This is the first of three posts about our Xmas and New Year trip to Scotland’s southern highlands, trying to tick off some more Munros (mountains in Scotland over 3,000ft in height).
Warning: This blog post contains several bad puns.
‘How many Munros will you climb next week,’ my 84-year-old father asked me over Christmas dinner, ‘seven or eight?’
‘Haha,’ I replied, choking on a Brussels sprout. ‘Not in winter. We’ll be lucky to get up one.’
It was the fifth year in a row that Edita and I would be spending the Christmas period in Scotland trying to get up some hills, and our expectations weren’t high. Icy blizzards, deep snow, freezing fog and murderous summit winds had been our usual fare for the previous four.
At that time of year there are just seven or eight hours of daylight, depending on how far north you are, which means that only shorter routes are possible. Snow conditions can reduce this still further. Walk timings in guidebooks are estimated for summer conditions; fresh or deep snow means that a walk can take two or three hours longer.
Our Munro tally for the previous four Christmas trips was 2, 1, 2 and 3, respectively. We had little hope that this year would be any better, but you’ve just got to pack your big boots, crampons and ice axes and get on with it.
We booked a cottage at the delightful Bonawe House, nestling in woodland close to the shores of Loch Etive in the village of Taynuilt. It was a new area for us that I was looking forward to exploring.
Four Munros rise above Glen Awe, a wide valley spanned by the A85 from Crianlarich to Oban in the southern highlands. These are some of Scotland’s most southerly and accessible Munros, the highest and most dominant of which is Ben Cruachan. If four Munros would not be enough for us (unlikely but possible) then the Ben Lui group provided some additional peaks a short drive further west.
It was a beautiful crisp, clear Saturday as we took the road to Inveraray over the quaintly named Rest and Be Thankful pass. This is one of the most enjoyable roads in Britain, which not only crosses a pass but weaves along the shores of Loch Fyne, surrounded by forests and mountains. It was also quite a healthy road trip for Edita. We stopped for lunch at the Inveraray Inn, where she ordered a Strawberry and Lime Rekorderlig and was informed by the barman that it would cover ‘two of her five [fruit and veg] a day’. I was tempted to order three to go with my haggis and black pudding pizza, but I was driving.
The fun drive was tempered by the knowledge that this would have been a great day for hill walking and we weren’t likely to have many more that week.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked at the Met Office mountain forecast in Taynuilt that evening. On Sunday, Monday and Tuesday there would be clear skies, light winds and bright sunshine. Temperatures on the summits would be around -1 to -2°C, positively balmy for a Scottish winter. We had already noted as we drove down the hill from Inveraray that there was little if any snow on the mountaintops. This meant that we wouldn’t be slowed by the conditions.
Even so, we hadn’t yet acquired our hill legs. Edita had been in Haiti all year; aside from an ascent of the highest mountain in the Dominican Republic, neither of us had done much hill walking recently and we were likely to be out of condition. I wasn’t super keen to do a massive hill walk on our very first day, but we had no choice. In Scotland in winter, when opportunities come your way, you have to grasp them firmly with both hands.
Somewhat appropriately therefore, all of the Munros in that area of Scotland seem to come in pairs. I chose the shortest walk, up Beinn Eunaich (989m) and Beinn a’Chochuill (980m). The first of these name translates as Fowling Hill, suggesting that it was previously a venue for grouse hunting (and not because Vinnie Jones once climbed it). The derivation of Beinn a’Chochuill’s name is less clear. The name translates variously as Hill of the Shell and Hooded Peak. Neither of these seem to have much relevance, though the latter is more appropriate if you consider the mountain’s anglicised name, Ben O’Cockle. (It will come as no surprise to learn that Beinn Eunaich’s anglicised name is Ben Eunuch.)
The Walkhighlands website estimated it to be a 5½ to 6½ hour walk, which should give us plenty of time to amble up and down, even in the reduced daylight hours. Even if we didn’t have our hill legs yet, I thought to myself, we should at least make an attempt. Ben O’Cockle and Ben Eunuch on our first full day: what did I have to lose?
It was obvious that we wouldn’t be needing axes or crampons, but fear of cold toes led me to wear my big Hanwag B1 boots. These are the most flexible boots that are still rigid enough to take a crampon if needed. While a crampon wouldn’t be needed, the boots are warmer than my approach shoes. They would also remain watertight in the event of becoming immersed in peat bog. They are, however, heavier and less comfortable than approach shoes.
I wasn’t expecting the hills to be busy, and was surprised to see quite a few cars parked in the quiet back road at the base of the climb. I was fortunate to slide into the one remaining parking space as two more cars followed behind.
It was already light at 9am when we started walking. There wasn’t a wisp of cloud anywhere; no snow on the summits, but plenty of frost on the cold, hard ground. Soon after setting off, I discovered that the locking mechanism on my trekking pole, that I’d last used on Pico Duarte in August, was broken. The pole extended with every swing of my arm, and it felt like I was shaking a cane at a blackboard. I resigned myself to strapping it to my pack and climbing without it.
A clear track slanted up the side of Ben Eunuch in the direction of Ben O’Cockle, our first objective. We were able to follow this track at a brisk pace as it rose gently above the valley to our left. Across the valley a picturesque corrie nestled beneath another high peak. I discovered later that this was Stob Daimh, an outlying Munro on Ben Cruachan’s summit ridge.
