Unfinished Business
Part 3 of 3 - Feb 2008
Only a strong, fit and well-equipped party should attempt thisexpedition, for the memory of the horrific accident at New Year 1951, when four experienced climbers died in a blizzard near Corrour Lodge, still haunts this area.
Richard Gilbert
I stood by the torrent of the Uisge Labhair near Corrour Lodge, below the flanks of Beinn Eibhinn as I had the year before. No moonlit ascent today; the cloud was hanging on the mountain tops and the forecast again predicted low pressure and high winds sweeping in. All thoughts of doing the full circuit of five mountains had been banished. Now I had just one point of focus; the summit of Ben Alder.
The air was not that cold; I followed the right bank of the Uisge Labhair up the glen, steep flanks on either side of me. Deer cantered through the heather and the bogs, and soft breezes rustled the moorland grasses.
To be in such a remote landscape, alone and in winter is a privilege. Doubts for the future and regrets for the past vanish as you exalt in the present. The path rose steadily towards the high remote pass of Bealach Dubh, and the steep northern slopes of Sgor Choinnich and Beinn a Chumhainn loomed to my right, snow and boulders sweeping down into the valley. And after a couple of hours, I stood beneath the north western shoulder of Ben Alder itself.
I took care crossing the river. Approaching the snowline now, the last thing I needed was a soaking. Peat groughs more akin to the Derbyshire moorlands blocked my way, and I picked a path through the tedious obstacles. The ground steepened rapidly, in many ways far more to my preference. I could throw myself at the slope, pushing myself hard and only stopping as my lungs rebelled against the effort. The ground fell away beneath me as I crossed the snowline onto crisp, perfect snow. The cliffs to my right guided me upwards towards my point on the edge of the summit plateau Point 1056.
The slope began to lessen as I reached the lower edge of the plateau. Before me stretched a mile of high walking across this massive mountain. And now, I found myself entering a world I had never experienced before. I had often been caught in cloud on mountain tops; this was Scotland after all. But never like this. The white cloud enveloped me, and became one with the white snow. As I moved onto the plateau, every single feature, every visual reference point disappeared. I could not tell ground from sky, as all around me a blanket of pure white formed, like some movie directors vision of Limbo. Thankfully, I had my GPS, as even the compass would have been difficult to work with in these conditions. I had planned ahead, and plotted my route, and now it pointed me towards the summit. What I had not planned for was the disorientating effect of this landscape; I felt light-headed and unsteady as my brain tried to handle the complete lack of visual references in this sub-arctic terrain. Every now and then a random boulder appeared and was passed, but added little to my stability. But, just as I began to cast about for the summit, the clouds parted for a moment, and the most amazing vista of beautiful wilderness opened out beneath me, stretching far into the distance over mountains and lochs and moorlands.
The cluster of rocks that constituted the summit hove into view shortly afterwards, and I slumped down beside them; unsure of how to feel. Three years it had taken me to arrive at this point. Three years of planning, of disappointments, of effort and failure, and finally here I was, on one of the most remote summits in the country. There was no overwhelming rush of happiness; Id climbed enough mountains not to expect that. But, perhaps, a sense of clarity, of lines coming together at a point. A moment of calm.
These moments dont last, though. This is where things most often go wrong, as you try to reassemble your thoughts to deal with the return journey. A journey which turned out to be more painful than Id anticipated! I reached the edge of the plateau, and decided to glissade the steep slope on my backside, as Id done several times before. Its by far the most energy saving, and most fun way of descending a mountain. So I pushed off and, before long was hurtling down the mountainside. Suddenly, I felt the tip of a boulder pass between my feet but, by now was going much too fast to stop or avoid it. The rock cracked into my coccyx, and I screamed and came to a halt face down in the snow. The pain was unbelievable, and I lay there a good ten minutes as my head swam and I tried not to be sick. Eventually, I caught my breath, rolled back over and stared upwards. No more glissades now, as I clambered awkwardly to my feet. I feared Id cracked the bone, but at least it wouldnt stop me walking, for which I was extremely grateful. To be immobilised at this point, with storms predicted, didnt bear thinking about.
Through the peat groughs and across the waters of the Uisge Labhair again; the five miles back to the tent became an endurance test, various parts of my body now complaining to my brain. The wind began to tug at my jacket, and I could feel the temperature dropping as the low pressure moved steadily in. This was my next problem; I could not stay in the tent tonight and risk being cut off when the weather turned. Instead I had another five miles to walk along Loch Ossian and back to the station house at Corrour. I contemplated taking a rest for a while at the tent, but knew I would either not be able to, or worse, would oversleep drastically. I packed everything up into my rucsac. Twelve miles, and a huge mountain already in my legs, and now I shouldered the 50lb sac and set off.
