Scotland, Feb ’23: Ullapool, Lael Forest Garden, Corrieshalloch Gorge

January 8, 2024January 8, 2024Leave a comment

Monday 6 February

Following the previous day’s unexpectedly adventurous excursion up Ben Wyvis, we indulged in a “rest day”. This meant exploring the area with no real agenda, so after a cup of coffee and a quick google we decided to head to Ullapool, a lochside fishing village 25 minutes northwest of our picturesque parking spot overlooking Loch Glascarnoch.

It was a fine day, although forecast to be windy up in the mountains, so we didn’t feel like we were missing out too much – particularly with Ryan’s ongoing (but thankfully improving) blister situation. The road to Ullapool was quiet and beautiful, carving through rugged hillsides carpeted in reddish heather and golden grass that glowed in the morning sun against a blue sky made wilder by smooth clouds that hung portentously over the dramatic, dark peaks and ridges of An Teallach mountain range straight ahead – another one high on the to do list. This was followed by a pretty drive along the bank of Loch Broom before arriving at the village, which is nestled on a low-lying promontory on the northern edge of the loch.

Ullapool

We parked at Tesco, which was just about the only indication (in a good way) that the village was connected to the rest of the world. A short walk through quiet, pretty, uniform streets took us to Ullapool Outdoors, a lovely independent shop where we picked up some stove gas and washing up liquid. From there we continued on to the water’s edge, which was lined by a row of whitewashed cottages overlooking a narrow, stony beach. We absorbed the tranquility as we wandered along the shore, skimming stones and marvelling like children at enormous mussel shells and seaweeds that clung to pebbles with masses of rubbery roots, all the while taking in the mountains that surrounded the loch. It was an utterly self-contained, other-worldly place.

We walked along the loch front past the ferry terminal, where a bustle of construction work was taking place, then popped into a country clothes shop, a charity shop, a small gallery and a delicatessen. We returned to the van with our bounty – a new jacket for Ryan, some charity shop clothes for me and a couple of rolls for lunch. We ate them overlooking the loch and left Ullapool feeling very tranquil.

Lael Forest Garden

Our next stop, just south of Loch Broom, is perhaps best described as a living tree museum. Lael Forest Garden was founded in the 1870s by Victorian seed collectors who planted over 200 species from all around the world.

We pulled up in the small car park, entered through a gate and wandered the short trails, which showcased an interesting variety of trees and a wild, tumbling waterfall. Despite Scotland’s barely temperate winters the trees seemed to be thriving, perhaps because of their position up the steep eastern bank of a deep gorge. A personal highlight was the soft-barked sequoia redwoods, which – in their immense stillness – dwarfed everything else with a quiet, humbling majesty.

It only took half an hour to walk around in a loop, but there was nobody else around and that half hour felt very peaceful. I’d like to come back in spring or autumn.

Corrieshalloch Gorge & the Falls of Measach

Our next stop was a few minutes’ drive south. Corrieshalloch Gorge is a narrow, sheer-sided cut in the landscape that was formed during the ice age by a strong river flowing beneath a glacier into Loch Broom. The path from the roadside car park took us down through woodland to a narrow, 25 metre long Victorian suspension bridge that spanned the deep gorge quite spectacularly and bounced slightly underfoot.

Looking down into the vertigo-inducing 60 metre chasm below was a memorable experience. A white river rushed urgently through a narrow channel at the base of the gorge, fed by what seemed an impossibly voluminous, 45 metre high waterfall – the impressive Falls of Measach. It was wild, beautiful and, with nothing but air between my feet and the rocky water way below, quite unnerving to consider the consequences if the bridge failed.

We crossed the gorge, nipped along to a protruding, equally vertiginous platform for a good view of the bridge and the waterfall – which seemed even bigger from a distance – then crossed back and walked along the wooded brink for about half a kilometre. The gorge’s dark, sheer rock walls were covered in mosses, lichens, shrubby little plants and – wherever their audacious roots could take hold – trees, which all seemed to thrive in their damp, inaccessible sanctuary.

