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Please note that this site is no longer the official website of the JMCS (Glasgow Section) which can be found at http://www.jmcs.org.uk/. These pages are provided to ensure continuity of provision and that the information that they contain is not lost.
Dear Member,
Welcome to the latest newsletter from the Glasgow section of the JMCS. I hope you enjoy reading the reports of meets held during the late summer and autumn, and I hope you can make it to some meets this winter/spring. Unfortunately the new year brings with it the requirement for subscription dues, and this year the AGM set these at £9.00.
Please return your dues, together with the enclosed information sheet as soon as possible to the Treasurer, Andrew Sommerville. Life members should please note that we would like them to return the information forms this year to ensure that the information on them is correct and that you still wish to receive the newsletters.
Once again attendance at meets has been variable with numbers ranging from three to twenty three. However those who did make it out on meets have generally enjoyed themselves and some meets have proved particularly popular.
The following additional report has been received from John Park:
May was very cold and very dry with large amounts of snow still remaining on the mountains. The ground was bone dry. Stuart Fish and I left Kilmarie at 5.00 a.m. for the walk to Coruisk with our meagre supplied bought the night before in the Spar shop at Lochgilphead. Our plans had failed to recognise the early closing of the Co-op.
We were welcomed at Coruisk by four sleeping forms who later identified themselves to be the Larkfield bus depot Mountaineering Club. We had a quick breakfast and went to bed, they got up, had a huge breakfast and left for the hills. We left the hut at 10.00 a.m. and met them at the Mad Burn. We then walked up into An Garbh-choire and crossed the slabs to the crag below Sgurr nan Eag. We did a little gem of a route — the left edge of the Chasm. The hardest move on the first pitch was stepping across the gap between the snow and the rock. Pitch two had no protection and the in-situ peg at the belay niche was Robin Smith's from the original ascent, and, showing signs of age, it fell apart as I touched it. The final pitch included a small overhang described in our guide as "continue up easier rocks to the top".
Back at the hut, after a small meal, we listened in awe to the stories of hardship from the Larkfield M.C. — a brilliant bunch of people. The one that I liked was the camping expedition to Coire Lagan during horrific storms, when the wind was so strong that the stove didn't produce enough heat to fry the steaks.
The next day saw us climbing on Sgurr MhicConnich, following the route description for Dawn Grooves but on a completely different part of fluted buttress. I won't say much more, but it was very hard and most of Stuart's fingertips are still on the route. We were late back to the hut and didn't have to covet the Larkfield food extravaganza. The L.M.C. had had a successful day, finally doing a route, Mayday, on Mad Burn Buttress (after the previous day's reconnoitre). They left the next day by boat, taking more food out with them in their hamper than we brought in. However they felt sorry for Stuart, who had used all our supplies of elastoplast on his fingertips, and left him beer and whisky. They also sent me 20 Regal via McKinnon, and carried most of the gas cylinders down to the jetty.
We climbed Mayday and Warsle and retrieved the gear they had left in the route — pre-hex stoppers of some kind. On Friday we walked round Loch Coruisk and climbed JMCS buttress which has one good pitch. Stuart later walked out to return to his last week of fire duty in Kintyre.
They heavy team arrived on Saturday morning and under the watchful eye of the custodian some work took place. The weather was breaking and it rained in the afternoon. There was much snoring during the night.
On Sunday I returned to MhicConnich with Jim Blyth who can read guidebooks and climbed Mongoose Direct. We were over the crux pitch before the heavens opened although the final pull over a small overhand was a pull through a waterfall. The walk out was beautiful and sunny before the long drive back to Argyll. As I approached Lochgilphead at 2.00 a.m. I could see the red blaze of the young forest above Tarbert. Stuart was going out in style.
