Dear Member,

Greetings to you all!   It’s been sooo long since we had our last meet, never mind regular meetings due to our own summer recess and environmental circumstances dictating.  Hopefully this will serve to renew enthusiasm and participation at meets will be high!!!  There are only 9 Meets before Xmas (sorry about mentioning that word), not that many really, so all the more reason to plan diaries carefully!!!

There will be a first visit to Badagoush, Speyside, staying in a stone cottage, facilities including ‘vinyl covered floor mattresses’, fully equipped self-catering kitchen (allegedly), wood burning stove and outside toilet!!  Lots of camping space too if the numbers exceed 16 people. And I think they might!

Times of the boat sailing to Rum are:

Friday 21^st Sept. leaving Mallaig at 12.50pm – arriving in Rum at 2pm. 

Monday 24^th Sept. leaving Rum at 3.05pm – arriving in Mallaig at 5.20pm.

The cost of the boat is £12.35 return.

We will have our very own costume party weekend, 5-6^th October – dress retro!!  You will look out of place if you’re not dressed appropriately – you have been warned!!  Details of the venue can be confirmed from Ian Thomson

Please note the change of date for the Muir of Inverey Meet TO 19/20^th October.

Please note the change of date and venue from Inverbhloin (8/9^th Dec.)TO Raeburns Hut (30/1^st Dec).

The AGM will be on the 10^th November in the Kingshouse, Glencoe followed by the Dinner.  Efforts are being made by your President to find a Speaker, (they are, aren’t they?!) The next Committee meeting will be on the 1^st October.  Anything you wish raised/discussed/brought to peoples’ attention please do not hesitate to contact any committee member and inform them of any idea/suggestion.  Remember – communication is helpful.

Pub meets are every fortnight.  The venue may be liable to change at some point – I will inform everyone if it happens.  Would you like to forget you’re in Glasgow on a driech winters’ night (or even summer for that matter!)? Two social restaurant evenings planned before Xmas (oops, again), El Sabero in the new Merchant Village, Merchant City being the first. Really cool, Spanish Tapas, Latin DJ, cosmopolitan surroundings – tempted?

Many thanks to the contributors for their meet reports! 

Vicky Stewart

Secretary

Past Meets

11-19^th May

One Wedding and A Funeral

What do you get if you take 2 time-hardened hill men, 5 bothies, 8 nights, the empty Parbh, numerous beaches and a modgibox full of goodies? Read on.

The Quartermaster and the Naked Chef woke beneath the Drochaid Mhór after a  mad 6 hour dash to the Kyle of Durness, dusted off the dew from their bivi bags and made the last few miles to Keoldale just in time to see the boat leaving. Good start! As it turned out it was. If we’d caught that boat we’d either have sat for 4 hours on the shady side of the Kyle waiting for the bus or been tempted into walking the 7 miles to Kervaig. So we spent a relaxed morning packing our bags, chatting to tourists and watching the tide come in.  

Davie the Boat turned up at 11:15 to run the 11:00 boat to pick up the cyclists on the other side who’d been waiting since 10:30. We’re on Highland Time up here and it runs funny this far north. Davie is on a 1 man crusade to convince the owner of the Cape Wrath Hotel that it is cost effective to keep the hotel (or at least the bar) open all year round. We wondered if we should pay for the ferry tickets at the bar. So the boat leaves with the usual mixture of passengers: the pregnant woman, the man with the video camera, the loud woman with big lipstick, a dog called Ted and 2 hunky mountain men. 

I was here 3 years ago. The only patter we could extract out of the mini bus driver then was “That’ll be £6.50 please”. Not only does time run funny here but things are slow to change. The bus driver’s patter is now along the lines of  “That’ll be £10 thank you very much”. That might qualify as progress or might just be down to inflation. We disembarked at the start of the Kervaig path along with Mo the lipstick woman and Ted the belligerent arthritic wire haired terrier and stumbled along with an assortment of Safeway bags hanging about us, clinking in the pleasing way that only clinking bags can.

If you haven’t been to Kervaig before, picture the following and you might come close to experiencing the paradise that is Kervaig:

Girls - Harrods’ Xmas sale, you are the only customer allowed in, everything is 1p, all the sales assistants are George Clooney, and the branch has been moved to the Seychelles and is on a coral beach.

