The Alps - Arrochar, not French

On the west shores of Loch Long above the village of Arrochar is a cluster of rugged, shapely peaks called the Arrochar Alps. For years I have travelled north on the train up the other shore and completely ignored them in favour of farther away places. Perhaps it’s because at that point, about an hour out of Glasgow, the catering trolley comes through the train and I’m distracted by the promise of hot tea and other goodies. Or perhaps it’s because I always imagined Arrochar to be full of hordes of daytrippers from the city, walking along the waterfront eating ice-cream and chips. Whatever the reason, I finally decided last weekend to find out what was going on up there in the Arrochar Alps.

West Coast Motors may sound like a second-hand Glasgow car dealer but it’s actually the bus company that runs a service along the bonny banks of Loch Lomond and up to Arrochar. As the bus trundled north, Jim the driver entertained passengers with local history and folklore and was even kind enough to drop me right at the start of the walk up into the hills. On a chilly morning the path zig-zagged up through forestry, eventually climbing above the clouds of a temperate inversion to reveal views to snow-dusted Ben Lomond.

Higher up, the path shook off the trees, crested a ridge and made me stop in my tracks and shout out loud to nobody, “wow”. Here was my first close view of that iconic mountain, the Cobbler. It’s so named because its rocky pinnacles are said to resemble a cobbler bending over his last but I thought it looked more like a raging bull with two great horns. In its early winter garb of powder snow and frozen cascades, it looked especially beautiful.

But I was heading for different mountains and the path continued to climb, squeezing a way through two giant rocks called the Narnain Boulders. The boulders are glacial erratics, stranded here when the glaciers of the last ice age retreated. They are famous as a much-loved overnight doss for Glasgow climbers in the old days. Of course, that was when hill folk were made of sterner stuff, not like today’s namby-pambies who stay in B&Bs back down in Arrochar. With ice underfoot and a heavy pack, I made glacial progress up the mountain, eventually popping out at a high, flat place called Bealach a’Mhaim. It was rocky, icy, wind-scoured and exposed - a perfect spot for base camp.

With the tent up, I shouldered a lighter pack and skipped up my first peak, Beinn Narnain. As I gained height, the patches of snow and ice amalgamated until finally the last few hundred metres were gripped in hard snow and I strapped on the crampons for the first time this winter. The clouds of the morning inversion had dispersed and the sun had broken through, picking out a panorama of snow-capped peaks and the glinting waters of Long Long far below. The air was cold and crisp and clear. I stayed up there, breathing it all in, until the numbing temperature forced me back down to the tent. As I left the top an old man in a bobble hat was on his way up, moving slowly and doubled over his walking pole like a cobbler over his last.  I asked if he would take my photo and as he did so he told me that he had climbed this mountain many times. Given the effort the ascent had caused him, I guessed this might be his last time up here and I felt sad.

Beinn Narnain means “hill of notches” which I am prepared to accept is a reasonable description of the nobbly, rocky terrain in its upper reaches. But I’m at a loss to understand the name of the next peak I climbed, Beinn Ime, which translates as “hill of butter”. Perhaps in days gone by it was known that cattle grazed on the slopes of Beinn Ime provided particularly fine dairy produce. Beinn Ime and its neighbouring Alps, being so close to Glasgow, are quite popular but one advantage of camping high on the mountain is that you can beat everybody else to the top. 

So it was on Sunday morning that I had Beinn Ime all to myself and the thought crossed my mind that it doesn’t get much better than this - trekking along a ridge of pristine snow, crampons biting into the hard surface, on a perfect winter morning of clear skies and snowy mountain vistas. 

I ambled slowly back down to Arrochar in the gathering dusk as drifts of woodsmoke from its cosy cottages settled above the trees on a windless afternoon. Arrochar was not full of hordes of daytrippers but was dark and quiet and peaceful as I walked along the waterfront. It was too cold for ice cream but I couldn’t resist eating chips.

More photos on Flickr - click on the logo on the right.

Fact File

Start/finish: Arrochar by Citylink/West Coast Motors buses between Glasgow and Inverary or Oban.

