Wild on Arran

Snow Day on Goatfell

2012-01-28T16:06:00.001Z

Wally and I rushed back from a recent trip to the Cairngorms with rumours of snow on Arran calling us home. The Cairngorms trip was great- lots of navigation on the plateau, and cold weather with a mixture of clag and sunshine, but snow on the Arran hills is something to be celebrated especially when it comes with a promise of sunshine too.

We took the Goatfell path from Corrie, and continued up in to Coire Lan, emerging on the ridge to the north east of North Goatfell.

There was a fair breeze on the ridge and a lot of fresh snow blowing around.

We skirted underneath North Goatfell and round the side of Stacach ridge.

Ice forming on the buttresses above......

As we neared the summit, the sun started to emerge from the mist.

The view from Goatfell on a clear day, especially in winter, has to be one of the most spectacular in Scotland.

Walking on the Wild Side: Nightwalking

2012-01-20T18:09:00.000Z

Another little post from the Arran Voice series I am writing. This one appeared in December's issue.

It’s December on Arran, and the wheel of the year is dipping in to the darkest phase. If the weather is good, the low winter sun hits the eyes in cold hard rays, but if the island is shrouded in cloud, light slips in and out of the short days almost unnoticed.

Walking in the mountains at this time of year means preparation, extra equipment and warm clothing. One of the essentials is a torch. There is a certainty to the darkness in December, and I carry a torch with me now wherever I go. Trying to avoid the darkness cuts short the day and so it is in the dim pre-dawn light that I set out for the hill, and I know that I will return under the cover of dark. The weary trudge out of the glen in the gathering gloom is part and parcel of winter walking, and not always welcome, but the darkness focuses the senses and condenses the experience. Some of my most intense memories are of the mountains at night.

Mountains have moods, and the same peak can have a hundred different faces depending on the prevailing weather, wind, and time of day. Camping wild and high in the mountains is a great way to feel the changes that come with darkness. I recall my first mountain camp, two of us pitched by a lake in a lonely cwm on Cadair Idris. As darkness fell we retreated to the warmth of the tent for an early night. Much later I needed to pee, and crawled out of the tent in to the black night. A mist had fallen, so there were no stars or moon visible, but the beam of my torch picked up the startled eyes of dozens of sheep. Like small green lanterns, they hung in an unblinking circle around our tent, the whirling mist revealing and obscuring each pair of eyes in turn. There was something very creepy about these sheep and fear of their luminous eyes kept me awake until dawn.

Night time is a great time to practise navigation, and the dreaded “Night Nav” is usually a set exercise on Mountain Leader Assessments. My most unpleasant night time mountain experience was one such exercise here on Arran. We set up camp on the shore of Coire Fhionn Lochain, under normal circumstances an idyllic place to spend a night, but on this occasion a storm was raging overhead. After a hurried tea we went out in to the lashing rain to practice our navigation, heading on to the stony ridge above the coire. The torchlight created a white cocoon of dazzling light around us, beyond which the darkness was intensified and we could see nothing. Rain soaked in to our clothes, our fingers went numb, and the wind wrestled with us so that we staggered around like drunks trying to feel our way in the dark. It was grim. A sudden gust of wind snatched the flapping map out of my wet gloves and I watched as it hung in the air just out of arms reach, before being swept off in to the black sky above. I never saw that map again!

By contrast, on a clear but moonless winters night on Ben Macdui a couple of years ago, the stars alone illuminated the glistening white plateau so well we dispensed with our torches and walked by starlight. It was as if the land itself had an inner glow that was reflected back at the Milky Way. We could see for miles, to the furthest extent of the mountains, where the frosty edge of the Cairngorms dipped down towards the darkness of the Aberdeenshire coast. It was like being on a magic carpet of snow, flying through the sky. On a night like that, the only place to be is roving the hills, on a twinkling island 4,000 feet up while the rest of the world is fast asleep.

The sheer beauty of the mountains at night can be breathtaking and sometimes the darkness brings even bigger surprises. The mysteries of the Cosmos best reveal themselves to the naked eye at night, and being high up in the mountains gets you closer to the action and away from light pollution. I count myself lucky to have seen the Northern Lights from a mountain top in Norway. However, the one nightwalking experience that I treasure more than any other happened here on Arran just last winter. Descending from Cir Mhor at dusk with my husband, the sun had set and the sky was a deep velvety blue, still smeared with pink at the horizon. No need for head torches yet, but the going was tricky in deep snow and slippery boulders. Suddenly, our surroundings were illuminated and we looked up to see a burning ball of fire soar past. The trajectory of the meteorite took it at eye level across the hollow void of Glen Sannox, where it fizzled out in a puff of sulphurous light above the dark glen. It was a chance occurrence, a once in several lifetimes experience, but as they say, you have to be “in it to win it”, and walking at night is a great way to find these surprising and magical moments that come at you out of the gloom.

Safety First:

Walking in the mountains carries a risk of accidents, and this is increased further at night. There are ways of minimising the risk to yourself when mountain walking at this time of year:

Take plenty of warm clothes, food and drink
Carry a map and compass, and know how to use them.
Carry a headtorch and spare batteries, or even a spare torch.
Choose a route that will be easy to follow in the dark.
Let someone know where you are going and when you plan to be back.
In full “winter conditions” other equipment such as ice axe and crampons may also be necessary.

Ben Alder Brainwave

2012-01-15T20:19:00.001Z

A trip to Ben Alder this weekend was a great little brainwave we had when trying to maximise our hill time- not easy when you live on a Scottish island and you need "new" mountains for your logbook. Getting in and out of the Ben Alder area requires a bit of time and organisation, so we packed our big sacks for a couple of nights out and headed off the island on the first boat on Friday morning. By lunch time we were in Dalwhinnie and setting out on the long estate road next to the beautiful Loch Ericht.

The Loch Ericht track

Its a 15km walk in to the Ben Alder area from Dalwhinnie, but it passes quickly on easy estate roads. Many folk mountain bike in which seems a good idea, although when chatting to a man from the estate (more on this later) he said that mountain bikes are causing a lot of erosion problems on the smaller trails higher up.

We arrived at Culra Bothy at dusk, and although we had brought a tent and planned to camp, we found the bothy to be very plush, and empty, and were not able to tear ourselves away.... It was a cold clear night, the stars outside were incredible, and we were very happy people indeed.

Culra Bothy with Ben Alder behind.

The next morning was dull and misty, but there was not a breath of wind, (which makes a change this winter) and after a good breakfast we headed up the glen towards Ben Alder. Our main objective for the trip was the Long Leachas, a grade 1 ridge that rises up out of the bog in a rocky crest to meet to the summit plateau.

There is a river crossing to get to the start of the ridge, which would be hairy in spate, and even when fairly low was an unpleasant icy boulder hop.

Snow conditions on the ridge were generally good, if firm and icy, but we needed to pick our line to get continuous fun. If I were to do it again I'd consider wearing a helmet as it was steeper than I expected...!

On the crest high on the route.

The route itself was fairly straight forward for grade 1, but I the spring conditions made the route feel quite steep and icy at times. There is a short gully on the right about half way up that avoids a very steep rocky band, fun in firm winter conditions but I imagine loose and dank in summer. From the top of the ridge, it was a couple of short nav legs to the summit of Ben Alder. The plateau was only half covered in hard neve, the rest scoured. We caught glimpses through the mist of big saggy cornices along the coire rims. From the summit, we descended to the bealach, and took in Beinn Bheoil. This is also a Munro, but is a hundred metres lower and did not have much snow left- no crampons needed.

We were back at the bothy for dark to find it bursting at the seams with new arrivals, so packed our kit and boosted down the glen to a camp spot by the river. It was another cold clear night, and the big bright moon lighting the mountains in the morning was staggeringly beautiful. We made an early start, thinking about the long trek back to the car and the need to catch a ferry home.

Contemplating the long walk out again.

All in all it was a fantastic weekend, and the icing on the cake was a kind offer of a lift from a very nice man with a landrover who cut a hefty 10km off our day today. It was interesting to hear his perspective on the fantastic paths that have been put in on the estate, many of which have been funded by SNH but a lot of the work has been funded by the estate owners who presumably are not short of a bob or two. It was nice to feel so welcome in such a remote and beautiful region.

Taking it easy on the way out.

Girls Night Out

2012-01-11T20:20:00.001Z

Night Navigation is an aspect of the Mountain Leader assessment that strikes fear in to the heart of even the most competent navigators. For me, it evokes memories of stormy nights, cold hands and cold brain, struggling to come to terms with little visibility and unpleasant conditions. On learning that some of my friends are looking to gain some experience at night nav, and knowing this is an area I want to work on for myself, we set up a girls Night Nav Club, with the aim of getting together regularly for non threatening forays in to the hills after dark. This was our second adventure, and as you can see from the photos taken by my friend Kirstie Smith, the weather was not pleasant! Kirstie is an amateur photographer, and although she didn't risk her good camera on this trip she takes a nice photo. You can view and purchase some of her best work on her website: www.kirstiesmithphotography.co.uk.

Thats me setting off in to the gloom. "Night Nav" tends to involve falling in to bogs.

Wrestling with maps and compasses while fully be-gloved is all part of the skill set of a competent navigator...

All four of us hiding behind a big blob of rain!

Walking on the Wild Side: Otter Diary.

2011-11-24T10:47:00.000Z

Another little post from the Arran Voice series I am writing. This one appeared in September's issue.

Retreat.

I’m walking alone at sunset close to my house, binoculars hanging heavy on my neck. The track behind the beach is pitted with the frost encrusted prints of animals and people. Paws, hooves and boots have been strutting back and forth along the lonely shore. I’m looking for evidence of otters, and pause to hunt among the rocks next to a drainage culvert. I find what I’m after, pungent spraint daubed on to a smooth lump of granite. There is evidence of several visits to this messaging post, and I follow the ditch upstream to a thicket of brambles. I look for prints in the muddy bank but find nothing. If an otter came this way, it did not exit the burn at this point, but must have continued to the farmland beyond. I don’t follow. An otter’s holt is a sacred space, protected through secrecy and by law.

Winter is a great time for watching otters on Arran, as the short days bring their most active hours within reach of a normal human day. There are fewer dogs and people about too. The otter I am tracking today is a female with a young cub in tow. She is naturally shy, but I have seen them in the water from Clauchlands to Corriegills. The cub is only a few months old but already an efficient hunter of crabs and shrimps. I don’t spot them often, but the traces of their presence are left in piles of fishy spraint along the back of the beach above the high tide mark.

Sunbathing.

Not all otters insist on secrecy. In Kildonan, a pair of cubs curl up in full view of villagers on a flat rock marooned by the rising tide. It is early spring now, and the sun is warming the volcanic dykes that jut out to sea. This rock is a favourite sleeping place and the young otters, disguised as piles of brown seaweed, doze in peace while their mother forages amongst the surf. Their tidal alarm clock is set- the rising waves lap around them until they wake to foamy splashes. Mother appears, and the family begins a daily ritual of play that must end every siesta. I call this time “Otter O’clock”. I have no idea why this family is so predictable, or why they are less secretive than other otters, but they regularly delight visitors and locals with their bold play in broad daylight.

Feeding Time.

As the Kildonan cubs develop, their presence begins to dominate the coast around the village. Locals tell me they have never seen more otter activity in the area than now. The hungry family spends hours in the water, fishing almost constantly for crabs, blennies and other small morsels. They patrol every sheltered bay methodically, diving again and again with relentless appetite. Lying on their backs in the water, each catch is quickly crunched up before they porpoise down to the sea bed for the next course.

Otters have a rapid metabolism, perhaps to keep warm in cold water. Like teenagers, they live fast, going through episodes of intense activity, interspersed with vital periods of rest. They must eat well, and prefer small and easily caught meals, tending not to waste energy chasing the bigger prey. Their strong jaws and heavy molars are powerful tools for crushing the hard shells of crustaceans. Their spraint is packed with the tiny bones of fishes and broken shells of crabs and shrimps. The Kildonan family hunt for several hours a day.

End of an era.

It is midsummer, and all good things must come to an end. The Kildonan cubs are now indistinguishable from their mother. I calculate that they are well over a year old. Recently while the family has been at play I have noticed a fourth otter, loitering a few hundred metres away. Days pass and the intruder is still there, a curious presence in the background. It is a powerful male, and his increasing interest in the family shows that there is a change in the air. Reluctantly I go away for a week and when I return the favourite rock is deserted.

Now there is a different regime in the village. A solitary otter fishes the sheltered bays, but it is not always alone. When the large male appears, the two embrace playfully. There is a tumble of shiny brown bodies in the water and a boisterous game of chase begins amongst the rocks and pools. Then, they fish alongside each other for an hour or so, before smaller of the two slips away.

I do not know what has happened to the Kildonan family. Did the mother drive the cubs away? Did she leave and am I watching one of the cubs playing with the male? Otters are hard to tell apart unless heavily scarred, or as in the case of the male, distinctive by their size. He has a powerful bullish head and neck, his back humped and broad. I wonder if the smaller otter is a female in season. Only time will tell.

Fight.

Male otters live a rough life often shortened by violence. Upon leaving the safety of their family they travel long distances, sometimes for years, searching for their own territory. Many die before they find it: in road traffic accidents, in fights with dogs, or at the hands of other male otters. A male may inhabit the territories of several females, the limiting factor on territory size being what he can defend.

Late this summer I witnessed a fight. The violence was undeniable. Canines flashed in the sunlight, and the two screamed their aggression as they tore at each others throats. Even as the loser turned and fled, he was pursued relentlessly through the water at an incredible speed. I wondered if he would get away, and what would happen if he didn’t. Two years ago a woman from Kildonan found a young male otter with terrible wounds. He was handed to Hessilhead Wildlife Rescue Centre, but did not survive his injuries.

New life.

Autumn has closed in around us and the brutal weather has made finding otters hard, but I’m seeing evidence that the circle of life continues. Otter cubs are born throughout the year. The gestation period for otters is short- cubs are born helpless and blind, and are tucked up securely in the den for months. They are too weak at first to play in the currents, and even when they are six months old they will avoid rough weather. A female with a wild rocky territory in the Southend has a growing cub. They have been very shy through the summer, but as the tourists depart they are becoming easier to find. The cub is increasingly brave in the surf, strong enough now to hunt amongst the rougher breaks. These two still have several months together and I’m looking forward to watching them.

Meanwhile the solitary otter at Kildonan no longer receives the attentions of the male. Fishing expeditions are hurried and businesslike. It works only the best bays and ignores the less fruitful locations. I fantasize that somewhere in the tangle of wooded cliffs there is a waiting family, squeaking and blind, dependent on mothers milk.

Otter Facts:

All wild otters in Britain are the species Lutra lutra, although they inhabit diverse habitats, from the coast to lochs and inland river systems.
Otter numbers declined drastically during the 20th century due to pollution and persecution. Numbers are now on the increase thanks to legal protection and cleaner coasts and waterways.
The greatest threat that otters face in the 21st century is still pollution. Roads also claim a number of casualties each year, including on Arran.
Otters are protected by law. It is illegal to disturb or harass an otter or damage its holt. For more information see the SNH Website: http://www.snh.org.uk/publications/on-line/wildlife/otters/law.asp
Arran is one of the best places in the country to watch otters, as it is thought that every stretch of coastline has a resident otter. You will need a good pair of binoculars and patience. Dawn/sunset or a rising tide are the best times of day to see them.

Death on the road

2011-11-15T15:05:00.002Z

On Sunday morning I was recovering from a wild(ish) night at a fundraiser at the mountain rescue base and contemplating wandering along to the base help with the cleanup when I took a phone call about an injured otter spotted by the side of the road on the west coast. A few hurried telephone conversations later and I was on may way to Blackwaterfoot to pick up the animal for transfer to Hessilhead Wildlife Rescue Trust on the mainland.

As I drove over the hill I wondered how I might effect a rescue of an animal known for its ferocious bite. Hessilhead's advice had been to "fling it gently" in to a wheelie bin. I was relieved to discover on arrival that Angus, a kindly local farmer, and Jim of Arran Birding fame had already managed to catch the otter. My relief ended when I lifted the lid of the blue recycling bin to see a distressed animal whose back legs and tail hung limp and useless. It didn't look good.