Boys - The fridge is full of beer, your partner has gone Xmas shopping and hasn’t insisted you tag along, leaving you and the female cast of Baywatch (naked, keeping your Guinness topped up and feeding you tortilla chips) to watch the Matrix DVD you got 6 months ago (but haven’t been allowed to watch).

Nice, eh?

To work up an appetite we took a walk up to the cliffs of the Clò Mhor, ticked off puffins, fulmars, shags and cormorants then explored the cliffs and arches by the beach and had a root around the bay for some wood. Finally we had a game of fish float petanq with a 4 ft mooring buoy as a jack and retired back to the bothy for tea. Mo was impressed with the steak Kervaig as was Ted who didn’t have as much restraint and made a couple of unsuccessful parries for our tea, being thwarted by a size 8 Zamberlan. One of the ‘Sharp Exit’ ads came to mind. It was still quite warm in the bothy but we had a fire anyway - a bothy without a fire is like sex without a mess.

The fog horn had been sounding off all night apparently. Kervaig was clear when we set off the next day but we could see the mist ahead rolling into the cape. Cape Wrath must be a big disappointment for a lot of people. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a spectacular spot but put yourself in the hush puppies of the average tourist: you’ve just been fleeced for 15 quid, the boat offers no shelter from the elements, the 9 mile bus journey is a white knuckle ride with a driver who has taken a vow of silence and when you finally arrive at the Cape all there is is a bloody lighthouse which you can’t even get into! Today, to add insult to injury you could barely see across the lighthouse compound. Visitscotland indeed - there wasn’t a scone or tartan doily to be seen anywhere.

Anyway this was just a turning point in our walk and not a main objective thankfully. As we started South we could see the occasional tourist looming out of the mist, rushing around with camera and binoculars, intent in getting their money’s worth. We were soon out of the mist which only seemed to be sitting on the cape, and had our lunch overlooking Am Bodach and A’Chailleach. A quick solo up these stacks and we were on our way to the Bay of Keisgaig.

The walk is stunning. Probably some of the best coastal scenery in the country. A huge fox was added to our wildlife tick list as we descended into the bay and we were pleasantly surprised to find the remains of a howf sitting on a grassy knoll overlooking the bay. This would be a miserable place in the wet as the turf roof incorporated great sky views and was supported by a combination of fish boxes and props. However today was dry and it would give us some shelter from the wind. We did take the precaution of adding a few of our own planks to lessen the odds of a fatal roof collapse. After a bit of exploration (good cliffs here for the young turks not put off by the long drive and the long walk) and fire raising (clearing the beach of plastic you understand) we turned our attention to matters gastronomic. Fusion cookery at the Bay of Keisgaig - a first? Perhaps the remotest or outdoorest? Maybe, but certainly the strangest. How does Bratwurst burgers in a sweet and sour sauce sound?

A cold wind was still blowing the next day as we set off on the short hop to Strath Chailleach. En route we had a wee detour via Loch a’ Gheodha Ruaidh where Niel caught 3 breakfast trout to Ian’s 2 lost lures. Clearly being on a roll I also managed to catch 1 of Ian’s snagged lures at which point international salvage law was clearly flouted. Strath Chailleach had hardly been visited since the F&M outbreak - 1 visit in about 3 months. We spent the rest of the day checking out the beach the strath leads to. Wow! That’s all I’m prepared to say apart from telling you to look out for the cover feature on next month’s H&E Monthly. Turf fire, fine wine, gourmet fare, the sound of a snipe on the moor as the sun sets and good company. What more could you want? Well 4 out of 5 aint bad.

Big walk today from Strath Chailleach to the Kyle of Durness and hopefully a lift to the car. It was still cool but at least the wind had died now. Possibly a change was in store. Creag Riabhach is a remote hill by any standards which probably doesn’t get many visits due to its isolation and measly 485m elevation. It is however one of the highest hills in the area and affords a tremendous viewpoint for anyone willing to make the effort. That it is not visited often was attested to by the presence of a nice OS cap on the trig point (note the tense). So, a long trudge to the road but thankfully dry under foot most of the way. I would not recommend this in the wet.

