A day out in Glen Affric
It’d been two and a half months since I’d been out for a hill day and it was becoming obvious that it had to happen again soon – the walls of the house were closing in, and my patience was being tested. It seems odd that, having moved to the Highlands specifically to spend more time outdoors, it’s the thing I do least. Of course, a full-time job, a young family and various other commitments don’t help, but it sometimes feels too easy to slip into the habit of not doing anything at all. I put a date in the diary, and no less than nine hours before setting off, settled on Glen Affric – somewhere I’ve been before but have plenty more to see.
Arriving at the car park, I still didn’t really have a plan, just a rucksack full of food, a map of an area larger than I could cover in a single day and a level of enthusiasm that would ultimately be my legs’ undoing.
I headed towards Gleann nam Fiadh, letting the bog myrtle release its scent onto my hands as I took the narrow path towards the track into the glen. It’s a smell that never fails to evoke a feeling of nostalgia, remembering the days when I first headed to the Scottish hills.
My first views up the glen were framed by rowan trees, laden with berries, shimmering in the breeze. I could tell from the smile spreading involuntarily across my face that today was the day my mind needed, and I was going to appreciate every minute of it. Instead of the normal clockwise circuit of Tom a’ Chòinnich and Toll Creagach, I left the path to head around the hills in the other direction, leaving my options open for a longer outing.
The ascent of the first hill flew by, and I was soon making my way along the adjoining ridge, occasionally breaking into a trot on the soft mossy ground. Ahead of me I spotted a bird – one I’d not seen before – sitting alone on the hill, and was delighted to discover it was a golden plover. It skimmed the ground around me, and it was clear that it had a vested interest in this section of hill, perhaps a nest, so for a while I trod carefully and moved on quickly.
The top of Tom a’ Chòinnich brought a decision point – head back to the glen or carry on along the ridge. It was 11:30am and the whole day was ahead of me, the views were stunning, the weather great, and I was tucking into sandwich number one. I’d be doing the hills a disservice if I didn’t carry on. A wee while later I was wrapped in a bothy bag in the rain on the top of Càrn Eighe eating sandwich number two with some regret that I hadn’t spent longer looking for my raincoat before leaving the house. An energy gel lifted my spirits, and I was away over to Màm Sodhail (still in the rain), before turning back east to take the long ridge over to Sgùrr na Lapaich.
It was around this point that I realised quite how far it was back to the car and how much juice my weedy rock climber legs had left in them. Time for another gel. The ridge was sublime, and I again broke into a trot, despite not being a runner.
The final rise to Sgùrr na Lapaich has an interesting landform on its northern flank, where the whole slope has slipped downwards by a few metres – a reminder that the mountains are a dynamic environment. Towards Tom a’ Chòinnich were terraces on the hillside, landforms created by weathering, and a rainbow made a fleeting appearance in the glen below. (Sandwich number three.)
My choice of route from the top left a little to be desired, especially considering the state my legs were now in, with a steep descent over loose moss-covered rocks and then directly across a peat hag to the stalkers’ path into Glen Affric below (via some conveniently placed picnic benches overlooking the glen, and a final snack stop – which by this time served the primary purpose of delaying the inevitable).
By now my legs were in bits (I could barely walk down the stairs the following morning, and I’d be feeling them for the next four days), but I was a happy man. Hardly a soul seen all day (save for a few lovely interactions), space to simply be and move freely in the hills. The perfect day out.