Stefan Durkacz finishes by torchlight way out west
THE LANDS ACROSS Loch Linnhe, though technically part of the Scottish mainland, have always seemed to me to have an island feel to them – self-contained and hard to reach, a vaguely glimpsed world of unfamiliar mountains, wild corries and miles of singletrack roads. The ferry-hop across the loch from the busy A82 at Corran feeds the illusion.
I’d chosen a promising day to make the long journey here. I knew I’d be finishing the walk in the dark and home stupidly late, but the west coast was calling and there wasn’t anywhere I’d rather be. Rolling off the ferry, I turned away from the mountainous delights
of Ardgour and headed south instead along a tiny B road into the Morvern peninsula, the tenuous strip of tarmac squeezed between sheer mountainsides and the sea.
The road rounds a headland and suddenly Glen Galmadale appears, a huge gulf in the mountains. Creach Bheinn lords it over the head of the glen, and hidden up on the left behind steep slopes is Fuar Bheinn – Corbetts both, and the highest mountains in Morvern. The classic outing here is a full circuit of the glen, but there wouldn’t be time for that today, so I’d devised a shorter route taking in just the two main peaks.
Cold winds were speeding fleecy clouds across the sky as
I trudged up the glen and past a small reservoir. Holly bushes clung to the steep sides of the Allt Coire an t-Seasglaich; I got a first glimpse of Fuar Bheinn far above, like a miniature scene from the Himalayan foothills. Higher up, on Fuar Bheinn’s short but delightful east ridge, I peered into the dark, icy void of a north-facing corrie. To the east, the mountains of Lochaber looked strange and new from this unfamiliar angle.
The summit offered long views down Loch Linnhe. After soup and a sandwich I hurried down to the northern col, then tackled the long drag up Creach Bheinn’s wide, bouldery slopes. At the granite cairn, dusk was already gathering. To the north, the snows on Garbh Bheinn of Ardgour flushed a delicate pink. Just beyond the summit are the remains of a camp established by the Ordnance Survey early in the 19th Century as part of the first triangulation of Scotland. All that’s left now are some walls built as windbreaks. I used the last of the light to hurry down a steep, rocky ridge to the eastern col and pick a line down the corrie that kept me clear of the steepest ground.
Darkness engulfed me towards the glen floor, and I stumbled over tussocks to reach the river, which I forded by torchlight. Safely on the track, I dusted myself down, breathed deeply, and strolled out under a sky full of stars.