A quick pint in the Cape Wrath Hotel (don’t bother going out of your way for this hostelry) and we were back on the road for our next adventure. The next couple of days were a bit dreich and were spent revisiting old haunts on the North Coast. Inspired by an article in the Herald advising ignoring all unofficial F&M keep out signs, we headed up to Strabeg (armed with the article in case we were challenged). Thick mist was hanging in the glen by the time we arrived. It was over 10 years since I’ve been here last and the bothy looked a bit run down but on the whole still sound with its unique plumbing features still in situ. We retired that night with distended bellies after a miscalculation on the quantities required to feed 2. The next day we headed over to Loch Loyal and another bothy not visited for many a year. We dodged the showers on the way in to Achnanclach and spent the day doing crosswords and reading New Scientists and National Geographics. So if anyone wants to know anything about the relationship between chaos theory and cetacean communications or the Hanseatic League, let us know and we’ll fill you in. First real cock up on the catering front though - chilli was on the menu - forgot the kidney beans and tomatoes which might have helped take the sting out of the rather piquant sauce.

Well rested but a bit cabin crazy we decided to spend the last couple of days exploring the delights of the Moine peninsula. On the way out of Tongue we were tempted to buy the entire stock of “I © Tongue” car stickers from the local grocer but were too embarrassed.  There’s an opportunity just waiting for an enterprising young entreporneur. We decided to approach Freisgill via Ben Hutig and the east rather than the big trudge from Moine House. I can report that this approach is marginally more interesting but equally if not more tedious than the walk from the main road. No easy way in to this gem of a bothy. It is hard to get to both in terms of approach and latitude but worth the effort. Again, an empty bothy with little evidence of many people having visited recently. More culinary adventures ensued though - what would Nick Nairn think of a tin of corned beef being added to one of his gourmet sauces? I shudder to think. I think I was also shuddering the next morning as the combination had worked its passage through my system.

On the home stretch now but another big day ahead with a walk out round Whitten Head.  More stunning coastal scenery with bonxies, gugas and a pair of peregrines adding to the wild life tally. This route could only be recommended as an alternative way in for the criminally insane but it does offer a great route out if time is not a problem and the sacs are a bit lighter. A pint in the Craggan Hotel in Melness and we were on our way home but not before snatching a Corbett on the way. We walked into Lone below Arkle and was glad it was locked - the Ridgeways can keep it - my personality is not so underdeveloped that I need to stay in a dump like that (at least I think so). We spent a comfortable night in the stable on the other side of the burn finishing the last of the liquid assets and cursing the noisy adolescent lambs who were just a bit too full of joi de vivre. We took some comfort in the thought that in just a few short years they would in all likelihood be full of savoury stuffing and up to their cute little pink ears in mint sauce. Counting lamb kebabs, we drifted off for our last night.

So our last day. It was cloudy, it was wet, it was windy and it was cold but we managed a quick romp up Arkle in the morning without getting too wet. On the way home through the rain-lashed streets of the Fort our thoughts turned to our chums up at Steall for the weekend. How we wished we could join in the fun up the glen but soft beds and hot baths were in our sights and we were not to be deterred from our goal.

Oh yes, the title. What’s that all about I hear you say. Day 1 at the Kyle of Durness we met some people up for a  Big Wedding at Durness. It turned out that one of them knew Thomson’s Uncle. I’m convinced that he’s only 2 people removed from knowing the entire Scottish population. The last pint at the Craggan Hotel, we strode in to the lounge bar, the great unwashed, straight into a rather busy wake! A beginning and an end. Just like our trip. Nice symmetry I thought.

Written by Niel Craig

 

4^th-7^th  May: InverCroft Cottage, Achnasheen

Members Present: Donald Ballance, Niel Craig, Alan Dunn, Dave Eaton, Claire Gilchrist, Stevie Hazlett, Davie MacDonald, Neil Marshall, Jeremy Morris, John Porter, Scott Stewart, Vicky Stewart, Ian Thomson.

Attending: Hilary Groom

After a late start from Glasgow, Donald picked up a sleepy and rather cold Jeremy from the car park of the Ben Alder Café in Dalwhinnie.  He had driven there after a rather confused whole club AGM at the nearby Monalaidh Hotel at Laggan.  It was thus after 1.00 a.m. before arrival at the hut to find that the water supply was, as usual, not working.

