THREE DAYS IN GLEN AFFRIC WHERE FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTENT
IT had been seven years since I last stayed at the remote Alltbeithe hostel in Glen Affric but in an era of constant, fast-moving change it was comforting to find a little haven where time seems to have stood still.
Everything was exactly as remembered from previous visits, from the piles of packs and boots in the entrance porch to the warm camaraderie of those from all over the globe sharing communal spaces, however fleeting their stay.
And, of course, the 30-metre dash from the outside dorm to the toilet during the dark of the night in a bid to try and avoid the midge clouds. I'm sure some of the times clocked would easily match the fastest Olympic sprinters, but it was never quite enough.
When the winds that kept the little beasties away during the day dropped, Alltbeithe turned into a Scottish version of the Alamo, an isolated fortress under unrelenting siege from an enemy of unlimited number. The only hope was to treat every doorway like an airlock to avoid being totally overwhelmed – and then run.
The long walk in had been midge-free thanks to a fresh breeze, the only downside being a surprising chill for late July despite the bright sunshine. High on Carn a' Choire Ghairbh you could have been forgiven for thinking the calendar was a few months further on. This elongated mountain dominates the south shore of Loch Affric. My last ascent was 16 years earlier on a sharp November morning after spending a restless night in the freezing car park, stiffened grasses and ice-tipped branches glistening under a burning orange sky as the day came alive.
The path up by the Allt Garbh was vague at best and eventually I gave up and made a direct assault on the crags of Na Cnapain before continuing over the long ridge with all its ups and downs. I then continued round the horseshoe to Aonach Shasuinn before dropping back into a quagmire of epic proportions for the walk out. An old stalker path further down the loch offered a better option this time, one that fitted in with the walk through to Alltbeithe and also with the mission of tackling as many of the Corbetts in different ways as possible. Aonach Shasuinn could wait for another day with a fresher ascent from Cougie.
The path was invisible from below – the best ones usually are – and the cairn marker was mostly covered by grass and heather, but after an inauspicious start the path blossomed into a fine zig-zag line that lifted me with ease to just below the 700-metre mark. And with every small gain in height, the views back over the loch and the clustered Mam Sodhail peaks just got better and better.
The next morning needed a fast getaway, the muted stillness a huge clue that loitering was not a wise choice. The path along Gleann Gniomhaidh made that easier for a while but the pace slowed when it was swapped for the pick-your-own-way uphill push on the deep grassy slopes of Sgurr Gaorsaic. It was less of an climb that the previous day but it took longer, more than two hours for a 600-metre ascent, while Carn a' Choire Ghairbh had taken just one and a half hours for nearly 700 metres. It highlighted once again the difference a good path can make.
Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan looked a long, long way up from here. To be fair, it's generally a long way up from anywhere. It's a massive, magnificent mountain, the dominant peak in these parts. The climb would be almost the same again as I had already made to reach the summit of Sgurr Gaorsaic. There was only thing for it: head down and plod on. The task was made simpler by following the line of rusty fence posts which dropped to the col then turned left on a steady march to the heights. With every step, the Corbett looked more insignificant in this land of giants but the ever-expanding panorama was sensational.
The untidy cairn which covers the high point of Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan is a superb perch to drink in the sheer scale of this mountain: ridges running off in every direction, all studded with a multitude of tops, each providing fresh perspectives on the landscape.
Mullach na Dheiragain looks a long way out with a lot of ups and downs but it always feels the better option to make the effort rather than have to return another day. It was only when I reached its summit cairn that I realised I hadn't stopped once or taken on any refreshments since leaving Ceathreamhnan. I had however eaten a packet of Extreme Sport jelly beans while on the earlier ascent and their effect had obviously kicked in big time. These sweets are the cocaine of hill foods, unleashing superpowers of energy just when you are starting to flag.
A gift from a family member on a recent holiday to the USA, he had to present age identification to buy them – they are definitely not for kids. I hadn't seen or used them for years. The last time I did was on a night excursion at Fersit more than ten years ago when I was filming with a German TV crew. They had to tell me to slow down as I kept disappearing out of shot at a rate of knots.
The return route from Dheiragain involved a bit of re-ascent before a rough short-cut east across a boggy and rock-strewn corrie led back to the col above Coire na Cloiche. The third Munro of this group, An Socach, is a mere afterthought, a 20-minute push to a fine viewpoint in the encircling arms of titans. Yet despite the short ascent, this was the hill I nearly turned my back on many years ago during a multi-Munro round of 24 hours. It was the last mountain on the chain and I was well past the point of exhaustion when I reached this point. I just couldn't face another uphill step.
I spent a few minutes arguing this way and that, before deciding it was madness to abort at this stage. There was still a long way to walk out to the Cluanie Inn and my pick-up but the positive decision to summit An Socach seemed to give me extra legs for the finish. This time round it meant I could simply do the walk-out along the loch in the morning without the need to go over any more hills.
There was still another siege night to endure at the hostel but the many quirks and tales that emanate from being in such diverse company kept the midges at the back of our minds. There were walkers and cyclists from France, Australia, Germany, Switzerland and the US, all passing through; an extended family from England on a two-week epic trip across Scotland with a toddler; solo walkers and pairs all intent on bagging their Munros.
One guy's breakfast choice was interesting – he had packed the wrong meals so instead of enjoying porridge as he had planned, he was now eating lentil daal. His companion was already seeking an assurance that he wouldn't have to walk downwind.
The faces and names may have been fresh, but everything at Alltbeithe felt reassuringly similar.
