Friday, July 13, 2018
Ben Wyvis (again)
Early morning and the car park was empty! My sights were set on dotterel, and with no-one ahead of me I had a chance of getting up onto the plateau before there was too much disturbance. For this reason I walked unusually fast (for me) with many a backward glance to check I was still okay. As I approached the "large boulder" I spotted several ptarmigan on the path ahead.
Now it may seem sacrilege to some, to build a stone staircase up a mountain for hill-walkers - but there's no doubt that these ptarmigan liked the steps as well. They didn't want to leave them. They kept walking/jumping up them, pausing to look back at me and whimpering to one another in mild consternation at my presence. In the end they flew off round the hillside.
Way up on the skyline I spotted two tell-tale ears and climbed a bit further before taking a picture of a mountain hare through the now-descending cloud.
Yet another ptarmigan was on the summit ridge, seemingly interested in one of the frames that has been laid down to protect newly seeded/planted areas on this eroded route. After a long haul along the undulating ridge, it felt about time when the summit shelter and trig point loomed up out of the mist. I rang Greger, who was amazed I'd reached the top so soon; he was also surprised that I was in thick cloud, as it was sunny at home - and then we got cut off.
I continued walking, and immediately the ground changed; there's a path beyond the summit, but it's narrow and pleasant, with grasses and moss crowding in on it (most walkers stop at the trig point and then go back the same way). I sat down on a tussock before I reached the col and had something to eat and drink. I could just see something on the path ahead and this materialised through the bins into a wheatear. And then the cloud lifted to show that it was probably a young bird.
It was also nice to see where I was going! It's a 176m, steepish drop to the col, but from there it's a gentle climb to the top of Tom a' Choinnich (963 metres).
Soon I was at the summit, looking back at Ben Wyvis.
I'd had high hopes of seeing dotterel here, but there were only meadow pipits. However, they're cheerful company, and it was good both to reach this final top on the main ridge and to get some new views. Just below lay Loch nan Druidean.
I turned away reluctantly, and set off back down to the col; and for the first time while on the mountain, I had a glimpse of the eastern crags that make Ben Wyvis something more than just a boring rounded hill.
Heading back up to the trig point I walked slowly, scanning the mossy flanks of the hill each side of the path; and then I was aware of a buzzing noise. My solitude was over. Three people were on the summit, flying a drone. I turned off the path and traversed across to an eastward spur of the hill (An t-Socach) to avoid them; and as I did so, I spotted a distant bird on the skyline. The bird, which was clearly a plover, disappeared almost immediately - and then reappeared in flight with two others. They winged down the hill and out of sight to the col where I'd just been! I gave up. I couldn't go back. But from the poor picture I got (copied and then cropped separately), they appear to have a white wing bar and I suspect they're probably golden plover.
Comforting myself with the thought that I shouldn't chase the birds anyway, I trekked up to the ridge and sat down to have the rest of my sandwiches. I wasn't very hungry and in the end I just picked out the ham and left the bread. I don't know if the drone-flyers had disturbed the birds, but they'd left the summit and were still at it halfway along the ridge, with the buzzing perfectly audible.
A trio of nice quiet ladies sat nearby and had their lunch, while I continued to scan the ground in case the plovers returned. But I couldn't stay there forever, and eventually I returned to the main ridge and set off back. A raven came and kept me company with a fine display of cruising and tumbling parallel with the ridge, and there were more plants to look at. The dwarf or least willow (Salix herbacea) that I first saw up here in July 2016 was now dotted with white; the red seed capsules are splitting to release fluffy white seeds (info from the website wildflowerfinder.org.uk) for the wind to blow wherever it will.
A heather plant in bud had me flummoxed at first, and a solitary harebell looked fragile and pretty in among the Alpine lady's mantle.
Yet another ptarmigan was on the summit ridge, seemingly interested in one of the frames that has been laid down to protect newly seeded/planted areas on this eroded route. After a long haul along the undulating ridge, it felt about time when the summit shelter and trig point loomed up out of the mist. I rang Greger, who was amazed I'd reached the top so soon; he was also surprised that I was in thick cloud, as it was sunny at home - and then we got cut off.