Saturday morning saw the usual uncertainty of purpose but eventually Dave, Donald, Jeremy and Scott headed off to climb on Jetty Crag.  On arrival it was discovered that Jeremy had a 12 pack of San Miguel beer in the car … ideal for that after climb refreshment.  Dave suggested that this would be even better if the beer were cooled by placing in the sea.  Common sense was obviously in short supply that morning as no-one thought to determine the state of the tide.  Thoughts turned to climbing and a number of routes including Charlie’s Corner, Route 4, Dave’s Dilemma and the strenuous Anthrax Flake were climbed.  Entertainment was also provided by the dubious activities on and off the rock of two student groups.  This was to be followed by even more entertainment as attempts were made to retrieve the beers from the sea.  Unfortunately Jeremy had ensured that the beers were in plenty of water, not realising that the tide was fully out.  This it was that he and Dave were to be found stripped to boxer shorts attempting in vain to swim down far enough to get at the elusive bottles.  A trip to the Bridge Inn in Gairloch quenched parched throats and broke the long drive back to the Inver Croft.  Meanwhile Alan, Claire, Ian and Vicky had ascended Beinn Liath Mhor and enjoyed a leisurely day in superb weather.  We were joined later in the evening by the A-team: Davie, Neil and Stevie.

Sunday dawned another nice day and climbing was on again.  Davie, Neil and Stevie headed for the sun kissed rocks of Diabaig, completing the famed Diabaig pillar and a couple of other routes on the main cliff.  The B-team chose the south face of Sgurr a’ Chaorain, just above the Bealach na Ba road, where ascents were made of Bumblyone and Sword of Gideon.  This was followed up by Scott and Dave making an impressive ascent of Gideon’s Wrath with its seemingly wrongly graded first pitch.  Vicky, Ian and Claire had a long day taking in the corbett – Benn Dearg.

Back in the hut that evening we were joined by the paddlers/players and it was a full hut that night that mostly enjoyed the musical entertainment.  Amusement was also had watching various members of the company attempting to pour water out of the large water containers into cups, pots, water bottles and buckets.  The floor received a good washing during our stay.

Monday morning lethargy was eventually broken by a suggestion of climbing at Duntelchaig where some members of the party had their eye on Dracula … that was until it was seen in the flesh, and a retreat to easier, less overhanging routes was made.  While Vicky relaxed and read the Sunday papers a day late, others climbed routes such as Bent Peg, Sweeney’s Crack, Razor Flake, and Misty Crack.  An ascent of Little Wyvis, or something like that , kept the others occupied that day.

Throughout the weekend the walkers walked, the climbers climbed, the paddlers paddled, the players played, the chefs cooked, the drinkers drank, the gripers griped, and the sunbather sunbathed.  Another good JMCS Mayday bank holiday weekend.

Written by Donald Ballance

12-13^th May: Lagangarbh, Glencoe

Members attending; Donald Ballance, John Bickerdike, Dave Eaton, Paul Hammond, Richard Jewel, Colwyn Jones, Ann Macdonald, Jeremy Morris, John Porter

Guest; Jo Thurlow

The weekend started as usual at the Kingshouse, where Ann had arrived on foot after running across Rannoch Moor.  The rest of us watched the sunset over the Buchaille and the collection of vintage cars in the car park.

On Saturday morning the bright sun got us all up early.  Paul and Jeremy were joined by Kat Jones from Glasgow for an ascent of  Clachaig Gulley.  Opinions on the proposed route had varied (Ann- yuck! a gulley?; Dave – fantastic, one of the best days out in Scotland! – both proved to be right in a way).  Strict rotation of pitches ensured that everyone had their fair share of leading waterfalls, moss, and superb clean rock - the drought for the previous 2 weeks had reduced the flow to a trickle.  Unfortunately a wrong turn by Jeremy just before the top resulted in two pitches of vertical heather climbing on the gulley walls – it had started to rain by this point so we abandoned the last pitch of the gulley and returned to the hut.  The others were nicely sunburnt after a day in the sun.  Richard and Jo had visited the Etive Slabs, while the others had been up on the Rannoch Wall.  The evening was spent in the usual manner, but without Dave who had abandoned his club to go camping in Ardgour.

Sunday was another sunny day, but with a cool breeze.  Colwyn failed to convince anyone to go down Glen Etive with him, so we all headed back up the Buchaille.  Richard and Jo climbed on the Slime Wall, which was in the shade so that after one route they were cold enough to go home.  The rest of us arrived early enough at the Rannoch Wall to avoid the worst of the crowds.   John Porter and Jeremy climbed Directly up Crowberry Ridge, John and Donald were seen on Line Up, and Colwyn was spotted wandering across the face, with only sunglasses for head protection after someone had stolen his helmet.  Another fine day in the sun.