Map: OS Landranger 56

Route: Heading out the west side of Arrochar on the A83 there is a Forestry Commission car park on the left - the bus driver will drop you here if you ask nicely and the start of the path is immediately opposite. Follow the path up through the forestry and when you reach a track by a transmitter turn left then a quick right. Ignore the left hand fork for the Cobbler higher up and keep on the path to its end in Bealach a'Mhaim where the routes are rougher. From the bealach it's a straightfoward climb up the northwest ridge of Beinn Narnain and the south ridge of Beinn Ime. 

Tip: The Fish and Chip shop in Arrochar must be the quaintest in Scotland and on a cold evening you can sit inside with hot tea.

Dunkeld - The bag lady

Goretx Paclite. Goretex Pro. Hydrophobic down. Softshell and Activeshell. With so many high performance fabrics available to keep us dry in the outdoors, there was really no excuse for ending up with plastic bags on my feet the other weekend.

Bike buddy Graham and I were cycling in the hills above Dunkeld, soaking up the last of the autumn colours and getting a good soaking into the bargain. On a grey day we powered our way up the Queen's Road, lingering a short while by the glass-like waters of Mill Dam. 

 

Beyond here we sploshed our way along water-logged tracks and trails, and when heavy rain came on, we were already so wet that it didn't really seem to matter. They say this is good weather for ducks but even the ducks around here felt the need for extra rain protection and had sprouted very strange feather headwear. We almost fell off our bikes laughing at them. 

High up in the hills and woods after a grim afternoon of rain, mud and pushing bikes, it was tempting to stay in the cosy bothy, put the fire on and dry out but we pushed on and put the tents up on a carpet of golden needles below a copse of larch trees.

It was still wet next morning and I realised I hadn't packed my waterproof Sealskinz socks. Readers should  note that Sealskinz are completely synthetic and that no animals were harmed in the making of this blog. Without them, the only way to at least start with dry feet, was to put plastic bags inside my shoes. 

As we cycled back down and passed again the ducks, I could see their beady, little eyes resting on my feet. I knew they were thinking "who's laughing now".

Fact File
Start/finish: Dunkeld Station served by Glasgow/Edinburgh to Inverness trains
Map: OS Landranger 52
Route: Fom the station cycle down into Birnam and turn left on the main road. At the next junction turn right and cycle through the main street in Dunkeld. At the far side turn right onto the A923 then take a quick left onto a forest road signed as a right of way to Kirkmichael. Climb this track to Mill Dam and continue to Loch Ordie. Pass in front of Loch Ordie Lodge following a track around the loch but at the east end stay on the main track and head away from the lochside. Take the left split in the track and follow it north behind Capel Hill. It becomes increasingly rough and then a footpath. Progress is hard here but the woods are lovely. Follow this trail north to Lochan Oisinneach where you'll find a gorgeous camp spot on a little knoll above the water with a copse of larch trees. Follow the trail which becomes a better track as it turns south passing Lochan Oisinneach Mor and returns to Loch Ordie. Retrace outward route
Tip: The tracks and trails above Dunkeld are great for cycling with lots of route options. I only had to do some pushing because of the conditions underfoot and because my pannier bags were catching on tall trailside heather where the trail was very narrow.

Loch Tummel - The Milk Tray man

“You can't come down here … there’s no access cos of the show” said the hi-viz security guard as he pulled over Bart’s van. We were on a dark, forest road trying to get to a nice, quiet van spot by Loch Faskally for a weekend of canoeing. Mr Security must then have clocked us as sporty, outdoor types and said “… unless you’re with the canoeists …”. I had no idea what he was talking about but said that we were indeed planning to take to the water in canoes. He shouted into his crackly walkie-talkie and let us go through. So it was that we made it to the loch and on the way got a free, sneaky view of the Enchanted Forest light show.