I continued walking, and immediately the ground changed; there's a path beyond the summit, but it's narrow and pleasant, with grasses and moss crowding in on it (most walkers stop at the trig point and then go back the same way). I sat down on a tussock before I reached the col and had something to eat and drink. I could just see something on the path ahead and this materialised through the bins into a wheatear. And then the cloud lifted to show that it was probably a young bird.
It was also nice to see where I was going! It's a 176m, steepish drop to the col, but from there it's a gentle climb to the top of Tom a' Choinnich (963 metres).
Soon I was at the summit, looking back at Ben Wyvis.
I'd had high hopes of seeing dotterel here, but there were only meadow pipits. However, they're cheerful company, and it was good both to reach this final top on the main ridge and to get some new views. Just below lay Loch nan Druidean.
The western end of Loch Glass can be seen beyond the bulk of Glas Leathad Beag - another 3,000 footer but not a Munro. I'd love to explore these outliers, but going out there and back would make it an enormous walk - and even from the other side there would be problems.
Glen Glass may be driven up only so far, the public road stopping short of the eastern end of the loch; you may cycle along the loch, but, unfortunately, I can no longer cycle. Then there are forestry plantations to negotiate on the hill-side with no nice path as there is from Garbat. However, I might do a recce one day. Meanwhile, this top, little trodden I think, was soft and spongy with its carpet of racomitrium moss.
I turned away reluctantly, and set off back down to the col; and for the first time while on the mountain, I had a glimpse of the eastern crags that make Ben Wyvis something more than just a boring rounded hill.
Heading back up to the trig point I walked slowly, scanning the mossy flanks of the hill each side of the path; and then I was aware of a buzzing noise. My solitude was over. Three people were on the summit, flying a drone. I turned off the path and traversed across to an eastward spur of the hill (An t-Socach) to avoid them; and as I did so, I spotted a distant bird on the skyline. The bird, which was clearly a plover, disappeared almost immediately - and then reappeared in flight with two others. They winged down the hill and out of sight to the col where I'd just been! I gave up. I couldn't go back. But from the poor picture I got (copied and then cropped separately), they appear to have a white wing bar and I suspect they're probably golden plover.
Comforting myself with the thought that I shouldn't chase the birds anyway, I trekked up to the ridge and sat down to have the rest of my sandwiches. I wasn't very hungry and in the end I just picked out the ham and left the bread. I don't know if the drone-flyers had disturbed the birds, but they'd left the summit and were still at it halfway along the ridge, with the buzzing perfectly audible.
A trio of nice quiet ladies sat nearby and had their lunch, while I continued to scan the ground in case the plovers returned. But I couldn't stay there forever, and eventually I returned to the main ridge and set off back. A raven came and kept me company with a fine display of cruising and tumbling parallel with the ridge, and there were more plants to look at. The dwarf or least willow (Salix herbacea) that I first saw up here in July 2016 was now dotted with white; the red seed capsules are splitting to release fluffy white seeds (info from the website wildflowerfinder.org.uk) for the wind to blow wherever it will.
I reached An Cabar again and started down with a heavy heart; there was no chance of dotterel now. I was cheered by a young man walking up who looked hot and bothered but who nevertheless managed a nice smile and remarked "It's one almighty climb!" It certainly is; and I found the descent harder than I remembered, as well. I was amazed at the number of people, especially families, who were toiling up this late in the day; everyone was friendly, apart from a couple of sulky children who clearly didn't want to be there!
A heather plant in bud had me flummoxed at first, and a solitary harebell looked fragile and pretty in among the Alpine lady's mantle.
A kestrel was circling below; I wasn't quick enough to get a picture, but this was a first for my hill-walking list. A woman making her way upwards with her family told me they'd seen a red kite over the forest - but it had gone by the time I got down. I didn't mention the ptarmigan because there'd been no sign on the descent, and it was unlikely they would see them now with so many people about. A large hoverfly was near the stream (probably Sericomyia silentis); and I ate a few blueberries as I descended through the forest, which left me with sticky blue fingers. Despite my failure with dotterel it had been a good day on the hills - and worth getting up early in order to have, for a while at least, those fabulous places all to my selfish little self.
// posted by Christine @ 12:21 PM 