Written by Jeremy Morris

25-28^th May:  Coruisk Work Meet, Skye

The Annual Coruisk Caving Weekend

It was a weekend of intrigue, jealousy, revenge and quite a bit of hard graft. One big game of Cleudo!

For your intrepid reporter, the weekend started when, by chance we met up with the bespectacled Donald, John Fenemore and Claire (hereinafter referred to as  “Not-So-Glamorous Claire” for reasons that will be explained) who was just off the hill and a bit over-perspired, at the Invergary hotel. Soon Claire confided that the weekend was going to be one of great personal challenge as Scotty was bringing his girlfriend, Amalia who was rumoured to be extremely glamorous. Clearly a threat to the Glasgow section mascot, the curvaceous Claire.

Having fed and watered, we arranged to meet up at the Claymore  pub outside Broadford. Some of Claire’s plot started to emerge when she suggested that their car should not go to Loch Slapin as arranged to provide tents for the soon-to-arrive Scotty and the Extremely Glamorous Amalia. ‘No’, she said, ‘we should just head for Fossil Bothy and keep out of this horrendous storm’. The treachery was unprecedented but Donald, true to form, insisted on doing ‘the right thing’ and off they went to Slapin leaving myself, Ian Cranston and Haddow Senior to the comforts of Fossil Bothy.

Saturday morning started off not too bad. Everyone appeared at the jetty early, the materials were loaded and we were off pronto to the hut in overcast conditions with a short stop to watch the seals doing their tourist show. One such seal gave us a demo of it’s body bending capabilities. ‘Look at that wet patch’ exclaimed Alan Dunn. His apparent depravity was given a resounding groan from the assembled masses who then realised that he was the only person on the boat who was looking at the leaking hut water supply!

The work parties were quickly arranged and soon everyone was hard at work. (A direct result of not having the influence of Ian Thomson!) Your intrepid reporter was hard taking notes and video, a group were dangling from the cliffs repairing the water pipes (giving the tourists a rare alternative to seal watching), the hut walls and roof were cleaned and repainted. Inside the hut, the temporary partition was torn down and replaced with a fire resistant version ready for the future drying cupboard/extra loo/shower/gas fridge/air conditioner. In record time the hut was looking ship shape. All we needed now was decent weather on Sunday to allow everyone to have some time off on the hill.

It was not to be. A storm arrived on Saturday night that lasted right through until the following Wednesday.

There was no fun to be had outside, so we had it inside. For starters, we had Angus, Alan Dunn’s neighbour giving a juggling demonstration. Interestingly, he could only manage four balls when he was pissed. This was followed by a stunning demonstration from Scotty: The JMCS is obviously aging when the likes of me, me senior, Niel Craig, Alan Dunn and Ian Cranston are in a club for ‘juniors’. So Scotty proceeded to show us what modern man was all about. Scotty had the Extremely Glamorous, Amalia to help with the show. Scotty demonstrated that, nope, modern man needed none of that  ‘can I get you a seat, dear?’ crap. None of that ‘let me introduce you’ trivia. None of that ‘how are you getting on, honey’ nonsense. Come to that, none of that ‘are you still here’ irrelevance. To the old guard, this demonstration was a revelation. Collectively we had wasted decades treating our ladies to all of the above social intercourse and the whole lot was a complete waste! Modern man had sussed it. Modern man was one hundred percent cave man without the hair-pulling bit. The path to sexual conquest had come full circle. Just as well that we had a tame geologist camping outside the hut. We had expert help on tap (as well as grass-free water). Having given the masses a lesson, Scotty and the Extremely Glamorous Amalia left for home on the Sunday leaving the rest of us to practice with the Not-So-Glamorous Claire!

Our finale of evening entertainment was started by our caving guest. This smallish chap was thinner than paper, more flexible than a credit card and had his name changed to ‘Wookey’ by deed poll (for some unexplained reason). Such behaviour was given traditional JMCS respect and he was quickly renamed ‘Nookey’ which neither he nor his partner seemed to notice. He started a series of caving exercises for us all to try and/or enjoy.