The following report has been received from Stuart Fish:
The following account is a broadly inaccurate description of two JMCS members' sortie into the French Alps in the summer of 1994. The heroic team comprised of myself and the bold figure of John Park — plus two keen non-members by the name of Jim MacDonald and Iain Catterwell. Plans had been made. Many nights of intense drinking — I mean route planning — led us to decide on an assault on the Chamonix region with particular thought being given to a stay in the Cosmiques hut. The choice of the hut was made for the benefit of John, who is obviously getting on in years and needs his creature comforts.
Our valley base was Phillipe's camp site on the Rue de Barrat in Chamonix. This site gives good access to the bars — sorry, first téléphérique. Our first little climb was the Clocher et Clochetons on the Aiguilles Rouge. A remarkably easy climb with some important photo opportunities. A good Tyrolean travesty. This climbed, and John's tan started, we decided to move up to the hut. Since we had only been in the region for two days is was decided that we should use this opportunity to acclimatise ourselves slowly. We therefore had a BRISK walk to the 10 o'clock téléphérique and were in the hut by lunchtime. A good alpine day.
The Cosmiques had, as usual, a few attractive Hut Maidens. One in particular stays in mind. The lovely Delphine took a bit of a shine to Park. Not that I'm bitter. It was more a lonely girl's search for the father she never new. It may just be coincidence, but this was about the time that John's mysterious eye problem manifested itself, forcing us to spend more time in the hut than planned. As a precaution we had him chained to his bunk every evening.
The Chèré Couloir was climbed by John and myself. This excellent route was in good condition. John led well and I followed in mock awe — after all John was the only person on the trip with a usable Visa card. At the top of the climb we took in the view of the Midi, Mont Blanc, and the distant Aiguilles Rouge, and then rappelled the route in twenty minutes. Back at the hut by mid-day. Jim and Iain pondered up the Cosmiques arête — more for the obvious glory to be attained by climbing boldly over the ladder onto the restaurant terrace on the top of the Aiguille. The evening was spent in usual Cosmiques fashion: lounging around on the terrace wondering why they decided to place the toilets so close. One notable point is that John was ever keen to take the cups/beer cans/plates back to the cafe area — I wonder why? Delphine perhaps?
Day two saw John and I climb a route called Marylene on Point Lachenal. Good route. Our decision to leave all our gear at the bottom of the climb was, in retrospect, a mistake. I can say this with certainty after a two hour descent on steep icy snow with the aid of one axe each and our "suregrip go anywhere!" rockboots. Must issuing of oaths! The third day and up a great route on the East face of the Midi. The most interesting pitch was one I boldly decided to lead. A simple aid pitch over an overhang. Piece of piss thought I. I'd read books, stared in awe at French climbing videos (admittedly more to lust over Isobelle or Catherine). Armed with an array of strops, krabs and innocent bluster I launched myself at the rock. Ahem!, not so easy! After about twenty minutes I had manages to attain a magnificent 1.5m in height, used every piece of gear I had — in some innovative ways and could not hear myself think for the laughter of John and Jim below. By the time I eventually admitted defeat I was so festooned in taped strops and various pieces of metal I looked like a government minister enjoying some very private recreation. All I needed was an orange!
It was about this time that John became 80% blind. Unlikely to affect his climbing but still pretty bad. So bad, in fact, that John finally agreed to leave the climbing hut and return to the valley — fully 3000m below you-know-who. The boys and I were quite worried about John's loss of sight due to a viral infection. We were so worried that we left him alone in Chamonix and went snowboarding in Tignes. It is said that in ancient times Spartan warriors would leave their new-born sons on a Grecian hillside for a night and if, in the morning, they were still alive then their son would be a truly great warrior. We used this principle on John. He lived.
