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Mullach na Dheiragain Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan Map A fine day for these remote hills, with some strong winds again and some clouds but the tops clear. I left the A87 at a point about 2 miles east of Auchtertyre and drove up the unclassified road for about 4 miles till I reached a sign saying this was the end for car access. I unshipped the bike and as I was doing so another car drew up with a couple, 50-ish, in it. I said hello and the woman who was getting booted up said hello back and added that I'd have a good cycle in. She was right. For over half its 4 mile length the road was tarmaced and the second half was rough stone cart track. Mostly it was fairly level though, unlike Cameron's 'excellent' track to Sgurr Choinnich of the previous week. At one point as I rode along I came upon a highland cow and her calf straddling the track. I had to pass them by close enough to touch them and they certainly do have impressively large horns when seen that close. They were placid enough but didn't seem inclined to move out of the way so I went very slowly and thought it a good idea to try talking to them as I had done with the last lot of cows. So as I wobbled past on the bike I babbled what I hoped would sound like soothing small talk to them. Cows with calves can be a bit aggressive at times but all went well and once clear of them I modestly congratulated myself on my brilliant cow-whispering technique.
At length I reached the bridge across the River Elchaig, just to the west of Loch na Leitreach. Here I left the bike behind a large boulder as my plan now was to continue on foot along the track for a further 2 miles, as far as Iron Lodge, then bear right to start a long looping route which would eventually bring me back to the bridge from a different direction. Then I would be able to just jump on the bike and ride back.
After walking for 10 minutes or so I was overtaken by the lady I'd seen back at the car park. She was still on her bike and it turned out that she was off to do the same two Munros as myself. She was taking her bike further than me, however, because husband Jim had generously agreed to walk along the glen, pick up her bike, ride it back to where I'd left mine, leave it there for her to pick up later, and then walk back to their car. This meant a 10 mile walk and a 2 mile bike ride for Jim so he was certainly being supportive and of course it meant that his missus had 2 miles less to walk than me.
Anyway after passing the time of day she went on her way on the bike and when I eventually reached Iron Lodge I saw it stashed there while she herself was visible about a mile ahead of me striding off up the path. From Iron Lodge there's a very good track, a cart track, which zigzags east up a hillside and then continues for nearly 2 miles. I found a deer's antler on the way but decided not to take it home. Ahead of me I could still see my walking companion from time to time, about 15-20 minutes ahead of me.
I now came to the valley of the Abhainn Sithidh, ie Glen Sithidh I suppose, and turned right (south) into it. The path had disappeared but after floundering over some squelchy bog I spotted a track heading south up the glen and made for it. A short distance along the path I was hailed by a familiar figure - my lady walker, of course. She hove into view from behind me and to my left and told me that she too had missed the path and having looked round and seen me, had walked towards me and found the track. Her name was Oonagh and she was from Wicklow in Ireland. We walked on together for a while and she told me that she only had three Munros left to do and that her husband, the obliging Jim, had already completed them. It seemed to be my week for meeting folk with bags of Munros, what with her, her husband and John from the previous day. The route from here was simply to pick a suitable point on the steep grassy east side of the glen and make my way up onto the ridge. From there I'd be able to simply walk along it all the way to the summit of Mullach na Dheiragain.
Oonagh said she was going to pause for something to eat so I pressed on alone and after a couple of hundred yards turned left and set off up the hillside. It was very steep and a few minutes later I saw Oonagh below me walking on up the glen. Her food break hadn't lasted long and when I saw her turn off to start up the mountainside I felt a childish competitive urge to get to the top first. Consequently I pushed and pushed, probably beyond what I was comfortable with, but succeeded in getting onto the ridge before her. After that there was still some distance to cover up the stony crest and over a subsidiary 'top' before finally making it to the summit (12.00). I was feeling a bit done in by now for this was a very long trek and I'd not had a rest day since my last outing. Looking over to the south to where the shapely peak of Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan was beckoning I could see that my tentative plan of including An Socach in today's trip would require an awful lot of extra effort - about an additional 2 miles to get to it, then 2 miles back when I'd also have to climb Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan a second time, not to mention various other heights along the way. I decided to leave An Socach for another day.