Next morning, the “canoeists” turned out to be rowers … hundreds of them! Rowers can be quite troublesome, especially on canals where they take up the entire width and can’t even see where they are going! We decided to abandon Faskally and instead drove around the corner to Loch Tummel. It was a really lucky move as we found an idyllic spot to park up for the weekend beside a quiet, sheltered bay with a spectacular panorama of autumn woods.

I like canoeing but my main reason for getting out on the water this weekend was to see what Bart looked like in a body-hugging wetsuit. Quite nice, actually! Dressed head-to-foot in tight, black neoprene he looked like the Milk Tray man. As I changed into my watersports gear, Bart might have hoped I would look like Pamela Anderson in an episode of Baywatch – sadly, he was disappointed. We pumped up the canoes and launched them onto the glass-like waters of the loch. There was not a breath of wind so that strands of mist lingered in the trees and on a grey, rainy, clagged-in day the place had a secretive, primeval atmosphere.

Next day, we were pedalling bicycles instead of paddling boats and set out along quiet, single-track roads that wound their way around lochs, through autumn woods and over the shoulder of mist-shrouded Schiehallion. On his visits to Scotland, I have been introducing Bart to an aspect of British culture that he finds quite bizarre and that is the coffee and cake stop when you’re out on a bike tour. Bart tells me that nobody does this in Belgium and if he suggested it to his bikey mates, they would think he had gone bonkers! Apparently in Belgium only old ladies and men of a more feminine disposition visit tearooms! This day we stopped on our bike ride at the tearoom in Kinloch Rannoch and ordered a huge wedge of carrot cake with two coffees. As you can see from the photo, Bart seems to be integrating well into this aspect of British culture!

As I didn’t have cake, I was really needing a sugar hit by the time we cycled the last few undulating miles back to the van. I hurriedly threw open the van door but I was disappointed - the Milk Tray man had not visited or left a chocolatey gift, and the only thing waiting on my side of the bed was a wet patch from the hole in the roof.

Fact File

Start/finish: Loch Tummel. We were in the van this trip but you can get there by a short cycle or walk from Pitlochry which is well served by buses and trains.

Map: OS Landranger 52

Route: There are lots of spots along the road on the south shore of Loch Tummel (signed for Foss) where you can put canoes in. We chose the first spot after the dam beside a small bay - it was gorgeous. A little way along the loch from here there are small islands that you can paddle out to. For our bike ride we continued along the Foss road to Tummel Bridge then crossed the river to join the B846 to Kinloch Rannoch. From Kinloch Rannoch we took the road that climbs up to Braes of Foss then rejoined the B846 before turning off again for the road along the south side of Loch Tummel to return to our van spot.

Tip: In autumn, the Foss road on the south shore of Loch Tummel must be one of the most beautiful bike rides in Scotland. It was idyllic.

Buachaille Etive Mor - The shepherd

As we pulled on our walking boots and grabbed the rucksacks, the morning sun was setting the hills aglow, Glen Coe’s shapely peaks and ridges sat below a cloudless, blue sky and the air was crisp and clear. It might have been a perfect day out on Buachaille Etive Mor, the Great Shepherd of Etive, except for the tragedy that was to play out below us.

Bart’s campervan was parked up for the weekend behind the Kingshouse Hotel on a short section of old, single-track road much favoured by hippy trucks and wild campers. After a week of mixed weather on our cycle tour, we were really excited to slide back the door to reveal a calm, perfect day of sunny, blue skies. We made a decision to head for Glen Coe to bag a peak.

We set out on foot from the Kingshouse on the West Highland Way path, walking west for an hour, too close at times to the noisy, fast traffic on the main road beside us. At Altnafeadh we crossed the road and started our climb up the Buachaille. A narrow path rose steeply into Coire na Tulaich and where the low October sun didn’t reach, there were small patches of ice and smatterings of snow.  A final steep pull brought us up onto the ridge and a pleasant, airy stroll took us to the pointed little top of the peak. 

