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Excited anticipation wakes me well before my alarm but I don’t need to get out of bed to know the weather has changed. A dull grey light and an eerie silence tell me the Cluanie curtain has descended.
Part of me wants to head up over the Five Sisters regardless – after all there’s no wind and only drizzle. But another part of me wants to save this classic walk for a fine day. I have long since accepted that my Munro round, if ever completed, could be one of the slowest on record and therefore most walks will only be done once. This is one to be savoured not turned into a pure navigational exercise.
The grey weather and the prospect of a low level plod add to a rising sense of homesickness. My eldest daughter, Madi, is twelve today making me acutely aware that most mothers don’t miss their offspring birthday’s let alone dessert all three of them for a fortnight. I phone her, embarrass her severely by singing Happy Birthday and direct her to a hidden birthday present, but I still feel guilty.
From my window I can see people beginning to gather in the dinning room. Company will lift my mood so I gatecrash an early breakfast arranged by two challengers – as do fourteen others much to the bemusement of the accommodating landlady! Soon the room is filled with cheerful voices mixed with the odd nervous first timer's laugh and the homesickness lifts though sadly the cloud base doesn’t. A plan formulates, walk round Gleann Lichd and if the weather improves head up to Bealach an Lapain – snow permitting and camp high.
We all develop our own personal challenge etiquettes and mine demands that I dip my toes in the water and collect a pebble that will ultimately be thrown into the North Sea. The lightweight revolution demands that this year it is a very small pebble!
On the beach I find David Albon and Tom Griffin and before long we are wandering along the old road with Loch Duich gently lapping on our left. I pause to look at my intended path disappearing into thick mist. Any nagging doubts that it is too hard a day with a full pack on dodgy ankles need not be tested.
Before long we’re at a junction of two rights of way – either of which will take us to Alltbeithe – where three indecisive challengers are discussing their options.
“Two places to brew and a waterfall this way,” offers David, championing the Gleann Lichd route. They’re convinced and soon stride off into the distance.
“You should be in sales!" I say.
“I sort of am,” he answers sheepishly. Then in response to my quizzical look, “I’m a minister for the Church of Scotland”
A pleasant walk at a comfortable pace brings us to Glenlicht House and elevensies in its lee. It is now decision time. The drizzle have stopped and the cloud has lifted as far as the Bealach an Lapain. A high camp is definitely on but surprisingly I havn’t got my usual urge for solitude. Though there had been no formal invitation Tom and David seemed to assume my company for the day and I am happy to be included.
Tom and me Gleann Lichd ->
Photo by David Albion
<- Waterfall - Gleann Lichd
A rickety suspension bridge followed by a steep pull on a well constructed path brings us, puffing and panting, to a stunning waterfall plunging into a deep bowl. Camban’s our next destination and a heavy shower and flatter ground hasten out pace as we cross the East-West watershed. We pause briefly to contemplate that all water will now be flowing towards the North Sea but that we are far from half way across Scotland.
The dark bothy is a welcome relief from now persistent drizzle. Aware that Alltbeithe is only an hours walk we lazily brew and chat as groups of Challengers come and go. Initial polite conversations of families and occupations is now interspersed with jokes and a gentle banter. Louise’s loud enthusiasm is contagious in a way unique to Americans but her brother seems less enamoured by the Scottish climate. However as the subject changes to the perennial Challenge question of how and what whisky is carried he cheers up.
“I’ll look forward to trying some at this hostel place.”
“But your not carrying any,” says Louise.
“I can buy some though,” he says, now positively enthusiastic.
David, Tom and I looked at each other, none of us wanting to shatter his expectations of Alltbeithe. We decide its time to leave.
“We should name him,” says David as the three of us peer at a tiny lizard. Tom and I nod in agreement bowing to David’s ecclesiastical expertise in naming ceremonies.
“Gerry” volunteers David.
“Yes. He looks like a Gerry” says Tom.
We all nod sagely again as we move him onto some heather to save him an assault from a Challenger boot.
“Could be a Geraldine?” I question after a few moments of silence.
“Could be, could be,” says David seriously.
“How can you tell?” asks Tom but sadly none of us knew how to sex a lizard so we move on and are soon on the door step of Alltbeithe Hostel.
David Albon leaving Camban ->
<- Gerry/Geraldine
“Can we camp,” asks David ignoring the large “No Camping” sign on the door. Despite space in the hostel he is set on camping as a higher authority seemed to be telling him it is going to be a glorious morning.
“Not anywhere near the hostel, the closest you can camp is on the other side of the river. The only decent pitches are on the island”
“Can we come in and socialize with the other challengers?” asks David politely.
“No,” comes the unequivocal reply.
Rather stunned we splash across the river, as David puts it, “escaping the Gulag”. Tents are pitched in a little huddle, our group further bonded by the perceived intransigence of the warden.
“We should explore our island,” suggest David. Tom and I smile at each other a little bemused but after naming a lizard I guess it’s not such a strange idea. David bounds off to the east end but in a few minutes he is back.
“I’ve found a beach!” Unable to resist his enthusiasm we join him on a small patch of sand.
“We should call it Albon Beach as you discovered it,” I suggest.
Soon after followed Griffin Point, Loch Ashton – a twenty foot long puddle in the dry channel on the southern side and Sgurr nan Tussoch is a large clump of grass at the west end. Our 30yd x 10yd domain is named Broon Breed Island after a decaying sliced loaf found on the north shore.
Exploration raises an appetite and we retired to our tent to compare dehydrated food washed down with red wine courtesy of the boys.
“Now for the games,” announces David once we are replete. There follows a fine game of skimming stones in Loch Ashton. David is remarkably competitive considering his profession and in response to my seven bounces responds by hitting the target rock in the centre twice. Tom responds by lobbing a large stone in and causing an enormous splash and we call it an honourable draw. After a somewhat less successful game of pooh sticks in which we all nearly break ankles trying to keep up with our reeds in the fast flowing Affric we retire for chocolate pudding courtesy of Tom, decorated with minstrels, courtesy of David washed down with whisky, courtesy of me.
David and Tom on Albon Beach
The evening is finished with a discussion of sheewees and the merits of sports bras providing extra storage space for men.
As a magnificent sunset fades I zip up my tent and reflect on the day. Despite the grey weather and a low route I couldn’t imagine that even a cloudless ascent of the Five Sisters could have been better.
