Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan

The plan for an expedition with Alasdair and Isdale during the summer of 2002 was to meet up for a few days Munroing in Glen Affric based at the remote Alltbeithe Youth Hostel. Carrie was going to be in Worthing for the week and we were leaving the girls with Carrie's parents in Erskine. On the 29th July we drove through from Edinburgh to Erskine, then from there I took the car and met Isdale at Buchanan Street Bus Station, and Alasdair from the Swallow Hotel in Govan, where he had been attending a funeral. It was there that we laid out the food in the back of the car, quailed at how much there was, but manfully stashed it away in our packs. Then we set off north on the long 3½ hour journey to the Cluanie Inn, where we arrived around 7.30pm, ate some rolls and got out of the car.

It had been raining most of the way and hadn’t stopped, though it was really only drizzle by now. The midges, however, were out in force, so we set off as quickly as we could, Isdale with TWO packs, front and back, Alasdair with his brand new ‘poser sticks’ and I, in my hurry, without my tracksuit bottoms or any kind of water-bottle. The path was good for the first three miles or so, but we met an old Yorkshire chappie who’d “walked from Iron Bridge over three Munros in this bloody stuff” and warned us of what was to come - the path ahead was awful... The drizzle was still drizzling down, though we’d escaped the midges by keeping moving. The worst of his news, however, was that he reckoned we had at least 1¾ hours to go to reach the Youth Hostel - this at about 8.45. We’d estimated that it would get dark about 10. The reality was worse.

The path was indeed awful, and I stepped in several ankle-deep bogs, filling my boots with water. At least then it seemed trivial to walk through shallow puddles and streams, which was just as well as much of the path was indistinguishable from a stream - most of the rest was indistinguishable from a bog. And the daylight was gradually disappearing. Then at last Isdale spotted a light in the distance. Our hearts lifted and we strode on, hopping through bogs, now having lost any trace of a path. Slowly the lights of the hostel came nearer. My shoulders ached and my feet squelched. I slipped several times, falling flat in the wet. Alasdair also fell, landing on top of one of his new sticks and bending it irreparably. What a moment when we bounced across the little suspension bridge and staggered up to the hostel. We peeled off wet clothes and hung them up where we could. The hostel, with 15 people in, was relatively busy. We brewed a pot of tea and ate a celebration Mars Bar, chatting with the warden, Ramone from Tenerife. Then we found our way to the dormitory, and bed. In the dark, I managed to choose the short one...

I didn’t sleep well, owing to the shortness of the bed and the fact that it was beside the window with the curtains open - none of which I’d been aware of the night before. I woke before 5, got up at 6, and found the kitchen and common room lovely and quiet. I wrote, read and planned while waiting for Alasdair and Isdale who surfaced about 8.30 or 9.00. We made porridge and had a leisurely breakfast, then discussed what to do that day.

Sgurr nan Ceathramhnan seemed closest, so we went for it. I tried my best to work out the correct Gaelic pronunciation, and with this as a guide we settled on “Sgurr nan Caravan” as the easiest thing to remember. We set off at 11, with the cloud low, but no rain. We could see around us for most of the way up to the col. Here we turned west towards Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan and walked along the ridge - it seemed slow going. Alasdair and I especially were feeling somewhat out of training.

We had lunch on the east Top, then continued on to the main summit. This was much higher and quite a slog. Then we headed down to the Bealach na Daoine and had another long slog out along the interminable ridge to Mullach na Dheiragain.

All this was in intermittent rain, so we were getting very wet. Isdale went ahead as we neared the summit and did the further top as well, since it was only 500m away. At around 6 we started back, a bit worried about how long it would take. We came down from the Bealach na Daoine in mist, which conveniently cleared lower down so we could see the lochan. We crossed the outflow, Isdale and I doing a tricky jump, Alasdair doing something sensible further downstream, then struggled up the pathless hillside to the col. We were doing well for time, though - it was now only 7.30.

We came back down the path with the rain now pretty much off, but we all had a few falls to get us wet, and all had very wet feet. We arrived back about 8.30 to find the hostel mobbed - a party of ten had arrived without booking, and were occupying the kitchen. We started cooking our sweet and sour gammon and rice in a corner and soon everyone had adjourned and we had the kitchen to ourselves apart from Ramone the warden, a French Canadian with the party, and Chris the party leader. We sat and chatted for a while, then washed up and I got to bed about 10, having moved to a longer bed in the morning. The big problem was getting our clothes dry. The stuff I’d hung up in the common room the previous evening was still wet. Still, we were hopeful that the next day would bring better weather...