Sail Mhor
This is another area of the Highlands that was hit on the day of Hurricane Bertha; the Ardessie Burn in full spate brought down boulders and trees and spread sand across the road and the fields below, causing some damage to properties and temporarily closing the road. Making our way up the steep path we could see where the torrent had spilled out from the stream to rush over the hillside, flattening the vegetation as it went.
A wren and a coal tit were seen in the gorge, and a probable merlin darted about on the skyline for a while then disappeared.
Upstream from the gorge following the bank was hard work, with the faint path obliterated in places where the flood had eroded and swept away large chunks of the soft, peaty ground - some with heather still growing on them - while many of the rocks seemed newly deposited.
We crossed the burn without too much difficulty and started the long ascent. Up here at the back of An Teallach, the Ardessie Burn is really already a considerable river, its meanders cutting a broad, terraced groove across the sloping moorland and gathering more force from a couple of significant tributaries before thundering down through smooth pink rocks and under the road to end in the salt waters of Little Loch Broom.
Halfway up the slope from the river, it began to drizzle with rain. Gaining the rocky ridge at last, we set off on the last gradual pull to the summit; and as we reached the cairn, the rain stopped.
The mountain scenery was superb; it was just a shame that the weather and visibility weren't better. Half a dozen meadow pipits skipped about above us and then settled to forage for goodness knows what. As we set off down again, half a dozen goats were cavorting on the skyline; and it was while we stood there looking back at them that I heard the croak of a ptarmigan. I saw movement near a rock and snapped off a useless shot - but it did prove it was a ptarmigan.
We descended roughly the way we had come, but took a short cut across boggy moorland towards the river. Eventually we had to cross it, but this time we were unable to find a good series of boulders. I rolled up my trousers, slung my boots round my neck and waded across. It was over my knees at the deepest point and the water was fairly cold though not icy. Greger followed, but as he swung one of his boots to one side so that he could see where he was going, his sock fell out and ended up in the water.
At least he saw the funny side.