Argentière hut for an evening of rest, planning and telling any girl who would listen that we were going to climb the Direct Route on Les Droites. Early start and up the snowfield to the Flèche Rousse. John, Jim and Iain completed the route in record time and I returned to the valley with my knackered crampons. It was decided, by myself on my day of rest, that we would climb the Frendo Spur. A good route. John, Jim and myself caught and early cable-car the day after their return from the Flèche Rousse and set up camp at the bottom of the route. The plan was to climb the rock rib in the afternoon, bivi for a few hours, and then complete the snow/ice section in the early hours. However! Cloud, more cloud, and rain made its threatening progress towards us. It was about this time that I began to notice some murmurings of decent from my compatriots. I, admittedly, was in a mood to climb anything with my newly borrowed crampons and loss of face the previous day, and was therefore stubborn in my refusal to descend to the valley. There was much talk of getting drunk in Chamonix — but I was firm. John, however, knows my weaknesses and eventually lured me down to the valley with a ruthless plan to get drunk and then go snowboarding.
The rest of our alpine experience was spent snowboarding and drinking with Alasdair "Whisky, Where's that Door?" Reid in Tignes. The positive benefit of glacier skiing/snowboarding only becomes apparent when the female population stop skiing and start sun bathing. I could be wrong, but this was about the time that John's eyes began giving him trouble again!
The following report has been received from Ian Thomson:
The advance party set off for this meet late on Thursday evening, arriving under starry skies to find that some previous occupants had kindly left an unfinished litre bottle of whisky (country of origin unknown — possibly Canadian). This was duly disposed of and alas reinforcements never arrived.
Friday dawned blue and sunny and an early start was made on An Teallach. All the peaks and pinnacles were ascended by one or more members of the party and the appearance of some ephemeral cloud in the early afternoon led to some stunning Brocken Spectres and a somewhat unintended excursion from Sail Liath to view the steep scree slopes above the Toll an Lochain. Arriving safely at Corrie Hallie, Ian and Niel proceeded to decimate the local woodland while Donald hitched back to the hut to collect his Citroen logging truck. Dinner was a leisurely affair with a break between courses to view the sunset from the bar of the Ocean View Hotel at Laide.
Saturday found the hills shrouded in cloud, but with apparently clearer conditions to the West. A jaunt was made to the sea cliffs at Reiff. Approaching our first 20ft. E4s with excitement/trepidation we were disappointed/relieved to find that the wind and tide were against us, with few climbs accessible. Frequent showers limited our activities to scrambling and an unsuccessful fishing expedition to the shallow Loch an Totaig. Early evening was spent in the excellent Am Fhuaran bar at Altandhu, the owner trying to prolong our stay by offering the services of young ladies from the local smokehouse!
Sunday was wet and consideration was given to removing some sea trout and salmon from the local waters. A complete dearth of worms and soil around the hut put paid to that idea. Plan B was then hatched — "Perhaps it will be clearer a little bit East!" — later that same day we gazed out from the summit of Ben Rinnes across the smoking distilleries to the sparkling waters of the Moray Firth.
The following report has been received from Niel Craig (written in the style of C. M. Jones):
Seven thirty in the morning, standing on the deck of the "Isle of Arran", watching the porpoises swim in and out of the bow waves. The air was heavy with pre-dawn mist as Gigha came and went. As the sun gradually won its battle with the sea mist, the diamond studded horizon we were heading for transformed itself into the Islay coastline. Distilleries glinted in the early morning light as in some Don Quixote adventure. Lost in my thoughts I recalled the last few hectic hours.
The previous evening was spent in the delightful west coast hamlet of Cairnbaan where we were treated to the renowned hospitality of the Parks. After a cup of tea and a biscuit we retired to the luxurious lounge where we dossed on the floor. The crack of dawn start for the first Islay ferry meant we couldn't indulge ourselves in the magnificent spread laid on by our ever attentive hosts and we suddenly found ourselves careering through a dark and silent Lochgilphead towards Kennacraig.
It was thus we found ourselves pondering the Islay coastline as the ferry was skilfully manoeuvred into its berth at Port Ellen. Coils of rope snaked through the azure sky, being deftly snatched mid flight by a sun bronzed deck hand. The tannoy crackled into life and the air was filled with the Caledonian MacBrayne welcome to the isles, "Would all vehicle drivers and their passengers make their way to the car deck now".