The otter was transferred to the Calmac guys at Brodick, who ensured he was safely delivered to the mainland for collection by the Hessilhead staff. Sadly the otter succumbed to his injuries that night, despite having quite a bit of fight in him. The staff at the rescue centre were surprised and sad that he didn't make it.

I have shed quite a few tears over this little guy. It seemed like a senseless death for an animal in its prime. This time of year is especially dangerous for wildlife on the roads as the nights draw in and animals have to run the gauntlet of drivers going to and from work in the dark. Slowing down and keeping a lookout for glowing eyes in the hedgerows and verges could save an animal's life, and maybe even that of the driver, as animals as large as red deer can become road casualties and pose a real hazard to vehicles travelling at speed.

I can't get this death out of my head, and am looking forward to next time I see a happy healthy otter doing its thing- like this one in the very shaky video clip below that I took down at Kildonan a few weeks ago.

Arran MRT Cir Mhor Exercise

2011-11-07T15:45:00.006Z

November signals the start of the Arran Mountain Rescue training season and as a probationary member I'm hoping to get out to all the training exercises to get my essential skills sorted. Yesterday we kicked things off with an exercise on Cir Mhor, practicing rope work, lowering cragfast climbers and searching for casualties on steep ground. The conditions were fantastic, with glorious sunshine and at times a cloud inversion. Where else would you want to be on a Sunday afternoon?
Arran Mountain Rescue are volunteers, and if you would like to support their work you can donate online on their Just Giving Page.

Our subteam approached via North Glen Sannox. This is looking north from the ridge towards Lochranza.

Some of the team- including Ruby, a Sarda dog based on the island who trains with the team and her handler Darryl.

Approaching Cir Mhor from the Castles.

Looking down in to Glen Sannox

The team awaiting information about the "casualties" from the summit of Cir Mhor.

A cheeky raven hoping we will drop some butties. (if we did, he was out of luck as Ruby had them...)

View from high on Cir Mhor, as we approach the cragfast "casualties".

Preparing to lower a "cragfast scrambler" to safety.

The Black Cave

2011-11-04T18:54:00.001Z

If you've ever read up on the Arran Coastal Way you are probably familiar with the traverse of the Black Cave between the villages of Kilomory and Kildonan. Its the only bit of the Way that is truly tidal, and although in my view not the most challenging section, care and planning are required to avoid problems on the route. The cave itself is in the rocky cliffs of Bennan Head, a boulder strewn beach lies before it, which is partly covered except at low tide. In rough weather (common here) it may not be possible to pass at all.

Low tide fell today at about half past twelve, and the opportunity for a leisurely meander over the rocks between the two villages was too good to miss. This stretch of coastline is a real hotspot for wildlife, including otters. I've been watching otters in Kildonan all summer, but I'm keen to learn more about their territories and so it was with a view to finding signs of otters that I set out.

A moody sky greeted me in Kildonan, but I knew the forecast was for a bright day.

It wasn't long before I found clear signs of otters- these prints were on a beach just outside the village.

The area is also an important haul-out site for common (harbour) seals, who love the rocky shoreline.

Looking towards Bennan Head.

I often find badger prints on the beach here, and today I located a badger latrine near the path.

Massive tree trunk left well above the normal high tide mark. Must have been some storm!

Even in death, the markings on this immature gannet are beautiful.

At the black cave. I couldn't linger here as I disturbed a young otter cub amongst the rocks who ran squeaking in to the sea. Fortunately I saw it reunited with its mother seconds later.

Looking back towards the cave- you can just see the opening on the left. There is a better picture of this stunning feature here.

The beach opens out again and the going gets easier as you come round the coast to Kilmory.

The final stretch of sandy beach before the track up to Kilmory.

Sgor Gaoith: Mountain of the Winds

2011-11-03T12:53:00.002Z

Sgor Gaoith (Peak of the Wind) is an aptly named Munro at the western end of the Northern Cairngorms. It forms a great whaleback that looms above Glen Feshie to the West, with a spectacularly craggy eastern rim that towers above Loch Einich.

Finding ourselves in that neck of the woods last week, on Friday last we picked this windy hill for a quick jaunt before heading south again. The forecast was for gales, and the Gaelic name for the mountain told us what to expect, so we wrapped up warm, and headed up through the forest from Glen Feshie to the ridge. Regular readers will know that I'm a big fan of the ancient scots pine forests that persist on the fringes of the Cairngorms. The woodland on the approaches to Sgor Gaoith was particularly special.

A forest of scots pines.

Heading up on to the open hill, the rich autumn colours of the grasses and heather helped to warm what was a cold and bleak landscape. A golden eagle soared overhead until it began to rain.

It was a steady climb above the forest on to the open moor.

We lost the visibility for a while, and navigated from the bealach of Carn Ban Mor across the plateau to the summit. We soon became aware of a precipice on our right, and in the strong winds did not venture near the edge. The clouds began to lift as the gale increased, and as we began our descent, the views came back.

Looking down the descent ridge towards Geal Charn

We descended the long ridge of Geal Charn in a blustering gale before tottering down screes to a pass above the forest. From here a muddy track lead back in to the forest with ease. Once back in the relative shelter of the woods it was possible to linger and enjoy the autumn colours once more. The birches in particular were just at that golden stage in their leaf that sends tree freaks like me in to ecstasies.

Amongst the trees again.

Magic Forest

2011-10-25T16:16:00.001+01:00

My life is full of big wet misty cold Scottish Mountans, and I like it that way.... but every now and then a gal needs a holiday- you know, the kind where you sit around and eat and drink with your friends, play in the sand, and relax....

Don't worry, I didn't spend a week sweating on a beach thankfully, but a week sweating my way round the Foret de Fontainebleau, a wonderful freak of nature south of Paris designed to entertain climbers and children in equal measure. Being a particularly childish type of climber, the place was made for me. If you have never tried bouldering or have tried it and don't get the point, come here, and discover how climbing smallish rocks really can be great training for bigger stuff, without getting more than a few metres (sometimes quite a few) above the ground, and have a massive laugh. Some people come here and take their climbing incredibly seriously, but set against my usual holiday experiences of discomfort, fear and bad food, it seems impossible not to have a complete hoot in Fontainebleau.

Wally searching for crimps at 95.2

More crimps at J.A Martin

Told you I was a childish sort of climber.... Roche aux Sabots

The Magic Forest: At Gorges d'Apremont.

In the olden days when we were really good at suffering, we used to stay in a campsite at La Musardiere, but the last couple of years we have squished as many friends as possible, and increasingly their children too, into a nice big cosy gite, where we can eat, drink and be merry in comfort. Climbing in "Font" is a brilliant activity for families and groups of people climbing at all different levels, as harder problems lie next to friendly children's circuits and nobody is stuck on the end of a rope 50 metres from a decent conversation. A proper holiday, no misery, and lots of fun.

Walking on the Wild Side: The Good, the Bad and the Squidgy

2011-10-01T17:42:00.001+01:00

This article appeared in the Voice for Arran in Sept 2011 as part of a series of features on wildlife and walking on Arran.

I recently discovered that I am afraid of snakes. This sudden self knowledge is surprising in itself, but more astonishing to me is that I have suppressed this all my life until now.

A snake in the grass....

I remember finding my first adder- I am walking on a Norfolk beach with my father. A small scaly creature lies inert in the sand and my Dad yells at me to keep the dog away. I recognise danger, but blank my mind to fear. Dad tells me that only foolish people are bitten by snakes. I’m a little girl but I am brave.

Other encounters- a pair of dark sequins hissing at me from the heather, a flat head tensioned to strike, a black and olive pattern darting away. I respond with the same stillness I use to ignore wasps at a picnic, I don’t notice my heart bouncing in my ribcage or the adrenaline flooding my veins.

This summer, survey work has taken me more than ever in to the adder’s domain and I have come to expect these exciting meetings. Now I quiver at a twisted branch of heather, or jump back at the zigzag silhouette of a dead bracken frond. When I see a real snake, I tremble with relief as my foot hovers above the angry coils. The statistics are in my favour- adder bites are rare and as my Dad said, usually inflicted on the hands of the foolish and the curious, but the odds are against me, as I must have tripped over 20 or so adders this summer alone.

My relationship with nature has been coloured by what I have read, watched and been taught. In order to understand the world around me I swallow facts and try to view the natural world through the objective lens of science. And yet it is virtually impossible not to respond emotionally to the wildness when I meet it face to face. Who cannot be delighted by the big innocent eyes of a red squirrel, peeking out of a tree, or the quicksilver energy of a pair of otters playing together in the surf? And we make value judgements about nature all the time. Sparrowhawks, magpies and black backed gulls are often reviled as thieves and murderers, but we easily forget that red squirrels sometimes eat birds’ eggs too.

My objectivity was recently tested to its limit as I stood on a stretch of rocky coastline watching a pair of otters fishing in a sheltered bay. At first they seemed to ignore each other, but as they drifted ever closer together I waited for the expected game of rough and tumble. Instead, as they pulled up nose to nose, an eerie caterwauling began, and within seconds they were trying to tear each other apart. The speed, violence and complete lack of mercy that the larger otter showed the other were shocking. Eventually the loser escaped the frenzied grappling and was pursued at speed through the waves and out to sea. Finally getting away, it was clear that this otter was badly injured, its tail held stiffly out in the water as it swam. Unable to intervene, I was shaken and upset with myself for being so- fighting with lethal ferocity between rival male otters is the natural order of things.

We humans are unsurprisingly drawn to the parts of wild nature that are easiest for us to identify with. We are afraid of, or ignore the unsettling and the unpleasant. This is a huge challenge for conservationists who seek to protect entire ecosystems, not just cute and fluffy brand ambassadors. One wonders how much simpler the COAST campaign for a marine reserve in Lamlash Bay would be if it were dolphins or otters under threat from scallop dredging, rather than the strange and squidgy life of the sea bed.

We prize the rare over the commonplace. One species whose fortunes have seen a dramatic turnaround is the common buzzard. Growing up as a young birding geek in East Anglia in the eighties, I had never seen a buzzard. Their numbers plummeted during the 20th century due to persecution, pesticides and myxomatosis in rabbits (an important prey animal for buzzards). On a family holiday in the Black Mountains, I searched empty skies every day until at last I saw that heavy outline now so familiar in every British county. The buzzard has made a fantastic comeback, but has been relegated from magnificent and rare raptor to “just a buzzard” by bird watchers. Some people have asked me if buzzards are now considered vermin- we assume that if something is common, it is a problem that must be controlled. In contrast, the muddy brown fields of my youth were filled with giant flocks of boring lapwings. Today they are in catastrophic decline and my heart bursts with joy when I see a just small troop tumbling overhead.

Is it possible to value all of nature equally? Should we even try? What about biting insects? Some species are no doubt troublesome and even dangerous to human health. But each has a unique place and we are only beginning to understand the complex interspecies relationships in a healthy ecosystem. I have to hold my hands up to being genuinely afraid of the fierce little adder, but I count myself lucky, (especially while I remain unbitten), to live in a place where these animals still thrive. I’ll take the infested bog over the concrete jungle any day.

To put it simply, even midges have a value to bats and swallows, moorland birds eat ticks, and if you look deeply in to rainbow eyes of a cleg, you will see beauty reflected there.

And then it bites you.

Arran's Best Kept Secret (until now)

2011-09-27T20:00:00.002+01:00

Yesterday Wally and I headed up for a round of the Pirnmill Hills via the Northwest Ridge of Beinn Bharrain, that juts out from the top of Mullach Buidhe like a prow. Curiously, this ridge is hidden from the road and is invisible from many other directions. If this was not the case it would certainly be ranked as highly as Arran's more famous ridges. It is a wonderful secret place, with a fine crest, excellent scrambling that is in places very serious, and amazing views. I'm almost reluctant to reveal it in the blog, as currently the chances of meeting another party on route are nil. I've actually blogged about this route before, but been deliberately reticent about its quality... Enjoy.

The route takes a path through the fantastic woods above the village of Pirnmill following the rim of a dramatic gorge.

The gorge continues upwards on to the open moor below Beinn Bharrain. Beyond the gorge, it is possible to cross the river.

The crest looms in to view as an incongruous knife edge that protudes from the whaleback of the Pirnmill Hills.

Established on the lower slopes of the ridge, the scrambling here is easy and it is possible to pick your line.

The ridge begins to narrow near the top. Below the final tower there is the crux- a rotten and greasy slab before a deep notch- which can be (and on this occasion was!) avoided by a long descent to the right and up steep grassy slopes.

Gobsmacking views from the top of the Goatfell Range to the East!

Tracking School

2011-09-20T15:26:00.001+01:00

I returned to the woods this week and enrolled on a tracking course with Woodsmoke, a highly respected bushcraft school based in the Lake District. I've done a teensy bit of tracking with them before on their Woodlander Course, and lots of my own amateurish attempts, but this was to be three days of structured and in depth training that I hoped would open my eyes to the world around me. I was not disappointed.

Sniffing out a scent trail.

We were in at the deep end from the very beginning, with exercises designed to enhance our memory and senses, culminating in following a pre-laid scent trail through the woods. Of course the human nose is not good enough to follow a natural trail, but smells are useful when identifying signs and scat, so it was wonderful to discover the human senses are not as dull as we assume.

Rainstorm so heavy night fell in the middle of the day.

The weekend was full of tests and challenges that gradually opened our eyes and helped us to tune in to the subtle signs around us. Alongside the rigours of the course, nature also had a curveball for us - epic rain fall that began on the first day, and continued in prolonged bursts for the next two days. It wasn't long before little floods were pooling around camp and rivers running through tents and shelters. I was impressed with the way the lessons were adapted and continued within an increasingly difficult environment. We even managed to watch a wonderful film on the first night about the bushmen who track in the Kalahari, thanks to some generator engineering and a cosy boathouse (providing welcome respite from the rain).

Dissecting a fox scat.

As the course progressed, I became increasingly confident not only in my own senses, but was able to understand where the limits of a really experienced tracker lie. Abilities that had once seemed supernatural to me were shown to be based in science, while other tracking myths were quickly debunked. By the end of the course I was scrutinsing broken blades of grass and running my fingers inside tracks to feel their form. Although many times I was unsure of what I was reading there, often enough I was rewarded with good evidence that allowed me to progress faster along a trail.

Course Director Steven Hanton demonstrating gait analysis- very Pythonesque.

Another comedy moment. Blindfolded piggy backs- can you walk in a straight line?

Looking for animal sign amongst dune systems at Ravenglass.

By the end of the course, I was completely hooked, and keen to get straight on to my next trail. The skills taught at Woodsmoke are only the foundation stones of what is a huge area of study. I think the next step for me is to try and understand better what happens to tracks and trails over time, as there is something reassuring about fresh signs, but these are rarely found in nature. I can't wait to get out again, only this time with my eyes wide open.

The ending of the rain. A misty final morning in the woods.

Classic Day on the Three Beinns

2011-09-11T23:02:00.001+01:00

Its been a while since I posted something fresh on here, and I'm sorry for getting so behind myself! It has been a busy summer with work both on and off the island and not much chance to log on and upload. This week the schedule finally eased, and not only that, but last Thursday Wally and I grabbed a nice day to head out in to the hills to enjoy one of Arran's classic ridge walks, the three Beinns.

The Garbh Allt Burn as it flows in to Glen Rosa

There had been a lot of heavy rain overnight, and the Garbh Allt Burn that flows from Coire a Bhradain was in spate. To avoid a tricky river crossing we headed up open hillside on the left side of the burn, and followed the main stream until a smaller tributary flowing from the slopes of Beinn Nuis blocked our way. From here it was possible to cut up the side of Beinn Nuis to join the main path not far from the summit.

Sunlight on the ridge above Coire a Bhradain

As we climbed a cold rain shower whipped across the mountains, but by the time we had reached the first summit, the sun was breaking through the clouds and patches of blue were appearing in the skies above. The light was incredible, and we enjoyed crystal clear views of the rest of the Goatfell Range.

