One of the most wonderful things about time in nature is that time in wild places is worth far more than simply the number of hours you spend out. Time there is weighted differently to time in the city – a day in a wild place is more than long enough to do everything you need.
Time moves slower, perhaps is the lack of constant distraction, or just the realisation that immense pleasure can be derived from the simplest activities. Making a cup of tea is transformed from a boring activity to the highlight of an evening, finding water to drink brings immense joy and being warm in a sleeping bag brings on a feeling akin to inner peace.
The couple of days I’ve spent on Arran reminded me of this starkly. As I sit on the ferry writing this and looking back at photos, I know that the time I spent here will live on in my memory for a very long time.
As all with all my best ideas, it begun at 1am. As usual, slightly drunk Oscar was looking at maps and guidebooks: the original plan of a post dissertation Cairngorm jaunt seemed appealing but when I read about this walk, I was enticed. I could get the ferry, wild camp in Glen Rosa, to the horseshoe the next day to finish with a summit camp on Goatfell, before finally returning to Bodrick and the train home. This had the potential to be a fine few days on the hill, especially given the excellent forecast. I was positively brimming with excitement.
Travel over to the island was straightforward and as soon as I stepped off the ferry I smiled. I was free (if only for a few days) to go where I please and do as I want. With now where to be, I ambled off towards Glen Rosa, first along a beach, then quiet country lanes.
Passing the campsite, I soon left the asphalt behind and wandered gently along the track. The sun was shining and the pink granite of Cir Mhor loomed ahead of me. The river flowing through the Glen was stunning and as I approached it, I was greeted by the figures: two Glasgow university medical students (originally from Sri Lanka) and a women from Ukraine. One of the Glasgow lads held a Ukulele, and invited me to watch his inaugural performance. He did an excellent job at singing Riptide (I think in an attempt to impress the Ukrainian women) and it was a really lovely encounter and a good start to the trip! These would be the last people I would see for quite some time…
I pitched up by the Blue Pools, not before going for a swim in the wonderful but freezing water. I whiled away the evening, wondering up and down the Glen and relishing many cups of tea.
Day 2
I woke up before my alarm and made some tea, noticing that although mild, the tops were shrouded in cloud. As I took down the tent, the drizzle started, soon incessant. This wasn’t the weather I was banking on!
Nevertheless, progress was made up to Ben Nuis, a shapely and enjoyable peak. The broad plateau beneath the summit was stunning, and would prove an excellent spot to camp. To me, this high glens hold some of the finest experiences the walker can have in Scotland: they are often untracked, rarely traveled, and have more flora and fauna than the high tops. A fine experience to the walker!
As I reached the summit of Ben Nuiss, the clouds really came in. Visibility was now just a few metres…not what I was hoping for. But in that lies the beauty of time in the mountains: rarely if ever do you get the experience you expected. If you go out expecting this, then you will get frustrated quickly, the beauty and far reaching impact of time in the hills is the ability to appreciate the moment, to see things as a whole: those moments in the sun, or with an version feel so good BECAUSE they are fleeting. The rainy soggy plods may not be the most pleasant, but they make the feeling of dry clothes at the end of the day so much better. From everything in the mountains, you can derive something positive, developing this mindset makes it far easier to slog through days when the wind is howling and the hail is stinging your face (but, luckily for me, this was not one of those days…)
Beinn Tarunusinn next, a fairly underwhelming hill in this weather. I appreciated the feeling of air beneath my feet as I walked along the ridge.
As I dropped down to A Chir, the views cleared…not entirely but just enough to create this masterpiece of crag and cloud. I sat down in awe…what a treat!
The wet rock meant there was alas only one sensible decision: bypass the moderate rock climb along the ridge. In good conditions, or with a lighter pack, it would have made an enjoyable addition to the day, but the nature of being alone in the hills with a big back means sometimes you need to take an easier route. The bypass path was very pleasant, giving views into an excellent valley which would make a fine place to spend a night or two away from the hustle and bustle of the world.
Next, I plodded up to Cir Mhor for some lunch. It was a bit of a pull from the saddle, but the steep climb was softened by fond memories of climbing on this mountain. It is a rather excellent peak and made for a fine spot for some lunch. The views quickly disappeared however, and I spent lunch time gazing into a thick mist.
Abandoning my back, I wondered over to Caisteal Abhail, occasionally the views opening up a little and peaks and buttresses poking out through the mist. It was spectacular and dramatic: I was overjoyed with happiness.
As I returned to Cir Mhor, I saw three other walkers, two together and another solo hiker. These were the only other folk I saw on the hills today. As I reached Cir Mhor to retrieve my back, I made a minor navigational error getting off the summit. Rather than walking down for about 100m from the summit to pass down towards Goatfell on the saddle between the rocky South Ridge and the summit itself, I was drawn down an exciting looking gully scramble. Quickly: I realised this was not the optimum way, having some steps which would be too challenging for a simple walkers Corbett, but I thought it looked like an enjoyable descent, and it was indeed! Several steps required care, often requiring hand jamming and chimneying to descend each 3m or so step between the ledges. Often: I would jettison my walking poles below me to I could use both hands to aid in the scrambling. Overall, an enjoyable (but perhaps not recommendable) descent route which felt a bit like a Grade 3 scramble.
After this added excitement, I continued down to the pools on the col between Cir Mhor and Goatfell. Here, I could refill my water and make some tea before continuing up to the summit. I rested here for some time, relaxing and relishing the beautiful views that were starting to open up. I even attempted a swim – however the water was not deep enough for it.
As I walked up to Goatfell, the views cleared, and I could see across the horseshoe, down Glen Rosa and Glen Sannox and out to sea. I was euphoric. After a day of fog to get such views was more than a treat, and I relished the gentle burn in the legs as I made the 500m climb up to the summit. Between the lower summit and main summit, there are some optional scrambles (which I, of course, took). On each one, I stopped at gazed across at the view, in awe. It only got better when I reached the summit of Goatfell, and, euphoric, I set up the tent and just wandered around, in genuine awe of the way the clouds were moving over the hills.
Day 3
I awoke to a spectacular site. I couldn’t believe the view. The sense of calm and peace I got from this simple joy was immense. Once again: the mountains had given. Superficially, they had given me a view, but they had truly given so much more than that. The feeling of these mornings is challenging to put into words: the cold sting of the wind on your face, the sound of birds chirping around you, the smell of tea. Moments like this are when I’m at by happiest, and every time I have the joy of a morning or evening away from everything and on the hill, I’m immensely grateful.
I descended towards the sea in a little haze of bliss. The views were fantastic, the air was fresh. This is what it is to be in the mountains. As I wondered down, I saw some other hikers (Goatfell is a popular hill), and eventually I reached the sea where I went for a swim.
The final wonder to Bodrick was aided by some fish and chips. I was sad to return to Edinburgh, but glad for the time I’d spent out, glad to reconnect, and hey, Edinburgh really isn’t that bad.
Oscar Outdoors 