 






The Buachaille is an incredibly dramatic mountain, rising suddenly above the moor in a classic, symmetrical outline of rock. Being slightly detached from the other Glen Coe hills, it also makes a superb viewpoint. To the north Ben Nevis dominates and to the west the jumble of tightly packed peaks of Glen Coe extends to the sea. To the east stretch the empty lands of Rannoch Moor, dotted with lochans.  But, despite the stunning views, our attention was drawn to the road far below at the foot of the mountain. Traffic had stopped and was backed up behind a vehicle that was billowing smoke. It was clear there had been an accident just moments before.

We put on our duvet jackets against the cold, found a spot in the sun and nibbled some lunch before heading back down. At the bottom we picked up the West Highland Way path again to return to the van but this time there was no noisy traffic passing, just a deathly silence. Further on, the path came alongside the scene of the accident. We could see the burned shell of a car and in the middle of the road lay the body of a motorcyclist. It was an incredibly sad scene, especially as there was a large section of road cordoned off so that nobody was near the body or tending to it or looking after it. It seemed so lonely on that empty road high up on the moor with only the Buachaille watching over it.

Back at the van, we sat with the door open to soak up what heat remained in the late afternoon sun. With the road still closed, there was an eerie silence to the place and the only sound was the whisper of the grasses as a chill breeze blew through. We talked about what we'd seen and how a seemingly simple decision to head to Glen Coe on such a beautiful day had ended in tragedy for somebody. 

Eventually the sun set on the day in a blaze of peach and crimson and all we could see was the dark silhouette of the mountain that had watched over the motorcyclist ... the Shepherd. 

Please drive safely.

West - Cycle touring is like a box of chocolates

Cycle touring is like a box of chocolates … you never know quite what you're going to get. That’s especially true of touring in Scotland in October and as Bart and I set off on the bikes for our autumn holiday, we wondered if we’d opened a box of delicious strawberry creams or unwelcome hard caramels!

Our route started below the slopes of Ben Nevis in the west coast town of Fort William. On a grey day with light showers and snippets of sunshine, we cycled north through the Great Glen. This is a real gem of a route for cycling as you follow delightful towpaths on the Caledonian Canal while people potter about in boats. Every now and then the route ducks onto forest trails through sun-dappled autumn woods. We cycled some big climbs on forest tracks high into the hills. Up here you can really appreciate the deep trench of the Great Glen Fault Line, formed 400 million years ago, that today still cuts the country into two. When glaciation eroded the fault line, water flooded in and created Loch Ness. On the first night we made a high camp up in the hills above the waters of the loch as the inky blackness of night twinkled with stars and the lights of hamlets on the other side. However, the only monster we experienced was the monster climb to get up there.

Sunshine with a faint hint of warmth hit our tent early next morning and once packed up, we cycled away from the Great Glen and headed west into the mountains of Glen Affric. I’ve visited Glen Affric throughout my life, initially coming here to do conservation work, mapping out potential areas for fencing to encourage natural regeneration of our once extensive Caledonian pine forests. The fruits of that labour were very much evident and we cycled below mountains with a skirt of new trees as the wild woods extended slowly westwards. In the late afternoon, the glen with its rocky peaks and forests was illuminated by a low, golden sun. I love that northern winter light and the raw beauty of it all really blew Bart away. We made camp beside a sandy beach by Loch Affric as an evening weather front blew in light rain and an owl that patrolled back and forth above our heads.

The play of autumn light on the fiery orange deer grass of the hills continued as we cycled our bikes west, passed the idyllic spot at Camban bothy nestled below the slopes of Beinn Fhada. The bothy has real charm and its red corrugated iron roof and ancient stone walls were bathed in sunshine. We rested a while here, envious of the two housemates inside who were frying up bacon, before pushing our bikes over a rough, rocky section of trail that proved to be a long, hard push. I’d done it before by bike but of course the memory of the difficulty and the distance was obscured by a few intervening years. Nonetheless Bart seemed to enjoy the adventure. 