Looking towards Beinn Tarsuinn with Achir and Cir Mhor beyond.

North Goatfell and Goatfell.

Glen Iorsa, a wet place at the best of times.

The Three Beinns is a real treat of a ridge to walk because once you have slogged up the first of these three peaks, you maintain your height for much of the day. There is a gentle stroll on to the twin humps of Beinn Tarsuinn, and then a steep descent to the bealach between Tarsuinn and Beinn a Chliabhain. There is a little height to be regained before the final summit but not much. Finally, there is a gentle descent off the southern end of Beinn a Chliabhain, and a stomp over the bog towards the gate at the top of the Garbh Allt path down to Glen Rosa.

The Descent from Beinn a Chliabhain. Views to Brodick Bay and Holy Isle in Lamlash Bay.

Walking on the Wild Side: Michael's Deaf Blind Challenge

2011-09-07T10:29:00.009+01:00

Those readers that follow me on Twitter will be aware that I have recently been involved as part of the support team for Michael Anderson, a Deafblind man who climbed Ben Nevis on the 21st of July. I wrote a couple of articles for the Voice for Arran before and after the event. They are reproduced below:

Part 1: The Preparation

Michael Anderson likes a challenge but his goal of climbing Ben Nevis for his 70th birthday is going to be a mighty test of his stamina and determination. Michael is both deaf and blind and hopes to climb the highest mountain in Britain to raise money for DeafBlind Scotland, a charity which supports and campaigns on behalf of people with dual sensory impairment, a complex disability that can be incredibly isolating. Michael hopes to raise money towards a Training and Resources Centre that will support people with deafblindness, their families and guides/communicators.

I agreed to get involved with Michael’s challenge long before I met him. As soon as I heard about his plans to climb Ben Nevis I wanted to help if I could and put myself forward as a member of his support team. However, it was not until a grey midgey morning on the shores of Loch Lomond in June that I finally met Michael, his daughter Fiona and her partner Nina. Michael is a gentle man with a soft voice. His kind exterior belies a man with a core of steel. Meeting him for the first time, for a training day on Ben Lomond, I wondered what on earth I could offer Michael and his support team. My knowledge of the mountain is one thing, but my experience in guiding deafblind people and the additional challenges we might face was at that point non existent.

On the Summit of Ben Lomond with Michael Anderson

At first I walked alongside Fiona and Nina and watched how they patiently guided him along the early sections of the path. I wondered at how, taking Fiona’s arm, Michael intuitively followed and copied her motion, gauging the size of steps and unevenness of the ground by feel. Michael wears a hearing aid, and the two women loudly described the footpath before us. Suddenly Michael stopped. “We are in woodland?” We tried to explain how green corridors of oaks and birch surrounded us. “May I touch a tree?” Michael asked. Carefully we led him over to an ancient and gnarled trunk. “Ah yes,” Michael smiled “An oak”. Later he would identify a fallen birch by the feel of the papery bark under his fingertips.

Michael’s sense of direction is better than that of most sighted people, as is his balance, despite his damaged hearing. He has Usher’s syndrome, and has had a hearing impairment all his life; his sight has deteriorated slowly since he was a boy, and at the age of 33 he was registered blind. He recalls climbing a mountain with his brother as a child and the wonderful emotions that awoke in him: “it was an amazing, uplifting sensation, both in what one has achieved and what we could see. That was my first ever climb and I believed a seed was sown”

As a younger man, Michael enjoyed walking in the hills around his Berwickshire home and he is still exceptionally fit and active despite his disability.

For me to get a handle on how best to guide Michael and become part of his team, it was time to experience a glimpse of his world. Approaching a rocky section of the path, I closed my eyes and took Fiona’s arm. I felt a huge leap of faith at this moment, and suddenly the act of climbing a mountain was condensed into each tentative step. Simple descriptive commands work best and though to the guide this can seem incredibly repetitive, it is vital information. “Step up and over, left a bit, forwards, rock in path”. This steady flow of information is the guidee’s lifeline to progress. Fiona and Nina are very skilled at this, but as we approached complicated sections of path I could see the concern etched on their faces.

Taking a turn at Michael’s side was nerve wracking initially, but his kind manner and careful concentration soon helped me to relax. Michael has an iron will and even though it was clear that he was weary, he never complained and continued to smile graciously. We left the treeline, and climbed up in to the grey clouds. He was keen to learn when the mist closed in. We described the views, and how they faded from sight. He sensed the cold wind, and the brightening of the sky as we approached the summit. Standing at the trig point taking photos, Fiona and Nina had tears in their eyes, but Michael’s face was a picture of pure joy.

Wise people say that when you reach the summit of a mountain you are only half way there, and for Michael this is more than true. Each step is placed with equal care in ascent and descent, and as fatigue set in, the reality of the challenge dawned on us. Progress was slow, and through the stony sections painstaking. Ben Lomond is a lighter shade of Munro than Ben Nevis, which standing at 1344m is a worthy challenge for any hill walker. The Ben Nevis path is rough and rocky, and the weather on the hill often violently nasty. We expect to be on the hill for at least eighteen hours, and will have to carry additional food, water and equipment. Walking back through the woodland on the banks of Loch Lomond, I felt humbled by the immense challenge ahead for Michael, and honoured to be part of making it possible.

Part 2: Ben Nevis.

It was never going to be easy, but climbing Ben Nevis was a huge challenge for Michael Anderson and his support team because not only is he deaf and blind, but at 70, no spring chicken either. Michael was raising money for Deafblind Scotland, a charity that supports people with dual sensory impairment. As part of his team I was able to take part in one of the most satisfying challenges of my life, and although it was hard for everyone involved, not least of all Michael, the whole experience was a huge adventure that forged new friendships.

We met at 4.30am at the visitors centre at the foot of Ben Nevis. The team comprised Michael, his daughter Fiona and her partner fun loving Nina, a cheerful young woman called Meg, George- an experienced mountain walker, Phil- a gear freak and walking guidebook writer, and finally, myself.

We set off in the early morning gloom grateful for evenness of the initial sections of the path. Michael set a cracking pace for his guides, and not even a peculiar design of stile (hard to describe to a blind man at 5am) slowed him down much. Optimism set in and as the sun rose and we were joined by other walkers on the track, the plan started to look distinctly feasible. By mid morning, Michael was striding out confidently alongside the “Halfway Lochain”.

“Its in the bag” we thought….

The section of path above the half way lochain is very rocky. Loose boulders of considerable size litter the path despite recent work by the Ben Nevis Partnership. As we wove in and out of the obstacles in our way, progress ground to a standstill. Putting one foot in front of the other, we zig zagged our way up the shoulder of the mountain. I could see that this was taking its toll on Michael and the team and I began to seriously worry whether we would have enough energy left in hand to descend this sort of terrain. I called a meeting and expressed my concerns. Anxious that Michael was concealing his physical state from the team I asked him to level with us. Normally a quiet and polite man, he looked uncomfortable. Eventually he spoke: “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “I feel we are going too slow. I can go faster; I don’t need to go round everything!”

Relieved, we pressed on, and the pace quickened. The support from other walkers on the mountain was fantastic. Phil was also sending out live updates to the internet via a satellite beacon that logged our exact position online. We felt as if the whole world was rooting for us to succeed.

We were joined by Jim, an elderly gentleman who was walking alone and looking for company. As we neared the summit, to my horror Jim took a turn for the worse and collapsed cold and insensible. Concerned that he was hypothermic, we wrapped him in warm layers and gave him sugary food. He perked up a little with some Kendal mint cake, but was hazy and incoherent. He looked in a bad way, but knowing that calling a rescue immediately would guarantee Jim could become seriously cold and ill in the long wait for help, trying to get him moving seemed like a good idea. George and Meg volunteered to descend a little with him. I suggested that if he showed no sign of improvement in 10 minutes, they call the emergency services. In the event, Jim was able to walk off under his own steam after being fed and watered extensively. It later emerged that he was diabetic and had not eaten sufficiently for the ascent. I believe he owes his life to George and Meg.

On the Summit of the Ben!

Meanwhile, Michael was nearing the summit of Ben Nevis. The final undulating plateau seemed to drag on interminably, but eventually at around 1pm the ruins of the observatory loomed in to view through the cloud. It was an emotional moment, with photos and phone calls home. We were even treated to a view, as the mist parted to briefly reveal the magnificent North Face of the mountain.

The descent was as hard as we knew it would be. Every single one of us was feeling the pain as the afternoon wore on in to evening. Michael seemed to have more energy than the rest of us put together. At dusk, the midges descended hungrily. We couldn’t escape them so plodded on regardless. Eventually, at half past ten, we crossed the bridge in to the visitors centre car park. For me this was a wonderful moment, tinged with relief and a huge sense of achievement. Michael had climbed Ben Nevis, and in doing so, had become the first fully blind and deaf man to stand on Britain’s highest mountain.

Congratulations to Michael, and a huge well done to the entire team. I’m looking forward to walking with you all again and eagerly waiting to hear what Michael’s next challenge will be!

To find out more about the work of Deafblind Scotland and the many other fundraising events they organise visit the website: http://www.deafblindscotland.org.uk/

You can support his incredible effort by donating to Deafblind Scotland on Justgiving.com: http://www.justgiving.com/teams/deafblindclimb

Paps of Jura: Two out of Three Aint Bad!

2011-08-04T20:08:00.001+01:00

Whilst working on Jura last week, I had a day free to enjoy out in the hills with Wally. It was impossible to resist the lure of the Paps of Jura, and yes, "pap" does mean breast. Jura has three very shapely ones, which are visible from the high points of my own island, so I was keen to get a closer look.

Approaching Beinn Shiantaidh, the "Sacred Mountain".

There are no paths for walking the paps that are marked on the maps, and a bit of research on the mobile internet did not reveal many clues as to approach, so we made it up as we went along. We approached from the north, via Evans Walk, and cut across bog and heather until we were standing under the Northeast face of Beinn Shiantaidh, gaelic for "Sacred Mountain". From here, a treacherous scree path picks its way up improbably steep slopes between crags, scree and steep heather.

The screes did not look any easier as we got nearer.

At times it seemed as if we were climbing the biggest pile of stones in Scotland.

At last the angle eased, and the summit came in to view. As we posed for pictures on the top, I hoped that an easier descent would present itself, as the route we had come by did not seem a good option for heading down.

The pile of stones had a top! Beinn Shiantaidh summit. 755m.

Happily I can report that there are easier ways on and off the mountain to the south, and after a few false leads we were soon descending a straightforward mossy gully under the nose of the south ridge.

We turned our attention to the second and highest of the paps, Beinn an Oir, the "Mountain of Gold". The good news was, a clear path up the stony flanks was visible.

Beinn an Oir, Mountain of Gold. 785m

From the top the views were stupendous, and we could easily see the mountains and hills of home, looming on the horizon beyond the Kintyre Peninsula.

The south ridge of Beinn Shiantaidh, with Arran visible beyond.

We were also able to look across to the final Pap, Beinn a Chaolais, or "Mountain of the Sound", which overlooks the sound between Islay and Jura. It didn't look very inviting; more like another towering scree trudge, so we decided to head back to the coast and an awaiting beer, with plans to return, and approach from a new trail that has been laid as part of a hydro scheme to the west. It looks like an ascent of all three would be easily achieved with that approach.

More stones... Beinn a Chaolais, the one that got away. 734m.

Lovely views back to Beinn a Chaolais as we retreated in the afternoon heat for our beer.

Wild Wild West: Islay, Jura and Kintyre

2011-08-04T17:45:00.002+01:00

Its been a hectic few weeks up here with lots and lots of work, leading guided walks to look for otters and other wildlife, as well as mountain walks in the hills. I've also picked up so interesting work doing butterfly surveys for Butterfly Conservation's Wider Countryside Butterfly Survey, which has definitely taken me off the beaten track! Below are some photos from my recent trip to the wild wild west of Scotland. In the next update I'll write about about a walk up the Paps of Jura on my day off.

Islay is the place for big skies and long beaches.... This is Loch Gruinart. A great place for watching seals and other marine wildlife, and also hooching with common blue butterflies when I was there.

Big skies make for big sunsets. Perfect with a glass of Islay whisky!

The Oa Peninsula is a great place for dramatic coastal walking, and if you are lucky you might just catch sight of a chough tumbling in the wind.

This is the American Monument, on the southern tip of the Oa, erected in memory of the men who were lost when two American troopships went down off the coast of Islay towards the end of WW1.

On the little boat across the Sound of Islay to Jura. I'll blog about the Paps of Jura in my next entry.

Back on Islay, this is the loch at Finlaggan, where the great halls of the kings of Dalriada stood on crannogs linked to the land by a causeway.

Heavenly meadowsweet in bloom on the boggy shores around Finlaggan.

On to Kintyre, this is the rocky coast near Carradale, with Ailsa Craig just visible on the horizon.

And finally, a tranquil beach on the west coast of Kintyre, looking back beyond Gigha towards Islay and the Paps of Jura.

Surprise! Ailsa Craig

2011-07-13T20:47:00.004+01:00

What a treat I had today!
Only yesterday I was musing to myself that this year might be the first in a a while that I've not been out to Ailsa Craig.... Then this morning, a random tweet (if you "do" twitter my handle is @snoweider) and before I knew it I was crewing for Ocean Breeze Ribtours aka Elspeth and Russell Cheshire who run regular trips out to Ailsa during the summer months. Thanks to Elspeth and Russ for these stunning photos lifted from their brilliant blog.

Ailsa Craig is famous for it's unusual profile, a fabulous microgranite that was mined until recently for curling stones, and of course being an enormous gannet colony. In addition to the 70,000 gannets, perched high above the firth of clyde on tiny ledges, there are also several thousand guillemots and razorbills, kittiwakes, fulmars and of course the charistmatic puffin.

As the weather was good, we were able to land on the island and have a look at the ruins of the mining village and associated industrial units. It's a really interesting place, and although the last residents left in the mid 20th Century it has a feel of having only just been abandoned, with the points on the railway still working, and curling stone blanks littering the raised beach.

We lingered just a little too long, and had to race the falling tide back to Lamlash. Luckily the water was flat and friendly, and before long the Isle of Pladda was alongside us and we were rounding the Southend of Arran. An amazing trip. I can't wait to go back!

Lake District Heatwave: Part 3 Gorgeous Grisedale

2011-07-04T21:41:00.003+01:00

Five days of hot weather and tiny rockshoes were playing havoc with my poor bruised toes. On the final day of our holiday they rebelled. A day in big boots was in order. Pinnacle Ridge on St Sunday Crag, Grisedale, is a classic grade 2 scramble with a sting it its tail: A pitch of moderate climbing that has a couple of thrutchy moves. Just what is needed to add a bit of interest to the day.

Another day, another lake. This is Ullswater, seen from the ridge of Thornhow.

We parked at Patterdale and walked in via Thornhow, traversing across boggy and bouldery slopes above Grisedale to reach the base of the route. It isn't obvious at first and we puzzled for some time over the approach description in Scrambles and easy climbs in the Lake District. Eventually we located the start of the route and found the initial scrambling to be fun and easy, over jumbled blocks and spikes.

Later the climbing became more technical with a steep groove on the left of a tall tower to be climbed (avoidable with a nasty traverse on chossy slopes). We were lucky with the conditions, the groove is often greasy, but for us was beautifully dry. The climbing was over far too quickly, and it wasn't long before we were basking in the sunshine on the summit of St Sunday Crag.

Striding Edge and Helvellyn

There were great views of Striding Edge and Helvellyn, bristling with people. We headed southwest along the ridge to the glinting blue of the Grisedale tarn, where it was impossible to resist putting those battered feet in to the cool water.

Thank you Lake District for a corker of a week. :-)

Lake District Heatwave: Part 2- Beautiful Borrowdale

2011-07-04T11:18:00.005+01:00

So its midweek and we are well and truly stuck in to the climbing in the Lake District and expecting the heatwave to last and then suddenly Woah! It is drizzling on and off. What to do? Easy, saunter down to the cafe at Shepherds Crag, Borrowdale for a huge fried breakfast and sit and look at the will-it-won't-it weather for an hour or so.

