Monday, November 13, 2017
Sunday: A single-track road leads through Strathconon to Bridgend, where a "Walkers Welcome" sign marks the beginning of our planned outing; but we called it off. Snow had lain on the Fannichs as we drove up and over the rather slushy Dirrie Mor; but we'd hoped our hill, at just 673 metres, would escape. We left our rucksacks in the car and walked a little way up the track. In the picture, our hill is hidden to the right; it could be slippery up there, and with 3-season boots on and no crampons we decided against it.
Never mind. We'd established Base Camp for a future outing. A straggling bunch of stags moved slowly away from us onto the skyline, stepping delicately on the wintry ground.
We turned back, enjoying the fine views. The strath was green and neat and wooded, with houses on both sides of the winding river; while to the west, a foil to this tended loveliness, rose a group of snow-clad, shapely hills, with two of the tops linked by a mouth-watering ridge.
The hill to the right is Sgurr a' Mhuilinn - a Corbett with a trig point on the summit. But no such inducements are needed - these are hills to walk simply because they're attractive and inviting, and we look forward to coming back here in the spring.
A shower of rain and hail hit us, and we walked very quickly back to the car. The hills were blotted out for a while, but when the cloud had shifted we scanned them with bins and spotted two lone walkers. As I snapped a photo, one walker had just reached the top at the far end of the ridge and then disappeared, while the second was at the base of the summit cone, just above a rise of ground running like a line up towards the right.
As I watched the tiny dark figure making its way up through the snow, I felt my eyes pricking with tears. It can't surely have been just envy! I admit I wanted to be up there, and was disappointed that we couldn't walk our smaller hill - but it was more than that. It was longings for the uplands and to see ptarmigan again, but it was also guilt, family problems, a lonely pony in a large field that we pass every time we drive south (which has come to symbolise all the loneliness in the world, both animal and human), and being moved by sheer beauty.
Otherwise, we haven't been out and about much lately, although sunny weather one day last week did lure us south to look for crested tits. We didn't find any, but we did see a female (youngish?) crossbill right next to the main road at Silverbridge.
It looks a bit of a whacking bill, but I think it was just a common crossbill.
// posted by Christine @ 7:50 AM 
