TGO Challenge 2009

A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose

Day 1

My note book says we left at eight. That seems a remarkably quick getaway for me, but I know we left well before nine because I questioned Ian whether we should leave before the stipulated nine o’clock start time. In any case Ian phoned up Roger to let him know the two of us were starting, and we set off along the road towards the first mountain – Roshven – from where a rugged mountain ridge winds its way eastward.

As we walked we became so engrossed in conversation that we walked much further along the road than we should have and realising our mistake had to climb over a fence and struggle up through a very steep wood to reach the slopes of Roshven. If taking the wrong turn so early in the walk was a bit worrying, the scramble up through the wood was great fun - we had to pull ourselves up with our hands it was so steep.

Emerging from the wood we followed a natural line up and to the right until we got onto the ridge from where it was just a very long slog up a steep slope to the top of Roshven.

Just before the top Ian shouted “Ptarmigan!” and I turned to see something that seemed all wings, claws and beak plummeting to the ground. To be fair it was hardly ideal flying conditions, and if at sea level it had seemed that the wind was easing off, up here it was still blowing half a gale and freezing. There was a scattering of snow and the cairn was nicely iced up.

Roshven is 2895’ (878m) high. Not a tremendous height, but we had climbed all the way from sea level. We set off in an easterly direction along the ridge and straight away found that whilst the seaward windblown side of the hill only had a scattering of snow, the leeward side had enough snow to make things decidedly slippery, and we were both to have our feet shoot out from under us several times before the day was done. Given the alarmingly steep drops that sometimes appeared to either side this made it necessary to proceed with caution.

The drop from Roshven to the Bealach an Fiona (2313’ 701m) (bealach = pass) seemed much further, and a much greater drop than I remembered from a previous visit, and this was the case all day, partly because of us having to travel slowly and carefully.

At the very draughty bealach we stopped for lunch, watching the clouds race across the cliffs of An Stac.

The very steep pull up to Sgurr na Ba Glaise warmed me up a little, but I’d already realised I’d left one important bit of kit at home – a pair of gloves.

The ridge is very defined, but because we were in cloud a lot of the time we kept surprising ourselves by taking a wrong turn, and it took some time arrive at the summit of Druim Fiaclach (The Notched Ridge), from where the ridge slowly descends to another pass. I don’t know about Ian, but I was now just relieved that it was an easy downhill to the bealach where we were to camp.

The map gives no indication of problems on this part of the ridge, but after a few hundred metres the ridge became very craggy with no obvious way forward. Luckily we were below the cloud now so we could see the problems quite well, and after a bit of a struggle managed to scramble down.

Now at last the way was surely clear to get down to the bealach. Yes it was, but the 1300’ (400m) descent really took it out of me, and it wasn't until 7pm that we could put the tents up, put our dinners on, and read a book (an easy to read James Herriot) whilst the dinner rehydrated. Then cups of tea with various nibbles whilst I wrote up the day’s notes, looked at the map, and read more about the unlikely places vets put their arms.

I settled down to sleep at about 9:30 listening to the rain on the tent a few inches above my face.

I settled down to sleep at about 9:30 listening to the rain on the tent a few inches above my face.