Handy cafe at the bottom of the crag. It would never catch on in Scotland....

Before long the sultry conditions returned and the day blossomed in to another hot crag fest on nice rock with lovely holds. We started gently with Jackdaw Ridge (left), before ticking the classic lakes V Diff Little Chamonix. This route is a must do, and many have, meaning that the crux holds are polished, and the hilarious step/slither across the void at the top of the third pitch is nervy. Sitting astride The Saddle at the start of the final pitch my relief was palpable. I learned later that there is a secret foothold that makes these moves easy peasy. Oh well. I'll just have to do it again...

Wally on the first pitch of Little Chamonix

By mid afternoon we were over heating again and returned to the cafe to meet friends for ice cream. A perfect day marred only slightly by the discovery that a mouse at the foot of Little Chamonix had chewed it's way in to my pack, eaten most of my compass cord and had a feast on a granola bar. Hmmm.

We camped further up the glen (oops "Dale") and with the forecast still set fair, the following morning headed for a mountain crag above Combe Gill called Raven Crag (there seem to be a lot of these in the Lakes). On a recommendation from a friend, we headed up the classic Diff, Corvus ("arguably the best diff in the Lakes"), and were not disappointed. The climbing was continuously interesting, despite the broken and green nature of the buttress, and the "celebrated" hand traverse (above right) was great fun.

The views down Borrowdale from the top of the crag were stupendous.

Enthused by such fantastic climbing, we descended to the base of the crag and also climbed Raven Crag Buttress, an esoteric V Diff that deserves more attention. The line was very green and vegetated, and yet the climbing was fantastic, on huge steep holds, interspersed with delicate sections of climbing. If you have ever wondered what some of the Lake District classics were like before the crowds and the polish, check out this route!

Climbing amongst the heather on Raven Crag Buttress

All that remained on reaching the top was to run over to the summit of Glaramara, and enjoy the fabulous panoramic views from the top. Another perfect end to a perfect day in the Lake District.

Up next: Grisedale.

Lake District Heatwave: Part 1- Lovely Langdale

2011-07-04T08:36:00.001+01:00

Yep, you read right, I've been south of the border. To some this may not be surprising (it is where I originate from), but those who know me also know that I have vowed never to tousle with traffic, queues and expensive car parking ever again. And yet last week I found myself in the Lake District, in a heatwave, looking for rock to climb.

The story began in Langdale, a place I know reasonably well, and anticipating a long week of climbing, we started gently with a couple of routes on Upper Scout Crag. Even by English standards this is a valley crag with an easy walk in, which is just as well, as the day was roasting hot. The classic routes on this crag are imaginatively named Route 1 and Route 2, both V Diff (ish). The latter takes a rising line through ledges and slabs, while the former is more direct and probably the more satisfying for it. In between routes, it was all I could do to lie very still in the heat, trying to cool down. (We don't get this kind of heat in Scotland...)

Day 2, and we decided to go a little further afield and visit an old favourite, Gimmer Crag. Gimmer is notorious for having an arduous approach, but after 6 years of living on Arran and stomping up and down Glen Rosa, an hour walk in to a crag feels like roadside! Nevertheless, the heat was astonishing, and we were glad to arrive in a heap at the looming base of Gimmer Chimney (V Diff).

The compelling line of Gimmer Chimney

The route is really only 4 pitches long, but after a sweaty thrutch in the lower chimney, it was all I could do to lie in the sun a bit more. Game over. Heat 1, Lucy 0....

Day 3, and at last I'm starting to get the measure of the weather. An early start put us down a grade and on Middlefell Buttress in the cool morning shade. This is one of the most famous Diffs in the Lake District and rightly so. Although now quite polished, it is still quite straightforward, with the only sting in the tail being the descent. With hindsight, this would have been a great approach to Gimmer. However, on this occasion it was an early finish for ice cream, and then a drive up to Basenthwaite to visit the Lake District Osprey Project.

Still to come: Borrowdale and Grisedale!

Walking on the Wild Side: Granite Highway

2011-06-24T08:19:00.003+01:00

This is the fourth of a series of articles that I am writing for the Voice for Arran about Walking and Wildlife on Arran. This article appeared in June 2011. Hope you enjoy!

“Granite….” The name rolls around my gritted teeth. I’m a lover of granite, and just saying the word makes me want to climb mountains and feel rough crystals against my palms. If geologists are interested in how rocks are formed, mountaineers obsess about how a rock feels to feet and fingers. Granite is a rock for the tactile. Formed deep in the bosoms of volcanoes, a geologist will tell you that the main constituents of granite are quartz, feldspar and various forms of mica. The sizes of the crystals define its texture. It is featureless, massive, and hard.

My love affair with granite began with wrestling the gymnastic crags of the Cornish coast, before it flourished on the warm rosy slabs of the Alps. Here on Arran it has matured in to a slow burning passion that draws endless delight from perfect pockets, biting cracks and wind sculpted hollows. At the end of a hard day in the Northern Hills, my hands are stinging from hours of happy tussling with an unforgiving but eternally intriguing rock.

Today Arran is shining like a jewel in the sea. I’m looking forward to a day walking a tightrope of granite that hangs from the sky like a twinkling curtain from Sannox to Brodick. I will climb quickly, and then hardly descend until I reach Goatfell, my feet treading a highway in the heavens hewn of solid rock.

Leaving the main path in Glen Sannox I cut up above the glen towards the Devil’s Punchbowl. Shadowy sunless cliffs loom above me, their mood in keeping with the sinister name. Just below the coire rim, a rough deer track cuts under the slopes of Cioch na h’Oighe. A loose path weaves between steeper sections of scrambling, and I seek the direct route on bare rock wherever possible. I feel my way up creased slabs of cold granite. Thousands of years of rain and seeping vegetation have worn the slabs smooth and I search out grooves and hidden edges for my boots. Already my hands feel sore and black peat is rammed under my fingernails. The way is steep.

Breathing heavily, at last I crest the wave of rock, and I’m perched on the summit of the Cioch that curls upwards in to the heavens. A cold wind hits my face and the sudden sunlight dazzles me. My hands look pink and raw. It is time to hunker down between the summit blocks to refuel for the next stage. I lie back against a boulder and look up at the blue sky. Briefly, the sickle shape of a soaring kestrel arcs overhead before diving in to the rocks far below.

Beyond the Cioch, a narrow ridge of jumbled blocks and heathery notches forms a bridge to the massive bulk of Mullach Buidhe. Most of the difficulties can be avoided, but it is more fun I think to pick my way over the tottering blocks balanced against each other on the crest. They look improbable, but the colossal friction of hard crystals and their sheer tonnage mean that they have come to an enduring rest in these positions. In between, the wind and the rain have eroded softer sections of the ridge, leaving treacherous scoops of golden gravel, ready to sweep the unwary into Glen Sannox.

Before long, I’m labouring my way up the slopes of Mullach Buidhe. The ridge widens, and, the heather gives way to a miniature rock garden of mosses that cling to the loose slopes in the wildest of weather. Mullach Buidhe itself is a broad peak with several craggy tops and a steep west face. A lone raven sits on the highest, and as I approach, the bird flings itself in to the abyss, before shooting back in to view with a raucous cry on an updraft as if fired from a cannon. On this sunny day, Mullach Buidhe itself feels like a rocky meadow floating high above the world. The grass here is soft and short, and the gentle gradient gives my hands and legs a rest. Looking down and left towards the sea, I can see the village of Corrie shining in the sunlight on the shore, further out, the Caledonian Isles is emerging from Brodick Bay. It is breezy, and even from here I can see the whitecaps skipping past her.

I drop down from Mullach Buidhe, and begin the climb up to the summit of North Goatfell. Here I get my first glimpse in to Glen Rosa, and the scrambling begins again. From North Goatfell there is an escape path that runs along the east side of the ridge towards Goatfell. This is a useful route for those who don’t like heights or in poor weather. The scramble over the top of Stacach ridge itself although short, involves serious situations and one or two “technical” moves.

I slither down from North Goatfell over granite slabs and turn my attention to the ridge. A series of blocky tors bar my way and I must seek out the easiest way up, over and down each one. The largest, involves a series of shelves above a huge drop, known as the “Giant’s Steps”. Climbing these is like getting out of a swimming pool over and over again, and I inelegantly heave my way on to each shelf. The rock here is fantastic. Rough slabs grip the soles of my boots reassuringly while I grapple with coarse blocks and flakes. I get a few grazed knuckles, but it is a small price to pay. I take my time, savouring each moment, as Goatfell looms in to view.

At the highest point on Arran a magnificent panorama unfolds before me. The deep defile of Glen Rosa drops away suddenly, and each of the buckled peaks of the Goatfell Range rises up to meet me. A ribbon of ocean encircles the island, and beyond I pick out Ben Lomond, the Arrochar Alps, and the Paps of Jura. I know that I can see Glencoe from this point, having spotted Goatfell in a reverse view, but it is impossible to identify the individual peaks amongst the tangle in the north. To the south, I can see Ailsa Craig like a distant cone floating on the sea, and the shadowy shape of Northern Ireland against the sun.

At last from here my way is down, and I stick to the natural line of my journey taking the bouldery South Ridge of Goatfell for as long as possible. Finally, I say goodbye to this fine granite highway just before it plunges steeply to Glenshant Hill, and I turn east down a heathery flank towards the main path, that takes me safely to Brodick.

Tips for enjoying Arran’s Hills:

Make sure you are properly equipped for changeable mountain weather.
Always carry a map and compass and know how to use them.
Take your litter home with you
Leave a route card with your estimated return time.

Mainland Raiding Party

2011-06-21T21:50:00.001+01:00

Yesterday was a lovely calm day and both Wally and I had the day off. We took the difficult decision of water over hill and put the kayaks on the roof of the van for a little jaunt over to the west of Arran. The mainland was sat there winking at us from across a perfectly still Kilbrannan Sound as we put in at Dougarie. It was too much to resist and before long we were out in the channel and heading for Kintyre dreaming of ice cream shops and friendly locals.

Looking back towards Drumadoon point from the Kilbrannan Sound.

We saw plenty of wildlife on route, including a wonderful flypast by a couple of puffins, and a fleeting glimpse of a porpoise fin rolling through the water in the distance. Gannets soared overhead, and a fish jumped clean out of the water in front of us.

Before long we were approaching Carradale Point, and knowing that we had a good supply of munchies on board decided to forgo the teashops and icecream of the village (are there teashops in Carradale? There ought to be) and head round to the sheltered bay on the other side of the point in search of a peaceful spot for a picnic.We explored the point on foot, the location of a well preserved fort that is cut off from the mainland in high tides.

The rocky coastline of Carradale Point

Sheltered beach that was perfect for a stop.

It is a rugged and dramatic stretch of coastline. Arran is visible beyond.

We wished that we had planned a longer trip and brought tents and sleeping bags with us for a night out but it was not to be. Reluctantly we tore ourselves away from this lovely and wild stretch of coastline and got back in to the boats. The wind and waves were up and the paddle back to Arran required a bit of body power before we were back on dry land for a well earned beer and rest.

Lighthouse Buoy of Crubon Rock by Carradale Point, visible at low tide.

Approaching Arran's shore again after a tough windy crossing.

Gold DofE: Cairngorms Journey

2011-06-19T19:06:00.006+01:00

This week I got to truly appreciate the incredible scale of the Cairngorm mountains, by walking a circuit that took me around their gentler fringes, using ancient passes and estate tracks to trace their circumference. The walk took four days, with three camps on route. Davy, Andy and I were shadowing a group of Gold Duke of Edinburgh students on their final expedition.

Day 1: The students set off from Loch Morlich, and Davy and I set off ahead of them from the ski centre. We tucked ourselves away in wet and windy weather to watch them pass through the bouldery Chalamain Gap and descend in to the Lairig Ghru.

The Chalamain Gap is an amazing feature but not a fun place to be with a big rucksack! We did manage to find a cool little boulder howf for a brew though!

From the gap it was in to the amazing drovers pass of the Lairig Ghru. This is Lurchers Crag, a famous winter venue for climbers.

Looking South out of the Lairig Ghru and towards the Devil's Point.

On route to Corrour Bothy for the night we took a detour to check out the tiny bothy in Garbh Coire under Angels Peak. I'll be back!

Day 2: After a night of vicious wind we awoke to a bright and breezy day at Corrour Bothy. The students left early to continue their journey to the next camp by the river Gairn. The route was to follow a series of passes via Derry Lodge, and Glen Quoich.

Corrour Bothy nestling under the Devils Point.

Hot dusty road from Derry Lodge.

Day 3: Now thoroughly off the beaten track, we followed a stalkers path to Loch Builg and then picked up the doubletrack in to Glen Builg. The glen is a haven for breeding wading birds including oystercatchers, sandpipers, snipe and lapwings. I waited at the bridge at the entrance to Glen Avon and was treated to dramatic views of a young golden eagle being mobbed by angry crows and gulls.

The wide and peaceful Glen Builg, with meadows full of waders.

We passed the lovely waterfalls of the Linn of Avon and turned north up Glen Loin, a tortuous and twisting glen that we gladly left behind, before descending to the water of Caiplich for a camp.

The Linn of Avon with its dramatic cascades and inviting pools.

Day 4: Most of the students headed north over a bealach to descend down to the Nethy and a crossing at the fords of Nethy. Andy and I headed over the tops with one lucky lad who was being trained for a future final exped. There were lots of navigation opportunities and rough boggy heather hillsides to negotiate before we dropped down to Bynack Stables to meet the rest of the students at Ryvoan Bothy. All that remained was the stunning walk back to Loch Morlich through the wonderful scots pines below the bothy in Glenmore.

Looking from the bealach back towards Glen Loin.

Scots pine heaven, Glenmore.

Silver DofE: Kinlochleven Tramp

2011-06-09T21:53:00.003+01:00

I'm really enjoying the Duke of Edinburgh Award work that I'm doing at the moment, and this week, it was a Silver Award final expedition, with three teams of students in the hills between Kinlochleven and Corrour station. The weather was not entirely on our side for the whole trip, but unlike the students I had the luxury of a first night in Loch Chiarain Bothy. Not only that, but the cool weather meant that once we had left the sheltered woodland around Kinlochleven, there were very few midgies to bother us. That said, the photo below was taken just 20 minutes out of the village, where I was hiding at a path junction checking the students had all successfully left the start point on the correct path....

We took the track up to the Blackwater Dam and were treated to fabulous views of the back of the Aonach Eagach ridge and Buachaille Etive Mor. The impressive spire of the Crowberry Tower was clearly visible from that angle.

To pick out the Crowberry Tower, click on the image to view it full size.

At the Blackwater Reservoir, we took a boggy path along the shore before turning North East up the Allt an Inbhir and then down to the Loch Chiarain bothy. This bothy is quite plush, with 2 rooms upstairs and downstairs, and plenty of midsummer light streaming in through the windows. The students camped by the loch, to fulfill the requirements of the DofE syllabus.

Loch Chiarain Bothy

From Loch Chiarain, we continued on the second day to Loch Treig, or the "Loch of Doom", where we crossed a scary rotting bridge and tried not to think too much about doom.

Plenty of atmosphere at Loch Treig...

We followed the shores of the loch for about 3 km before turning up the Lairig Leacach. The bothy at the top of the Lairig was a welcome rest point for the students and I spent a mere 6 hours at this point waiting for the groups to come through so a lot of hot chocolate was consumed!

The Lairig Leacach- Sgurr Innse looms in to view.

From Lairig Leacach, it was a stomp over the hill in the rain to Meannanach Bothy on the banks of the Abhain Rath. By the time we arrived at the river it had been raining for some time, so we crossed the river before the waters rose to high and camped on the opposite bank at the ruins of Luibeilt. This was a wet camp after a long day and the students (and leaders) were pretty pooped...

From camp we watched the river rise and snow fell on the tops behind...

