Winter is here!

There was a bit of respite from the recent stormy weather today.  Goatfell had a good covering of snow overnight so it was a good opportunity to head up in to Coire Lan to enjoy the fresh snow.

Once up on the ridge it was pretty wild, with spindrift flying about. The path under the buttresses was passable but required a fair bit of route finding.

Happy Lucy

Stacach ridge looking Alpine

Surprise rain/snowbow

The Arran Mulanje Trigpoint Challenge

This isn't going to be a short blog post- but I promise that it will contain more than lots of pictures of trigpoints and complaints about my feet. First of all the important bit- I did this to raise cash for two special causes- my local MRT, Arran Mountain Rescue,  who are funded largely by charititable donations from the public, and the team on Mulanje, Malawi, who have very little in the way of gear or funding at all. As I write, there is still time to donate- please click here and donate if you enjoy my story: http://www.gofundme.com/Arran_Trigs

The journey begins!

The challenge I set myself was to link all 17 of Arran's pillar trigs, in a single unsupported push, taking in the destroyed blocks of Sannox and bolts of Corrie and Caisteal Abhail just for fun- 23 points in total. I calculated that it would be around 120km- and it was exactly that- 120km of bog, mountain, forest and heathery hill. Mostly this was pathless country, but I took in a brutal section of tarmac in the south end to catch up on some lost kms. 

Day 1: http://my.viewranger.com/route/details/NjIxNzk=
I set out from Catacol later than planned but buzzing.  The pack felt heavyish but ok and the slopes of Cnoc Leacainn Duibhe were steep but gave way before me. It wasn't long before I was triumphantly leaning my pack against pillar no 1 and updating Twitter. Soon I was striding purposefully through Lochranza and waving cheerily at everyone I passed.  Bring on the challenge!

Things got tougher above Laggan.  It was windy on the ridge- really windy.  Near the Laggan trig I

No 1: Cnoc Leacainn Duibhe

stopped for a snack- put my pack down, and the wind snatched my map from the side pocket. I chased it briefly, and then watched it cartwheel over the edge of the seaward cliffs. Disaster! 
Who does a trig point challenge without a map?  Come to think of it, who does one without a spare? 
Me apparently.

I headed onward, grateful to Viewranger mapping on my phone (musing that I might be about to become a statistic- a foolish hillwalker caught navigating with just their smartphone). I was totally phased by this, and spent ages searching the cliff edge at Crogan for the North and South blocks- forgetting that they were listed as destroyed. Giving up eventually, the North Sannox Pillar came in to view and I headed down in to the woods past another destroyed trig- the Middle Transit. I sent a text to Wally, feeling deflated by my lost map and failure to find the Crogan blocks.

North Sannox... still smiling.

Pushing on, I said hello quickly to the destroyed block by the navigation beacon in Sannox, and strode down the road to Corrie.  Wally met me by the Corrie bolt with a new map. I promised not to use it so that the expedition would remain officially "unsupported". He waved me on towards Maol Donn and Goatfell- where gloomy clouds were gathering.

Maol Donn was a bit of a slog across the bog- at the time I thought it was hard fought and won, but with hindsight I had it easy. I made good progress up Goatfell, but the weather deteriorated with altitude, and I began to realise that getting off and finding a safe campsite would be difficult.  In planning, I'd known this would be the main hazard of the expedition, and I'd assumed that at the time I'd make a sound judgement based on the conditions (mine and the weather) about my onward journey.  Instead I ignored the signs and pushed on regardless.
It's an endurance test right?  So I will endure.

Goatfell summit

Finding the safe path off Stacach was not easy.  I've done it dozens of times, but in failing light with sideways hail and poor visibility, coupled with my scrambled head, I picked the wrong gully.  Soon I was descending choss above a mossy slab.   
This isn't right...  Not right at all.
Suddenly I realised how close I was to actually becoming a statistic. A messy one that my own MRT would have to deal with.
Not good. Sorry everyone.
I climbed back up to the ridge, where the wind was too strong to stand, and crawled on all fours until I found a better looking gully that turned out to be the right one.