A day of torrential rain made us linger at Morvich where we made the most of a wet day with a long amble through woods and along the coast to the nearby hotel for hot soup. When the rain eased a little next day, we cycled up into the mists of the Mam Ratagan pass and down the other side to the ferry at Glenelg which makes the short crossing of the Straits of Kylerhea to Skye. The ferry is a real treasure, being the last hand-operated turntable ferry in use in Scotland, and there was such charm to the experience of catching the boat here and crossing the sea to Skye.

Skye, dutifully living up to its name and reputation, was misty and wet. Our encounter with the island was brief as we pedalled south and crossed the water again to the busy, chaotic working harbour of Mallaig. The quiet road down the west coast of Morar took us passed bays of white sand and aquamarine waters backed by the shapely outlines of the islands of Rhum and Eigg. We were battered by wave after wave of wind and rain and camped in a deserted, out-of-season holiday park. Nobody came to collect our fee and next morning we made ourselves comfortable amongst dirt and old cobwebs to make breakfast in the laundry room out of the storm that blew in. We were happy to see the sun again as we cycled west along the Ardnamurchan peninsula, following its only road which rose and fell with the shoreline, and then climbed into the teeth of gale around the little mountain of Ben Hiant.

As we changed direction to head for home, the weather also changed and brought several days of gorgeous autumn sunshine. Another little ferry deposited us in the pretty harbour of Tobermory on Mull and we pedalled down the quiet roads of its west coast, throwing the tent up one evening at a bay below Ben More. The air was filled with the sound of deer bellowing on the hillside and skeins of noisy winter geese coming in to roost. In between were the dusk-time twitters of wren, blackbird and robin. After a clear, cold night, we woke next morning to a fine layer of ice on the tent – the first frost of winter.

Returning to the mainland on the next ferry, we found a small slice of cycle heaven as we took the single track road up the coast to Ardgour. The waters of Loch Linnhe sparkled blue in the sunshine and the haunches of Ben Nevis rose into a clear sky. The road meandered through the russets and yellows of the woods and bracken then dipped to the coast at Camusnacroise, a secret hideaway with its pretty pebble beach and whitewashed church, tucked below the hills. All too soon we were pedalling the last few miles north to the Corran Ferry and the end of the tour at our start point in Fort William.

That evening we drove Bart’s campervan south to Glen Coe and sipped a glass of wine as we watched the sun sink below Buachaille Etive Mor. We talked about our trip, the places we’d passed through and how you never know what you'll come across when you're cycle touring. We agreed that we’d certainly opened a box of delights on Scotland's west coast and if the tough push in Glen Affric and the days of rain were our hard caramels, then the Glenelg Ferry and the delightful road to Ardgour were the yummy strawberry creams.

For all the photos click here.

Fact File

Start/finish: Fort William

Maps: Great Glen Way; OS Travel Map Western Scotland; OS Landranger 33 for the section through Glen Affric

Route: We followed the Great Glen Way as far as Drumnadrochit. It's a great route on a variety of surfaces (towpath, forest track, single track, quiet back roads). Then take the quiet A833 to Kiltarlity and the gorgeous unclassified road on the south side of Strath Glass to Cannich - great cafe in the campsite and this area is gorgeous in autumn. Follow the road west beyond Cannich following signs for Glen Affric and at the road end, cross the river to pick up forest track on the other side. Follow the track west through Glen Affric to the youth hostel at Alltbeithe and onto Camban Bothy. It's double track to the bothy but after the bothy we had to push a lot as the route is narrow, rocky and steep. Descend the path to Glean Lichd and follow the track to Morvich. At Shiel Bridge take the Mam Ratagan pass to Glenelg ferry and onto Skye. Cycle north to Broadford then south to the Armadale ferry to Mallaig. Take the A830 south (much of it has cycle path and it's mostly quiet) and at Lochailort take the empty A861 to Salen. Turn west along the B8007 to Kilchoan which has a shop and a couple of campsites and take the ferry from there to Tobermory. From Tobermory take the Dervaig road and continue down the west coast to Killiechronan before turning east to Salen then on to Fishnish for the Lochaline ferry. Take the quiet A884 north and take the turn-off for Kingairloch - follow this road to Corran Ferry and return to Fort William on the busy A82.