The path curved back on itself as it climbed towards the car park, and as we rose above the lilac birch tops we enjoyed a stunning view of the valley at the northern end of the gorge, looking back towards Ullapool. Loch Broom appeared in the V, backed by heathery slopes, and in the foreground deep green forests sprawled over undulating, yellow-brown hillsides. The air was still and once again I felt uncommonly peaceful.

North West Coast

I can’t tolerate serenity for too long, so we formulated a plan to climb another mountain the next day. Ryan had researched Beinn Alligin in Torridon, so we set off from Corrieshalloch on a 70-mile journey southwest along the not-very-direct, but scenic, road that snaked down the remote, jagged northwest coast.

As I’d hoped, the road was quiet and afforded lovely views of wild mountains, dark lochs, clear blue sea and tiny, timeless villages. We stopped briefly at the coastal village of Gairloch for a token beach trip, where the sand was pale, fine and backed by grassy dunes, then – sufficiently wind-nipped – we returned to the van and continued on to the wilderness of vast Glen Torridon, where we’d previously had an epic day mountain biking the Torridon Loop. It almost felt like going home.

We drove a short way up the hill behind Torridon village to the Beinn Alligin car park, arriving about 6pm. Ryan cooked sausage pasta and we spent a couple of hours researching the mountain, then went to bed early in anticipation of a 6am start. Like I said, serenity doesn’t last long.

Scotland, Feb ’22: Skye Fairy Pools to Fort William

August 16, 2022August 16, 2022Leave a comment

Thursday 10 February

We had breakfast overlooking atmospheric, moodily grey Dunvegan Loch and drove down Skye’s pretty eastern edge for 40 minutes to the Fairy Pools. On the way Ryan spotted a huge white-tailed sea eagle soar high above the van and dip below some tall pines, and to my absolute delight I just about caught a glimpse of it before it disappeared.

Our plan was to hike up to the Fairy Pools, then leave Skye for the Ben Nevis range in the hope of some half decent climbing weather the next day. We wound along a remote road, parked in a free car park near the start of the Fairy Pools walk and headed down to the wide, well-maintained tourist path.

The Fairy Pools (extended edition)

The Fairy Pools are a series of waterfalls and clear pools on the Allt Coir’ a’ Tairneilear river, which snakes up to the base of the infamous Black Cuillin mountains described in the previous day’s blog post. The pools are set beneath the vast ridges of Sgurr Thuilm, Bidein Druim nan Ramh and Bruach na Frithe, which curve around the river in a protective yet imposing C-shape. These great giants form a wild, open-ended bowl carpeted with golden grass and brownish heather, and directly in front of us at the head of the bowl stood Sgurr an Fheadain, a perfectly triangular, dark grey, child’s drawing of a mountain tucked neatly between two sloping ridges as if quietly watching over its territory from a throne. Low cloud hanging over the mysterious, snow-spangled peaks gave the place a self-contained atmosphere that made it seem like the rest of the world simply didn’t exist.

We got rained on as we started up the path, which follows the river’s left bank. I didn’t mind as it meant there were few other visitors. The deep, round, extraordinarily blue Fairy Pools sat below low, rushing white waterfalls, some wide and low, some narrow and high, and the meandering river carved relentlessly over, around and through solid rock in an endless torrent. The pools were a beautiful, crystal clear blue-green colour, and if the air temperature had been in double digits I’d have jumped in. We instantly understood its popularity as a tourist destination, although I wouldn’t want to visit on a busy summer’s day. Even beneath a cloudy sky it was worthy of a Herbal Essences advert.

The path along this extraordinary river continued for about 2.5km up to the base of the Cuillins. Our plan had been to see the pools and head back the same way, but having eyed up the map I had new designs on making the hike circular (triangular) by taking a path that follows the base of the immense ridge northward, then west across the moor and back to the van. I entreated Ryan, who rolled his eyes and followed me onto our new path.

