[Trip Index] [Munro Index] [Home] 5th August 2008   Ben More - Isle of Mull Map A beautiful start to the day and it remained pretty good all day although the blue skies clouded over a bit later on. I leapt out of bed at the bunkhouse at about 6.30 this time and was on my way an hour later. I drove through Fort William and crossed Loch Linnhe on the Corran Ferry (£6.20) before continuing to Lochaline where I got the second ferry of the day to Fishnish on the Isle of Mull (£23 return). A quick drive took me to the village of Salen then across the neck of the island and down the coast road to somewhere near grid ref NM507368 for the starting point of the walk. It was an isolated spot but then the whole island is rather sparsley populated - a pleasant place though. I parked on a convenient expanse of short grass facing the sea. On Mull with A Chioch in the far background Heading off up the glen After booting up I set off at 10.35 up a path on the western side of the Abhainn na h-Uamha. The path followed the stream and the going soon became a bit of a trudge through tracts of long grass and bog as I slowly slogged my way up the 2 mile long valley. Where the glen came to its beginnings the ground reared up before me in the form of a wall-like ridge which ran south from Beinn Fhada on my left to a hill called A Chioch on my right. Ben More was further along the ridge to the right of A Chioch but I was going to have to get on the ridge and climb A Chioch before I could start the ascent of the Munro. Looking left when nearly on the ridge ... and looking right. I aimed for the lowest point on the ridge and climbed up to it and out of the bog, which I was rather glad to escape. Once on the rocky spine of the ridge I turned south and headed for the interim peak of A Chioch. From here it looked like a sharp, jagged fin rising before me, and this impression proved to be quite accurate. As I clambered up the rough rock I felt an unexpected surge of vertigo - not something I'd ever really had a problem with before. Here, however, there were some steep drops beside me and I began to feel quite uneasy. Looking west back the way I came   I pressed on anyway and in places followed a path which angled up the left hand side of the mountain. This path, generally about 12 inches wide and sloping towards the drop, was made up of loose earth and bordered an enormous drop down a stony rock face. I was conscious that there was no chance to sit and rest easily here and that my legs would have to bear the strain without shaking until I reached somewhere safer. The route continued like that, narrow paths and rock clambering, for some way until I finally pulled myself onto the top. 'Didn't like that much,' I thought. 'Hope Ben More's a bit better.' The summit of A Chioch I looked ahead at the sharp, narrow, jagged pile of rocks ahead of me and it wasn't very reassuring. Still, I recalled Cameron's sage words about it that 'it's easier than it looks.' Well, Cameron, I have to disagree. It is as bad as it looks, probably worse. Maybe I was just having a bad day, an age-related crisis of confidence, or perhaps two hard preceding days had taken it out of me. I'd started out ok though and it had only been the tricky and perilous haul over A Chioch that had shaken me. As ever, however, once you get into a position like this you either have to bite the bullet and press on or do the terrible climb that you hadn't liked doing the first time for a second time, but in reverse. Staying there didn't seem like a sensible option. Needless to say there was no-one at all around at this point. Ben More from the summit of A Chioch I descended easily enough to the bealach between AC and BM and began the ascent. There was a path made up of small grey stones, akin to the gravel on someone's drive, and I followed this. It tended to keep to the left side of the narrow blade of the ridge and was ok for a while. As I got higher I noticed that the path would occasionally appear in two places or more, as the small broken chippings occurred naturally. Were they all paths? I was quite high up when I began to have doubts that I was on the right track. It looked like a path but was extremely exposed and precarious. Then I came to a place where a gully slashed its way down the mountainside, barring my way forward. I could see the 'path' on the other side but getting to it meant a tricky traverse with a great drop down a rocky hillside awaiting any slip. My unease returned with a coachload of its mates at this point. Again there was little choice but to rest standing up and at the back of my mind was the thought 'this would be an awful place to have your legs start wobbling!' I was too preoccupied to take pics of the ascent apart from this shot to the south-east through a cleft in the rocks The quivering upper lip was told to sort itself out and remember it was British and I decided the only option was to climb straight upwards over the massive jumble of rocks. I really didn't want to do this as it meant leaving the 'security' (ha!) of the path and possibly ending up somewhere worse. I was uncomfortably aware from previous experiences that reversing out of such a climb would be next to impossible. 'Are you sure this is easier than it looks, Cameron?' I thought resignedly, 'because it looks bloody awful to me!' I climbed up feeling my rucksack weighing heavily on my back * - why do I take so much junk with me - and with my walking pole adjusted to a short length and clutched awkwardly in one hand. At times I had to just drop it and let it dangle by the wrist strap as I clutched desperately for handholds. Thankfully I got past that bit and found what looked like another path. My relief was short-lived, however, as this too seemed to come to an end. I was high up now and only about 150 feet from the summit which seemed to absolutely tower above me, horribly steep, as a great pile of jumbled, sharp boulders piled rock on rock. Atheistic tendencies can get pushed to one side at moments like this and thoughts of 'if anyone's up there a bit of a hand would be quite nice…' come to the surface. I had to climb for the top - what choice did I have? A return would have been just as bad. I used hands and elbows and, against all the purists' advice, knees, scrambling up that face. I left my blood on its rocks but at last, very relieved, I pulled myself to the summit (14.00). A family of five was there having come up the 'tourist' route and they must have wondered what all the fuss was about when I sank down for a rest in the windbreak and exclaimed about the ascent I'd just had. They were from Essex and after we'd taken each other's summit shots the lady offered me some chocolate. At the top of Ben More A girl and her dog turned up moments later and some other people were on their way, all strolling up with no difficulty at all. Well no technical difficulty, it was probably still a slog. When the time came I set off down the tourist route ie the north-west spur. It was a broad shoulder with a clear, easy path descending at an undemanding angle. I wished I had come up that way - it would have been a long grind but a lot easier on the nerves. Near the bottom I was able to angle north over some soggy ground and cut the corner to reduce the walk-back along the road. I reached the road about ½ mile from the car and got back to it at 16.00. Back down the tourist route Cutting the corner back to the car There was a small, white van parked there and a lad about 20 was pulling his boots on as I started to take mine off. He said he was about to do the same route as me - it seemed a bit late to be setting off but I suppose he was young enough to do it at a canter and would probably get round in less than the 5 hours 25 minutes it had taken me. I told him I'd found some bits a bit dodgy but with the confidence of youth he just grinned and set off - well he was hardly going to say 'OK, I'll call it off then,' was he? Good luck to him. A long drive home now lay ahead so I returned to Fishnish and got the ferry back to Lochaline and carried on. I tried for the bunkhouse at McGregor's Landing on Loch Lomond but found it boarded up and derelict so had to keep on going. I eventually found a B&B at Arrochar - Dave and Angie's (£30) where I'd stayed at least once before with Andrew. No sign of Dave but Angie was welcoming enough and rather nicely rounded. The ferry approaching Fishnish [* On yesterday's trip I had put the bike tools in the bottom of my sac and left them by the bike when I took to foot. Then at the end of the trip I'd collected the bike and stowed the tools again for the ride back to the car. Unfortunately I had then forgotten all about them and had carried the tools all the way up Ben More with me today. No wonder the sac had felt heavy climbing up those awkward bits.] One to go!