We emerged from the bowels of the ship, like some modern day Jonah escaping from the whale, our eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the bright daylight. Driving past the whitewashed fishermen's cottages, Islay lay at our feet. Our first stop was the Laphroaig Distillery. John exercised his influence and fixed us up on a tour whilst he tended to matters arboreal. Suitably acclimatised, we headed for the Mull of Oa, on the south west corner of Islay. We walked up to the American Monument, a structure which appears to commemorate the GIs being "over here and over sexed" rather than the countless seamen lost off the Islay coast. The monument stands proud above an impressive array of cliffs. Unfortunately, on closer examination, the consistency of the rock takes on the characteristics of an upturned armadillo clad in an armour fashioned from oatcakes, held together with centuries old puffin guano.
A coastal walk seemed the obvious option, and the "soft underbelly of humanity" skipped merrily along the cliff tops towards the magnificent seaward ridge of Dun Athad, rising majestically from the waves like a giant sea monster sunning itself on the beach.
Dropping down to the shore we scrambled up a stack to survey the mighty prow rearing up in front of us. It looked as if it might just go. John and Donald were dispatched on a reconnaissance mission while the remainder of the party chose to chase a group of goats up the vertiginous flanking slopes. On closer examination, the ridge described as "a worthwhile expedition along a rocky crest" transformed itself into a teetering pile of choss. John and Donald decided that this would afford a good traditional way to the top, and proceeded to garden their way upwards, disturbing a pair of golden eagles en-route.
Regrouping near the top we headed back to the Scottish Woodlands taxi and a roller coaster ride into Bowmore and thence on to Port Askaig for the short hop over to Feolin and Jura.
We were to be based at Knockrome, 4 miles north of Craighouse, in a converted barn, nestling beneath the Paps. With ample bedding, sofas, cooking facilities and a peat fire complete with back boiler, we felt we had knocked it off! As we drove up the track we were greeted by Alan Dunn and John Goldie who had left later but arrived earlier (John Morrison eat your heart out!).
Suitably ensconced in the bunkhouse, the Alan Downs Glenlivet was cracked open and the evening proceeded with demonstrations of feats of great strength interspersed with musical interludes.
Saturday dawned with the promise of a special day. Early morning mist quickly cleared, beckoning us on. Height was gained gradually as we followed the vague path towards Loch an t-Siob. Stopping for a lunch break in the bealach to the east of Beinn a'Chaolais, we were entertained by John G who, on producing an elaborate cigarette lighting contraption, recounted a tale of how it had been removed from his father's shoulder after having been shot by it in the Great War!
Resuming our ascent, it soon became obvious that the day was not going to hold the promise we had hoped for. A thin mantle of mist veiled the Paps, occasionally revealing outlines of crags and ridges which fired our imaginations as would a sultry Hebridean Princess, tempting her suitors with tantalising glimpses of lace enshrouded bosoms, spurring her admirers on to even greater feats. Soon we were engulfed in the swirling mists, groping our way through the labyrinthine scree fields. The summit cairn soon appeared, and as we regrouped, the clouds parted briefly affording us an all too short view of the next hill, Beinn an Oir. A helter-skelter dash down the scree saw Ian and Douglas heading off to the loch for a few casts, while the rest of us dropped down a couple of gears in anticipation of the work ahead. Again we disappeared into the murk, being robbed of views when we eventually reached the summit of the highest Pap.
Another romp down screes, another soul turning from the righteous path, and the remaining triumvirate gritted their teeth for the finale. On reaching the top, our efforts were rewarded as the clouds parted to reveal a stunning vista of mountains and an island bespeckled sea. Our hearts raced as we greedily gulped in the scene unfolding before us, anxious, lest the clouds close in once more and rob us of this moment of glory. These fleeting moments, all too rare in today's hectic lifestyle, need to be savoured to the full. We stood in reverent silence. No words needed to be spoken. My thoughts turned to W H Murray's description of his winter ascent of Tower Ridge. I now understood the emotions described by W.H.M. when penning the words "We walked like demi-gods in joyous serenity".