On the final day, all that remained was to head over the pass to the two Loch Eildes and head down in to Kinlochleven by the early afternoon.

Andy McNamara from Otters Tail Adventures admires the view.

Loch Lomond canoe trip

2011-06-03T00:59:00.002+01:00

Its been a wild few weeks weather-wise and I have been obsessively watching the forecast as a planned three day canoe expedition with a silver DofE group loomed large in a wet and windy calendar. As it happened the weather was mostly ok, but the promised tailwind did not arrive until the third day so there were some challenging conditions for the students- and me, as the art of paddling a canoe is a new one on me.
We were led by Andy McNamara of Otter's Tail Adventures.

Day 1: We put in at Balloch, in lovely sunny if breezy conditions.

We set a course towards Inchcailloch Isle. Andy likes to take things easy, and here an umbrella takes the strain in a light breeze at our heels.

Inchcailloch is a magical place to camp. There is tons of wildlife, I saw my first merlin, as well as a woodcock, a sparrowhawk and a white deer. The sunset from the summit of the isle was breathtaking.

Day 2: we had a headwind, and took shelter in the Narrows between the islands before ducking underneath the western shore at Luss and heading up to Firkin point and back east to Rowardennan, underneath Ben Lomond. The view here is looking north from Inchconnachan towards Fraoch Isle and the northern part of the Loch. Ben Lomond is visible on the right.

The joys of camping in the west of Scotland in summer! We found a flat spot North of Rowardennan for a well earned camp.

Day 3: the weather deteriorated to wind and rain, but the bonus was a feisty tailwind that blew us up the loch to Ardlui under sail!

Walking on the Wild Side: John Muir- The Call of the Wild

2011-05-21T09:27:00.004+01:00

This is the third of a series of articles that I am writing for the Voice for Arran about Walking and Wildlife on Arran. This article appeared in April 2011 to celebrate the birthday on the 21st April of wilderness visionary John Muir.

My first encounter with John Muir was just two years ago, though he had already been dead for 94 years. While working on the Arran Wildlife Festival, an email dropped in to my jam-packed inbox from Dan Sealy, of the US National Park Service’s Centre for Urban Ecology. “Ranger Dan” was coming to Scotland, on a pilgrimage to the birth place of his champion. We welcomed Dan to the festival, and arranged for this unassuming man to hijack a bat detecting evening to deliver a talk to the unsuspecting audience on the life and legacy of an American hero from Dunbar, Scotland.

Muir was born on the 21st April 1838, and at the age of eleven immigrated with his father to Wisconsin. His early years were filled with bone breaking labour on the family farm, but he showed signs of genius and eventually found a place aged 23 at Wisconsin University. Here Muir was set upon the scientific path that would allow him to record and write about the wild places that he visited, but it was his years living rough in the mountains in the 1870s that set his soul on fire. He is lauded in America as the father of the National Parks and it is surprising that he is a relatively unknown figure in his native home of Scotland. The John Muir Trust has done much to re-dress this balance and now owns several remote Scottish estates, working as an advocate for the enjoyment and protection of wild land and promoting outdoor education for the young. However, most people in this country are unaware of the man or his role in the birth of the worldwide conservation movement. Inspired by Ranger Dan, I began to read Muir’s writing. What I have found inscribed within those pages is arresting and enlightening.

Muir the visionary

Muir was driven by a compulsion to understand, experience and endure the wild in all its forms. He kept detailed records of the habitats he explored, and sought out extreme and dangerous encounters that brought him closer to the wild nature that he admired. A committed Christian, Muir’s passion was fuelled by an evangelical natural mysticism. He did not see man as the God-given custodian of the landscape, instead he regarded the wild places and their inhabitants as teachers, and he strove to learn by their example. He wrote often of nature’s “loving lessons[1]”, and compared them to the harsh religious schooling he had received at home. In the complex and miraculous web of nature, he saw the hand of God in action.

Marvelling at the Sierra forests after a violent storm, he wrote: “But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease. Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fibre thrilling like harp strings, while incense is ever flowing from the balsam bells and leaves. No wonder the hills and groves were God’s first temples, and the more they are cut down and hewn in to cathedrals and churches the farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself.[2]”

Muir the conservationist

Muir’s unique spiritual perspective combined with scientific method and exceptional recording skills allowed him to see complex relationships in the natural world. Way ahead of his time, his writing is a rallying call for ecologists: “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.[3]” Although he married and settled with a family, Muir felt most at home in the wilderness. He understood the healing power of nature for the body and the soul. He wrote of the importance of wild places for society; “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.[4]” This formed the basis of his argument for protecting wild landscapes that ultimately gave rise to the American National Parks movement.

Muir for the modern world

Muir writes about nature in a way that articulates what many who love the outdoors feel, but struggle to express. We know instinctively that our brushes with the wild are rejuvenating experiences. Most of us who live on Arran have chosen to do so and those that came from outside were drawn here in part by the magnificent natural environment. Nowhere on Arran is untouched by human influence, and yet in the high places, and on the ragged coastlines, nature’s power and intricate splendour thrives in a way that is moving to all who pause to enjoy it. For me, the joy of living here has been getting to know the details, and like Muir, observing the lives and characters of the island’s wild residents. As each season passes, the delicate piping of the winter redshanks, or the tireless exuberance of meadow pipits in spring, lifts my spirits and roots me in the present.

Muir’s language is luminous, passionate, and fiery. It is a paean to a wildness already long gone from much of America, and it is heartbreaking to imagine what he would make of his native Scotland in modern times. But his work has an even greater relevance to our urbanised world than ever before. There is so little left of wild Britain that we must treasure it. We can begin here on Arran by recognising the value of our natural environment not only to us, but the thousands of tourists who come here each year to experience the healing power of a different pace of life. If we can go further, as Muir did, and recognise the sanctity and substance of life no matter how small, woody or fierce, we stand to benefit immeasurably from the simple pleasure of finding our own place woven in to this astonishing world.

Reading Muir: Journeys in the Wilderness: A John Muir Reader is a paperback containing the selected works of John Muir, with an introduction by Graham White.

John Muir Trust: For more information about the work of the JMT visit the website: www.jmt.org.uk

[1] The Story of My Boyhood and My Youth.

[2] My First Summer in the Sierra

[3] My First Summer in the Sierra

[4] Our National Parks

Dreich

2011-05-16T21:27:00.004+01:00

The online Urban Dictionary defines the Scots word dreich as: "A combination of dull, overcast, drizzly, cold, misty and miserable weather. At least 4 of the above adjectives must apply before the weather is truly dreich...." I'd say that all of the above applied today, and I'd throw in windy and wild for good measure. Anne and I had hoped for a walk in the mountains but with the burns full and gales roaring across the tops we opted for a low level walk from Lochranza around the Cock of Arran. I've blogged about this route before, but I've never done it in such appalling weather! Nevertheless, we had a fantastic day, enjoyed some great views, and set the world to rights. Thanks Anne for a great day out. Hope you've dried off by now!
Today we chose to do it in an anticlockwise direction, aiming to hit the rough scramble of An Scriodan as the tide was dropping. We set off up the good Narachan track, and before long we were treated to views of red deer on the golf course below.

Enjoying the sweet grass on the golf course.

The track climbs above the village and heads to the open moor between Lochranza and the sea. Even in the wet weather, the delicious gorse scent from the whins was heavenly.

We dropped down the other side of the moor, and peeked in at Laggan Cottage before heading along the coast to the ruined mining village where we stopped to grab some lunch in a sheltered bay.

Shades of grey....

After lunch we had a pleasant walk along side the sea, where we saw seals and red breasted mergansers, and found plenty of otter signs, before the final scramble around An Scriodan back to Lochranza.

The massive boulders at the north tip of the island were great for sheltering amongst!

Blue Sky Days

2011-05-05T14:33:00.003+01:00

This week the island has been basking in unseasonal sunshine and dry weather. I've had two fantastic days in the mountains before the weather broke, in almost identical conditions of hot dry rock and a cool breeze- perfect for scrambling and climbing.

On Sunday, I was out training with Arran Mountain Rescue Team ( I am a probationary member), and we headed up on to the western slopes of Mullach Buidhe to practice some rope work and rock climbing. Normally AMRT training sessions are hard work, but this had more of the air of jolly picnic on the beach, although we did do some top roping of some hard and highball boulder problems on the ridge, plus some abseiling and climbing on the biggest buttress. All quite leisurely really.

AMRT Jolly.

Setting up for the ab and climb.

Top roping in the sun.

Great views of Cir Mhor and Caisteal Abhail across Glen Sannox.

On Tuesday a good friend stopped by on route to the highlands and we whisked him from the ferry into the hills. At this point I should provide a nice big plug for the company he represents, Mountain Hardwear, but as we lent him a load of non Mountain Hardwear gear for the day, he'd prefer to remain anonymous!

So it was back in to Coire Lan and up on to North Goatfell for a quick traverse of Stacach in perfect conditions.

The boys enjoying tremendous views from the top of North Goatfell.

Heading off down the Stacach for Goatfell summit.

Now it is Thursday and the rain has come at last. It is sad to say goodbye to the sun for a bit, but the island was beginning to feel like a tinderbox in the haze from the mainland wildfires. I'm relieved that we have survived the dry spell and the moisture will only help the wildlife. Good for gardeners too!

Woodsmoke: Woodlander

2011-05-02T22:35:00.001+01:00

Spending time in nature over the years has forged in me a deep respect for the myriad of efficient, clever and ingenious ways that life thrives in wild places. Once upon a time humans also knew what it took to make a living in wild Britain, and there are still a few people who know, or have learned survival and life skills that rely on their own knowledge and resilience, and the resources of land, not clever kit, frieze dried meals or goretex.
I'm fascinated by the concept of humans having a place in nature, so although my own practice is generally one of "leave no trace", taking in my fancy gear and carrying out my rubbish with minimum impact, I am intrigued enough to want to learn some of these bush skills, and push myself to understand how a human might live within and alongside nature, rather than skating over the top of it as a hardy visitor with a rucksack full of equipment.

I enrolled on a bushcraft course with Woodsmoke in the Lake District, for a week-long immersion in to basic bushcraft skills. The instruction was excellent, the course was very real and hands on, and at times incredibly challenging. The week is not for you if you fancy a holiday, but if you want to really push yourself, definitely give it a go! I've just got back, and I'm still picking the leaves out of my hair: here is a photo blog of what the week entailed.

Most of our days were spent either ranging over the beautiful wooded estate where the course takes place, or in the outside classroom at the camp.

I picked a plum spot for my little tent. I was serenaded every night by tawny owls and woodcock.

The week was characterised by a mountainous series of projects, from craft and cordage, to field cooking, tracking and plant lore. The first project involved making a Waugan Stick to suspend a billycan above a cooking fire.

The finished article.

Another major project was making fire using a bowdrill. This is hard work. Here is my first and most triumphant ember. Only half way there- you have to get the tinder going from this.

The tinder catches- fire!

We built natural shelters. Also hard work! This is a three person shelter that took six people all afternoon to build!

It was cosy when finished.

Three of us spent the night in the shelter snoozing next to a warm camp fire.

It wasn't all work. We had the opportunity to play in a cedar strip built canoe, and swim in the tarn above camp.

Badger or teddy bear tracks ?

Projects projects projects......

Pigeon pie cooking in camp ovens....

Nom!

We learned so many wild plants with multiple uses, but here is a common and edible one, Wood Sorrel. High in oxalic acid, so don't eat too much, but a tasty addition to any hedgerow salad.

Intensely Beautiful: Kayaking from Kildonan

2011-04-22T19:38:00.002+01:00

I'm reassuringly behind on the blogging here which means that I am out and about having fun. Here are some fantastic photos that my husband took whilst we were in our kayaks around Kildonan on Monday evening. We set off from the grassy slip way down to the beach opposite the village hall, and struck out east towards Bennan Head. Almost immediately we were joined by a flotilla of curious harbour seals who followed us for a kilmoetre down the coast.

I am surrounded!

Getting a good look at us.

The tide was dropping and we drifted along the coast through forests of kelp and watched the nesting birds on the cliffs above in the haze.

The Black cave looks like something from a film set, with a stunning waterfall on the west side. It is accessible on foot close to low tide but the path is very rough and bouldery (read non existant).

There are nesting fulmars on the cliffs above and it was the perfect place for little stop and a gaze...

After the Black Cave, we paddled over to the little island of Pladda, uninhabited now except for a large colony of seabirds including shags, eiders and common gulls that nest along the rocky shore.

With so many birds about, landing was impossible, but it was good to sit and watch the comings and goings on the island from the little bay on the east side.

Glassy water, no wind, perfect for draw stroke practice.

We headed back to the Kildonan Shore as the sun began to set.

Couldn't leave this wee razorbill enjoying the warmth of the setting sun out of the album. Love these birds!

Silver DofE: Glen Orchy to Taynuilt- the long way round.

2011-04-21T17:32:00.007+01:00

I have been having a great few days in the fantastic weather we are enjoying, and I kicked off the heatwave with three days on foot in the West Highlands on a Silver Duke of Edinburgh training expedition with a brilliant group of young students from Wellington School, Ayr.

We set off on the first day of the exped after lunch, and up Glen Orchy towards the Bridge. Although it was a grey day, we did get some views of Bein Udlaidh (above).

The next morning was bright and warm for a long walk over the watershed and down Glen Kinglas. We started near the Clashgour hut, a historic building originally built at the start of the 2th century as a tiny school house, but taken over by Glasgow University Mountaineering Club in 1948.

Speirs Ltd were a Glasgow based firm of architects founded in the 1880s that specialised in prefab timber and metal buildings for remote areas.

The Clashgour Hut

Mink or Pine Marten scat on the bridge by the hut.

Loch Dochard- A lovely place for a stop in Glen Kinglas.

Not all the bridges were fully functioning. This mellow walk would have been a bit different after rain!

On the third day, we walked out of the Glen and on to the shores of Loch Etive.

We were treated to great views of Ben Cruachan on the way down the Loch. It was a beautiful day and perfect for a wander in to Taynuilt in time for lunch.

Here Be Dragons

2011-04-10T21:54:00.005+01:00

Today I took advantage of the last of the unseasonably good weather for a while to head up in to the hills to survey some of my tetrads for the BTO Bird Atlas. The tetrads that I have been allocated are in some of the most remote, wild and lonely parts of the island. In theory I was given these as I have a natural inclination to explore remote places, but I am starting to wonder if our local bird recorder is keen to lose me in the bog.

These four tetrads are located on one of those blank bits on the map where if you were to ask a local what was there they would look at you vaguely and say "hill". If it was an old fashoned kind of map, there would be a caption reading "Here be Dragons". Nobody goes there, except for the odd long legged estate worker. There are no famous mountains, or challenging rock climbs, just mile after mile of heather, forestry enclosures and tussocky Molinia grass. It is pretty rough going underfoot up there, but I was rewarded with a vast landscape, complete solitude, big blue skies and wildlife.

Once I had left the thick forestry woodlands I was out on the open hill in the sunshine being serenaded by skylarks. Other birds included wheatears, newly arrived from Africa, and noisy meadow pipits. I also saw plenty of red deer, who looked much more alarmed to see me than deer I have met in more popular parts of the island. The spot of the day however was a pair of hen harriers (male and female) driving off another male intruder. High drama on the hill.

Flowering bog myrtle covered all my gear in puffs of green pollen wherever I walked.

Beinn Bharrain, seen from the south east.

Looking downstream, Glen Scaftigil.

Empty cocoon of the Northern Eggar Moth Larva

The low hump of Sail Chalmadale

So after three visits and one more to come, here is one blank spot on the map that I feel I know well. I didn't find any dragons, but I did see a common lizard, and it was certainly a monster day.