The track passed through a paddock of highland cows, and we experienced a slight delay. These giant, hairy bovines have horns the size of bazookas and look absolutely terrifying. In fact they are placid animals who are no more likely to harm you than your granny. They also have very long hair that often covers their eyes; so in the unlikely event of getting chased by one, you can always drop a banana skin and they’d be unlikely to see it. Edita has an obsession with them, and is quite unable to pass a souvenir shop in Scotland without buying some highland cow memorabilia. We had to stop for a few minutes as she posed for photos, and I was concerned that she might attempt to detach a forelock.
The track rose gradually to an altitude 400m, then swung to the left to pass beneath Ben O’Cockle. We left it to climb more steeply up Ben O’Cockle’s unobtrusive southern ridge. An indistinct path zigzagged up a grassy hillside; it might have been boggy on another day, but the frost made it firm underfoot and we were able to ascend rapidly.
By 11am we had ascended to 900m and joined Ben O’Cockle’s main summit ridge. We turned to the left and walked for nearly 1km along its broad, grassy crest. The last time I walked along a summit ridge in Scotland, in Glen Coe last year, an icy wind hurled rain into my face and the view beneath me was a murky grey soup. This time the view was clear and we could see for miles. It was great to be back.
We reached our first summit, 980m Ben O’Cockle, at 11.30. We had been alone for the entire ascent, but we had seen other figures on the mountain, and on the summit several hikers converged. A father and daughter sat beside the summit cairn in Christmas hats, eating their lunch. We found a mossy, sheltered spot about 20m away to guzzle some food of our own. Just as I was about to sit down, a man emerged from another direction with a loose dog that came hurtling towards me. I hastily packed my food away.
A few minutes later I overheard the man having an argument with another hiker who had just arrived.
‘Don’t let him eat your sandwich,’ the man cried.
‘Get him away from my sandwich,’ the other one roared.
The view from our seat was somewhat unsettling. We looked west towards a long, jagged ridge which I knew must be the Ben Cruachan massif. I also knew that we would have to traverse it in the following days if the good weather held. I was alarmed to note that the highest point on the ridge appeared to be a needle-like pinnacle that wouldn’t have looked out of place inside a shark’s jaw. Its facing edge looked similarly sharp and exposed. With a certain inevitability, a glance at my map revealed that this was indeed the summit of Ben Cruachan, and the edge was the route we would need to descend to reach Stob Daimh. I felt an involuntary clenching of my buttocks as I munched on my sandwich.
For now, however, the walking was easy. We returned the way we had come, then continued along the ridge. We dropped to a 728m col, then climbed back up the other side to the summit of 989m Ben Eunuch. These easy ridge walks, gazing across glens to surrounding peaks, are my favourite places in Scotland. We enjoyed a second lunch on our second summit. Ben Cruachan was further away now, and looking more tame.
Our descent was less enjoyable, a 2km slog down Ben Eunuch’s south ridge. Silvery lochs glistened beneath us as the sun dropped towards the horizon. Towards the bottom of the ridge, the path veered off to the right for a toe-jarring descent on an eroded path back to the track that we’d ascended. This section was described in the guidebook as ‘unpleasantly steep’, which was somewhat understated. It wasn’t so easy without a stick and uncomfortable in big boots. When we finally reached the track, we collapsed on a bank for five minutes of rest.
My feet were hurting, but Edita’s were worse. We’d both had a surprise when we used the sophisticated laser-driven foot-measuring machine in our local Cotswold Outdoor shop a few days earlier. I had discovered for the very first time that one of my feet is a full size smaller than the other one. This may help to explain why I sometimes struggle to walk in a straight line, something I had previously put down to alcohol. On the positive side, I would presumably find it easier to complete a circular walk like this one, as long as I did it clockwise.
Edita’s discovery was more significant. She’d found out that her feet are disproportionately wide for her shoe size, causing her feet to be squashed laterally. I tried to console her by suggesting that she could have fun next time she trekked in the Himalayas if she walked barefoot in the snow and pretended that a baby yeti had been past. She didn’t find this suggestion helpful.
With our feet rested, we had an easy walk back down the track to our car. We arrived just before three o’clock. Conditions had been perfect. Not only had the ground been free of snow, but boggy sections had been frosty and firm. If anything, conditions were easier than they might have been in summer. One more task remained that day: I needed a replacement trekking pole.
We drove 30km down the road to the port of Oban. This town nestles in a sheltered harbour, enclosed by the island of Kerrera, which lies a kilometre offshore. It’s encircled on three sides by small hills, but the harbour creates a feeling of space. Its population is little more than 8,000, but it’s the major metropolis for southwest Scotland, with a store of some sort for every need. In the case of outdoor shops, however, the emphasis of the preceding sentence is very much on the ‘of some sort’. My most promising option for trekking poles was a ‘buy one, get one free’ pair for £24.99 in Mountain Warehouse, the Wetherspoons of technical equipment.
They say that you get what you pay for in life. A pair of Black Diamond trekking poles might set you back £100. I was about to find out why these were priced at just £12.50 each.
To be continued…
You can see all photos from our walk in my Loch Etive and Glen Awe Flickr album.
Route map
Beinn a’ Chochuill and Beinn Eunaich
Total distance: 14.49km. Total ascent/descent: 1,275m.
View route map and download GPX
