Bidean nam Bian

 

Today is a ‘free’ day, no organised activity so everyone is left to do their own thing.

I found myself running an informal tourist advice centre in the bar last night, as new visitors twigged that I’m familiar with the area. I despatched one group to take the train to Mallaig, taking in the Glenfinnan viaduct and local fish restaurants. Another group headed round the coast to Oban, to sample this Victorian town and take a short ferry hop over to Kerrera for a circuit round the island. Mind the sheep (Em will understand this aside).

I will find out later whether my travel suggestions were successful, or if I should go into hiding.

With the fine weather holding for another 24 hours, I prioritised getting another decent hike in Glen Coe, and settled on tackling Bidean nam Bian, the highest mountain in Argyll. You have to fill out a card when you do a self guided walk, with details of where you’re going, so that the hotel management can alert mountain rescue if you don’t return on time. A good system.

A kindly older couple with lots of mountaineering experience, Roger and Olivia, have taken me a bit under their wing and dispensed sage advice about the walk, tracing the route on the map for me and noting hazards to be aware of along the way.

A couple of other guests were also looking to go on a hike but not confident about doing so on their own, and enlisted me as their team leader on the strength, that I was in possession of a map, a car and plan. Yulia, a young woman from Ukraine, whose host family in Brighton had bought her this holiday as a birthday present, and Wendy, an older woman from Manchester, with whom I bonded over the fascinating subject of pensions administration, which is her chosen industry.

Bidean nam Bian is a monster of a Munro. It looks menacingly imposing from the A82 lay-by where we parked. Flanked by Aonach Dubh and Gearr Aonach (two of the famous Sisters) and fronted by the buttress of Stob Coire na Lochan, it looms 1150m above sea level. Our ascent took in 1100m of those.

The final approach to the peak is hair-raising, scrambling over boulders, with steep drops on either side. Wind speed at the top was 35mph, with gusts of up to 48mph, practically blowing us off our feet. Temperatures with chill factor of -12. Met office stats, not Joff hyperbole. I had a mild case of vertigo at one point, but this subsided as I willed myself not to look down into the void.

The panorama was amazing. Out to sea and the islands. Over Glen Etive. Range upon range receding into the blue-hazy distance. I’ve tried but failed to upload the 24s video that captures this scene so will email/ WhatsApp it separately.

We headed down to the bealach (col) to find shelter for our lunch, with an awesome view down to loch Leven and the coastline.

Then we descended, initially a semi-controlled slide through some scree, then steeply down an awkward boulder field, with pockets of ice, to reach the Lost Valley, overshadowed by the cliffs of the 3rd Sister, Beinn Fhada. This secluded spot has an infamous history. Several hundred years ago, Clan MacDonald rustled hundreds of sheep from their neighbours and hid them in the valley, closed off by a narrow gorge and heavy rockfalls. This led to yet another round of bloodletting and revenge feuds.

This was a really hard but rewarding walk. My companions looked utterly exhausted at the end, but couldn’t complain given the health warning I had given them at the outset. There were only a couple of navigational glitches, and neither noticed, or they were too polite to say.

An exhilarating day’s climbing, and a better use of the free day than mooching around Fort William’s shopping centre.

Joff x