Granite Heaven: The High Road to Brodick

2011-04-09T10:51:00.004+01:00

Yesterday was one of those days when the Isle of Arran gleamed like a jewel in the sea. Staying indoors was simply not an option, and the only decision to be made was which gorgeous corner of the island to go and play in? In the morning, the Northern Hills were still shrouded in mist, but the forecast looked set fair so we dropped the car at Cladach near Brodick and hopped on a bus to Sannox. From here we planned to link up two of the finest low grade scrambles in Scotland, if not the UK, and vastly underrated at that. It was a long day, the sort when you linger at every viewpoint for longer than you intend... and I took tons of photos, so I'll let them speak for themselves.

From Glen Sannox, the way strikes up left toward's the Devil's Punchbowl. Cioch Na h'Oighe is the peak on the right of the picture. There is a traverse path that runs from the burn to the base of the scrambling on this peak.

Once established on the Cioch, there are great views in to Glen Sannox. The route follows a series of exposed slabs up to the first summit. Most are avoidable, but there is one tricky section that must be negotiated.

Once on the ridge, a series of rocky crests rises up before you.

Most of the hardest scrambling is avoidable on the right, but it is more fun to take the ridge direct at about grade I/II

All too soon the ridge broadens out at the back of the Punchbowl and you begin the climb up to Mullach Buidhe.

Looking back along the ridge, there are fabulous views of the Cioch, and down to the sandy beach of Sannox Bay.

Mullach Buidhe itself is a rock escarpment overlooking the head of Glen Sannox, This is looking back to Mullach Buidhe from the slopes of North Goatfell.

Great views in to Coire Lan and towards the village of Corrie from the slopes of North Goatfell.

The blocky summit of North Goatfell, with Goatfell looming beyond.

The Stacach Ridge hangs between the two summits of Goatfell. Most of the difficulties can be avoided by taking a traverse path to the East, but a traverse of the ridge crest is an exposed and exciting scramble on excellent rock at hard grade I.

Great views back in to the mountains. From left to right the peaks are: Cir Mhor, Caisteal Abhail, and North Goatfell.

And finally, from the summit of Goatfell, the South Ridge. The tourist path takes an easy line to the East. We chose a direct descent down the South Ridge, with a bit more easy scrambling, before dropping down to the main path above the forestry.

Canoeing Learning Curve

2011-03-29T10:17:00.001+01:00

I'm going to risk sounding painfully smug here, but I have recently been handed an opportunity that I'm finding hard to believe is also actual work. I'm taking part as an assistant leader in some Duke of Edinburgh Silver award expeditions, not on foot, but in canoes. I'm even getting the chance to come out with the team on a couple of training days in Ayrshire. Regular readers will know that I'm partial to getting out in my sea kayak on a nice day, but open boats are an unknown quantity to me and I'm really enjoying the challenge of learning new skills.

Andy McNamara, Otter's Tail Adventures

The group is being coached by Andy McNamara from Otter's Tail Adventures, who runs canoeing expeditions throughout Scotland. Just watching Andy pootling about in his boat is a lesson in paddle strokes, (he wears a canoe like a dancer wears ballet shoes) and his patient approach means that after a couple of days with the group, we are all starting to get the hang of it (even me).

Last Sunday the weather was clear, calm and mild so we ventured out for a little coastal paddling, putting in at Doonfoot, Ayr and heading south past the Heads of Ayr to Culzean Bay.

Students or Pirates? Ailsa Craig is in the distance (thanks Andy for this photo).

We saw plenty of wildlife on the way round the coast, including shags, eiders, shelduck, razorbills, and even a small flock of sandpipers newly arrived at Dunure. It was great for me to explore a new bit of coast (which I can see from home) and also to enjoy some different views of Arran. Can't wait till the first exped at the beginning of June!

Fantastic views of Arran just across the water.

A' Chir Rock

2011-03-25T20:59:00.005Z

Winter must be over properly (in my head) as this week I have started thinking about rock again. It was a gorgeous day today and this morning we were so excited about getting out in the hills we practically bounced down Glen Rosa. It's still quite cold in the wind, too cold for a softy like me to stand around on a cold belay, so we opted for the A' Chir Ridge, an easy rock climb or hard scramble that hangs between Beinn Tarsuinn and Cir Mhor.

Looking up Glen Rosa towards Cir Mhor.

The South Face of Cir Mhor. The classic route Souwester Slabs (v diff) takes the easiest line up this face.

On the Bealach between Cir Mhor and A' Chir

Looking towards the impenetrable face of the first major difficulties. The route involves beaching yourself on a shelf that runs diagonally up the face.

The comment at this point was "Well I'm not caving fit".....

Out of the trench and back up on the ridge. There is a small step across the void here.

Fabulous views across Glen Rosa to Goat Fell.

Looking back to Cir Mhor and over The Saddle from the slopes of Beinn a Chliabhain on our way back down to the Glen.

Walking on the Wild Side: Magical Machrie Moor

2011-03-24T16:57:00.003Z

This is the second of a series of articles that I am writing for the Voice for Arran about Walking and Wildlife on Arran.

I love getting to know the layers of a landscape. For me, walking on Arran is an ongoing study in the composition and history of a place. Footpaths and structures are knitted into the land like bones and blood vessels. The walk from roadside to Machrie Stone Circles, for example, passes through five thousand years of human endeavour, lovingly erected from the rock of ages in just a couple of miles of rutted farm track.

My favourite time to arrive at the moor is late in the day as the sun’s rays are at a low angle. I wait until the car park has begun to empty, and cross the stile opposite. The track to the Stones cuts across meadows and skirts the wooded river bank above the Machrie Water. The track shortly bends away from the river and I pass the mysterious “Moss Farm Road Cairn”. This cairn looks for all the world like a stone circle, but is believed to be a kerbed cairn, encircled by a rim of lumpy boulders marking its outer edge.

The track rises through rough pasture and sweet gorse, until I’m at the fringes of the moor. I briefly turn off the path, to pay a visit to a favourite place, a hut circle some twenty feet in diameter, hidden amongst the soft rushes and heather. This was once the dwelling place for a Bronze Age family. Similar structures have been excavated all over Britain. The inhabitants herded their animals and steadfastly tilled the land. Theirs was a time of great cultural flowering, when stone monuments sprung up all over the country. Populations were expanding, settling new places now abandoned even by modern farmers. Today, a raised ring of rushes marks all that is left of their home. In summer, spotted heath orchids grow proudly in the boggy centre of the hut where I imagine there was once a hearth.

Returning to the track, it isn’t long before I reach the first of the stone circles, a double ring of granite boulders. Sixty five million years ago, the rock swirled and heaved in the bosom of a huge volcano. The magma cooled, and the outer crust of lava was slowly eroded to reveal the granite core. Boulders were dragged down from the hills by ancient glaciers, which in turn faltered and melted more than ten thousand years ago, leaving rocks marooned in the landscape, ready for humans to trundle the last few metres into place. This circle is known as Fingal’s Cauldron Seat, and it is said that the celtic giant tethered his great dog Bran to one of the boulders while he boiled water for his supper. The derelict buildings of Moss Farm sit opposite. The crumbling walls are home to starlings and swallows in the summer.

I go through the gate and on to the moor itself. The setting sun is reflected by the orange glow of the sandstone pillars that stand erect like bare tree trunks. The circle builders chose a combination of granite boulders and quarried sandstone. Where sandstone was used, there is a sense that this was with a purpose, now hidden. Six circles have been discovered and of these, four include sandstone as well as granite. All have been excavated, with varying degrees of care. The most recent excavations by Alison Haggarty were published in 1991. It was Haggarty who made the last circle discovery, a sixth secret buried beneath the peat. Who knows if there are more?

Today the moor is a wet and inhospitable place for humans. Crisscrossed by ditches, dense birch and willow scrub, and pocked with hidden mires, the moor is home to fearsome adders and birds of prey. Lines of broken fences confirm sporadic sheep grazing, but the moor feels like a wild place.

It was not always like this. The land of the circle builders used to be rich and ripe. Below the peat and beneath the stones have been found the marks of ploughs etched into an old and fertile soil. Older still are the posts and pits that tell the true age of the site. Haggarty’s excavations revealed that the first circles on the moor were wrought of timber four and a half thousand years ago. Even earlier are fragments of pottery and rough pits left behind by early pastoralists, Neolithic people living five thousand years ago. The story of the moor is of a thousand years of population growth and intensification. Settlements sprang up, and with them sacred places for people to gather together, built first of wood, and then stone. The site reached its zenith some time in the beginning of the second millennium BC, when the people carefully buried the cremated remains of their kin inside the circles with precious implements and hand crafted earthenware.

Eventually, the climate began to sour and the moor became a less friendly place. The weather deteriorated and the peat grew and deepened. The people retreated to the margins of the land, farming the fertile strip between coast and hill. The moor was left alone and the black bog took hold, in places reaching a depth of three metres.

I sit with my back to sun-warmed sandstone and try to imagine how the moor would have felt all those years ago. I picture a settled scene, small hamlets surrounding an area of common land, quilted with a patchwork of crops and pasture. Wooden stakes mark out animal enclosures, and circles of stone stand neatly in the centre of a hive of activity. For a moment I can hear the homely songs of the farmers, but they are lost in the fluting calls of curlews carried on the wind. Machrie moor still brims with life, but it belongs to wilder inhabitants now.
Things to look out for on Machrie Moor:

Moorland birds including curlew, wheatear, meadow pipit, hen harrier, buzzard, short eared owl and kestrel
A hole in a boulder in the first circle where Fingal is said to have tethered his dog, Bran.
Two half-finished mill stones, fashioned in recent centuries from granite standing stones.

Take Care:

The moor is a working sheep farm. Keep dogs on a lead at all times.
Stick to the main path to avoid getting bogged down or disturbing wildlife.

Goatfell half hour photo experiment

2011-03-14T20:39:00.003Z

Todays weather wasn't really the sort that inspires you to climb a mountain that you have been up countless times before, but in the spirit of getting my fitness back after megaflu, I thought it would be a good idea to bundle up Goatfell this afternoon and give the lungs some air. To make it more interesting, and to force myself to take photos on a walk that I do all the time on a day when there wasn't much to photograph, I set myself some rules. Stop every half hour, and take a photo. Doesn't matter what it is, but try and find something interesting. I lost the game immediately, because I forgot to take a photo at the start. Here are the rest:

1420: Half an hour in, and this is a photo of Maol Don, taken at a height of about 300m. Great views of soaring Buzzards here.

1450: I am at 500m, in the snow now, and admiring the sun trying to force its way through the clag.

1520: 650m. The mist is pretty oppressive now so I concentrate on things nearer. This is prostrate juniper- a creeping form of Juniper found on sunny south facing slopes above 500m.

1550: 750m and climbing. I'm wading through deep snow drifts here looking for the path!

1610: 874m and I cheated a bit here as this is not my half hour picture, but we all like summit photos.

1620: 800m Still not much of a view, so here is a close up of some crusty ice feathers forming on the heather.

1650: 600m. This ring of ice fell off the bottom of my trekking pole.

1720: 350m At last! A view. :-)

1750: 80m Final photo is very disappointing... Apologies for the anticlimax!

Spring on Beinn a'Chaorainn

2011-03-03T09:15:00.005Z

Monday last I abandoned my poor partner in crime to his flu ridden campervan-fest and met up with Ben Keen from Shearwater Adventure for a day in the winter hills. The east ridge of Beinn a'Chaorainn was our objective for the day and the weather forecast couldn't have been better.

We began with a quick bushwack through the forest on the west side of the Allt na h Uamha, before emerging in the glen and joining a forest track that took us through a second plantation. Before long we were bashing up the heathery hillsides towards the base of the ridge which was looking alarmingly devoid of snow as we approached.

Knowing that the ridge is also a popular summer scramble we decided to go for it, whatever the condition- and were pleased to find when we got to the toe of the buttress that the north side of the ridge was still very snowy and a series of grooves led up towards the snowy crest higher up. Ben and I decided that this was the ideal time to practice our winter ML techniques so we dispensed with climbing harnesses, tied the rope round our waists, and Ben shot off up the first snowy groove.

In five short pitches we made the crest, and took in coils. It was then a quick bundle up a series of short but fun rock steps before we were level with the curly cornices on the plateau on either side of the ridge. There was some avalanche debris and evidence of cornice collapse during the recent thaw.

The ridge is graded I/II but in the firm snow and dry conditions on the day it was a lot easier. It is a popular choice in avalanche conditions, and I imagine that when buried it is quite challenging and for safety reasons teams will stick to the crest all the way. I owe Wally a day on this route, so expect I will be back before long to see what it is like under deeper snow.

Meanwhile, Ben and I had topped out and it was barely even lunch time. The sun was shining, I was getting my first tan of the year, and the summit of Creag Meagaidh was winking at us from across the glen. We had lunch on the summit of Meagaidh, and from that vantage, there were great views of Beinn a Chaorainn, which was showing its more wintery side. The East Ridge is the well defined central diagonal line in the picture.

Descent was a simple matter of following the eastern arm of the horseshoe around the glen back down to the Allt na h Uamha and a reasonable path to the road on the east side of the burn.

I have since paid for my desertion with a bout of the same flu that Wally was suffering with. Well deserved, but no regrets!

Silver Sands of Morar

2011-03-02T19:05:00.000Z

I'm just back from a great couple of days on the mainland. The plan had been to spend a couple of days in the hills with Wally, and to meet up with Ben for one of those days. The best laid plans were scuppered by poor Wally getting laid low with "manflu" so on the first day we went to the beach instead (a cure for most ills). As I'm now languishing at home with the same virus (or at least the female version) I will just post a few nice photos of the beach for starters. (I promise that when the head clears I'll write up my day with Ben on the East Ridge of Beinn A Chaorainn, as it was a stunning day!)
The excellent Walkhighlands site features the relatively easy walk to the sands of Morar.

Walking on the Wild Side: Winters Coastline

2011-02-25T15:24:00.003Z

When winter bites the Isle of Arran is a haven for wildlife. This article is the first of a series that I am writing for the Voice for Arran about walking and wildlife on Arran.

It is a dark blustery day on Arran and I’m walking along a rocky shore. A wet wind stings my face and finds its way through all my layers of clothing. Cold is not the word, bitter seems closer to the mark. I’m determined to endure this harsh salty world for as long as possible- it’s a daily reality to the birds and mammals that forage along our coastlines. I’d like to catch a glimpse of the animals that thrive on the bounty our wild coast provides in winter.

I crouch amongst a jumbled rib of rocks separating two sandy bays. On the beach either side I spot groups of bold oystercatchers. Oystercatchers can be found everywhere along the coast of Arran, with their unmistakeable black and white plumage, long red bill and legs. In spring their indignant cries can be heard up and down the island, as they defend their territories from each other, marauding gulls and careless humans. Today, they are conserving energy, and my presence raises barely a flutter. They forage in the piles of seaweed strewn across the beach, using their beaks to root through the fronds, hunting soft creatures and molluscs.

Further down the beach, redshanks scurry amongst the foam. Their little grey bodies tip back and forth in the surf like toy boats. They stab their delicate beaks in to the surging waves. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of their long legs in crimson stockings. I wonder how such a slight and impractically dressed bird can find a living at the waters edge on a day like today.

Concentrating harder, I can see small birds that move like clockwork pebbles amongst the redshanks. Ringed plovers are tiny reminders of the toughness that lies beneath nature’s beauty. Close up, their striped heads and orange beaks make them look like minuscule clowns. From a distance, they are almost invisible.

Suddenly they lift up in a flash of barred wings. Alarm spreads up the beach as a female sparrowhawk darts amongst the boulders. She tests first the oystercatchers, then the smaller birds in the surf. Angry cries are carried on the wind. She retreats, hunt unsuccessful, to a hollow bank at the back of the beach. I can see her beady eye watching intently from the dark cover. She will try her luck again. What she is doing away from her usual woodland and hedgerow haunts I can’t say, but perhaps when the weather is cold she too finds easiest pickings on the beach.

When winter bites Arran is a haven for wildfowl and other birds. The temperatures are milder at the coast, and even the blackbirds and the pipits know there is food to be found amongst the rotting seaweed. Many of the birds along the shore are winter visitors. Some like the redshank, come from as far away as Iceland.