I avoided North Goatfell to stay out of the wind, and cut back underneath and then up again to the

One word: grim!

ridge to pick up the descent to the Saddle.  Here the path is also not always obvious, with plenty of scrambling.  It's borderline gnarly for a walk in good weather and with a light pack.... That night I was catching the full force of the wind and rain. At one point I got my rucksack wedged in a chimney.  I had to unbuckle it and escape before trying to retrieve it without pulling myself off at the same time.

The Saddle didn't arrive soon enough.  I'd always planned to camp here, but had considered whether it would be more sensible to continue in to Glen Rosa to find shelter. However, when I arrived, compared to the ridge, it seemed pretty calm, and I was exhausted so I pitched my tent and got dinner on.

Day 2: http://my.viewranger.com/route/details/NjIxODA=
Through the night, every half hour or so, a big gust of wind would rattle the tent and wake me up.  After a while I tuned in to the telltale sounds of it roaring up Glen Rosa to meet me, and I'd be awake before it hit. My scrappy sleep continued until shortly before 5am, when all hell broke loose. Me and all my gear were soaked through and with my back hunched against the wall of the tent, I contemplated my options. I only had one.

Not long after I was high on Cir Mhor recovering in the shelter of steep craggy slopes and counting my blessings.  The early start had given me extra time for what was to be a long day. Lack of sleep? Piffle. Endure.

Abhail- A wee bolt for a big lovely mountain.

Caisteal Abhail was quite a big detour for what is only a small bolt- but it was the Abhail bolt that made me want to include bolts at all- it's a fabulous summit. That morning there wasn't much to see, but I was surprisingly content to be there. I descended via the Leac an Tobair until I hit the 350m contour line and traversed north, past the Loch Na Davie outflow and all the way around the other side of Glen Iorsa, eventually descending towards Loch Tanna. This was a first for me, in ten years of living on this lovely island I'd never been to this loch- which is beautiful by all accounts, although I did not see it at its best. The mists swirled in and out, giving me glimpses of the slopes of Beinn Bharrain above. Bharrain is the only place on Arran where you will find true scree- and it makes up for the lack elsewhere.  More akin to the Paps of Jura than the other Arran hills, its a tottering pile of stones. I ascended an eroded gully to Bealach an Fharaidh.  Yes- the map came out. 

More grimness.

The expedition was no longer officially unsupported. The trig is on the main summit- Mullach Buidhe, in the middle of the ridge. Up there the wind howled and the rain ripped through my (not currently) waterproofs and soaked me to my already soaked skin. Wearing all my clothes, I was shivering and my thoughts were sluggish. I realised I was once more close to becoming a statistic and descended as fast as I could.

Below, a new day was emerging from the wet one that had gone before.  The clouds rolled back to reveal a clean and golden world of Molinia white grass and blue lochains. I stumbled headlong through the tussocks in to Glen Iorsa. After wading the river, I spread my dripping gear out on a gravel bank and let the sun do it's work.

The clouds roll back.

The last part of the day was a hazy stomp through bog and grass.  I marvelled at the strength in my legs (am I really this strong?) as I climbed out of the glen to the plateau beneath Beinn Nuis.  The Monyquil trig lurks at the edge of woodland, and I cooked my dinner there in the shelter of the trees. I then battered out a tedius arc through peat hags to maintain the high ground on to An Tunna, before descending quickly to a comfortable camp by the Machrie water.

Day 3 http://my.viewranger.com/route/details/NjIxODE=
I allowed myself a little lie in but was still moving by 7.30 am.  The sun was shining on the dark slopes of Ard Bheinn and I was keen to get going. An old trackway leads to the edge of the forest in Glen Craigag.  It wasn't far from here to the

Working up a sweat on Ard Bheinn

summit trig, but here I encountered the deepest heather I've ever known, towering to head height on the steep slopes above the river. This slowed me down, like wading through treacle- the kind that

grabs at you and knocks you over, but it was early in the day, my legs felt ok, so I plugged in my ipod and treated it like a workout. Soon I was singing as I worked, confident that nobody except the wildlife could hear me. After a while I arrived at the trig, and before me lay the sea.  I'd dreamt that this would be a fun day, with beach walks and flat paths. I couldn't wait get down.

