In which we learn about the Christmas dinner, the club Ratagan trip and some escapades from George and myself, including a flashback to that spectacular July weather we were having…
Upcoming trips
The last trip of the semester will be Eskdale YHA in the Lake District from Friday coming (the 8th) to Sunday. Booking will open on Tuesday — it’s a small hostel, so be sure to get online for 8am sharp!
Christmas dinner
We had our annual Christmas dinner last week, and on all accounts it was a great night! Congratulations to all our prize-winners, not least Felicia, well-deserved winner of the coveted Golden Boot for Keenest Newbie, and Lucien, winner of the prestigious title of Hillwalkers’ Hillwalker, in which he joins some extremely esteemed company (more on me and George’s recent shenanigans coming right up).
Better than a tent?
One thing only I ask from the LORD,
this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the LORD
and to seek him in his temple.
Or as George put it at the time:
You do realise there’s only one door between where you sleep and where you shit? Technically it’s en-suite.
This was our experience of Tunskeen bothy, the first bothy to receive a work party from the Mountain Bothies Association.
We were certainly pleased to see it by the time we arrived! We had set off from the car fifteen minutes before sunset, and darkness was swiftly upon us. Before too long, we’d hopelessly lost the track in a stand of clear-felled forestry. The maze of tree stumps, drainage ditches and general boggy bits was a challenge to navigate, even in the brilliant light of the moon, just past full. Three hours of half-blind stumbling later, we got there.
Mercifully, the bothy was not occupied by the small minority of the local yobulace who are unfortunately known to misuse the bothy (dragging along the track ten bottles of wine, eighty cans of Tennents and a sound system, if the visitor book is to be believed — you have to admire the dedication). Once we’d put a few candles about the place and put on a feeble fire in the stove for moral support, it was really quite welcoming. Only dinner remained to be sorted.
Dinner was the best camping dinner I’ve ever had. Here’s the recipe in case you want to replicate it:
- Microwave two-thirds of a haggis.
- Carry it in your rucksack round the Nevis Range all weekend.
- If you’ve got the time, leave it in your rucksack for another twenty-four hours to mature.
- Add two packets of dried macaroni cheese. We recommend the Mugshot 2019 — an excellent vintage.
- Add two pints of bog water. If it’s brown, throw it out — you want it to be vivid, algal green.
- Bring it to the boil. Give it a stir with a fork of unknown provenance you found lying around in the bothy.
- Let it rest for five minutes. For the flavours to really sink in.
- Enjoy.
Best camping meal I’ve ever had. Not even joking.
In the morning, we were surprised to discover where our erstwhile companion Tom Cruise had found for a bed.
But we sadly couldn’t enjoy the bothy all day: we had the small issue of some unbagged Donalds staring at us out the window. Determined to put a stop to that, we slogged up to the ridge and investigated the Merrick along with several of its neighbours. This was undoubtedly the part of the walk with the highest traditional hillwalking quality: pleasant, open upland walking, and views reaching at times despite the cloud to the Arran hills.
And that’s when it started to go downhill. In every sense.
Once we’d got into the glen, we were supposed to follow a ‘track’ through the forestry. Turns out the ‘track’ was, at best, a firebreak which some fitwuck in Southampton staring at a satellite picture thought might have a track at the bottom of it (no need to check or anything). And the forestry, of course, had since been clear-felled. Cue several more hours of scraping shins in dense mats of brash, sliding over rotten logs and wading through drainage ditches. The joys.
It might not have been a traditional hillwalkers’ hillwalk. But as both George (2021/22) and myself (2022/23) are officially certified by the EUHWC as Hillwalkers’ Hillwalkers, we made it a hillwalkers’ hillwalkers’ hillwalk.
More seriously, it was a very welcome respite for me. A large catalogue of small-to-medium stressors, combined with a two-month detention from hillwalking, had left me feeling boxed-in, tired and deflated. I came back having tramped for miles over rough terrain, slept on a cold, hard sleeping platform, and put up with George going on about his despicable cloud inversion a month before almost non-stop, and yet I came back fully rested in all the ways that I needed. For driving me out there, providing quality chat and sea shanty CDs, and being a good friend to me, I’m grateful to George.