Giddy from the intoxicating splendour of the last few minutes, we staggered down the slopes towards Loch an t-Siob once more. We felt at one with the surrounding countryside as we spent a few minutes fishing by the loch. Further down the hill, Donald nearly tripped over a "big beefy hare" (his words). In one fluid motion he snatched a stone from the ground, weighed it in his hand and hurled it at the hare as it sped down the hill. All this happened in a split second. A reflex reaction, summoned up from the deep end of his gene pool, whence from its murky depths, long forgotten DNA strands from ancestral hunter-gatherers snaked to the surface. Unfortunately the strands responsible for connecting missile and target were not as readily available.
Sauntering along the last mile of road, we gorged ourselves on brambles the size of apples. This must have been how our ancestors lived. A simple life, slower, less hectic. Halcyon days indeed.
Returning to the bunkhouse, we revelled in a sybaritic haze of abandonment. The peat smoke mingling with the uisgebeatha helped transform our basic surroundings into a haven of warmth and comfort where we whiled away the evening, content with our day's efforts.
Sunday also dawned fair. We had decided to explore the north end of the island over the next two days. John P arrived at the prearranged time and we all bundled into the car for the long journey to Kinuachdrachd, passing Barnhill, George Orwell's lonely retreat, en-route.
Shouldering our hefty packs, we set off for Carraig Mhor, the northernmost tip of Jura and a fine vantage point to absorb the atmosphere of the Gulf of Corryvreckan. Looking out towards the roaring gulf, I wondered at how little this scene would have changed since Bhreacain moored his boat in the fearsome maelstrom that fateful night. How the stentorian torrent must have struck awe and fear into the hearts of the simple fisherfolk and crofters, actors in a play lost in the mists of time.
Our destination was the bothy at Glengarrisdale, a journey of some five miles over the rough tracks of the remote west coast. Caves, sandy bays, raised beaches, something new to explore around each corner. We collected driftwood from the shore, disturbing deer, goats and seals as we went. Rounding a headland we were treated to the sight of an otter playing in a bay, unconcerned by our intrusion into its privacy.
Arriving at the bothy, bent double under the weight of wood we had collected, we set about making ourselves comfortable for the night. The fire was lit, food prepared and refreshments shared as the evening proceeded in the easy going camaraderie which can only be found when kindred spirits congregate in such places.
One particularly memorable moment was when Donald tried to explain something highly technical to a 12 year old and got in a complete fankle. God help the students in Glasgow's other university.
It had rained last night. This was the first rain we had experienced for four days. We had indeed been lucky. However our luck had not run out yet. Monday dawned clear, and as the first rays of light streamed through the cracked window of our rude shelter, slowly creeping up the smoke stained walls while picking out individual motes of dust dancing in the thermals, the bothy burst into life as we hurriedly packed our sacks for the walk out.
The track across the island from Glengarrisdale to the road is vague to say the least. Passing hill lochs and crossing open moor, I slipped into autopilot and reflected on the past few days. The frantic dash for the ferry, the tranquillity of the passage to Islay, the quasi-religious experience on the paps, a spectacular sunset over Colonsay. Wildlife of such variety and richness, we were in danger of becoming blasé about it. All merged into one unforgettable weekend. The scenery at times left one breathless. One can only wonder how the Hebridean Overture would have sounded had Mendelssohn had the foresight to get an island hopscotch ticket and had visited Jura as well as Mull. Ah, Jura. A jewel in the Lorn archipelago. The unspoiled beauty and sense of remoteness of Jura gives one the impression of being a lot further north. Set on the same latitude as Glasgow, one is constantly surprised by the position of the surrounding hills. The unmistakable profiles of Cruachan and the Arran hills, projecting themselves from unexpected angles, underscore the illusion.
Lost in my thoughts, I soon found myself tramping the rough track towards Inverlussa where we hoped to be picked up by the island's bus. We sent Donald on ahead to make arrangements and were eventually picked up and whisked away, all too quickly, towards the ferry and home.