At the road I met my mum, who walked and talked with me a while.  Eventually she left my side and I joined the Kings Cave path that took me close to Tor Righ Mor.  It was weird seeing holiday makers, who looked and smelled clean and happy.

I realised as I continued to the coast that I had a problem. Water.  Or lack of it. The burns on the Tor were dry, and here at the coast the streams were dank and full of farmy stuff. In Blackwaterfoot I was forced to stop to buy 1.5 litres bottled water. I hoped I'd find some more later. I took the opportunity to buy an ice cream too.  Cheating?  Possibly.

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside!

From Blackwaterfoot I took the coast path to just beyond Kilpatrick.  I joined the road and found the corner of the forest that leads up to Cnocan Don. I'd expected another heathery stumble- but there- a gorgeous path led up hill in exactly the direction I wanted to take.  Further up, I noted funny wooden bridges over boulders. Pour moi? In case I don't want to scramble?  Why, thank you!  I finally realised that this was not for my benefit, but rather two wheeled fun, although it hadn't been used in months and I couldn't decide if this was for motorised or person-powered bikes. From the trig, it was straight down the hill to the road again, a quick and nervous hop over an electric fence, and on to Corriecravie.

I attempted to walk the coastal path, but it was stony, boggy and peppered with scary looking cows. I was beaten- the tarmac above called me.  I apologised to my feet and hit the road after 1 km. From here I pounded tarmac at a solid 4km an hour. A proper pace at last.  My feet got hot, and my head was sore. I ran out of water, but after a few kms was able to fill up again at Kilmory Village Hall. Evening drew in and it began to rain.  I'd planned to camp at my final trig for the day- on Kilbride Hill, but

No camping!

found it to be a quagmire of slurry and animal poached mud. I pressed on.  The rain fell harder.  Wally was planning to meet me with vital information about my route through the forest the following day.  He was nowhere to be seen.  My blood sugar dropped... the rain persisted.  I howled at nobody, and then when I got him on the phone, I howled at Wally.

Wally was way back on the road- surprised by my progress, he was still searching for me in the van near Kilmory.  He eventually caught up with me close to the Eas Mor track up to Garbad. We pitched my tent in the rain and darkness on a pocket sized patch of grass by the track and I stole a hot drink in the van.

Day 4: http://my.viewranger.com/route/details/NjIxNzg=
My feet were blistered, but I'd convinced myself I only had 20km to go (wrong!), so I was optimistic when I set off for the Garbad trig. Armed with essential info about the maze of forest and firebreaks I was entering (thank you Wally for seeking out my route),  I found it lurking in a

Spooky wood...

Tolkeinesque Mirkwood of lichens and hanging branches. It glowed white in the gloaming like a thing possessed. Onwards, left and right, zigzagging through the firebreaks, then pushing through the trees, until I popped out above Glenashdale, to sunshine and views of Holy Isle.  Almost home!

From Glenashdale I was on turf I knew for a while, and thought that I'd have no problems pushing on up to Tighvein, the highest point on Arran's South End. Wrong again! It's different with tired legs, blisters and a heavy pack.  At less than 2kmph the going was tedious beyond measure.  Heathery banks, dense willow thickets and reedy riverbeds barred my way. I received a couple of impatient texts from my mum- who was waiting for me much further down the road. Morale dipped. I howled

Tighvein.  The middle of nowhere.

again- roared even, but nobody heard me. I reached the summit, and descended to the Ross Road, knowing that there was worse to come.