After watching your fearless reporter climbing up the newly installed, Niel Craig patented, rope ladder into the loft, Nookey suggested that it would be ‘some fun’ to have caveman types try to ascend the same ladder whilst upside down.  After showing us how it was done, a select few from the JMCS then showed Nookey that he was not the only one who could perform whilst inverted.

Now comes the best bit of Nookey. So good that there is (for a small fee) video tape available. He suggested that the ladder should be ascended with the contestant weaving themself in and out of each rung. For a small credit card person, this is easy. A bit like live snakes and ladders. Enter one Ian Cranston. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of meeting Ian, he is 6 feet 4 inches tall, looks as flexible as your average bank manager and, unlike Dirty Harry, does not appreciate his own limitations. All was well at the start. Come to that, all was well in the middle as well. This was because Ian could pull the rope ladder over his head, weaving as he went, for nearly all of the rungs with his feet still firmly planted on the floor. His problems started, and his attempt ground to a complete halt as soon as he put both feed on the lowest rung. This resulted in him being suspended just off the ground with the next rung at the base of his spine and the next again at the top of his chest. He could go nowhere! He circled the same spot like an early morning shuttle above Heathrow for ages whilst the hut erupted in laughter just to be topped of when an Outspan Orange was carefully placed in his helpless mouth. I understand that Ian subsequently registered  as an Edinburgh Conservative candidate but was unable to attend any rallies as he remained somewhat tied up.

And now to the Not-So-Glamorous Claire. Was the weekend a complete disaster? Was she outshone, overshadowed and relegated as club mascot by the Extremely Glamorous Amalia? Never! She rallied back during the aforementioned caving exercises. When it came to bending over and picking up a cork with your teeth, nobody could do it better than Claire. The volume of the encouraging applause was only beaten by Alan Dunn’s cry to your fearless reporter to ‘Make sure and get a picture of that’. It was dashed good. Her talents were truly impressive. Such flexibility is rarely present in JMCS folks that I have met. I will ask Claire (repeatedly!) if she will consider a second performance at the annual dinner/AGM later in the year. I believe that this could be the best attended AGM in quite some time and could cover for recent club revenue losses resulting from foot-and-mouth! Obviously video of this must be regarded as ‘top shelf’ and unsuitable to be given to any ‘juniors’ (or people with the surname Dunn)!

All too soon, it was time to leave for so-called civilisation. No more cave exercises. An end to caveman sexual conquest demonstrations. No more of the Extremely Glamorous Claire. Even when she rifted on the return boat trip, most folks swooned. But what of our cave expert, the camping geologist? (The one mentioned in the 4^th paragraph). Well, he arranged to be picked up on Tuesday. The storm increased and he lost his tent and all who sailed in her. He took refuge in the hut and was picked up by the boat on Wednesday as it could not sail in Tuesday’s weather. But every cloud has a silver lining and he returned to Strathclyde Uni bearing rock samples that apparently should not be present in the Coruisk area. So his supervisor and head of department are due to return to our wonderful spot next month to check out this find.

None of the names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent as there were none to be found. Most of the above is exaggerated (in JMCS tradition) to make the reading more interesting. The true bits start about the first line and stop before the last sentence. All charicatures are intended as humorous. If you have not attended a work meet recently, you do not know what you are missing. Bookings for next year are already brisk despite the ban on cameras!

Written by Alex Haddow

The Cobbler, Midsummer’s Night 2001

Members attending; Donald Ballance, Paul Hammond, Davie MacDonald, Neil Marshall, Jeremy Morris

While out for a curry the night before, it was realised that there was not a midsummer’s night meet planned.  So, for a change, we decided to go up the Cobbler.  Although there were much enthusiasm when it was discussed in the pub, when it came down to it only three of us set off from Glasgow on the evening of 21 June.  Leaving Glasgow on a warm sunny evening, we arrived at the Arrochar chip shop to see the Cobbler covered in cloud.  It was a fine evening in the valley though, so we went off to explore the caves, getting charged by the Shetland pony on the way.