My eye is drawn out to sea. A pair of eiders sit amongst the waves. There is a determined hunch to their backs as they weather the storm. The female is dark like her mallard cousins, but her powerful shape betrays a tough marine existence. She is a true sea duck. The male is dressed in gaudy black and white. Later in the year he will gather with other males in a sheltered bay up the coast to show off his flashy feathers but right now he seems happy to hunker down between the breakers.

Beyond the eiders, I glimpse a strange conical shape. It’s the nose of a seal, protruding out of the water. Unable or unwilling to haul out on to the rocks in this wild weather, the seal is bobbing like a cork in the ocean. Just its nose protrudes, and it will lounge about this way for hours. In calmer weather, seals prefer to sleep on land, and the large boulders that jut out of the sea become luxury couches at low tide. From the snub shape of this seal’s nose, I can see that it is a harbour seal. Often called common seals, they are anything but. There is a small population here on Arran, but elsewhere their numbers are falling. We also get regular visits from the larger grey seal, and the two will often haul out together. They can be told apart by the shape of their noses- harbour seals have charming “spaniel” like faces, while grey seals have regal “roman” noses. At 300kg, an adult male grey seal is a very noble beast indeed.

I’m getting really cold now, my clothes are soaked and I’m ready to go. Just before I turn away, I catch a hint of something- a flick of a long pointed tail. There is another, and a low humped back that rolls through the water. Focussing now, I see more, and a pattern of tails and humps that flow like liquid… one… two… three… A mother otter and her two cubs are on the move. A small, pale face appears and dives. She catches a wave, and I see a row of brown sausages surfing the breakers. Barely breathing, I watch them, heading west along the coast, until they disappear from view in the gloomy light.

Warmed by the fleeting glimpse of the otter family, I finally stumble to my feet. Time to get out of the wind and rain where luckily for me, a warm fire and hot drink await.

Tips for enjoying coastal wildlife:

Keep your distance and use binoculars to get a better view.
Take your time, keep your voice down and dogs on a lead.
Keep an eye on the behaviour of your subjects- are you affecting them?
Never disturb or follow animals and birds with young.
Take your litter home and don’t light fires.
Look for otter and bird tracks in the sand.

For more information about guided walks with Lucy, visit her website www.arranwildwalks.co.uk or email info@arranwildwalks.co.uk

Ben Cruachan Clag

2011-02-14T19:31:00.003Z

As regular blog readers will know, its not all about Arran here on the Wild on Arran Blog, and on Friday I hopped on the "wee boat" up to Tarbert to catch up with my friend Hazel for the weekend. To our surprise we managed to drag ourselves out of bed on Saturday morning despite the wine the night before and headed up north to Ben Cruachan. The forecast for the day was for reasonable weather but a poor avalanche forecast, so we opted for this stunning mountain because the normal route from the south avoids terrain and aspects that could have been hazardous for avalanches (with Saturday's forecast of fresh snow and winds from the SE-SW). The trade off was that we were too close to the sea to escape a thick fog. I understand that hill goers further east had a fine day. Oh well!

Cruachan Reservoir overhung by mist

We took the steep path up through woodland from the Cruachan reservoir to the dam and headed along the eastern shore.

Looking down towards the Cruachan Reservoir form the path to the Bealach

From here a small path soon disappeared beneath the snow and we picked our way up in to the mist and the ridge above. The path emerges at a bealach, and from here there are another 300m of ascent to the summit of Ben Cruachan.

Hazel, on the summit of Ben Cruachan, still with the energy for a little dance!

We were not massively inspired by the lack of visibility to continue along the ridge, so descended back to the bealach, and then took an alternative descent out of the mist over Meall Cuanail. As we emerged from the fog, we were treated to a wonderful vista of rolling moors dotted with red deer, with Loch Awe beyond.

Navigation Bogfest

2011-02-10T21:09:00.006Z

A bright sunny day is not the ideal one to choose for a bit of navigation practice, and nor is the moor above the Ross Rd the best place to be after heavy rain. Nevertheless, the relentless expanse of gently undulating heather moor, criss-crossed by boggy troughs, made for suitably challenging navigation conditions in any weather.

Wally points the way. Photo Kirstie Smith

We set off from the top of the Ross Rd, and had a great time navving from point to point. We quickly figured out that spot heights up there are pretty arbitrary. You have to get heavily in to contours and stream junctions and even they are intangible sometimes. All good fun however, and all good practice. We may well be up there in the dark some time soon for a night nav excercise.

Looking for a distinct wiggly contour in a mess of indistinct wiggly contours. Photo Kirstie Smith

A grim fate awaits if you get lost and fall in a bog

Eventually we saw a way out down Benlister Glen!

Quick Scramble over The Saddle

2011-01-30T23:10:00.004Z

Walking through the Glens from Sannox to Glen Rosa via the saddle is one of the great linear walks on the Isle of Arran, but it should not be underestimated. Whilst the height gain is fairly minimal (less than 450m), there is a steep climb out of Glen Sannox, and a little scramble up a chimney known as the Whin Dyke to gain the saddle between the two glens.

We left the car at the bus stop opposite the Wineport on the outskirts of Brodick and hopped on a bus at about 1100 this morning. Not long after we alighted at Sannox, and began the long walk up the glen. It was great to be traveling light for a change as the low altitude of the walk meant no need for axe, crampons, or lots of other heavy gear.

Approaching The Saddle (on the left of Cir Mhor) at the head of Glen Sannox.

Beginning the steep climb up to the base of the chimney, which provides an exit on to the ridge. The alternative is heavily eroded hillside- unpleasant.

The scramble up the Whin Dyke is on rocky steps on the left of the chimney, straightforward to climb when dry, a good bit more dodgy in descent, especially when wet.

Yes that's me.

Beautiful light on the Saddle. The peak in the middle is North Goatfell. Goatfell's main summit is on the right

partially obscured by the mist.

Descending in to Glen Rosa. There is a burn to cross near the head of the glen which can be tricky after heavy rain.

Looking back up Glen Rosa to Cir Mhor from the south. It is about at this point that we were treated to views of a pair of golden eagles, flying over the hillside above.

Teaching Winter Skills Workshop

2011-01-26T12:20:00.003Z

They say every day is a school day, but last weekend it was definitely back to school for me as I was on a Teaching Winter Skills workshop in Fort William. The training process that mountain leaders go through is structured to ensure that skills and experience are steadily built up before a leader becomes qualified. As a Summer Mountain Leader, I have attained a level of competence required to lead in the uk mountains in summer. However, although I absolutely love being out in the winter hills, preparing for my winter ML assessment is not a walk in the park, as the standard required is understandably high. The Mountain Leader Training Association offers CPD courses for aspirant Winter MLs, to help us hone and perfect these techniques, with a view to assessment, or for qualified leaders to keep their skills current. This does not replace the initial training programme that we must all undergo- as these courses are entirely optional.

Obviously the winter environment is very different form the summer one. For novice clients, there will be a ruck of new skills to learn, and teaching this in a fun and non-threatening way is part of the skills of a good leader. On day 1 of the course we headed up on to Aonach Mor with instructor Tim Blakemore of Northern Mountain Sport to look at ways that we can safely and effectively pass on skills of movement, step cutting and sliding.

That evening, we had a chat in the classroom about avalanche avoidance- essential! Tim told us about how new research is showing that not only is it important to understand the causes of avalanches, but that we should also be aware of how poor decision making and heuristic traps lead novices and trained experts alike in to avalanche zones.

On the second day, we were treated to a fantastic mountain journey on Ben Nevis. This was the first time that I have begun the normally tedious approach to the Ben from the locked forestry car park- the advantages of being with a guide! Within no time we were sat in the CIC hut having a cup of tea, before heading up in to Coire na Ciste. After a quick look at snow conditions, we climbed Number Three gully. Most of us took the easy exit left, but we took advantage of the opportunity to build snow anchors and bring up some folk via a much steeper corniced exit on the right.

After this, a quick bit of navigation in the mist (above) brought us to the top of Number Four Gully. Here we built more anchors, and lowered/abseiled in to the top of the gully.

The top was pretty steep, but in these good snow conditions, it was possible to walk down unroped back to Coire na Ciste where a speedy bumslide brought us back to our morning's tracks.

Thanks Wally, for taking these brilliant photos, and big thanks to Tim and the other guys on the course for a great and informative weekend.

Cairngorms Glacier Mint

2011-01-25T19:22:00.003Z

Sometimes I just end up being in the right place at the right time. For the 5 days we were in the Cairngorms last week this was certainly the case, as a hard thaw, followed by a fierce freeze, brought near perfect snow conditions. Right up until we arrived I wasn't sure what kind of reception the mountains were going to give us. Knowing things were meant to cool off we took a punt on it being ok and set off on the sunday afternoon at the height of the thaw and some wild stormy weather. Five days of brilliant time in the hills is a lot of blogging, so to keep it simple, here are some of the best photos in an attempt to sum up the week.

Day 1: Strong winds today, so we went straight up on to the Cairngorm Plateau to see what it was like! Apart from the wind, the plateau was frozen in to a giant lollipop of neve.

Checking out the tops of the climbs in Coire nan Lochain.

Day 2: We did Aladdin's Mirror, which takes a hidden snowy couloir up the right of the blackest buttress, in to the snow field above, and then trends back left. An exposed grade 1- Very icy today.

Day 3: A "day off"- exploring the Rothiemurchus Forest- a small corner of the ancient Caledonian Forest that still survives.

Breathtaking views over the forest. This is almost a proper woodland wilderness- even if it is a small one.

Heaven for a tree hugging hippy like me.

Looking up from the tree line towards the Lairig Ghru.

Day 4: Back in the mountains! Icy approach to Spiral Gully.

Wally leading up to the first difficulties- a narrow groove of ice.

Lovely view across the face towards Aladdin's seat- you can just make out a climber approaching the "pommel" of the saddle.

Looking up the final gully of Spiral Gully.

Cairngorm Plateau twinkling in the sunlight

Snow buntings amaze me- they manage to survive in the most ferocious conditions- on what? (Climbers' sarnies?)

Day 5: Forgot to get pictures on the route today (oops) but here is me trying to get over a large cornice at the top of Crotched Gully.

Aha! Made it.

A picture of me thrutching up the cornice courtesy of Bill at Scotch on the Rocks Guiding, who was with a party on Spiral Gully, and was kind enough to send me copies of his photos of us topping out.

Alpine Day in the Hills

2011-01-12T09:31:00.004Z

When I first moved to Arran I wondered if I would ever find life on a small island limiting. There are only so many hills, routes and summits to climb, and after a while you keep returning to the same places. Yesterday, Wally and I spent the afternoon on Stacach Ridge- an exposed little scramble between the two summits of Goatfell, and proved that no matter how many times you climb something, there is always something different to enjoy, especially in winter. We were treated to one of the most memorable and magnificent days out on the hill that we have ever had. If the following blog post seems a little over enthusiastic- this is because its very hard to describe just how brilliant the best days in the mountains can be. There are not enough superlatives!

We had the usual slow start, but this time intentionally. A round of the two peaks is not a long route and do-able in a short day. We dropped the car at Cladach, picked up the bus round to Corrie, and set off up the steep ascent through High Corrie, past the waterworks, and up through woodland and open hill to Coire Lan.

Looking up in to Coire Lan. Goatfell Summit visible on the left

The Coire was filled with snow, and we decided to strike up steep slopes to the left of North Goatfell. The conditions underfoot were a mixed bag- with firm wind scoured snow, and pockets of windslab that cracked and broke away alarmingly. Anyone who says that avalanches don't happen on Arran is a plonker (putting it politely)- they do, I have seen the results. We picked our route carefully, and noted that in places, the snow conditions went from great to very poor quite quickly.

"Shooting Cracks" that fire out of footprints are a sure sign that the snow is not to be trusted.

We arrived at a bealach between North Goatfell and the knobbly ridge of Stacach. Already breathless from the climb, we both gasped at the panorama visible from the ridge. Peak after jagged peak was encased in crisp and sparkling snow. The bright sun picked out every gully, rock stack and summit in perfect shining clarity. The air was so clear that the snowy tops of the Paps of Jura, Ben More on Mull, the Arrochar Alps and even the Galloway hills seemed close enough to touch. It was possible to make out headlands and bays along the coastline of Northern Ireland. Standing in silence, we could hear the roar of the Rosa Burn far below.

Looking towards a snowy Achir, Beinn a Chliabhain, and beyond, Beinn Tarsuinn.

Achir on the left, Cir Mhor is on the centre right, and just to the right of this on the far horizon, are the Paps of Jura.

Turning left at the ridge, we set out along the series of rough granite tors that make the ridge of Stacach. In summer, this is a fun but very exposed grade 1 scramble. For the nervous, there is a path that traverses on the east flank, under the buttresses. In winter, this narrow path is often buried under unstable snow, and safe passage cannot be found easily. The scramble over the top can vary from lighthearted fun, to serious climbing, depending on the conditions underfoot, therefore it may be a good idea to carry a 30m rope, a couple of slings and some nuts. On this day the snow was reasonably firm, but the ledges and cracks were hidden under a blanket of white stuff that made going slow and cautious. The crux of the ridge is a vertical tor which can either be ascended by an airy series of ledges on the west (often called The Giant's Steps), with serious consequences if you slip, or a very awkward chimney on the crest. In summer, I prefer the delicate balancing ledges, but in winter, the fight up the chimney seems safer! The descent from this tor also follows another series of blocky ledges, which in winter can be tricky.

Wally tackling the blocky chimney.

Looking back towards the descent from the most difficult section of the ridge.

As always, the concentrated delights of the ridge were over far too quickly. We dawdled on the final bealach before the summit of Goatfell. The late afternoon light was turning an astonishing technicolour in the north eastern sky. To the west, encroaching clouds warned of a storm to come.

Looking North towards Bute, the Cumbraes and eventually up the Clyde to Glasgow. The peaks on the far horizon are the Arrochar Alps and the Trossachs.

Climbing the final slopes of Goatfell.

On the highest point, we lingered even longer. The view from the summit of Goatfell is absolutely breathtaking and worth the climb whatever path you choose. Finally, we dragged ourselves away, and began the descent down to the waiting car in Brodick. The path down towards Brodick Castle is relatively straightforward, although in heavy snow conditions care is required near the top where steep accumulations of windslab can be found. In the last of the light we saw and heard a number of red grouse, silhouetted against the snow, giving out their low chuckling call. Brilliant!

A frosty Goatfell Summit.

Bypass Route, Cir Mhor

2011-01-08T15:45:00.004Z

Winter climbing on Arran is described in the area guidebook as being "transient in nature, yet at its best of incomparable quality". It is for this reason that Wally and I regularly take the climbing kit for a walk, "to have a look" and return home empty handed. We have the advantage of being local, and every once in a while, we can grab good conditions when they suddenly arrive.

A snowy Cir Mhor from Glen Sannox. Coire na h-Uaimh is the hanging Coire to the right.

Yesterday was such a day. We had our usual slow start, and feeling sluggish after the excesses of the holiday season, made slow progress up Glen Sannox and in to Coire na h-Uaimh, a hanging coire to the North of Cir Mhor. A faint path negotiates the bog, small crags and huge pitfalls, until reaching the coire floor, it gets lost in a mire of boulders.

Cloud billowing over the Saddle on the far side of Cir Mhor from Coire na h-Uaimh

Looking down in to Glen Sannox. Note the snowy mainland hills in the distance!

We traversed up on to the lower slopes of Cir Mhor, marking the ice beginning to form on the lower slabs, that in cold conditions, forms an ice route called Pan's Pipe. Even when "fat" the ice here is thin and hard to protect.

Ice forming on Pan's Pipe.

Beyond, lies the entrance to the Western Stoneshoot, a grade I/II that often has a nice ice pitch low down. We geared up at the entrance to the Stoneshoot, and picked the line of Bypass Route, a turfy grade II that follows a series of open grooves before emerging at a col between Pinnacle ridge and the main shoulder of the mountain.

Looking up the Western Stoneshoot. Bypass Route follows a series of grooves on the left.

Looking down the Western Stoneshoot from where we gained the grooves.