Looking at the map- I could see that the 2km over the moor to Tighvein was nothing compared to the 6km to the Sheeans. I prepared myself, ate as much as I could and plugged the ipod in. I set my face against the rain showers that were rolling by and tried not to think about the end. I tried not to think about anything except one foot in front of the other.   
This is what I do.  Walk.

I must have picked up the pace because I arrived at the Sheeans an hour earlier than I'd expected. Food is wonderful and so is music. I'd only been there once before- nearly ten years ago- and then a path had existed that cut down to the forest road above Cnoc na Dail. I could see from the summit that much had changed since then- with felling, wind blow and new trees all over the place. Damn.

Not my happy face.

I made the best of it and set off in roughly the direction I wanted to go in.  I picked a forest ride, and met a seemingly blind mass of windblow and new trees. I turned right in to an open ride, which got wetter as I traversed the hill. The wetness grew, from waterlooged to sucking bog. Soon I was trapped, both legs squelching above the knee. I kicked, frightened, and initially nothing happened.  With a mighty heave I pulled myself free, and retreated in to the cover of the forest floor under low branches. Damn. I scabbled under the trees alongside the ride until I saw heather growing in the light.  A good dry plant, this might work. I emerged from the trees and continued, but before long I was back in the mire.  Only this time I was really stuck.  I pulled at the bog and it pulled back.  I sank further. Up to my thighs. I remembered that wild animals die in bogs like this.  More howling. Was I about to be another statistic? I felt the mud yanking at my boot. Oh no!  But then- oh yes, it can have my boot but it can't have me.

I recalled reading somewhere about how to escape quicksand. Like steering in to a skid- you break the suction by pushing against it's force.  I kicked, I squelched, and I rolled free, with both my boots still attached to my feet.

Cowering in the forest.  I texted Wally my grid reference so he would know where to look for me if I never made it out. I really had hit a low! I considered my options once more and again I only had one. I crawled back in the direction I had come to reach the first ride where my way had been blocked by timber and fresh spiky young sitka spruce.  Pushing my way through it was the only way. It wasn't long before my knuckles were bleeding, but I made progress.  I saw light to the right, and a glint of something man made.  More scrabbling through trees, and I broke out on to a quad track that led me straight to the forest road. One more to go-  It's in the bag!

Crossing tarmac for the second time that day, I was suddenly surrounded by loved ones.  Wally, my mum and her husband Alan plus happy waggy dogs were walking beside me. I ought to feel happy but all I feel is sore. 

Finally there- with Wally and Mum (Sue Weaver).

As I approached the final trig point at Clauchlands I tried to think of the people I did it for. I mainly did it for the men on the mountain in Malawi who don't have proper walking boots or waterproofs but who will come looking for you in a storm at 2500m if you need them. I also did it for my local mountain rescue team who have all the trappings of a first class emergency service, but who are really volunteers funded by donations. I'm a part of this team, and very proud of this fact- there are some tough, good people there who will get you out of a fix if you need them. I also did it, truth be told, to find out if I'm made of anything remotely similar to these mountain heroes. Having done it, I'm not sure if my mind is all that strong, but it turns out that my legs are.

Some winter left on Goatfell

Wally and I headed up in to Coire Lan today to have a look at Stacach Gully. We didn't like the look of it unfortunately- we broke trail on the approach slopes through a layer of windslab over graupel, which poured down the mountainside as we released it from under the firm layer above.  A quick dig about, and we established that the endless hailstorms that have hammered Lamlash this week, have unsurprisingly dumped plenty in the hill too.

Stacach Gully is the dogleg gully in the middle of the picture

Plan B was a good option, we headed on to the NE slopes of Goatfell, where ice covered slabs sit in shade. We spent a happy time fossicking our way up through ribs and gullies, and eventually gained the ridge. It was strange to be wearing crampons and to see folk enjoying a sunny Easter day in shorts.  The short wearers are definitely a bit premature, although we didn't need the crampons on the ridge today.  The rock is bone dry and the snow mostly softening where exposed to the sun, but winter is still hanging on up high.

