After a few busy weeks, I needed more than ever to get away into the hills; especially with the summer maturing by the day and the threat of darkening nights snapping at my heels.
Location of choice this time was the Eastern Mamores, a range of hills I'm not familiar with but which were sufficiently both remote
and accessible for a quick one night's wild camping/sketching trip.
I did try to get my rucksack's weight down to a manageable level, but with paints and pads in addition to the necessities of food/water/tent/clothes/bedding/midge repellent, the best I could manage was 13kg. So with the weight of a toddler on my back I set of up the stalker's path from the old Mamore Lodge Hotel. The path winds NE up the hillside from Kinlochleven and after just over 3 miles a bealach is reached at around 2,460 ft.
It was a rocky, grassy, mossy, lichen-y area with a lochan or two and views over to the Glencoe Hills. I didn't stay long but forged ahead to the north, the path switchbacking down to a river in a pretty gloomy, boggy glen. The second burn successfully forged, it was a long and dreary slog back up the other side to the next bealach. 7 miles and 4 hours after starting out I found myself where I wanted to be; a flat area at 2,400ft stretched between two very different mountains; Binnein Mor and Binnein Beag (Big Peak, Small Peak respectively). Massive slabs of hard white quartz protruded erratically from the ground - there was no breeze and all was quiet, the only sound my clothes rustling and my own breathing.
Before I could contemplate sketching, I had to take care of the basics. Tent up, bedding out, water source located, food cooked and eaten. I know that I have little desire to be creatively productive if I don't have shelter/water/food arranged. A good thing too, as a drawing or watercolour no matter
how successfully executed will be of limited use it the weather turns and I get cold and wet.
Due to the eerie lack of a breeze the midges were out in force, and being the only mammal around, I was obviously Dish of the Day and was forced to retreat to the tent for a while. Luckily a breeze got up around 8pm and I was able to watch the sky changing from light grey, to pink, to red and got a bit of sketching done.
The temperature plummeted as soon as the sun disappeared behind the Movern Hills, my breath puffing out in little clouds. With the fading light, dropping temperature, silence and absolutely no distractions, there was nothing else to do but sleep. So I said goodnight to Ben Nevis and ensconced myself in sleeping bag.
The next day the light was a little flat, a little disappointing as it seemed as though I was walking in perpetual gloaming, finding it hard to judge the passage of time with no shadows to watch. I dallied in my solitary playground for a few hours, climbed a couple of peaks and encountered many ptarmigan. Clumsily climbing up out of the gloomy glen again I looked down to see a herd of red deer flowing silently across the landscape, not constrained by a need for paths and solid footholds. I wonder what they make of the humans, walking so slowly and awkwardly on large feet, slipping and wobbling, every step considered.
After 28 hours of wandering, contemplating, sketching and just looking, I was back at the car. Back into the throng, back to conversations and radio and TV and twitter and rolling news and traffic lights and roundabouts. But somewhere in the back of my head I'm hanging onto the silence and calm of that night on the hill.
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| Western edge of Ben Nevis |
Location of choice this time was the Eastern Mamores, a range of hills I'm not familiar with but which were sufficiently both remote and accessible for a quick one night's wild camping/sketching trip.
It was a rocky, grassy, mossy, lichen-y area with a lochan or two and views over to the Glencoe Hills. I didn't stay long but forged ahead to the north, the path switchbacking down to a river in a pretty gloomy, boggy glen. The second burn successfully forged, it was a long and dreary slog back up the other side to the next bealach. 7 miles and 4 hours after starting out I found myself where I wanted to be; a flat area at 2,400ft stretched between two very different mountains; Binnein Mor and Binnein Beag (Big Peak, Small Peak respectively). Massive slabs of hard white quartz protruded erratically from the ground - there was no breeze and all was quiet, the only sound my clothes rustling and my own breathing.