Later, the mist was still hanging around the tops, but we set off up the hill anyway, choosing the miserable “quick” way up the back.  Nearing the bealach, the mist lifted, and two hillwalkers emerged on the skyline dressed in comedy shorts, on their way down the hill.  It turned out to be Davie and Neil who were on their way back to Glasgow after an evening’s stroll.  They informed us that the rock was too wet to climb, and recommended a bivvy spot under the North Peak.  We ignored their advice on the climbing, and selected a Difficult chimney on the shaded side of the hill.  This was wriggled up in classic style with barely a pause to clip the rusting pegs, the technique being to climb quicker than the hands could go numb from the water trickling down the rock.  We emerged at the top to a fantastic view of the sunset over the peaks to the west, which were just sticking out of the cloud in the valleys.  We did take Davie’s advice on the bivvy spot, a small area of flat grass on the North Peak, from where we watched the sunset travel round the northern horizon while consuming fine whisky and biscuits in windless but midge-free comfort. 

The sunrise was spectacular (I’m told).  Those who had a job to get back to were given the task of cooking the morning tea and bacon rolls, and after wolfing these down we made a 40 minute descent to the car in bright sun.  Some of us even managed to be at our desks at 9am, with work colleagues none the wiser…

Written by Jeremy Morris

22-24 June 2001

A Midsummerish Night’s Dream - The Alternative Midsummer Night Meet by Niel Craig.

Attending: Ian Thomson, Malky Thomson, Vicky Stewart, Niel Craig

At about 4000ft the path around our feet lit up with an eerie light. I cursed under my breath, wondering which prat had got their head torch out. It might be 1 o’clock in the morning but there was still sufficient light to pick out the pink rocks of the path as it disappeared into the mists of the plateau. Looking round, preparing to berate my companions with some ‘verbal’ picked from the brimming pigeon hole marked “sarcasm/scathing”,  my mood turned from one of annoyance to wonder to bemusement to scorn in as many breaths. The light source was emanating from a group some 3-400 yards behind us! It must have been an impressive torch, the battery pack must have weighed a ton, twats! Anyway, what the hell did they think they were doing up here at this time of night. Bloody irresponsible if you ask me. Rounding a corner we were spared the Blackpool Illuminations for the remainder of the slog to the summit.

1:30 on a Saturday morning, 4406ft, mist down, quite cool and breezy. Not the kind of circumstances you would expect to meet many people. But this is the Ben. As we were rooting around for a place rest our weary heads, up pops a cagouled figure from within the observatory ruins and proceeds to bombard us with a volley of rapid fire questions - “What are you doing here?”, “How did you find your way in the dark?”, “Where are you staying?”, “Don’t you have torches?”, “The summit shelter’s full!” (Shit!). We answered all his queries by simply telling him we were the JMCS. We bade him a good night and took our leave, dismissing him as yet another Nevis eccentric (well at least we had sleeping bags and bivi bags).

So with the summit shelter full to capacity we 4 weary travellers set about finding lodgings for the remainder of the evening. Fortunately the old shelter was to offer us some protection from the elements. The words sty, squalid and pig came to mind as I peered into the stygian gloom of the number 2 shelter (only in status and fortunately not in content) and I toyed with the idea of finding a more comfortable spot for the evening. The sound of a whisky bottle being uncorked swayed me and I shuffled some rubbish around so I could get my karrimat down. A few drams and snacks later and we turned in, leaving Malky on first watch for signs of the glorious sunrise that Ian had promised us. Malky fell asleep some minutes later and I woke at 6 with mist blowing into the shelter (the door has long since ceased to close) and something of a commotion going on outside. Someone was being proposed to in the lee of our shelter while someone else was frying up some tattie scones. Beats TVam I suppose. This is the Ben after all and anything goes, there being with no respect for time or etiquette up here.

No midsummerish sunrise for us, with a frustratingly thin layer of cloud separating us from blue skies and ample ‘bennies’¹. Our squaries done, Ian led us off for Carn Mor Dearg, purposefully striding  towards the top of the NEB! Some minutes later and safely on the arete, we passed a steady stream of Nevis eccentrics even at this early hour. The most memorable was one gentleman who had enough sun block on his face to protect him from a moderately sized thermonuclear explosion. I had to take a second look, thinking a geisha was heading along the ridge.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of peaks, lunch stops and snoozes as we headed over CMD and the Aonachs. Lying in the afternoon sun (the Ben was now clear of course) at the bealach between Aonach Mor and Aonach Beag, I thought of Ian’s e-mail which precipitated this outing.

