this was supposed to be the best day of the trip!
Sgurr Innse and the Lair Leacach
Good time was made in the murky conditions and less than two hours later we were sheltering in the bothy having lunch before the onslaught on the mountain was due to begin. We had failed to get our first sight of Stob Ban which is only visible when you get to the bothy because in was hidden in the clouds. Louise and I knew it was there because we had seen it last year.
Soon we were on our way having safely negotiated the stream our route took us in a southwesterly direction up a ridge that lead to summit. Even we couldn’t get lost on it. It started with a mild scramble and soon we were in the snow and once reasonably high on the ridge were exposed to a brisk breeze. We made steady progress in the murk but the last hundred metres or so proved hard work for us all with Fraser, feeling the effects of a long walk in and the sheer scale of Scottish mountains, getting cramp in his toe! Obscure or what!
As it was blowing a hooley up there summit celebrations were somewhat brief especially as we had a grey view, i.e. none, before an uneventful trip down the mountain apart from Fraser’s left foot finding every little stream that there was. I am considering taking him on the “Marathon des Sables” as I could use the extra water his divining foot could find! As we trudged our way down the track we saw a herd/leash/parcel of deer (Red deer) on the hillside that livened up proceedings somewhat.
Back at the bunkhouse we caught up with the gnarly climbers and exchanged stories. Most of them had spent the day in the Cairngorms. The main talking point concerned the two teams who were climbing a route called “The Vent” and were discovering how it got its name! Keith had just reached the crux of the route when a cornice parted company with the terra firma and crashed down the gully. Apparently Keith saw white before his eyes and felt something warm and brown trickle down his leg but happily all concerned were unharmed by the experience.
Day two dawned, an altogether grey affair, and as events turned out it I think it was only the wimpy walkers that really managed to get anything down. Keith and Nick drove all around Scotland taking in the Cairngorms, Craig Meagaidh and Crowberry Buttress near Glen Coe. Team wimp were eyeing up hills near the bunkhouse with ideas of trying to bag a couple more Munros.
After a delay for a dash to Kingussie we found ourselves parked at the foot of Allt a’ Chaorainn. We followed the track on the eastern side of Allt a’ Chaorainn and missed the obvious three stone cairn which marked the turn off to the hidden bridge which crossed the river. A quick back track secured the bridge and soon we were steadily stomping up the flanks of A’ Chailleach.
Bridge over troubled Waters, Allt a' Chaorainn
Tussocky bog soon gave way to beautiful snow that firmed up as we got higher. Soon we were walking amongst the hares which were mooching around and we even managed to get within ten metres of one. We figured he/she was either unwell or taking the piss!
Hare she is
Someone had kindly broken trail for us and although we had set the compass bearing right for the summit I was getting the impression that we were heading slightly to the left of the summit but as the going was easier we stuck with it and ended up at the col between Geal Charn and A’ Chailleach. By now there was a fair breeze and surprise, surprise no views so we took a new compass bearing and headed for the summit, which was not hard to find.
Is it lunchtime - Fraser and Lou at the Summit cairn of A'Chailleach
At the summit we met and thanked the guys who had broken trail for us before whipping the bothy out and seeking its shelter to have some lunch. There was some (mass)debate about what to do now. I was all for testing our navigation skills and trying to find Carn Sgulain but Fraser and Louise preferred to go down and the majority won (in truth the weather did kind of look foreboding before it disappeared!).
Needless to say that when we reached the col the clouds lifted somewhat but we elected to continue on the way down. By now Fraser was learning to read the ground better and was not finding every buried puddle and we decided it was play-time and tried find the deepest snow which I won by sinking to crotch level and we also spent some time glissading before reaching the car mid-afternoon.
El Pres, as usual, up to his hip in %%%% !
As it was so early we decided to introduce Fraser to the delights of gear-fondling in Aviemore, an experience that was spoilt by a sneering public schoolboy type (Note: I am not implying that all public schoolboys are like this but you get my drift) making known his views on articles in the paper he was reading to his friend (who was clearly doing his care in the community duty) and just about everybody else in the tea-shop. Later Louise had the opportunity to run the little twat over but forgot to press the go pedal in the car!
We also heard the latest forecast which described the weather as ‘interesting’ and that usually translates as ‘dire’. Now I have a theory that mountain weather forecasts for Scotland, which as you know are found in gear shops, are always ‘going to be dire’ because the less time you spend on the hill means the more time you spend in shops hence the more money you spend in said shops (QED). Scottish shopkeepers are a canny bunch!
Anyway, everybody spent that evening in the pub (after feeding on Haggis, Neeps and Tatties) discussing plans, which for many involved an alpine start, as we believed the weather would deteriorate during the day. The walking wimps had a cunning plan involving heading for Glenmore Lodge which would give us two options; head for the Ryvoan Bothy and from there to go either for Bynack Mor or alternatively climb Meall a’ Bhuachaille which was the lower and much the shorter of the two routes.
Needless to say, my theory was proven correct: it was gloriously sunny as we walked through the Glenmore Forest Park and onto the moorland but it would be true to say that the wind was picking up and behind us there was an air of brooding malevolence on the big hills of the Cairngorms. We opted for Meall a’ Bhuachaille and were jolly glad we had when we heard the stories from the climbing parties; all had headed for Lurchers Crag (Creag an Leth-choin) and all but Mike and Steve, who were in the throes of an epic (and did not get down until well after dark), were turned back by poor visibility and vicious winds.
After an early lunch at the bothy we headed up the flanks of Meall a’ Bhuachaille and, for the first time that weekend, enjoyed fantastic views with a panorama that extended further as we got higher and higher. The views to the south of the Cairngorms were particuIarly dramatic. I was getting trigger happy with my camera until it decided to take the day off (it is still taking the day off). As we got higher the snow got crisper and in some ways, as Fraser commented, you got a real sense of mountaineering as you were moving up the snowfields because you could see the angle of the slopes you moved up rather than looking into murk.
It did not take too long to get to the summit and from there it was a great ridge walk taking in the subsidiary peaks with ever-present views all around. There were quite a few folk around including some ski mountaineers who were finding the going tough. It was one of the most pleasant walks I have had for some time. But end it must and all too soon we were descending back into the Glenmore Forest and back to the car.
Overnight the weather worsened and when I awoke early next morning my first words were “Oh expletive deleted (by the author not the editor)” as there was well over six inches of fresh snow on the ground. My fears were founded when we turned on the television and Ceefax said that the A9 was closed. We spent the day mincing around Newtonmore waiting for the road to be opened. It seemed it never would but suddenly just after four o’clock in the afternoon things started to move and so did we. The first 20 miles or so to Blair Atholl were very exciting as drove through blizzard conditions praying that the car in front wouldn’t stop and there were literally hundreds, if not thousands, of deer sheltering beside the road. It must have been wild higher up! As dusk fell there were slightly surreal views of a murky but alpine nature with trees and houses laden with snow. And then there was the tedium of the A1 and a very late return to Suffolk.
All in all a great trip and I would like to take this opportunity to all of you that came and made it so enjoyable. Same time, same place next year?
Peter Krug