Summits with friends

I had a stunner of a day on the hill yesterday with Wally and Kirstie.  We traversed the main ridge all the way from Cioch na h-Oighe to Goatfell summit.  The forecast was a bit iffy, but mostly the weather was not as bad as expected, although there were a few intense snow and hail showers, and gusty winds towards Goatfell. No matter, we had a ball regardless, warmed by gobsmacking views and the sheer joy of being out in the hills with good friends.

Glen Sannox, Cioch na h-Oighe on the left

Steepish ground and wintry scrambling

It's a belter of a ridge!

Cir Mhor and Caisteal Abhail

All smiles on Goatfell summit.

First Snows

This title is all wrong of course, because Goatfell has been looking wintry for at least a week, but these are my first snows, and I've been enjoying them since the recent "Weather Bomb" storm abated.

This was Goatfell yesterday.  The wild spindrift was fun, I'd forgotten what a proper winter maelstrom feels like.  We didn't go to the top, because near the summit buttress it quickly turned less fun...

Today I was on my own and after a late start wandered in to Glen Rosa and up to The Saddle. The weather seemed comparatively quiet, and I enjoyed watching the Sea King from HMS Gannet training in the Glen. She attracted the attention of a Golden Eagle, and to my surprise, the eagle chased her over Goatfell and out of its territory.

HMS Gannet training in Glen Rosa

From The Saddle, I took the new path up to the summit of Cir Mhor (I think). The path was mostly buried, especially near the top so I ended up taking the turfiest line I could find between the drifts and the slabs. The snow was very fluffy and unconsolidated, and by the time I passed behind the Rosetta Stone I was wading above the knee. I did get some stunning views and for a change it was not too windy so I could enjoy playing with my new camera.... If anyone is wondering whether there is any winter climbing to be had one Arran I'd say... not yet.  Lots of powder, and turf frozen where exposed, but soft under all that snow, with no ice to be seen.

The Witches Step as seen from The Saddle

Big views down Glen Sannox

Gully behind the Rosetta Stone

The Western Hills from the west flank of Cir Mhor

Looking back towards Goatfell

Tracks left by one badass bunny rabbit on the summit.

Kirstie Boot Camp

I've been concentrating far too much learning to ski this winter and I'm starting to feel a little soft, so I messaged my friend, photographer and fellow Arran MRT member Kirstie Smith, with a request that she and her energetic collie dog drag me round the hills today, to remind me of what it is all about.  Now, Kirstie is a small but perfectly formed powerhouse, someone that storms around the Arran hills whenever she gets the chance, so I knew I'd be in for a fun day.....Kirstie is an awsome photographer by the way- check out her website here.  for lots of stunning photos of Arran and mountain rescue training.

After a relaxed start we headed up Glen Rosa, easing ourselves in to the day and enjoying the views at the lower levels.  Crossing the Rosa Burn was unproblematic, despite heavy rain overnight (it often runs in spate and catches people out here).

Glen Rosa

We headed up on to the Saddle, the halfway point of our day, (the easy half).  We were treated to immense views down Glen Sannox, which we took time to enjoy, as we knew we'd soon be in the clouds.

Looking in to Glen Sannox

Before long we were sweating our way up on to North Goatfell.  Its a big pull up from the saddle, and the path, always eroded, is in a treacherous state after this winter's heavy rain. 

From North Goatfell, the fun began, with a traverse under the buttresses of Stacach, in deep snow.  It's steep ground here, and the snow was soft and wet.  It was slow going along here, working from memory of where the path is- there are some nasty rock slabs on this side of the hill that we did not want to stray on unwittingly!

Traversing under Stacach- photo by Kirstie Smith

The summit of Goatfell eventually loomed in to view- although views were as usual, elusive....

Finally, we began the descent down the "tourist path" from Goatfell to Brodick, although you will see from the photo below, its not very touristy at the moment.  It may be mild in the glens, but there are still full on winter conditions on The Goat.