Oonagh took my summit shot for me and we set off together towards our second Munro of the day, the impressive looking Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan. She was a nippy wee lass was Oonagh, however, and it soon became apparent that I'd be hard pressed to keep up with her. I didn't try, I just let her forge ahead and went at my own pace. It was a great walk and the ascent of Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan took in some entertainingly narrow rocky crests, made slightly more challenging by strong winds that were blowing across the heights - strong and quite cold. Nevertheless I eventually hauled myself up to the rocky summit where Oonagh was obligingly waiting to take my photo again. At this point we spotted 2 other walkers some way off, leaving the top, but whence they came and whither they went we never found out. They disappeared.
Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan is a great, sprawling mountain, impressive in its bulk and profile and there are 5 separate ridges leading from it. Oonagh was intending to descend over the northern ridge, which entailed crossing Stuc Bheag, a 'top', before curving round to the west. I told her that I was going down the western arm, however, using the route in the SMC guide, and after thinking about it Oonagh decided to go that way too. Once again she soon outdistanced me. Walking along the broad, grassy spur the wind was really blasting away and I wanted to lose height as soon as possible to get out of it. I continued along, west at first then north before descending into the glen of the Abhainn Gaorsaic. Intermittently I was walking with Oonagh but by the time I reached the river she was once again some distance ahead of me. This river, the Abhainn Gaorsaic, is quite substantial and there is no bridge across it - no artefact of any type visible in fact, for the land here is a complete, isolated wilderness. I chose a place where white ripples indicated the waters might be shallower, took my socks off and waded across in my boots. Then spent five minutes emptying water out of my boots and getting ready again.
There was no sign of Oonagh by this time but I carried on along the bank of the river at my own pace and eventually caught up with her at a place where the land dramatically fell away and the waters cascaded over into a great ravine. This was the spectacular Falls of Glomach, a spot which would be troubled with many tourists were it not in such a hard to reach location. It may be selfish but the lack of people milling around seemed to make it even more special. Not completely devoid of people though for there was Oonagh, kindly waiting to show me the proper path round and save me from heading down the dead end viewing spot track from which I would have had to climb back. She herself had gone that way by mistake. A young couple was there too, having walked in from the opposite direction, in fact from the spot where we'd left the bikes.
All four of us walked down along a narrow path on the steep side of the gorge. Once again Oonagh distanced everyone else although I in turn left the couple behind. After that it was a straightforward descent along the path back to the bridge over the River Elchaig and the bike. As I was approaching the bridge I saw the flash of Oonagh's orange anorak ahead of me as she set off on her own bike. By the time I had retrieved mine (after a brief uncertainty as to where the devil I'd left it) I was quarter of an hour behind her. It was an easy ride back, however, although I did encounter a couple of highland cows and their calves on the track again. Confidently I thought I'd once again speak gently to them and reassure them that I meant no harm. 'It's alright...' I began in my most reassuring manner, whereupon the nearest calf jumped in the air with alarm and began running ahead, snorting in panic, closely tailed by mum. Rather dismayed I shut up at that point, my stellar cow-whispering career in tatters. I still had the task of getting past the nervous beef but managed to do so in the end, silently and unscathed. I got back to the car at 6.50, just as Oonagh was about to leave but she stopped and I had a chat with her and Jim. They were a nice couple. He looked like a folk-singer type with longish grey hair and bushy beard. She told me that she'd forded the river by simply walking across it and then squelching along without bothering to take her socks off. She now only had the one Munro left to do, Maoile Lunndaidh, which by coincidence I'd done the week before. Unfortunately this was the last day of her holiday and she was going to have to come back another time specially to do that one. 30 left for me to do now. As I drove away from the car park it began to rain. | |||||||||||
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