The last leg of the journey was a nightmare; the longest five miles I have ever walked. Even with my walking poles, my legs got weaker and weaker. The track and the loch seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance, and my progress was minimal.
The first snow flakes began to fall as the wind increased its intensity. At one point, I just collapsed onto the verge, my rucsac tipping me so my head hung lower than my legs in the ditch. With an effort, I rolled over, managed to push myself onto my knees and back onto my feet. Every hundred yards or so now, I had to stop and lean my chest onto my poles. I set myself goals; a boulder or tussock in the distance where I would reward myself with a rest. The wind and snow became quite insistent, chilling my face. And still the station house was nowhere in sight. A herd of stags watched me disinterestedly as I stumbled past them. I was almost crying by this point. Finally, finally, the station house appeared, waiting until I was only a couple of hundred yards away to emerge over the rise. The bed and breakfast available in this isolated building strengthened my final few steps to its door.
It was shut.
The final straw. I swore and sobbed as I turned from the door, crossed the railway track, and threw myself down in the tiny wooden shelter on the platform. The snow gusted furiously past and into the opening. I fought to gather my numbed thoughts. I may be in a man-made structure now, but it barely sheltered me from the storm gathering in intensity outside. Right, what did I need? Food was the first priority, and I staggered out into the wind and the gathering dark to go and find water in a brackish pool to boil the bags and make some coffee. I lit the stove, and shivered in my sleeping bag as the food warmed. And then ate up four full meals all to myself. Well, actually not quite all to myself.
For there appeared in the door the tiniest mouse, not lean like those in pet shops, but a round brown ball of fur with huge whiskers. I passed him a kidney bean, and he sat on his haunches, holding it in his paws and munching contentedly away. But he really liked the chocolate pudding! I imagined what his daily diet might be in this remote location, and felt a little guilty that a meal like this might finish him off. But it was such a bitter, awful night, I guessed the additional calories might do him more good than harm. As I tried to sleep that night, wrapped tight against the gusts, I heard him rustling in the food bags discarded on the floor, cleaning out the last of the chilli and the pudding, and I managed a smile at last. It was finally over. After three years of trying, Id finally climbed Ben Alder, alone in winter. I could barely move but, with the knowledge of the morning train (if the line didnt get cut off in the blizzard that is!), a full belly, and a little shelter, I could finally relax. Me and my tiny furry companion.
Part 3 of 3 - Feb 2008
Only a strong, fit and well-equipped party should attempt thisexpedition, for the memory of the horrific accident at New Year 1951, when four experienced climbers died in a blizzard near Corrour Lodge, still haunts this area.
Richard Gilbert
I stood by the torrent of the Uisge Labhair near Corrour Lodge, below the flanks of Beinn Eibhinn as I had the year before. No moonlit ascent today; the cloud was hanging on the mountain tops and the forecast again predicted low pressure and high winds sweeping in. All thoughts of doing the full circuit of five mountains had been banished. Now I had just one point of focus; the summit of Ben Alder.
The air was not that cold; I followed the right bank of the Uisge Labhair up the glen, steep flanks on either side of me. Deer cantered through the heather and the bogs, and soft breezes rustled the moorland grasses.
To be in such a remote landscape, alone and in winter is a privilege. Doubts for the future and regrets for the past vanish as you exalt in the present. The path rose steadily towards the high remote pass of Bealach Dubh, and the steep northern slopes of Sgor Choinnich and Beinn a Chumhainn loomed to my right, snow and boulders sweeping down into the valley. And after a couple of hours, I stood beneath the north western shoulder of Ben Alder itself.
I took care crossing the river. Approaching the snowline now, the last thing I needed was a soaking. Peat groughs more akin to the Derbyshire moorlands blocked my way, and I picked a path through the tedious obstacles. The ground steepened rapidly, in many ways far more to my preference. I could throw myself at the slope, pushing myself hard and only stopping as my lungs rebelled against the effort. The ground fell away beneath me as I crossed the snowline onto crisp, perfect snow. The cliffs to my right guided me upwards towards my point on the edge of the summit plateau Point 1056.
The slope began to lessen as I reached the lower edge of the plateau. Before me stretched a mile of high walking across this massive mountain. And now, I found myself entering a world I had never experienced before. I had often been caught in cloud on mountain tops; this was Scotland after all. But never like this. The white cloud enveloped me, and became one with the white snow. As I moved onto the plateau, every single feature, every visual reference point disappeared. I could not tell ground from sky, as all around me a blanket of pure white formed, like some movie directors vision of Limbo. Thankfully, I had my GPS, as even the compass would have been difficult to work with in these conditions. I had planned ahead, and plotted my route, and now it pointed me towards the summit. What I had not planned for was the disorientating effect of this landscape; I felt light-headed and unsteady as my brain tried to handle the complete lack of visual references in this sub-arctic terrain. Every now and then a random boulder appeared and was passed, but added little to my stability. But, just as I began to cast about for the summit, the clouds parted for a moment, and the most amazing vista of beautiful wilderness opened out beneath me, stretching far into the distance over mountains and lochs and moorlands.