Our journey was nearing its conclusion. As we sat in the beer garden of the Port Askaig hotel, waiting for the ferry to be loaded up, Alan announced, out of the blue, "I'll just put my balaclava on and you can ram me up the barrel". I have no intention of elaborating. Suffice to say if you want to find out what he was talking about, why don't you come along the next time we visit Jura and all will be clear.
The following report has been received from Carl Schaschke:
It may possibly have been the composition of the members on this Meet that ensured that the regular JMCS folk rightly stayed away this weekend. To be found in residence at the SMC's Ling Hut was the President, Sandy Donald — a man who can grind more than just his organ, the Treasurer turned axeman, Andrew Sommerville — who feels no pain when it comes to removing names from blacklists, and that ghost from the tomb, Carl Schaschke.
With a forecast for sun across Scotland all weekend, Ling had a micro climate of drizzle all of its own. Nonetheless, the three collectively made an ascent of Sgorr Ruadh on the Saturday. Sandy and Andrew made additional ascents of Beinn Liath Mhor and Sgorr nan Lochan Uaine while Carl, who claims not to be ticking off the Munros except for when he is, made an ascent of Maol Chean-Dearg.
The huts was shared with the company of SMC member Colin Stead who entertained us with tales from his veterinary profession. At a convenient break in the evening's proceedings, Sandy seized the opportunity to interject and astutely remark "So you work with animals".
The wide range of wines from around the world consumed added considerably to the evening. Sandy's thoughtful contribution of a perfume bottle containing an aliquot of 100 pipers, however, did not. This did not deter him from enjoying his evening meal which was nothing short of a Brussels Sprout extravaganza.
The Sunday saw an ascent of Fionn Bheinn from Achnasheen — a hill which ranks amongst one of Scotland's most irksome. Returning to the car, the President rounded off the weekend with a demonstration of his glass bottle breaking trick, in which he seemingly deliberately fails to notice a bottle lying beside the tyre of his parked car. By driving over it it's a quick hey presto, BANG! Look — no bottle! to the horror of all and sundry who should be so unfortunate as to be in the vicinity at the time.
The following report has been written by the Secretary:
Clear moonlight at midnight on Friday saw Donald, Ian and Niel nearing the end of the three-quarters of an hour cycle ride up the glen to Glen Lichd House. Unfortunately this proved to be the highlight of the weekend, unless you count the obligatory visit to Nevisport when driving down the road on a wet Sunday.
The Saturday had started cloudy and a decision was made, after a late start, to head Eastward towards Camban bothy where lunch was eaten. Unfortunately the weather took a turn for the worse at this point and apathy set in. The afternoon's activity was thus restricted to a walk back to the Glen Lichd House. The evening entertainment consisted of eating and drinking in the usual fashion and late in the evening our quiet reflective mood was broken by the arrival of Sandy and David.
Sunday morning was wet and a decision to return to the car was not difficult to take. Cycling own the glen we encountered numerous SARDA folk with their dogs on a training weekend. Thoroughly soaked by the time we reached the cars, all intention of further outdoor activity evaporated and a leisurely return to Glasgow was undertaken.
The following report has been received from Steve Hazlett:
Arriving at Lagangarbh around midnight after a detour to the Kingshouse lounge, the walk from car to hut under starry skies promised a good day for the Saturday. Having met George, Benny, Ian, Dennis, and John in the Kingy, we proceeded to polish off Benny's Glenfiddich before turning in.