As is standard, the rocky path became muddy then boggy, to Ryan’s great disgruntlement. We trudged and slopped along wet, tufty grassland, trying desperately to keep our feet dry. After a mild bout of whinging we suddenly spotted the dark forms of several red deer a short way ahead of us, well camouflaged against the boulder-strewn, yellow-brown heathland, and our agitation evaporated. They were such majestic animals, easily large and powerful enough to do us a mischief, yet they warily kept their distance as we blundered through their territory, and idled casually up the sleep slope to the right as we approached. Then we spotted more over to our left, watching us quietly from about thirty yards away as they chewed rhythmically in peaceful little groups.

The path had been absorbed by the wild terrain so we walked carefully through heather and bog until we reached a small river, the Allt a’Mhaim, and a parallel path which would take us southwest back towards the road. We followed it all the way down the gently sloping moorland, admiring the rolling brown wilderness that was now illuminated in the golden glow of the soft winter sun, and more red deer appeared from nowhere on either side of us. The bluish clouds over the Cuillins and the dark shadows of the undulating high ridges accentuated the warm light that fell on the mountainous bowl, giving the landscape an other-worldly, dream-like quality. It was a harsh, thriving, unadulterated place.

After walking along this path for about 2km we reached a fairytale-like waterfall set just below a thick fir forest, took a wistful look back towards the Cuillins, and rejoined the road back to the car park. What a beautiful place.

Back to the mainland

It took us an hour to reach the Skye Bridge via Sligachan and Broadford Co-op, a drive that involved a lot of “wow look at that”s, referring to various lofty peaks and wild islands. Back on the mainland we drove southeast along the main A87 Old Military road that follows the length of long Lochs Alsh and Duich, then cuts through the belly of vast Glen Shiel and past lochs Cluanie, Loyne, Garry and Lochy. As we passed wonderfully named Loch Lochy the sun set over golden water, sinking below the distant peaks in a soft haze.

Almost two hours after leaving Skye we arrived at Fort William and nipped to the familiar Morrisons, then drove for 15 more minutes to Ben Nevis’s north face car park. For dinner we had a strange combination of leftover vegan bolognese, bulgur wheat and stovies – a Scottish dish made of beef, onion and potato, all minced together in a delicious (if unsightly) mush – then had a very serious discussion about what we should do the following day.

We both really wanted a big mountain day on or around Ben Nevis, either ice climbing a route like Number 2 Gully or hiking/scrambling the Carn Mor Dearg arete, but after a lot of research and consideration we decided that given the high winds and “considerable” avalanche risk on north east aspects in that area it wasn’t the day for it. We settled, after some squabbling (I was team bike, Ryan was team find somewhere else to climb), on mountain biking the famous Nevis Range trails that started from the car park we were in, which had been on my to do list for years. It was a good thing we did because we went to bed much later than planned, having spent a long time deliberating over Ben Nevis.

Fort William, Eilean Donan and Shieldaig: Scotland day 3, Sep ’20

November 13, 2020November 14, 2020Leave a comment

Fort William

Following the previous day’s climb of Ben Nevis, we conceded that this should be a rest day. We woke early by the Ben Nevis Inn and drove the short distance to Fort William town centre. I’ve been there a couple of times previously, only once in decent weather, and today it was decidedly wet. We had a Wetherspoons breakfast whilst poring over the maps and Scotland Wild Guide, then poked around the shops for gifts.

Unsurprisingly, given its renown as a hub for mountaineers, mountain bikers and all sorts of other quirky people, Fort William is a bustling little town, even in the grey mizzle of the Monday morning Highlands. It has a wide range of shops and as I once discovered, plenty of pockets of history.

We bought Ryan’s dad a locally crafted drinking glass to compensate for the fact we’d gone to Scotland for his birthday, an umbrella for extra protection against the Scottish weather, and giggled at a hardened-looking old lady on a bench who was resolutely ignoring the rain’s attempts to turn her closely scrutinised newspaper to pulp.