Technology report:
- One-inch Ordnance Survey map 67, ‘Fully Revised 1963.’ OK, we also used George’s Landranger for planning (revised 1986), plus a quick glance at OS Maps Online the day before (revised every time George tried to recall it).
- AA atlas for the drive, for the unlikely event that both mine and George’s impeccable innate sense of direction simultaneously failed.
- Perfectly balanced CD selection, including Norfolk sea shanties; Julie Fowlis; Wet Leg; the soundtrack to the highly acclaimed animated film, Brave; and Stormzy.
- Headtorches.
- Fire.
- Electric tyre inflator.
A torrential time in Torridon
Now for a bit of a flashback — sorry George for forgetting to include this in the October issue! — George himself reports on a summer trip to Torridon.
On a dark and stormy Tuesday pub night way back in March, Alex and I sat down and reflected on how much we had enjoyed the alumni trip to Torridon a few days prior. Between our musings on how nice it was to see everyone again and how questionable the route I’d tried on the second day was, a brilliant idea was born: why don’t we just do it again but in the summer? Flash forwards a few months and four cars set off from Edinburgh laden down with Alumni, almost alumni and one rogue fresher. Our goal? To have a wonderful weekend in one of the most spectacular parts of the country and hopefully sample some of the excellent scrambling on offer. Unfortunately, the weather forecast had other plans with MWIS declaring that the entire weekend would consist of rain, with roughly 10% chance of cloud-free Munros. Not to be deterred, we rocked up at SYHA Torridon on Friday eve, quickly toned-down arrival noise levels after remembering that there were actually other paying guests at the hostel, and set out our plans for the next day.
The next day arrived and as promised there was lots and lots of lovely rain. Hannah and Shona decided that they would prefer to not spend the entire day drenched and went for a lovely coastal walk, while Rachel Branch and Lottie realised they were both too injured to venture outside, so spent the day making friends with other hostel inhabitants. In terms of actual walks, Alex led the intrepid team of Gretchen, Angela, Roxy and Fiona up the solitary Munro of Maol Chean-dearg. Despite the suggestion of the north face ascent which we had greatly enjoyed barely surviving in March, they instead took the sensible route up the southern face and had a delightful time. The only low of the day seems to be that, due to the volume of water vacating the sky, the normally superb path had turned into a swift and well bordered stream that they spent the majority of the day trudging through. Unfortunately, none of them have sent any photos from this walk so visual memories are left as an exercise to the reader.
The remaining crew which consisted of Tiernan, John, Ruby, Madeline, EUHWC poster boy Johnny, Rogue fresher and incoming president Isla and myself, set off to tackle the relatively unvisited pair of Sgùrr Chòinnich and Sgùrr a’ Chaorachain.
We also started in the rain but determined that it would cease soon we persevered and after passing many many frogs and traversing a rather sketchy wire bridge we reached the summits, soggy and viewless but triumphant. To top it off on the way down the rain finally stopped! Granted we had been walking for seven hours at this point but the final hour back to the cars gave everyone a chance to appreciate how fully soaked we were.
Once everyone had reconvened at the hostel and filled the drying room to the brim with every imaginable item of clothing, and in some cases entire rucksacks, we descended on the kitchen and set about preparing a large curry in true hillwalking style. I don’t recall what type of curry it was bar it being very tasty and of a sufficiently low spice level that even the weakest of taste buds (mine) wouldn’t be set on fire. Once the dishes been scrubbed to an immaculate shine we set about planning for the next day. While the forecast was better it was still far from what you would describe as ideal scrambling conditions, so the collective decision was made to basically treat Sunday as a faff day. Fortunately, we are all dedicated walkers so a faff day simply meant a less interesting single Munro rather than a jaunt round the house of Bruar. Full of curry and praying that the drying room would do its job we drifted off to bed ready for the next day.
