“If
you come by Ballochbuie
you
can always climb the Stuey”
Following this
old doggerel rhyme we strode through the
beautiful Ballochbuie Forest on a dreich grey morning. The way in from
the A93
crosses Invercauld Bridge, built by General Wade in 1724.
Purchased by Queen Victoria for conservation,
Ballochbuie has some of the oldest and best trees in Scotland, plus a
delightful plunging stream. On this day, it also had stags, roaring in
the
trees on slopes above us.
Out of the woods, a short craic stop in a shooting shelter
helped the weather forecast to catch up. The drizzle stopped, clouds
broke up,
blue sky peeped forth.
Across a couple of miles of grouse moor, we got to Sandy Loch on the 800m contour. Within the NW corrie of the mountain, The Stuic is a rocky prow which juts out from the band of cliffs. Here was our scramble – 600 feet of blocky rocks, generally easy with a few huffy puffy bits, emerging onto the plateau at 1093 metres. And just behind, Stob Coire Boidheach, only a round green hill but the highest point of all the White Mounth.
By now, hill mist had lifted and the sky cleared to blue. The view was vast:- from Mount Keen miles eastward, through Tomintoul in the northeast, then the whole of the Cairngorm plateau. The Tors of Ben Avon stood out clearly, then Beinn a’Bhuirdh, Macdui, Braireach and the Devil’s Point, and the Glenshee hills running away south and west to Beinn a’ Ghlo in the haze. A landscape full of memories and good days. Nearly 10 years since I last trod this summit, via a different route. My mental orchestra struck up Elgar’s “Nimrod” as a tribute to 1996 and also the views today.
An easy mile around the rim of the cliffs led to the summit of Lochnagar itself. We edged around the great gash which the gulley of the Black Spout makes into the plateau, and gazed upon the stupendous climbing cliffs of the NE corrie.
“Nimrod” continued to boom off the awesome rock architecture.
The weather began to turn again. It was probably a more settled day when Queen Victoris came up here on her pony. We started to make our way down the bouldery NW ridge for the three-hour descent back to Invercauld, but not before agreeing with Lord Byron (in a literary advance from the morning’s ditty) :-
“England ! Thy
beauties are tame and domestic
To
one who has roamed over mountains afar.
Oh! for
the crags that are wild and majestic !
The steep frowning glories of dark Lochnagar !”
Tracey shot
off to
Stirling for a shower and dinner. In the face of a poor forecast for
Sunday,
the rest of us motored round to Clova, and walked in to camp in the
woods of
Glen Doll, where a bright fire, plenty of wine, and the innumerable
expanse of
the Milky Way slowly rounded off the day.
Thanks to all for a great trip,
ANDREW E.