Breakfast on Saturday was a slightly hurried affair as a postage stamp sized area of blue sky enticed us out on the hill with that most stupid of ideas: that it would be a good day. The Club Secretary and Carl had already set off to tramp the snowy tops of Aonach Mor and Beag. The bodies left in the hut were all in agreement when it was suggested by Benny that the Aonach Eagach would be a nice pre-dinner day on the hill. Leaving the top car park for the steep ascent were (1) Benny, (2) Ian, (3) George, (4) John, (5) Dennis, (6) John McGregor, (7 & 8) his two guests, (9 & 10) Iain and David Cumming, and (11) myself, making up one of those large parties often seen these days. I must say that the work done on the first few hundred feet of the path was most impressive. The ridge, as ever, was a most enjoyable excursion, made all the more interesting by the way a very warm and still mist was hanging in all the gullies below us but still very grey above. A very rain-forest type atmosphere. We did get the odd glimpse of the hills to the North, but there was not a camera to be seen all day. A good hour saw us down the steep path beside the Clachaig Gully to my car that I had earlier left to shuttle the drivers back up the glen.
Back in the hut and after what must be a first for me at a meet (a shower) saw the arrival of Ian Angel, Colwyn Jones and John Bickerdike, who had been over to have a look at Carnivore but decided that a walk up the Buachaille was just as good. The A.G.M. was uneventful apart from the late appearance of the President, who had been writing his after dinner speech all day. The speech itself was very memorable if only for the heckling and its length. I must congratulate Sandy for doing a fine job in front of a noisy audience.
Sunday was similar to what I can remember of my past dinner meets: some members off home, some hanging around the hut, and some bagging a hill on the way down the road. This is what George, John, Dennis, and I did; this time we chose Meall a'Bhuiridh (a short day). It was good to be back in the company of the Club. Two good days on the hills, the crack was good, the ale better. See youse soon.
Stevie.
The following report has been received from Sandy Donald:
The presidential meet saw a small group gather at Essan Bothy, situated on the South side of Loch Eilt and just to the East of Lochailort. Forecasts had indicated a reasonable turnout but less than promising weather. Indeed those who attended the North Face discount sale in Greenock were certainly able to confirm the volume of rain in the Glasgow area; nearly unseen by the bothiers.
After a brief stop at the local stalkers house to get the low down on the areas of hillside open to us, which also let us see the remains of the local establishment, Donald, Scott and myself loaded up by the boathouse, then set out along the railway line after a heavy shower of rain. Forty minutes later we were drawn to the light and smoke of the bothy where we found both Colwyn and Peter complete with their partners already in residence, albeit only for the one night.
A sharp departure after a comfortable night saw Peter and Jean depart and head off for the Corbetts of Beinn Mhic Cedich (783m) and Beinn Odhar Bheag (882m) before descending to their car parked at the East end of the loch. Meanwhile Colwyn and Ann headed the other direction, via the hills, to their car parked at the West end of the loch.
This left Donald, Scott and myself to follow Peter and Jean in, I guess, a slower mode, but in dry, clear conditions. The only draw back was a strong biting wind. By the timer Scott and I had completed the circuit, the last mile or so along the badly spaced sleepers of the railway track (what's new?) while listening intently and trailing firewood as we went, Donald had transported in the bag of coal.
From a distant glow in the pending dusk we identified what we believed was Iain Cumming — rather the glow from his pipe –- who with David has just paddled several times across the loch to ferry in Andrew and pal Mark plus more coal.
Inside the bothy the firelighters set to work and a braw fire was soon burning. In the interval dinner was prepared and any wet gear, namely socks, hung up to dry, but later singed over the fire. We all enjoyed a grand heat with the fuel lasting well into the night and later managed to start a fire in the other fireplace as we dosed off to sleep.
Sunday again proved a fine day between the odd passing shower as we departed the bothy for the road after a good sweep out of the bothy. While Iain guarded the "gear" the younger members of the party made a quick sortie up the hill to the rear, perhaps Diollaid Bheag (665m) — whatever it was they proved to be rather quick for they were back at the bothy by the time we were driving down the other side of the loch. Our trio later parked a little down the road to enable Donald and I to complete a swift round of Sgurr-an-Utha (796m), and Fraoch-bheinn in a clockwise direction after surviving an early and painful storm of hail, but we were later rewarded by grand views Westward and down Loch Sheil.
