Christine's walking & birds blog

Ben Hee

The name means "fairy hill" and is nothing to do with laughter. We didn't find much to laugh about  - at least to begin with. We didn't see any fairies, either. We unloaded our rucksacks (and me) here, at West Merkland - where, a notice makes clear, you may not park!


Greger then drove back to the only place we could leave the car on this single track road (A838), unloaded his bike, and cycled back.


After a stretch on a track we followed a path up into the narrow valley; I'm glad Greger took a pic with his mobile because I was too bothered by various things to get the camera out.


Firstly I'd forgotten to put the insoles back into my boots after cleaning them last time we hill-walked, which caused discomfort for the entire walk. Secondly the path - often non-existent where it had fallen into the stream - was also very boggy. Thirdly the day was still and warm, which meant midges. This went on for at least two kilometres, and it was good to get out into the open where a breeze blew the midges away.

Greger was feeling uncharacteristically tired and so did a bit of whinging of his own. We left our rucksacks by a cairn on the broad col and walked up to the summit unencumbered.


Even without them it was a stiff pull to the top, with lots of loose rocks in the boulder field. At last the rocks gave way to a lovely tundra surface - and there was the trig point! (FB no. S7672)


This must be one of the most beautifully-sited trig points I've visited, thanks to its dramatic position on the edge of a sharp drop - and to the fantastic views. To the left of the pillar is Ben Hope, the most northerly Munro, and beyond is the sea.


It was a beautiful day, we had the hill to ourselves, and we lingered for some time. Two small patches of snow, wet at the edges, were holding on in the eastern corrie.


A mountain landscape to the north-west included (on the left) the pyramidal Ben Stack and the Corbett Meallan Liath Coire Mhic Dhughaill, while to the right are the beautifully-named Arkle and Foinaven.


Looking south into the haze we could see Loch Fiag and beyond that, long Loch Shin.


Further round to the east, the Munro Ben Klibreck rose in brooding isolation from the rolling Sutherland moors.


A dozen or so meadow pipits flew around, settled, and zoomed off again; but a possible merlin I'd glimpsed earlier failed to show again. Reluctantly we left this magical top, and returning to our rucksacks, sat down for a coffee before starting off along the ridge that would take us back to the road.

A little further on I looked in a pool and thought with a shock that a jellyfish had somehow made its way there! But there were also smaller green blobs at the edges of the pool, some attached to reeds - and researching on the internet later, I found that they are made by "a colonial single-celled protozoan called Ophrydium versatile" (info from Tom on askanaturalist.com).


Greger was intrigued, but not as intrigued as I was, so he carried on walking. He said he had to keep moving to stop his feet hurting, and in the end I had to almost run to catch up with him. The next distraction was a seam of white across the grey rocks. I learned from the internet (can't remember which site) that it was a vein of quartz. In places, it bore a remarkable resemblance to a row of teeth. Oy, you 'aving a laugh?


Still hoping for ptarmigan, we followed the broad ridge to the cairn on Meallan Liath Mor; but all we saw was a number of darkish birds flying in the distance which were possibly golden plover.


Just as we were saying how nice the walking was along the ridge - it ended! No gently tapering spur, but a sudden steep, rocky drop.  Well, we didn't mind steep. We've done steep before. We didn't mind the rocky bits, either, although hands were needed in places.


And at the bottom of the rocks we were cheered by the fleeting sight of a wheatear.


But from here on down, the hillside was just one steep, seemingly endless sponge. Twice I went into mud up to the ankles. I didn't get whingey, I got tearful. Greger kept calling out "Not far now!" but every time I looked, the road below seemed further away than ever. Eventually we got down, a bit more than a kilometre from our starting point; Greger left his rucksack with me and set off; there he goes, a little dark dot on the long and winding road.


It didn't take him long to retrieve his bike, cycle back to the car, and drive up to fetch me. If we'd known about this place we could have parked here and saved Greger his bike ride - but on the other hand, the gate (with a padlock) is clearly in use, so there would be the risk of getting locked in!


Despite our travails we wouldn't have missed that summit and the fabulous views it commands for anything. The hills of the north-west Highlands might have their feet firmly planted in bogs - but on days like today they have their heads in heaven.