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Meall Buidhe Luinne Bheinn Map The Knoydart peninsular: a great, rugged lump of wilderness which bulges out from the coast above Fort William with no roads leading into it. The only settlement there, Inverie, clings to the south west coast and comprises a couple of dozen houses and a pub. You can only get there by an 18 mile walk over mountainous terrain or the ferry from Mallaig which calls in on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays - this is why the pub, the Old Forge, is listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the remotest pub in Britain. It was to this far-flung outpost of civilisation we were heading, hearts set on scaling the three Knoydart munros: Meall Buidhe, Luinne Bheinn and Ladhar Bheinn. I'd finished work on the Thursday night and driven up to Ramsbottom as usual to stay at Andrew's. Then before break of dawn on Friday (28th) we crawled out of bed and managed to be on the road by 5.35 heading north at a goodly pace in order to be sure of catching the 2.15 ferry from Mallaig. As it happened we made excellent time and got there by 12.20.
£17 bought us each a return trip to Inverie aboard the good ship Western Isles, a modest sized vessel akin to a trawler, which made the passage in about 40 minutes. On arriving at the jetty we were then faced with the prospect of a half mile walk to the bunkhouse carrying all our luggage. Fortunately someone with a small Kawasaki pickup, a bit like an oversize golf cart and bearing the proud name 'Muffin the Mule', kindly let all the bunko squad chuck their bags in the back and took them up for us. The bunkhouse had a 2 person room which they put Andrew and me in - extremely compact and functional but at only £14 per night fair enough. The bunks came with clean sheets and duvet covers so although I'd brought a sleeping bag it wasn't needed. There was also a communal sitting room with a log fire to help dry clothes out, plus a kitchen and showers so not bad really. It was looked after by Morag who was an amiable enough, slightly unkempt woman of about 45.
Fiona hadn't been impressed though. Her entry in the visitors' book stated indignantly: 'this is the most dirty and badly run place I have ever stayed! A disgrace to Knoydart.' Ah well, you can't please everybody. That evening we repaired to the Old Forge and had a spicy bean stew followed by caramel brulee and a few pints of Wye Valley bitter. Five blokes from East Lothian had come over on the boat with us and they too were staying at the bunkhouse. Mostly about our age they were looking to do the same hills as us over the next couple of days, although they had decided to tackle Ladhar Bheinn first, saying they thought this was the harder trek. There were a few guitars lying around the pub, free for anyone to use and several people did each night. Very jolly. Saturday 29th September 2007 We had great weather this day which was just as well for it was to be a long, hard 10 hour trek over fairly rough terrain - quite demanding. We had prepared for the day like true athletes by staying at the pub till 12.30 the previous night and by the time we'd staggered the half mile back to the bunkhouse it was about 1.00 before we got to bed. Nevertheless with our veins still bulging with Wye Valley's finest produce we rose from our bunks at 8.00 only to find a distinct dearth of Morag and our breakfast packs. Very generously the East Lothians offered us some of their own food but we declined and set off instead to walk the now familiar half mile to the Pierhouse where we thought we'd be able to buy a breakfast. On our way there, however, who should we meet but Merry Maid Morag who told us the Pierhouse was closed and that anyway we needed to book breakfasts there the day before - as indeed we should have done at the bunkhouse, apparently. Nevertheless she sorted something out for us - the standard bunkhouse fare of porridge, toast, marmalade and coffee all for the modest sum of £2. You had to assemble it yourself, of course, but we made a decent mound of porridge to keep us going, shovelled it all down and finally set off for the interior at the crack of 9.05. After turning left out of the bunkhouse we immediately lost our way and ended up hacking uphill through a trackless field of weeds but eventually we came to a dry stone wall and having hopped over it found ourselves at last on the right path. The right path was a cart-track which led us past the Brocket Monument (a cross atop a cairn on a hillock) and then we turned off onto the track up Gleann Meadail.
At this point we became beset by something like flying ticks which crawled all over us and continued to torment us all the way up to about the 2500 ft level. Swatting futilely at the bugs we turned off from Gleann Meadail and crossed the river to forge our own way across the end of the spur, the Druim Righeanaich. Then once on the crest, which was broad and grassy, we set off up a long, gradual incline. It was quite tiring but eventually we reached the top of An t Uirollach, an interim peak, and then after dropping down a bit climbed up the slopes to the summit of Meall Buidhe (12.28).
Some other climbers arrived at the top while we were sitting enjoying the view, amongst them a balding bloke in his late thirties who was wearing trainers and pebble glasses and who had walked in all the way from Barrisdale/Kinlochourn, traversing Luinne Bheinn en route. He told us he was going to go over to do Ladhar Bheinn as well which was a bit more than I'd care to do in one outing. Leaving him and the summit behind us we continued east along the ridge for a while taking in some descent and reascent to get to the next 'top'. Further east we could see the great conical mass of Sgurr na Ciche rearing skywards, looking to be a formidable challenge for next year.
Once past the second top the terrain became rockier and looked much greyer than the mostly green slopes of the earlier stage. We dropped down a steep, rough track and then had to surmount a fair sized interim mound called Druim Leac an Shith which lay across our route. This was quite a slog with a fair bit of descending, ascending and descending to do before we could tackle our next objective, the main peak of Luinne Bheinn. Still, that's what had to be done. It was hard going and we got to the the top about 15.38.
There we stood by the cairn and looked at some of the best views in the country: to the south-west the long ridge and peak of Meall Buidhe whence we'd just come; to the east an array of rugged peaks and unspoilt highlands; to the north the great sea loch, Loch Hourn, skirting Beinn Sgritheall which I had climbed in May; to the west beyond Inverie the isles of Rum, Eigg and Muck lying low and grey in the silver sea like warships guarding the approaches; and then to the north-west the jagged outline of the Black Cuillins, impressive still at thirty miles distant but eclipsed by the magnificent bulk of Ladhar Bheinn looming in the foreground.
We took our rest and enjoyed the moment then, after taking photos we knew would never match the real thing, we set about the return leg. First came a steep drop down the north-west flank of the mountain to the Mam Barrisdale bealach, a high point on the pass to Barrisdale. Then we followed a well-made track down, slanting across the hillside at a good angle with the sun in our faces. Past the Dark Lochan we marched, then back the way we came.
Towards the end we decided to try a shortcut through a forest rather than climbing over the wall and going through the weedfield again. It didn't work out very well though and we ended up slogging through trees and rough forestry debris before finally making it to a road. We got back to the bunkhouse at about 7.00 after a very demanding but rewarding day. The East Lothians had tried to climb Ladhar Bheinn but of the five of them two had given up and turned back while the other three had had a lift for the walk back. After a quick wash and brush up it was off to the Forge again for some more orgies and carousing - but as we were a bit tired we settled for a bite to eat and a few pints instead. Unfortunately, of course, getting to the pub entailed an additional mile's walk in getting there and back; there were no street lights so it was pitch black on the walk back. | ||||||||||||
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