Essan proved a fine bothy, I believe ideal for our purposes, in which a successful meet was held. The only disappointment was the surplus whisky I has to take back with me — note Ian Thomson!
The following report has been written by the Secretary:
Despite numbers depleted by the coincidence of the SMC Annual Dinner there was a good turn out for this successful meet.
The Saturday saw Donald and John head North beyond Inverness to complete a round of Ben Wyvis, stopping en-route to buy yet another map of the area (anyone want to by one?). Meanwhile David and Andy had ticked off some of the Glen Feshie hills.
Evening activity centred around the celebration of a birthday with much musical accompaniment, a celebration that lasted well into the night.
On the Sunday Donald and John departed to take in some of the Drumochter summits that they had not previously been up. Departing from the road together they walked up Coire Dhomhain and up to the col between Beinn Udlamain and A 'Mharconaich over the first snows of winter. John then continued up the former and round to Sgairneach Mhor, while Donald ascended the latter and then the Boar of Badenoch.
Other activity on the hill that Sunday is not recorded here since the Secretary did not hear of any and no-one else has written up the meet.
The following report has been written by the Secretary:
A clear evening for the drive up to Lagangarbh gave way to steady overnight drizzle to be followed by traditional strong blustery wind and rain for the Saturday of the annual Christmas meet. Surprisingly, perhaps, a number of attempt mountain expeditions were planned and attempted, although only one party successfully completed all that they set out to achieve on the hills that day. Davie and Steve successfully reached the Climbing wall in Fort William.
The successful party on the hills that day included Sandy, John Bennet and David Cumming who, despite high winds, ascended Garbh Beinn. Unsuccessful parties included John Park and Alasdair who set off to attempt the Aonach Eagach, but only got as far as Am Bodach; Donald, Niel, Anderson and Neil Wilkie who set off for Glas Bheinn near Loch Eilde Mor and only got as far as the water intake for the pipe from the Loch before turning back; and Scott and Ewan who surprised us all by setting off up Buachaille Etive Mor at 11.00 p.m. the previous night, only to be thwarted a couple of hours later by poor route finding and a close encounter with a big drop!
Evening entertainment centred around the annual slide show which, apparently, was enjoyed, if not remembered, by all; Ian Thomson making an early exit (in a successful attempt to avoid having to show his slides for the second year in succession) and Alasdair Reid providing great entertainment by his alcoholic stupor induced murmurings. No overall best slide could be agreed upon by the vociferous judges (all 20 of them) so the "Whisky Mac kit" prize was opened and all present and still standing were offered a part in the prize. At this point Colwyn arrived, having once again missed a Lagangarbh slide show. Earlier in the proceedings Niel had been awarded a prize of a bottle of Port in recognition of his attendance at more meets than anyone else (a glutton for punishment?).
An early visit downstairs the following morning confirmed that the delicate heads were not just the effect of slight overcrowding in the sleeping accommodation and several bags of empties were removed before breakfast.
A late start by many saw Glasgow, Lochgilphead, or the pub, as the first destination but a number of members (chastened by the morning arrival of Janette) completed a round of Beinn a' Bheithir.
Most of these meets need volunteers to act as convenors. If you would like to help organise a meet please contact the secretary. Acting as a meet convenor does not require much effort, all you need to do is to check with the Secretary that the key is available, be aware of who is intending to attend the meet, and to help co-ordinate transport arrangements if necessary.
Donald Ballance
(Secretary)
13 January 1995
1/R 11 Airlie Street, Hyndland, Glasgow. G12 9RJ (0141 357 3073)
Work Tel: 0141 339 8855 Ext. 5187, Fax: 0141 330 4343
Email: D.Ballance@mech.gla.ac.uk
The following note has been received from John Park: "The highlight of the trip was a fast Highland Schottische with someone's Aunty Isa at the all night Ceilidh at which I represented the Glasgow JMCS."
Last modified Friday, 25-Apr-2008 18:19:09 BST, by Donald Ballance