No sign of the path today, and lots of steep ground!- by Kirstie Smith

First Goatfell of the Year.

We ventured out in a weather window today to have a look at Goatfell.  The so called break in the weather was wet windy and wild, but not as apocalyptic as it has been recently. Another storm is forecast for tomorrow.

There was some wet snow lying about on the summit and the Stacach Ridge. It is quite deep in places, and also quite soggy. 

Goatfell after the Storm: The Evidence of Things Unseen

Its been quite a week, between the weather, international and personal events it's all felt a bit monumental. I found myself in a pensive mood on Friday morning after a hectic couple of days on the mainland and as I arrived on Arran, decided I needed a some Lucy time to get my feet back on the ground. My favourite mountain fix is a round of Coire Lan, with the summit of Goatfell at its highest point. On this occasion I decided to walk up from Corrie, and return via the Brodick path, taking in the Stacach Ridge on the way. 

Setting out on the Corrie path- Goatfell just visible.

The sky was grey but the peaks were clear of cloud as I set off. The dusting of snow and the early winter colours gave the light a beautiful sepia glow. It wasn't long before I was crunching through snow and ice on the steep track in to Coire Lan.  I could feel the temperature rising as I climbed, and soon the ridges were disappearing in to a soft mist. 

Coire Lan with Goatfell on the skyline.

There was plenty of evidence of wildlife, with marks everywhere in the snow from the previous night's activity.  I found the prints of a mink running up the track for a 100m or so.  This is an invasive species that has had a devastating affect on Arran's ground nesting birds.  It used to be seen often all over the island, but is now a rare sight, pushed in to an ever tighter niche by the apparent increase in otters.  The fresh tracks proof however that this fierce member of the weasel family survives on Arran.

Mink tracks in the snow.

Tracks of a small bird, my instinct says wren, but the book says wren tracks are symmetrical (?)

Field vole tracks, complete with vole holes.

I dawdled for quite a while in Coire Lan, distracted from my walk with so much to look at.  Eventually I found myself on the long pull up on to the bealach between North Goatfell and Mullach Buidhe.  My intention had been to traverse the ridge with a direct route over the top of the tors, as from a distance the rock looked snow free.  However, on close inspection, and after a futile 20 minutes of tip toeing down the slabs off the back of North Goatfell, I decided to retreat and take the lower path.  The rocks were indeed mostly snow free, but a thin veneer of ice made the going very slow,  and really there was too much ice to proceed without crampons, but not enough for crampons to be fun. I stayed bare booted and took the traverse path below the buttresses.  Even here I cut steps in a couple of places, before rejoining the ridge beyond the difficulties.

View in to Glen Sannox from the bealach.

Mullach Buidhe living up to its name of "Yellow Hill" even in the mist and light snow.

Wobbly icicles blowing in an imaginary wind are signs of the storm of the previous day.

By the time I made it to the summit of Goatfell, it was snowing gently and there was absolutely no view whatsoever.  I'm lucky as I've been up there so often I can sense it even without seeing it- but there is a little plaque on the summit pointing out the bits you can't see if the mist is down when you arrive.

Goatfell Summit

Descending the main path back to Brodick, the snow got deeper, and was lying in little drifts on the path where it had blown in the previous day.  I cannot imagine the wind speeds up there yesterday- they measured gusts of over 100mph in Saltcoats just across the water.  The snow up here looked like little round balls of polystyrene called graupel- rimed up snowflakes that fall to earth from turbulent air masses. This stuff forms persistent weak layers of ball-bearing like material that if buried and can cause avalanches.  Thankfully a mega thaw set in today so I imagine it has all gone by now.

Graupel- rimed up snowflakes

WH Murray wrote of the "evidence of things not seen" in the mountains, this gave him faith in a world filled with pain.  For me, the stories that the rocks and the snow tell about the world give me similar comfort, if not evidence of a divine presence, at least a connection to something much bigger than the bewildering lives of human beings.