As the second day dawned and brought with it both slightly clear skies and the realisation that we didn’t need to clean the entire hostel before leaving, everyone was in high spirits and set off eager to do the various faff hills that had been designated as targets for the day. Tiernan had decided that he wanted the chance to see the hills he did the previous day so took a car to the “beached whale” (walkhighlands description) that is Moruisg and had a wonderful time taking Gretchen, Angela and Isla up the boggy slopes. Unfortunately for bagger Isla the second peak is a mere Corbett with a height just one metre below Munro. Tiernan helpfully suggested that if she jumped, she would be above the required 3000 feet. While ingenious problem solving this wouldn’t help with the Munro map unless hers happened to be printed in the small window of 1997 to 2009 when the hill experienced a brief promotion.
Nearby Shona and Hannah had decided to ascend the faffiest of all hills Fionn Bheinn. However, this attempt was aborted very early into the day due to an impassable bog. When this retreat is combined with their Saturday coastal walk it can safely be stated that the highest altitude either of the pair reached over the entire weekend was the 405-metre Slochd summit on the A9. This is an impressive feat which will hopefully not be repeated on any future trips.
The third hill to be tackled was the mighty Ben Wyvis with a team of Alex, Fiona, Roxy, Lottie and Rachel. Again, I have no photos from this walk and when I asked them for any fun stories to be included in this writeup the only offering was that Rachel had brushed her teeth next to the car. Thrilling stuff indeed.
Finally, we come to my walk. I had decided that for a classic faff day I would do a waterfall walk, but because I refuse to actually do a faff day this waterfall would be the Falls of Glomach and the approach route would happen to cross the Munro of a’ Ghlas-bheinn. The team for this consisted of John, Johnny and Madeline while Ruby decided that she would skip the Munro and just do the waterfall aspect. The reasoning for this out of character route choice was a particularly gammy hip which was considered just about acceptable. The mountain walk was very pleasant, and we even had intermittent views of the Skye Bridge when we weren’t distracted by chasing off deer flies that seemed to want nothing more than to burrow into Johnnys hair. Even more impressive was the falls of Glomach which due to the amount of extra water were particularly full. On the way out we encountered a rope swing in the middle of a field so about half an hour was spent sending each other flying around and attempting to dismount without faceplanting onto a tree root or cow pat.
Overall, despite the damp weather it was an excellent weekend with lots of fun walking and a little taste of a club trip without the need for an early alarm for signup.
George Peat
Ratagan trip
Ever a highlight of the year, Audrey gives us her account of the club trip to Ratagan.
I needed the Ratagan trip. Workwise, the previous weeks had been rough. My days (too many of which had had beautiful weather) were spent at my desk marking essays, working on the latest chapter of my PhD thesis, writing proposals for conferences, and a myriad of other small tasks that took up way too much time. With this in mind, it is little wonder that I counted down the days, hours, and minutes until I could escape into the Highlands. While I brought my laptop to continue my work on the trip, I fully expected that weekend to be a break from the previous days’ tasks. What I did not expect, however, was to learn as much as I did on this trip.
No one was surprised when I was the VERY first one to arrive at the Pleasance parking lot. When Ellie (with a coffee for me, bless her), Emily, and a hungover George finally showed up (in that order), I was humming with excitement and very anxious to begin the drive. And oh my God the drive. One thing I love about being a part of the EUHWC is the sense of accomplishment I feel when I achieve something (usually bagging a hill) and how often I get to see stunning views. This drive provided me with both. Halfway through, my car pulled up to the Capital Asset, a Wetherspoons in Perth. Anyone who has ever been to the Perth spoons women’s restroom knows that its architecture rivals only that of the Palace of Versailles. With its open layout, lighting, views, and decor, this particular bathroom is a sight to behold. However, despite its unparalleled aesthetic genius, the highlight of the visit to this fine establishment was the fact that my car achieved a major victory. Having arrived at noon on the FRIDAY of the Ratagan excursion, we now hold the record for the earliest visit to the Perth spoons on a EUHWC trip.
We reached the actual destination at about 4pm in the afternoon. Immediately, I was treated with another amazing view. As we pulled into the parking lot, the sky was a peach-pink color. It, along with the surrounding mountains, were perfectly reflected in the glass smooth loch. The hostel itself was incredibly picturesque, looking to me more like an idyllic countryside cottage than a place of cheap lodging.
