Christine's walking & birds blog

Cul Mor

With Greger overseeing installation of new shower-room units, I took a hike up Cul Mor. There was no deer-stalking notice on the gate so I just set off and hoped I wouldn't get shot. This would be my third time up this hill, and it was destined to be the third time without a ptarmigan sighting - although their droppings were seen in several places.

After several days of blue skies and sunshine, this one started differently; and this was the best view I got of the two tops on the way up. After this, the weather closed in completely until after I'd reached the top and was on the way down again.


Behind me as I walked, a red stag was roaring from Knockan Crag on the other side of the road. I tried to imagine it was a lion roaring instead and wondered how scared I'd be. Given that it sounded quite close - very scared!

Through the drifting cloud I heard the sounds of golden plover. Two went winging away up the hill into the mist; and later I would glimpse at least five together. I was surprised and charmed by their presence - migrants, perhaps, although golden plovers certainly breed hereabouts. No chance of pics.

A good stalkers' path runs across the moorland, gaining height gradually (with one notable dip). There was a cool south-easterly wind from the start, but above 600m, when I turned onto the south-eastern spur and climbed towards the west, it hit me from the left with such strength, I was in two minds whether to go on or not. To my right were crags and then - not a sheer drop, but still a pretty steep falling-away of the ground. I told myself not to be a wimp and carried on. The rushing of the wind up the mountain-side had that thin, sibilant quality that sounds almost vicious. It was also now very cold. At last, on a tiny lochan just below the path, there was some more bird life. Only a meadow pipit, I thought, but better than nothing.


I snapped off a few shots into the fast-drifting cloud, hardly able to stand still for the wind.




Having uploaded the pictures, I was a bit flummoxed. That's one sombre meadow pipit; and the hind claw isn't particularly long. In fact, it looked from the pics a bit like a rock pipit to me. The fact that it's messing about on rocks and in water is neither here nor there, as I've often seen meadow pipits doing this on hill lochans. However, from all I've read, a rock pipit at this altitude (about 660m) also seems unlikely. But what an addition to my hill-walking list that would be!

Just after this the very nice path ended at the foot of a boulder-field. I tried to keep poling and nearly came a cropper. Stepping onto a stone that see-sawed, I overbalanced and felt myself reeling backwards. In front of me was a pointed rock about waist-high, and I desperately grabbed it with both gloved hands - just getting my fingertips onto it. Hauling myself back upright, I stood still for a while, reflecting how easy it is to have an accident in the hills. I stopped using the poles and used my hands instead, and eventually the boulder-field came to an end and I was on a firm path again that wound its way up to the summit.


There were no views - just white cloud all round. At least it wasn't raining. On the last two occasions up here, I neglected to look for a flush bracket on the pillar, but it seems there isn't one anyway. I decided to leave out the other top this time, and go back down the same way; I was anxious to try and find the plovers again.

Crossing the boulder-field (which was much harder to get down than up) I noticed that the weather was clearing fitfully, and that another walker was approaching from below. I stopped to take a picture, and when I had finished, couldn't find my gloves. I clambered back up a little way to see if I'd dropped them, but then remembered taking them off to use the camera. Back down where I'd stopped, I looked without much hope behind the large slab of rock that sloped away from me, against which I'd propped my walking poles. And there they were - just out of reach! Taking one pole, I leaned over the rock and retrieved one glove - but dropped the pole, which fell even further down behind the rock than the gloves. I took the second pole and retrieved the first pole, and then leaned back down to hook the other glove - banging my knee painfully in the process and swearing under my breath. By the time I'd accomplished all this, the walker had just reached me. He was a friendly guy from the north of England (I love dialects and accents, but I'm not very good at them; perhaps he was from Yorkshire) and we chatted for a while, although all the time I was very conscious of what a fool I must have looked. But he didn't mention my strange acrobatics, although he did comment on the strength of the wind.

Below the boulder-field, the way I'd come up could be seen at last; but I couldn't see the pipit on the lochan (centre foreground) as I passed above it.


Down on the wide area where I'd seen the plovers, I sat and ate my lunch. There was no sign of them now, and I continued with my descent. But I probably got a last glimpse when I'd picked up the stalkers' path again and three birds with pointed wings whizzed past. Needless to say, the clouds had now cleared completely and the hill stood, visible and inviting in the afternoon light. I'd mistimed it completely - should have started later. Four ravens drifted out from the top, very high, vocal, and indulging in some pair-bonding and tumbling.

The last mishap of the day occurred when I started to feel cramp on the outside of my foot and ankle. I stopped and lifted my foot onto a rock to rub it, and when I brought it down onto the ground again, I experienced for the first time what Greger has started to suffer from when hill-walking - cramp of the inner thigh. Oh my goodness, that's horrible. You just don't know what to do. With calf cramp, bringing up your toes to stretch the muscle out eases it; but you can't do that with your thigh. Anyway, eventually it wore off, but I limped the rest of the way as the muscle was still sore (fortunately, it was the same leg as my arthritic knee - blimey, what an old crock I am - so I didn't have to limp with both legs!).

Verdict of the day's walk: frustrating bird-wise, although it's as well I don't report birds any more as I obviously can't sort out the commoner pipits. As for walking: I'm left with the feeling that yes, I can still get up a Corbett at least. But whether I should be let loose in the hills alone these days is open to debate.