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Beinn na Lap Stob Coire Sgriodain Map The grand plan (Andrew's) was to do three mountains this day: Beinn na Lap, Stob Coire Sgriodain and Chno Dearg. Beinn na Lap is not easily accessible so we drove along the north shore of Loch Rannoch to the very end of the road, a place called Rannoch. Rannoch is not a town, nor even a village - it's a railway station and a hotel and that's it! Anyway, with the clouds glooming up nicely we took the train north for the 10 minute ride up to Corrour station. Corrour makes Rannoch look like a bustling metropolis - it's a railway station in the middle of nowhere, with no houses, no hotels and not even a single road leading to it. A jolly little spot.
Strangely enough about a dozen people got off there. We took a cart-track ENE to Loch Ossian then instead of following it around its northern shore and striking off north up the mountain as we should have done, we followed this other track which looked well-trodden but after maybe 3/4 mile it was obviously going in the wrong direction. So at that point we had to turn right and set off uphill breaking our own path through the long grass, bog and heather. It was fairly steep too and I was soon knackered and finding it hard to keep up with Andrew. Eventually, however, the grass got shorter as we got higher and we found a path which made things easier - we made it to the pretty featureless, stony summit about 1.15 amidst light cloud - there's a small cairn there.
Could still see the way forward but cloud was drifting around and it was quite dark and threatening. Not a soul in sight of course. To get to the next mountain involved descending about 1500 ft into the steep-sided valley of the Allt Feith Thuill and then slogging up the other side again to regain the height. We angled down westwards slightly to make it easier but it was still pretty hard going to get up to the top of the ridge again. Eventually I gasped my way to the top of Garbh Bheinn then we pressed on along the ridge and got to the 'Top', Meall Garbh.
We paused for thought at this point, for time was getting on and we had to get to Tulloch station, about 3 miles north of the mountains, by either 6.11 or 8.27 to catch one of the last two trains back that day. Pretty done in with the detour up the first mountain and the valley we'd had to cross, we decided that another two mountains was too much - we'd just take the western one, Stob Coire Sgriodain, that being less of a climb although it had a steeper descent afterwards. It began raining. We walked along a rocky ridge and over a couple of minor peaks to arrive at the top of Stob Coire Sgriodain at 5.00. The light was fading, the rain had settled in and there was cloud all around us. This wasn't a round, grassy place like the earlier summits - this was a place of jagged red rock, sharp crags with white mist curling up from the ground like smoke. It seemed like a vision of hell. Pretty bleak anyway and we didn't linger there very long for the wind had freshened a bit and the rain was slicing down now, a hard icy rain which was part hail and which lashed into your face quite painfully.
It got very cold - I put my fleece on underneath my Berghaus, plus balaclava, gloves and over-trousers. The path came and went but we followed the compass due north through the mist and eventually came to a spot below the cloud where the land fell away in a great expanse of sloping bog and over in the distance was Fersit, and beyond that presumably Tulloch. It warmed up a bit as we got lower but the going was very boggy - boots were full of water but we had to squelch on. There was no chance now of making the 6.11 train and being anxious about missing the next (last) one we kept up a good pace. We got as far as the forestry plantation and came to a high fence there. By this time we were not prepared to walk round looking for a way through so we climbed over it and a bit further on found a stile leading into the forest where there was a landrover track all the way to Fersit. At Fersit we had a choice - trudge another 3 miles by road in squelchy boots or risk a £200 fine and sudden death by walking along the railway line, half the distance. So Rail it was. We reached Tulloch station at 7.30 with the best part of an hour to spare. Once again there was nothing at Tulloch - just a stationhouse inhabited by someone presumably possessed of a deep aversion to humanity, and a climbing society's clubhouse. Tulloch village (ie 2 or 3 houses) lies about 2 miles away to the west. There is no waiting room at Tulloch station but there are lots of midges. I put on some 'Jungle Gel' insect repellant which someone had thoughtfully bought for me one birthday - it made my lips burn. The other exciting event at Tulloch station occurred when I was patiently pacing along the deserted platform. As I approached the end I saw a flicker of movement - a toad had jumped off the platform onto the track below - killed itself. Eventually the train turned up, slowed as it came into the station, a single great, white headlight looming out of the darkness. Probably wouldn't have stopped if we hadn't been there. On the inbound trip from Rannoch that morning we couldn't buy a ticket at the station (doesn't sell tickets) and no-one came to take our money on the train. Now on the return journey a guard came along and asked where we were going. 'Rannoch,' I said, 'how much is it?' 'Oh,' he said. 'We don't usually pick anyone up at Tulloch. I've put my machine away.' He wandered off, to get his machine I presumed, but we never saw him again. A free trip both ways - wonder how they make any money. We pulled into the thronging centre of Rannoch at 9.00 - pitch black, no lights on anywhere. Relief to get soggy footwear off. No room at the Rannoch Hotel though and Andrew was worried that he might not get his daily ration of alcohol. Drove off along the empty, unlit road but after a few miles, somewhere along the northern side of Loch Rannoch, we saw a lonely sign bearing two important phrases: 'B&B' and 'Licensed..' This was the Talladh-a-Bheithe Lodge. I drove through the gates and along a drive to a great stone-built, shooting lodge type place. No lights on anywhere, it was like turning up at the Haunted House or the Rocky Horror Show, just this silent, black shape looming by the trees. But all was fine - it was run by a German couple who'd been there about 20 years - Hans & Gertrude Ludwig. 'As in Beethoven', he said. There were some German guests there too but we didn't see much of them. It was 9.30 by now but they kindly did us some nice home-made soup and bread and cracked open a can of Tennant's lager or two to stop Andrew's hands shaking. I had a Pilsener in keeping with the German theme. £35 each for the night. We stayed in the 'Princess Anne' room.
Gertrude seemed amazed that we should want a room for one night and repeated it a couple of times to be sure. Hans was a fine old boy - well he was over 60 anyway. He said he didn't need a cheque card when we came to pay him - said he trusted everyone and had only been let down a couple of times. A gentleman. Nice views over Loch Rannoch while we were eating breakfast. Back to Manchester - stayed the night with Madge, saw Glynis the next day and got back home Wednesday evening. | ||||||
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