Eilean Donan Castle

We fuelled up at Morrisons then made our way to Eilean Donan castle, an hour and a half north west. Unfortunately we saw little of the mountains and glens we passed due to the weather, but were thankful that we’d used yesterday’s sun to go climbing. Sadly a crack had mysteriously appeared on the van’s windscreen, so every little bump in the road gave us a stab of anxiety (which actually became quite amusing).

The castle is quite famous because of its picturesque position on a little island at the junction of three lochs, surrounded by mountains. Google image it for some much better photography than my own. We got tickets for £10 each and waited a little for our allotted time to go across the footbridge – visitor numbers were limited (thanks covid).

Walking across the bridge we noted that for a castle, Eilean Donan is remarkably compact, complete and cosy-looking. This is largely due to the fact that it’s still inhabited (on what basis I’m not sure) by the MacRae family, so some of it is closed to the public. The open parts are lovely – decorated as if we’d travelled back a few hundred years, with a festooned dining table, bright wall hangings, open fires and a kitchen full of tantalising-looking faux food. We weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, but I think the best word to describe the castle is atmospheric.

Once we were done inside, we circumnavigated the outer walls and dawdled back along the bridge. After a brief look around the gift shop we headed north towards Torridon; I’m not really sure why, I just wanted to go further northwest than I’d been before.

Shieldaig

We stopped after about an hour and a half at a tiny village called Shieldaig, which is mentioned in my Scotland Wild Guide. It’s miles from anywhere and its pretty, colourful cottages are spread along a small section of the Loch Shieldaig bank, which joins Loch Torridon and opens out to the sea.

Following the rough directions towards some random beach in my book, we went up past the primary school and along a footpath that follows the edge of the loch to a headland. This moorland cliff juts between Loch Shieldaig and Upper Loch Torridon, offering beautiful, wild views of both.

We wandered off the path to find the highest ground and look down on the rocky beach below. Everything was wild and rugged: landward, heath and rough grass was punctuated by grey boulders and hardy shrubs, and apart from a small opening out towards the sea, the lochs were backed by dark mountains and rocky promontories. Low cloud hid the tops of the hills and drifted intermittently, threatening to dampen our clothes, if not our spirits.

We nipped up to a randomly placed trig point, then made our way back the way we’d come just as the rain grew a little more persuasive. From Shieldaig, we drove a short distance east along the south side of Upper Loch Torridon, found a lovely camping spot in a layby overlooking the loch and settled down for the evening. I’m sure we cooked up something wonderful, although I can’t remember what it was, and had a lovely, chilled evening drinking cider and planning the next day.

Scotland, Day 2: The Highlands – Glencoe

January 3, 2019January 3, 2019Leave a comment

Monday 10th December

Admin

I woke up in heaven. We were nestled at the base of Buachaille Etive Mor, a towering, perfectly triangular snow-topped mountain, with just a small coppice between the van and a wild, open plain surrounded by rugged peaks. The horizon glowed orange, which turned from pink through lilac into the cool blue sky above, and the air was dry and crisp.

Sunrise

Buachaille Etive Mor

Björn at home

Once I’d stopped staring, morning admin commenced. This consists of changing the bedroom into the kitchen/living room (ie. turning the bed into the rear-facing seats and putting the table up), eating porridge, drinking coffee, tidying things away, making packed lunches (jam sandwiches on every trip, without exception – quick, cheap and highly transportable), brushing teeth, attempting to tame hair, packing daysacks and coming up with some kind of plan.

From the moment I decided to go to Scotland, I knew I wouldn’t leave without immersing myself in Glencoe – an area I’d fallen hopelessly in love with the previous year. Our Ben Nevis map doesn’t quite cover this area, so we went to the Glencoe visitor centre (usually well worth a visit, but this time the majority of it was being renovated) to pick up an OS map. We also did a bit of Christmas shopping in the small National Trust for Scotland shop, most notably buying a “wild haggis” toy (now called Hamish) for Nellie, my naughty black lab. Apparently tourists swear by haggis sightings.

Is this the perfect house?

