21st September 2024
The drive to Oban is simiar to the journey to Fort Bill or Aviemore.... which we regard as pretty standard stuff for a Friday evening. But add in the ferry terminal time, the hour's sea volyage, plus a drive across the island, and you definitely get the “out West” feeling.
Out we went past Lismore. An ancestor of mine was lighthouse keeper 1840 to 1860
From my wee tent on the shore of the sea loch, there was no difficulty in setting the altimeter. All of Ben More's 966 metres is done from sea level; and the way we were going would provide almost 1100 metres ascent altogether. The “standard route” is a bit of a trudge up fairly uniform slopes with the summit in view and little variety..
Better instead, to take the east ridge over the subsidiary A' Chioch, rocky and narrow.
On a perfect morning, three of us made our way steadily up the easy slopes of Gleann na Beinne Fada. No rush, plenty of time to chat and gaze in unchanging sunshine. We hope to have many more days together, but this particular day will never happen again. Conscious of that, we soaked it in.
From the bealach, the ridge is at first stony but straightforward up onto A'Chioch, and down again to the gap before Ben More. However the direct line to the summit has pinnacles and other obstructions, and is noted for tricky route-finding. I was last here 21 years ago, (and Steve Green came in the nineties) so we had no useful memories of the details .... especially as in 2003 visibility was 15 metres.
We found a narrow path traversing rocks across the S-E side. It did this for quite some way, seeming to end at a narrow gully which had aspirations to be called a chimney. The penalty of the traverse, of course, was that we had a lot of height to regain, maybe 30-40 metres up the gulley-chimney.
A brief stretch of crest, a second traverse. Some VERY steep ground, and a get-out clause up another gulley. Clamber to the top.
Lingering at a summit is the exception rather than the rule. On such an exceptional day, we lingered. A Sea Eagle came to watch us. It's mate joined in too. Lazily circling above us.
Finally, lunches consumed, it was time to head casually down the “standard” route, time to be thinking about afternoon tea by the sea-loch, red wine in the gloaming, and a great meal from Beverley in the camper.
It had been a flying visit, driven by Steve M's Munro List and the Knee of Damocles which hangs over it.
But Mull is many things: A comples shape of mountain ridges, sea lochs and beaches, Iona and its long history, the tense heroism of working-up convoy escorts from Tobermory. In the words of General MacArthur “I shall return”.
ANDREW
