In Defence of Marylin Bagging - Breac-Bheinn

'There are no boring hills, just boring people' is a saying I love trotting out when my more Munro-obsessed friends and acquaintances mock me during the obligatory 'How many Munros did you bag?' questions on Monday mornings. This is in response to the withering looks I get when I admit to having run up esoteric delights such as the Hill of the Whangie. Often the views from the 'connoisseurs' hill are just as, if not more, spectacular and interesting than those enjoyed by their bigger neighbours. Breac-Bheinn at in Strathcarron is one such hill.

Strathcarron is probably one of the most unfortunate glens in Scotland, being owned by some of the most dubious characters that have ever had pretensions to be lairds. Those responsible for the brutal clearances, poignantly remembered in the etched graffiti in Croick Church, have been followed by numerous other unfriendly absentee owners of which the latest incarnation is Mr Lister. His 'Wilderness' was once the home of hundreds of people and his plans to exclude access, with a 30 mile 3m high electric fence, goes against centuries of access rights. The development of a Safari park is not a 're-wilding' and surely if Mr Lister was so concerned about returning the Highlands to a previous state, he would encourage people to move back into 'his' reserve. Thousands of years of human interference and interaction make the idea of creating a true Wilderness in the Highlands idiotic. The constant flux in the environment was brought home to me on another recent hill run I came across an area of deeply eroded peat. Exposed stumps and trunks of ancient trees a testament to the changing climatic conditions.

Breac-Bheinn is a suitable distance away from the Alladale Estate and the steady plod up heather made the views from the flat summit even more surprising. The views north and west were breathtaking. The Inselberge of the North-West coast rose prominently in the distance, made even more stark by the miles of conifer-planted wide strath that stretched out far to the horizon.

Admittedly the second hill of the day, Meall Dheirgidh, wasn't blessed with such views, but the short 2h jog was still comparable to any number of 'proper' hill days.

Another advantage of the lower hills is the lack of paths, cairns and, although it is elitist to say it, lack of people. All this makes the Marylin day much more of an adventure and a challenge. Of all the days out this year on the smaller hills I can count the number of other walkers or runners on both hands.

Worryingly those who I have met on these hills have more of the train-spotter about them than your 'normal' hill-goer. Sometimes, I suppose, the truth hurts and I can take solace in is the fact that with only two trains lines, Inverness Station has so little to tick that I can't think that I am in danger of changing sport, yet...

A wet Cullin weekend

I am still not running as my foot is still quite sore. It is probably time to get it sorted out now that I don't have any key runs to do this year. Flat walks are fine but as soon as it gets rocky it tends to hurt even with walking boots. So going across to the Cullin to help my boss bag his Munros wasn't the best of ideas, but I felt it wouldn't be too bad for my foot.

Saturday was spent watching the rain in the car park in Glen Brittle until lunchtime when we decided to chance an attempt on Sgurr Na Eag. It didn't go well. Cloud was down to 100m and the burns were so high that we had to try and traverse round from higher up Corrie Laggan at the 400m contour, rather than follow the well made path. All the crossing points I have used in the past were several feet under water. The velocity of the water tumbling over the rocks was spectacularly violent. A doubt remained in my mind that even if we did cross would we be able to cross back if the rain continued?

There was a constant noise of water rising out of the mist. The weather was so thick that we couldn't see much more than 50m and we followed a bearing through rocks and deep grass around flanks of Sron na Ciche. Finally, we hit the path again which climbed steeply up Coir ' a Ghrunnda.

Following intermittent cairns over blocks of gabbro we reached an impasse. Above, polished slabs streamed water and the route seemed to zig-zag up next to a burn which cascaded over a rocky lip. I tried the slabs, but I was uncertain of whether we were on the right route and our ability to down climb on the smooth holds. The thick clouds clung to the rocks, withholding any views and distorting any sense of scale. Intimidated by the atmosphere and demoralised by the weather I suggested that we turn tail and head for the pub.

As soon as we began to drop down the path, the rain eased and the mists began to part. The doubts that always come on after having made a decision to retreat lingered. At the car, changed into dry clothes, it all seemed so easy when looking at the map for the umpteenth time.

Sunday, with an early start helped by the voracious midges in the Sligachan campsite, we headed up to An Dorus from the Youth Hostel to bag Sgurr a Mhadaidh and Sgurr a Ghreadaidh. I packed the rope just in case in deference to the guidebook description. For the first hour the showers came and went, but we had views into the Corrie so at least we knew where to go this time. Steadily the mists rose up from Glen Brittle obliterating the views and the showers turned torrential. We dragged ourselves up to the ridge over blocks and scree slopes with rain drumming so hard on our waterproofs that we couldn't hear each other talk. There was water everywhere and every runnel scoring the black cliffs above streamed white foam.

Out of An Dorus, a deep notch in the ridge, there are a couple of steep, polished moves out of the gap to either Munro. Both walls didn't really require protection and the holds were good. The rocks were tricky in the wet and thankfully for the most part well defined paths could be followed above. Small cairns decorated the tops which we reached more with relief than jubilation. Showers gave way, but the clag was omnipresent and as result it was not the most enjoyable day on the hills. Finally we descended out of the showers and the mist back to the glen. Just as wet but slightly more satisfied than the day before.

Both days were about 4.5hs which is about the time I am trying to limit any exercise to in an attempt to make sure I don't over do it.