The cluster of rocks that constituted the summit hove into view shortly afterwards, and I slumped down beside them; unsure of how to feel. Three years it had taken me to arrive at this point. Three years of planning, of disappointments, of effort and failure, and finally here I was, on one of the most remote summits in the country. There was no overwhelming rush of happiness; Id climbed enough mountains not to expect that. But, perhaps, a sense of clarity, of lines coming together at a point. A moment of calm.
These moments dont last, though. This is where things most often go wrong, as you try to reassemble your thoughts to deal with the return journey. A journey which turned out to be more painful than Id anticipated! I reached the edge of the plateau, and decided to glissade the steep slope on my backside, as Id done several times before. Its by far the most energy saving, and most fun way of descending a mountain. So I pushed off and, before long was hurtling down the mountainside. Suddenly, I felt the tip of a boulder pass between my feet but, by now was going much too fast to stop or avoid it. The rock cracked into my coccyx, and I screamed and came to a halt face down in the snow. The pain was unbelievable, and I lay there a good ten minutes as my head swam and I tried not to be sick. Eventually, I caught my breath, rolled back over and stared upwards. No more glissades now, as I clambered awkwardly to my feet. I feared Id cracked the bone, but at least it wouldnt stop me walking, for which I was extremely grateful. To be immobilised at this point, with storms predicted, didnt bear thinking about.
Through the peat groughs and across the waters of the Uisge Labhair again; the five miles back to the tent became an endurance test, various parts of my body now complaining to my brain. The wind began to tug at my jacket, and I could feel the temperature dropping as the low pressure moved steadily in. This was my next problem; I could not stay in the tent tonight and risk being cut off when the weather turned. Instead I had another five miles to walk along Loch Ossian and back to the station house at Corrour. I contemplated taking a rest for a while at the tent, but knew I would either not be able to, or worse, would oversleep drastically. I packed everything up into my rucsac. Twelve miles, and a huge mountain already in my legs, and now I shouldered the 50lb sac and set off.
The last leg of the journey was a nightmare; the longest five miles I have ever walked. Even with my walking poles, my legs got weaker and weaker. The track and the loch seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance, and my progress was minimal.
The first snow flakes began to fall as the wind increased its intensity. At one point, I just collapsed onto the verge, my rucsac tipping me so my head hung lower than my legs in the ditch. With an effort, I rolled over, managed to push myself onto my knees and back onto my feet. Every hundred yards or so now, I had to stop and lean my chest onto my poles. I set myself goals; a boulder or tussock in the distance where I would reward myself with a rest. The wind and snow became quite insistent, chilling my face. And still the station house was nowhere in sight. A herd of stags watched me disinterestedly as I stumbled past them. I was almost crying by this point. Finally, finally, the station house appeared, waiting until I was only a couple of hundred yards away to emerge over the rise. The bed and breakfast available in this isolated building strengthened my final few steps to its door.
It was shut.
The final straw. I swore and sobbed as I turned from the door, crossed the railway track, and threw myself down in the tiny wooden shelter on the platform. The snow gusted furiously past and into the opening. I fought to gather my numbed thoughts. I may be in a man-made structure now, but it barely sheltered me from the storm gathering in intensity outside. Right, what did I need? Food was the first priority, and I staggered out into the wind and the gathering dark to go and find water in a brackish pool to boil the bags and make some coffee. I lit the stove, and shivered in my sleeping bag as the food warmed. And then ate up four full meals all to myself. Well, actually not quite all to myself.
For there appeared in the door the tiniest mouse, not lean like those in pet shops, but a round brown ball of fur with huge whiskers. I passed him a kidney bean, and he sat on his haunches, holding it in his paws and munching contentedly away. But he really liked the chocolate pudding! I imagined what his daily diet might be in this remote location, and felt a little guilty that a meal like this might finish him off. But it was such a bitter, awful night, I guessed the additional calories might do him more good than harm. As I tried to sleep that night, wrapped tight against the gusts, I heard him rustling in the food bags discarded on the floor, cleaning out the last of the chilli and the pudding, and I managed a smile at last. It was finally over. After three years of trying, Id finally climbed Ben Alder, alone in winter. I could barely move but, with the knowledge of the morning train (if the line didnt get cut off in the blizzard that is!), a full belly, and a little shelter, I could finally relax. Me and my tiny furry companion.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
ginary:
You are so sweet. 
luscious:
I know! So very crass, indeed!