Subject: Midsummerish Meet

Sender: Ian Homson²

“We seem to have overlooked our usual midsummer nights outing to the Cobbler. As the Glen Affric meet seems unlikely this weekend I have arranged a meet to Lochaber with some  friends. Meeting at the Achintee pub on Friday at 20.00. After a pint or two plan to head up onto the Ben and spend the night there. Traverse the Aonachs and Grey Corries on Saturday and end up in a bothy for a BBQ and soiree. If interested let me know

Ian”

Apart from the inexcusable omission of an apostrophe from someone who claims to have completed the Wee Stinker, something in this note had been niggling away at me.  Basking in the warming rays with 4 hrs sleep under my belt and 1 squarie in my belly, the woodpecker of doubt started tap tap tapping away in my head. “And the Grey Corries” the note said!  Fortunately Malky came to the rescue before I lost face by announcing that he had no intention of doing any of the Grey Corries.  And so the mutiny took hold with Ian making a token ascent of some top and the rest of us high tailing it to Meanach with ne’er a thought of other hills.

Meanach is quite an inviting bothy especially once the intervening miles and rivers had been completed and forded respectively. We were sharing the doss with 3 visitors from Albion’s Plain, retracing an ancient droving route from Glen Brittle to Crieff. They were quite chuffed with their achievements so far but did not seem to appreciate it when we pointed out that if they were doing it properly that they should have had some cattle with them. They were even less appreciative of the helpful suggestion (extracted from the aforementioned pigeon hole) that, in an attempt to create an air of reality, maybe they should have got a pantomime cow outfit and 2 of them dress up as Daisy while the third one did the droving! We didn’t see much more of them after that. Maybe we took that too far.

Thomson now pulled out his coup de gras in the shape of a disposable barbie. Malky countered with his action man. No. Sorry, that’s another story. The barbecue was quickly loaded with exotic sausages from Elgin and skewers which sagged under the weight of succulent delicacies. A real winner with the troops. Our tummies replete we retired to the upstairs sleeping platform for some serious drinking. We were all asleep within 5 minutes! Even the party animal.

Sunday dawned fine and we made the decision to head out via the Lairig Leacach even though the car was at Achintee. It was a long walk, especially after the pounding we had done over the past 2 days. It’s funny how you don’t notice how far Spean Bridge is from the end of the road when you’re in a car. It’s not funny when you’re having to walk it. Ask Vicky. As Malky, Ian and myself slipped into the cummerbunds of success in the Commando Bar, Vicky was alternating between trying to thumb a lift and verbally abusing every car that passed her. Eventually a car pulled up, the driver apologising that there wasn’t any room for her but had stopped to let her know that Spean Bridge was just round the corner. This was the last straw for Vicky who insisted that she be taken to Spean Bridge forthwith as she couldn’t walk another step. The bemused driver duly obliged (I don’t think he ever had a chance), took her round the corner and dropped her off at the pub, 100 yards up the road. She told us this so I presume she doesn’t mind it being recounted.

So as the short sighted stick insect of time tried to mate with the one-legged twiglet of fate, so too did the sun set on our little adventure. As the taxi whisked us up the road towards Achintee a classic Simpson’s episode came to mind. Lisa is reading out one of Homer’s invitation cards: "Come to Homer's BBBQ. The extra B is for BYOBB." Bart asks “What's that extra B for?” to which Homer replies “That’s a typo.”

Book early for next year’s midsummerish BBBQ meet to avoid disappointment.

¹ For some reason, now lost in the mists of time, it was in vogue some years ago with certain members of the JM to refer to full on sunshine as ‘bennies’. This was short for ‘beneficial rays of sunshine’. Don’t ask me why.

² Is it just me or does the whole world get e-mail from Ian Homson?

Subscription News The following people have not paid this year: Ian Bell, John Boyle, Claire Gilchrist, Richard Lloyd, John MacGregor, Jim Magill (or 2000), Neil Marshall, David Miller, Dennis Monaghan, Carl Schaschke, Catherine Watt, Hugh Young. Please could you send your subscription of £12 to Andrew Sommerville, Stronvay, Station Road, Langbank, Renfrewshire, PA14 6 YA.

Colwyn Jones is organising a trip to Africa, summer 2002 to walk up Kilimanjaro, climb Mount Kenya, and a safari at the end.  Still at the planning stage but ideal duration 2/3 weeks, approx. £1500.  Anyone interested should let Colwyn know.

Gordon Blyth has decided to resign due to health problems keeping him off the hills.  He would like to pass on his best wishes to any members that remember him and wishes the club a healthy future.