Yesterday, Bypass Route was just about in condition. The turf was well frozen in most places, but any ice that had formed was thin and brittle. Higher up the grooves were buried in a deep layer of powder, covered by a fragile crust that broke off in alarming shards. Even in this state, the route is worthwhile, taking the easiest line through some spectacular scenery. We emerged at sunset, tired but happy.

Looking up the 4th pitch of Bypass Route. Pinnacle Ridge is on the left, the Col above.

Not long after this, we were treated to a magnificent light show, as a meteorite shot out of the sky above our heads. A fiery ball of flames and sparks, it streamed over the ridge, out above Glen Sannox and finally fizzled out not far above the glen!

Looking to the North West at sunset. Jura is visible in the distance.

The day was far from over however, as the next decision to be made was descent route selection. Options included ascending Cir Mhor, and descending the Whinstone Dyke on the saddle in darkness, or a shorter exit, via the steep headwall of Coire na h-Uaimh. We picked the second option, but arriving at the headwall at dusk, discovered a mean little cornice above a steep snowy drop. We scratched around for a belay in the failing light, but realised soon enough that the safe option was going to be a long walk out to the south via Glen Rosa. Darkness fell as we traversed under Cir Mhor, but we were quickly on easy ground and able to enjoy a winter wonderland by torchlight.

Winter Mountain Wildlife

2010-12-19T19:48:00.002Z

The cold weather has been affecting all of us and it is certainly getting to the wildlife too. There was plenty of activity in evidence today in the hills, more than I would expect at this time of year, and I suspect that our predators in particular are finding feeding in the big freeze tricky. Fresh snow fell on Arran over night and there were hundreds of animal tracks in the snow in Glen Rosa this morning.

Dawn lights up Glen Rosa

It was clear that deer, rabbits, small birds and voles had been criss-crossing the glen since the snow stopped falling. In the trees above us, flocks of finches and tits were feeding amongst the branches, until a bold red squirrel came bounding through the tree tops and put them all to flight. Further up the Glen, we could see the deer sheltering in the trees on the lower slopes. As we began to climb up the Garbh Allt, a steep burn that runs in to Glen Rosa from the west, a pair of golden eagles circled overhead, and after they had gone, a kestrel appeared.

Our plan was to head up under the crags of Beinn Nuis, and look to see if any of the easier gullies were climbable/soloable (looking for winter ML practice terrain). It was a hard slog up as always, but at least the bog was firm for a change. Hidden ice amongst the heather made the going very treacherous and after a couple of painful comedy tumbles, the crampons were on despite the soft snow and thick heather. Occasionally underfoot we also saw evidence of the voles that the hungry kestrel had been searching for- strange little galloping tracks, tunnels in the snow and evidence of miniature digging works. It has been said that snowy winters favour field voles in the arms race between predator and prey as it is easier for them to hide from prying eyes under the snow. Winter is tough on the kestrels and owls that rely on them for food.

Field Vole tunnel in the snow.

Once up in to the upper coire it became clear that although there was plenty of ice forming on the bog, the chimneys and gulleys were relatively bare. An easy angled gully that had caught our eye from below looked less inviting close up, with a huge chockstone at mid height and choked with deep layers of powder snow and graupel (pellet like snow- very unstable when fresh).

The spectacular main face of Beinn Nuis

We traversed out right beneath the face, and gained a shoulder that rises relentlessly to the right hand edge of the crag. From here it was possible to traverse right again at about grade I, across a fan of better snow, and to gain the main ridge between Nuis and Tarsuinn.

Climbing the shoulder.

Traversing under crags to reach the snow fan on the right.

Once on the ridge we were in the full force of a north easterly wind that bit through all our warm winter clothing. Feathery fingers of rime ice were forming on the rocks and the ground. We clambered up on to the summit of Beinn Nuis, paused for a moment to enjoy the view, and then headed back down via the easier slopes on the South Ridge. By the time we got back to the car it was snowing heavily again.

Beautiful rime ice formations (sastrugi) on the summit rocks of Beinn Nuis.

Looking back up Coire A Bhraidain towards Beinn Nuis and Beinn Tarsuinn.

Esoteric Ice: Coire nam Fuaran

2010-12-08T22:09:00.009Z

I think I mentioned this before.... but Arran really hasn't had that much in the way of snow compared to the rest of the uk. Having said that, it has been incredibly cold. Last week Wally and I spotted what looked like a streak of ice emerging from a steep gully high above Glen Sannox, in a remote coire called Coire nam Fuaran. The location was duly noted, and filed for future reference.

On Sunday, primed with this information, friend and climbing neighbour Robin Barnden went and had a look around. He reported back with tales of a long and necky solo up a thin streak of ice in the back of a deep couloir. The route finished east of Mullach Buidhe and was all there from start to finish.
Monday, you may remember, it snowed. A lot.

We ventured out on Tuesday morning to go and have a look at Robin's icefall.

It was a cold and frosty walk up Glen Sannox. Lots of fresh snow visible on the higher slopes.

A frigid looking Cioch na h'Oighe in the cold dawn light.

The approach to Coire nam Fuaran involves a nightmare bash up bolder strewn heather slopes. Even with the covering of fresh snow this was no fun. Ice filled gullies caused large detours. The approach was extremely tedious but we did manage to find a network of deer paths leading to the coire from the valley floor... (for future reference I would consider walking up to the saddle and approaching from the first shoulder of North Goatfell).

The final approach to Coire nam Fuaran.

Icefall marking the entrance to the gully.

Fabulous views of Cir Mhor from the route.

From Coire nam Fuaran, the gully is less obvious than it is from Glen Sannox, as the entrance is blocked overlapping granite slabs. A cascade of ice was clearly visible under the fresh snow. This first pitch gave easy sport at about grade II.

Wally on the first pitch.

The second pitch consisted mainly of easy snow slopes that delved in to the back of a deep chasm. Harder ice on pitch 3 led up on the right from the back of the gully.

Above this, pitch 4 had more excellent quality ice, although the conditions meant that a fair bit of digging was required.

Beyond pitch 4 the terrain eased in to a broad fan of snow and we picked our way between turf and snow up on to the higher slopes of the mountain. In all there was probably about 200m+ of moving together on easy snow slopes. Protection was hard to find and the unconsolidated and at times slabby snow conditions made this the most nerve wracking part of the day.

The route finishes about 200m west of the summit of Mullach Buidhe. When we topped out the light was failing, the moon setting, and we could simultaneously see the lights of Glasgow, Lochgilphead and Campbeltown.

We took the easiest route down, heading over Mullach Buidhe and dropping down from the col before North Goatfell and out of Coire Lan. to the road at Corrie. Big thanks to Jamie who picked us up at the road and took us back to the van in Sannox. Also huge respect to Robin for what was undoubtedly a bold and interesting solo. We estimate the overall length of the route to be about 450m with 200m of quality climbing at about grade II/III.

Arctic blast on Beinn Nuis and Beinn Tarsuinn

2010-12-02T11:07:00.001Z

While the rest of Scotland (and even the UK) has been buried under mountains of snow, we have had just a little dusting here on Arran. However, we have not been spared the arctic blast from the east that has brought freezing temperatures right down to sea level and got me wearing my woolly hat indoors.

Yesterday Wally, Alec, and Luing the dog took advantage of the frosty weather and parked at the top of the String Road for a quick jaunt over Beinn Nuis and Beinn Tarsuinn. Normally this approach involves wading through deep bog and "bastard grass" (Molinia caerulea), but on this occasion the bog was frozen solid and the approach was relatively painless.

Even with the String Road approach- its a fair slog up Beinn Nuis...

Fantastic views of the main face of Beinn Nuis

Wally checking the Nuis chimneys for signs of ice (very little forming as it has been so cold there has been no real seepage).

Higher up, there was an arctic blast of easterly wind that made going tough (and cold).

Up on the ridge between Nuis and Tarsuinn the wind blew spindrift in our faces and we regretted leaving the goggles behind. Doh.

The famous Old Man of Tarsuinn with a beard of rime.

Descending to the bealach between Tarsuinn and Beinn A Chliabhain.

From Beinn Tarsuinn we descended rough heathery slopes in to Coire A' Bhradain, to follow an argocat trail back out over the moor to the vehicles at the top of the string. We hadn't needed crampons all day, but if we get a wee thaw that is forecast this weekend, and some more wet snow, the conditions will settle a bit and I would expect a lot of ice to form. Fingers crossed!

Low Winter Sun: Cioch na h-Oighe

2010-11-23T20:20:00.004Z

I think I have been up Cioch na h-Oighe more than any other ridge or peak on Arran. Close to the road, it is just a steep heather bash from Glen Sannox and a great choice for a shorter day if you want to get in to technical rocky scrambling terrain. The rock is generally sound, the views immense, and it is one of the quietest places in the Northern Hills- I rarely meet anyone else up there.

So, this morning, a long lie and a good weather forecast lured us back up there with a promise of a fun scramble and some winter sunshine. We were not disappointed. I think it would be hard for me to get tired of this fantastic ridge.

Walking up Glen Sannox for a short distance, before cutting up to the left and towards the Devil's Punchbowl.

I've have described this route a few times, but in case you are new to the blog- climbing up to the Cioch involves taking a path leading up towards the Devil's Punchbowl, above Sannox, and then picking a traverse line under the nose of the Cioch, before scrambling over slabs and scree to reach the upper slopes. The final tower forms a hooked prow, spectacular in profile. On the left, the terrifying crags of The Bastion drop away, and to the right, steep but heathery slopes in to Glen Sannox.

Arriving on the Cioch, we were blinded by the low winter sun. It was glorious, but a bit much so we gratefully dropped down in to the notch beyond, and followed the undualting crest over granite blocks and through narrow squeezes until the ridge broadened in to the flanks of Mullach Buidhe.

Cir Mhor from Mullach Buidhe

Beyond Mulllach Buidhe, there is a short descent before the final climb on to North Goatfell. Here the bright sun dazzled us again, The view from the summit was incredible, and as well as the snow capped highlands to the North we could also make out Jura, and for the first time ever- clearly, the Isle of Mull to the Northwest.

On the summit of North Goatfell

Finally we began our descent down to The Saddle between North Goatfell and Cir Mhor. In places the path is heavily eroded and a fine scree of granite gravel means that care is required on descent. From the saddle we traversed a short distance under the North East flank of Cir Mhor, before descending a well marked but scree filled Gully above the Whinstone Dyke. From here, in descent, you have a choice of continuing to folow loose scree to the right (facing out) or descending the dyke itself, which is steep but certainly preferable in dry conditions. There is plenty for hands, but the footholds are a bit polished by time, boots and running water.

At last we arrived back in to Glen Sannox, and all that remained was a long stomp out of the glen as the light failed. We passed a small herd of stags on the way, who crossed the river to avoid us, but still allowed us great views of their magnificent head gear.

Surf/Climb Holiday Part 3: Beaches

2010-11-16T19:23:00.001Z

Its totally obligatory when visiting the south west of England to go to the beach. Whats more, there is a beach to suit every mood, and most swell directions if surfing is your thing. Surfing isn't really my thing, but I like water and wild weather and having a boogie board and a steamer wetsuit seems to be enough to entice me out in to the surf even in November. I need fairly benign conditions however, in fact, boogie boarding lends itself to baby surf. By the end of the trip though I was starting to lust after a pair of fins and the potential to go and play in the big stuff out the back with the big boys......

Due to the wet nature of these activities, I don't have so many good photos to share with you from this aspect of the trip. One secret site was ridden on a pre dawn raid by my proper surfing companions, and there wasn't even enough light to photograph them... However, here are a few snaps, and some pointers as to when these beaches get good:

Porthmeor Beach, St Ives, is really sheltered, and therefore only really gets going when westerly swells are huge. On this day the conditions were good to big, but the beach gets really steep towards the top of the beach and therefore only the good and the brave were out, lurking near the back.

This was Gwithian on the north coast of Cornwall on the biggest scariest day imaginable. Gale force off shore winds and massive westerly swell. The guys out windsurfing are some of the best in the country and they were eaten alive (whilst having a lot of fun).

On the opposite coast, Praa Sands, which is a huge beach. It was ripping quite badly on this day so I didn't stay out for long.

The best surf of the trip was had at the secret(ish) location near St Ives, which only gets good when westerly swells are really big. Ok, so its Hawks Point, and involves an amazing meandering descent down steps and paths through cliff top gardens to get to and often a swim to the shore. We also had a lovely sunset surf at Sennen, with westerly swell and offshore winds... I really started to get the hang of my boogie thing at Putsborough, in North Devon, in messy swell that made me work really hard but was a great learning experience. Fins here we come.

Often however, the swell was just too big, too messy, too onshore..... So we had some great walks on wild rocky beaches. Walking out to Morte point and along to Bull Point in a gale was amazing. We could hardly stand up in the wind, and felt at any moment we might be swept away. Rockham beach is an incredible shattered landscape of rock and sea and was no less atmospheric for the storm. Pictures below:

Surf/Climb Holiday Part 2: Cornish Climbing

2010-11-14T16:57:00.001Z

We had about 10 days down in the South West which I fully expected to be incredibly wet and wild. We brought surf and boogie boards to give us a chance of having something to do when the inevitable foul weather came. In the event, some of the fiercest storms of the Autumn so far lashed the western shores of the British Isles with an almost constant barage of low pressure systems, swell and dark windy days.
However, we were in luck with the rain, which generally held off until nightfall, and when the surf was just too messy and big for us northern softies, we went rock climbing. Fancy that.

There are 2 good places I know of to climb at the southern tip of cornwall when the tides are wrong and the swell is big. If you know of any more, let me know!
The first, Bosigran, is an old favourite of mine, and it was here that I began my long love affair with granite that was to culminate in moving to the isle of Arran. At Bosigran, the rock is rough, solid, and generally the climbs in the lower grades are well protected, Don't let me lull you in to a false sense of security however, the grades are very "Scottish", many of the routes are long, and the climbing athletic even at v diff.

Porthmoina Island, cut off from the rocky crags of Bosigran by tide and swell.

Classic V Diff Commando Ridge- The starting pitch was washed by swell on this occasion so we left if for a calmer day....

Wally on the second Pitch of Ledge Climb: V Diff

Wally on the eponymous Ledge

Thrutching my way up the the final ledges on Alison Rib

The other great place to climb I know when the weather is wild is Trewavas head on the south coast, just along from the wonderful beach at Praa Sands.
Pictures below are of the tin mining ruins on the walk in, and me doing my best impression of a popsicle in the cold cold wind. The climbing on the main cliff is generally short pitches, in an exposed position high above the sea. It is certainly not a place to get out of the elements, but a good place to get away from the waves.

Surf/climb Holiday Part 1: Change of plan and Box Bay

2010-11-09T13:32:00.001Z

The best laid plans.....
Our much anticipated autumn climbing and surfing trip to the Western Isles was sadly put on hold with the passing of my grandfather John Battersby. The family gathered in Wales to celebrate and remember his extraordinary life. There was much sadness, but a lot of happiness too as he was an amazing, funny and clever man, and remembering him brought as much laughter as sorrow.

After the funeral, we decided to stick with the climbing and surfing plan, but took advantage of our location, and began a tour of the Southwest that would take us through Wales, down to the end of Cornwall, and in to darkest Devon... I'm going to post the images in stages, as we did a fair bit, but will only bore you with the best bits!

The holiday began with a sunset climb at one of Wales' most popular surfing spots, Rest Bay. Just east of the main beach lies a small rocky incut, known to the locals as Box Bay. Here there are short and fun routes on sharp limestone. Rough rock and lots of cracks make them relatively safe, and generally low in the grade (by Scottish standards), but beware many of the starts are unprotected, and the landings awkward/dangerous.

Shimmering surf in Rest Bay....

The routes have tricky blank and barnacley starts with wet and rocky landings....

But once established, there is plenty of gear and lots to hold on to.

It was a stunning evening, didn't really feel like October at all! Here's wally looking like he should be sipping a pina colada on the top of the crag.

Eventually the sun set, and we had to go....