The River Coe

Two of the three sisters

Glencoe hike

From there we headed back to a roadside car park at the base of the three sisters of Glencoe, part of the Bidean nam Bian mountain range of complex peaks, ridges and crags. It’s clearly a popular spot; I was bemused by a coach-full of handbag-clutching, vans-wearing tourists that stopped to admire the view through their iPhone cameras before deciding it was too cold to hang about and scuttling off.

We followed a path between the left and middle “sister” ridges, Beinn Fhada and Gearr Aonach, which saw us scrambling over rocks, squeezing through gaps, peering down at waterfalls over sheer edges and generally being awestruck by the dramatic, serene beauty of the place. The sisters towered over us on both sides, cold, hard rocks stood in front waiting to be scrambled over, and behind was the valley of Glencoe in all its wild, rugged, sandy-yellow winter glory. Oh Scotland.

Halfway up and so happy

He’s happy too

Looking back towards the main valley

Eventually we reached the end of the path, which overlooked a long, bathtub-shaped plateau surrounded on three sides by curving, steep-sided ridges. We sat on a rock enjoying our jam sandwiches, then clambered down. It looked as though there was once a river (or glacier?) running through from the narrow end with the snow-topped ridge, which had carved out the valley and left thousands of loose rocks that were awkward to walk on, and there were huge, house-sized boulders scattered as if giants had thrown and left them there.

I couldn’t resist the lure of nature’s playground, so I had a quick climb on a too-tempting boulder plonked in the middle of the plateau. As the path didn’t seem to go anywhere we headed back along the same route, stumbling down the uneven paths and grinning as we bashed knees and scuffed elbows on sticky-out bits of rock. Fortunately there was barely anyone else on the path, so our ungainliness went unnoticed.

Snug as a bug

Playtime

“The bathtub”… what a hiding spot for a herd of catle

Back at the car park we found a tourist information board, which informed us that we’d walked along the Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail). The “plateau” was where the MacDonald clan hid stolen cattle in the 1600s – I have no idea how they mooved (not even sorry) cows up there – and fled to after some escaped the famous Glen Coe massacre of 1692 (fascinating and heartbreaking bit of history, google it).

Breathtaking

I wish we’d found this before the walk!

Red deer at Glen Etive

We left the car park and drove back to the 12-mile dead-end Glen Etive road where we’d stayed the previous night. Glen Etive is where the Skyfall (James Bond) house was set/CGI’d onto, and I’d read that it’s worth a visit because of its remote beauty. It’s a stunning valley, less well-known than Glencoe, flanked by imposing ridges darkened in places by deep green pine forests.

I was desperate to see red deer on this trip and I’d been looking out carefully since we’d got to the Highlands. So a few miles along the road, I could barely contain myself when we came across a couple of people hand-feeding carrots to a young stag. We stopped, and when they left I slipped out the van to try and get some photos.

The rest of the herd were down a bank by a wide, shallow river, guarded watchfully by a majestic stag. I snuck down the bank and moved diagonally through the trees to get a better shot without approaching the deer directly; the stag kept an eye on me as his herd grazed and drank from the river. It was so surreal – I’d have been thrilled to see one red deer at a distance, let alone a whole herd at close range. The light was fading so I had to hold the camera super still; I would have got better photos in better light, but I don’t care – I’m delighted. The deer are even more wildly, gracefully beautiful in person.

My mind was blown

…and my heart stopped

Admin

Eventually I tore myself away and we drove back to Glencoe between towering, silhouetted ridges against a navy blue sky. I loved that drive; I found the mountains bearing over us in the dark simultaneously humbling, ominous and comforting, as if we were both at their mercy and under their protection. We stopped for supplies (notably wine) at the Co-op in Ballachulish, near Glen Coe village, then went to Kinlochleven to book an ice climbing session at the indoor centre for the next day.

That done, we stopped for the night in a layby on the south side of Loch Leven. The blackness of the water merged with the dark silhouette of the huge ridge that lay on its north side, which was interspersed at loch level with the twinkling lights of occasional buildings. We appreciated the twinkly lights while eating sausage casserole and planning for tomorrow.

Another good day.