HOW many times have you set off for a long weekend with grand mountain plans only for the weather to force a complete rethink?
Our trip to Glen Shiel was a prime example, but it wasn't the usual suspects of torrential rains, raging rivers or gale-force winds this time – it was extreme heat.
The prospect of wall-to-wall sunshine, perfect blue skies and clear views in every direction doesn't come around often and would normally be something to cheer. Walking in temperatures touching 30C with hardly a breath of wind is a whole different matter. Everyone came to Ratagan armed with a wish list of long ridges and multiple summits. It quickly became apparent that most of these targets were impracticable, even dangerous, to attempt in the searing heat.
I had hoped to disappear for a couple of days into Glen Elchaig to circuit the three Corbetts with a night out on the hill and a drop down to the remote Maol Bhuidhe bothy. It's a long and committing route so there was a lot to weigh up. On the one hand, the dry conditions would mean the river crossings wouldn't pose any problems; on the other, the lengthy mileage and substantial ascents would be brutal in the stifling heat. And once in the heart of these hills, there is no short cut to safety.
In the end, my experience of a similar expedition at Loch Treig a couple of years back swayed my decision. I had foolishly taken on a circuit of nearly 40 kilometres in a heatwave but once halfway round the scarcity of water sources and lack of any possible shortening of the route meant I ended up with a bad case of heat exhaustion. The Elchaig hills could wait for another day.
We arrived at our base mid-afternoon having already decided the smart move was to hold off for a few hours in the hope the temperatures would ease slightly. As we sat in the shade by the shores of Loch Duich, another of our party wandered in, now in desperate need of a drink after his attempt to climb nearby Sgurr Mhic Bharraich had to be abandoned before he had reached the halfway mark.
The evening's entertainment was an ascent of Sgurr an Airgid, the prominent Corbett just over the water. It seemed apt that the rocks on the 'peak of the silver' were glistening in the blinding light, but the name is derived from a suggestion that there was a cache of money buried here by the Spaniards who escaped over the hills after fighting alongside the Jacobites at the Battle of Glen Shiel in 1719.
We took our time rising on the long grassy zig-zags to acclimatise to the oppressive heat with plenty of water stops along the way. Once on the ridge, a cooling breeze stayed with us until the summit where we encountered forever views, serried rolls of mountains in various tones and shades of blue. Even the distant Black Cuillin had picked up on the deep blue theme.
One advantage of the sweltering conditions was that the midges had been notable by their absence, but if we thought we were off the hook, we were mistaken. About halfway down the hill I started to sense little beasties around my head and seconds later felt a painful sting in the neck. Then I heard Andy shout out and turned to see him trying to bat away an invisible enemy. As he turned round, I saw his back covered in tiny black dots. A glance down revealed the path crawling with ants, and the flying version were on the warpath depending their territory.
This was an unwelcome first. Midges, clegs, deer keds, ticks and now flying, stinging ants: there's always something out to get you in the Scottish hills.
The disadvantage of an evening or night ascent is that the next day almost always comes too soon. Most of the group had downgraded their ambitions but whatever they were taking on was going to be hot, hard work. We drove round to Loch Hourn with the intention of doing the the circuit of the two Corbetts, Beinn nan Caorach and Beinn na h-Eaglaise. I even had thoughts of being neighbourly by tagging on Beinn Sgritheall for good measure, but halfway up the first hill it became obvious we would struggle to do even one.
The climb was less than the previous night's yet it felt twice as hard and when we left the track about halfway up for the pathless push to the top, my pace became stop-start, a rest every few steps. The relief of finally struggling to the big cairn was palpable but it seemed madness to continue to the next peak with its awkward descent to follow.
If anything it became even hotter and more suffocating on the way down. At one windless juncture, it felt as though someone had turned on a blowtorch directly into our faces. The party who had tackled Beinn Sgritheall also took much longer than expected and had a couple of casualties, one giving up on the ascent, one whose legs kept buckling when they got back to sea level, another case of heat exhaustion. Fair play to those who managed to complete the Five Sisters ridge and the complete of Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan and its tops.
One of the most enjoyable aspects of a group weekend is that the make-up of the parties will invariably change day to day, and our line-up for the Munro/Corbett combo of Ciste Dhubh and Am Bathach included two ladies who had joined our company. Anna was on holiday from Krakow in Poland and had been forced to abandon the Cape Wrath Trail the previous week due to heavy rain and flooding. Meanwhile Sharon had overheard our plans in the hostel and asked if she could come along as her walking partner had returned home after feeling unwell in the heat.
The walk up the normally boggy pass, An Caorann Beag, was slow and steady with even a crunch underfoot in places, our pace now familiar with the unrelenting sun. From the col, the initial messy, muddy steps were surprisingly still in condition but they allowed a fast passage uphill on to the more solid ground of the ridge. The small summit is always a worthwhile platform, sitting at the centre of an expansive ring of massive mountains.
The party split back at the col, three deciding to head back down the way they came, myself and Andy choosing to make the short climb on to Am Bathach, a shorter way down to the road despite the feeling we were never actually losing any height until the final descent.
The change on our final day was dramatic, cloud piling in from both sides, brisk winds driving them down the glen. The skies were grey and threatening, white horses raced along the loch, and the trees were bending and swaying with loud sighs. In other words, we were back to normal.
We decided to sign off with a short mountain jaunt before the rain arrived, and with Sgurr Mhic Bharraich on our doorstep it was the obvious choice. The fine stalker path took us round the left-hand side of the hill, gaining height with ease to reach a little windswept lochan. The final push up open slopes was wind assisted, our line well protected by the craggy ridge overhead. From our skylight at the summit cairn, we watched curtains of rain swishing across the Cuillin, the grey filling in over Knoydart, Glenelg and down Glen Shiel. The contrast from the last few days was dramatic.
The force of the gusts knocked us sideways a couple of times but our sheltered upward line was used again in reverse and we were soon back down on the path. We made it all the way out still dry and when the rain finally came on, we were heading down the road in the car.
Considering the unfamiliar conditions, it was pleasing to have racked up four Corbetts and a Munro, even if they weren't the ones I had set out to climb. Sometimes, though, you just have to learn to be adaptable.