I signed up to hike Five Sisters with walk organizers Willow and Emily. We could not have asked for a better day. The sky was clear and blue and we could see for miles in any direction. The mountains were snow capped, but not unmanageable. There was a fair bit of minor scrambling — just enough to make the walk interesting. Finally, and arguably most importantly, the group was in high spirits.
Throughout the hike, Silas (one of our fantastic drivers) regaled us with stories from Jacobite history and his everyday life. (Ed: I’m lost, what’s the difference?) However, he showed his true skill as a storyteller halfway through the day. With his audience perched on a rock on a mountainside, he told the legend of how the five sisters came to be. He spoke with such gusto and enthusiasm that we all sat in rapture.
I’m a historian by trade. I study peoples’ lives and how they experienced the world. That being said, every so often, I’m gifted with the opportunity to learn how these people felt in their moments of time. Listening to Silas tell the story of the Five Sisters, I had one of those moments. However many years ago men, women, and children listened to similar stories. These tales were a form of entertainment, moral education, or a way to pass down family or community history. Those in the past may have gathered in a cottage somewhere at the base of one of those mountains, by a fireside along the loch, or perhaps on that very hillside listening to a similar tale. In that moment, I learned how it felt to do that. I sat beside some of my closest friends, eagerly listening to how the mountains surrounding me were formed, just as others had generations before me.
That being said, my happy mindset did not last long. As I was coming off the final Munro, I felt a twinge in my left ankle. I had tweaked it earlier while moving, but thought I had rested it sufficiently enough to walk. Now, the pain was back with a vengeance. I found myself moving slower and slower. With darkness coming, I was mildly concerned about my pace and slowing everyone down. The walk organizers made the right call in splitting up the group, allowing the faster walkers to spend a shorter time in darkness. I am incredibly thankful for the two other walkers who remained back with me as I hobbled down the mountain — I’m pretty sure I would have lost my mind had I forced everyone to wait up with me!
Upon returning to the hostel, my spirits were lifted somewhat by the hamburger dinner Karel and Willow (the trip organizers) had planned and they were lifted even further when I witnessed the creation of a new game that involved a ridge-traversal technique, a dividing wall, and a timer.
However, I was not able to walk the next day. In a fairly sour mood, I joined a group going on a relatively short walk. I sat in the car, determined to get some work done in the three to four hours I would be waiting. I got nothing done. I’d like to blame the lack of wifi or cell service in the area, but in reality, I spent a good chunk of time watching handlers train MOUNTAIN RESCUE SEARCH AND RESCUE DOGS. Oh my gosh, I even got to pet one! I strongly considered volunteering to be a “victim” for them to find, but I figured with the number of dogs and apparent organization of the people that it was covered. Even so, the joy I got watching the dogs (in particular one cocker spaniel who I think was new) find their targets made missing the walk almost worth it.
My excitement over the dogs was equaled only by my compatriots’ enthusiasm over an awe inspiring discovery. At the end of their hike, they took a moment to use the restroom and watch the informational presentation adjacent to the bathrooms. Lo and behold, when they pressed a button to learn more information, they saw the familiar face of JOE CARSTAIRS. Taken completely by surprise that our trusty alumni officer and maintainer of this blog doubled as an environmental A-list celebrity, they learned all about Joe’s volunteer work at the Creag Meagaidh National Nature Reserve and how he, and so many other kind-hearted souls, maintained and cared for the beautiful landscape and wildlife. Of course I had to limp out there to see for myself and, I’m not going to lie, it made me want to ask my friend for his autograph the next time I saw him. (Ed: I told you, it won’t be a problem as soon as you start offering a fair price!)
All in all, I can’t say my Ratagan trip was perfect. Even so, I’m happy for the experience. I genuinely learned so much. On Saturday, I began to understand how those of the past experienced the world. Sunday I saw how mountain rescue serves the community and discovered a really cool fun fact about a dear friend of mine. While the trip did not go exactly as I wished, I cannot say it was a failure.
That’s it!
Thanks for reading, and until next time, happy hillwalking!
If you’re a club member or alumna/alumnus and have any stories, photos, sketches, poems, songs or interpretive dance routines inspired by your recent hillwalking adventures, we’d love to share them on this blog! Get in touch at edunihillwalkingalumni@gmail.com.
Alumni Officer EUHWC