SGOR NA CICHE-A CLIMB AGAINST TIME. BY HERBERT C. BOYD. "There be some sports are painful, and their labour THE winds conspired last Easter that the good yacht "Erne" should not cast anchor in Loch Scavaig, and the stalwart band of mountaineers on board were debarred by an adverse fate from setting foot on the Coolins. We had made a valiant attempt at least we believed that our skipper had; and therefore, after we had failed in our second effort-"failed nobly," as Rennie feelingly put it— we found ourselves on the morning of Easter Monday at anchor off Inverie in Loch Nevis. What took the ship's company there no one seemed to know. A fine loch, no doubt, though it looked rather gloomy under the weather conditions that prevailed during our visit; but our object was to climb, and the question was, What was there to climb ? The authorities said there were Luinne Bheinn and Ladhar Bheinn close at hand; but we had spent the last two days in climbing those hills from Loch Hourn, their finest side, and after steeping ourselves in the grandeur of their corries, we felt little enthusiasm for their tamer slopes. Then it was said there were some good boulders on shore; but, seriously, does one penetrate to the remotest fastnesses of the Highlands for the sake of climbing-boulders? No, we were out for bigger game than boulders; after having come so far, we clamoured for something big, something new, if possible. Our clamour seemed to be for the unattainable, until it transpired, from a study of the maps, that at the head of the loch lay a fine mountain on which no one on board had ever set foot. "But such a grind to get there," was the discouraging comment with which the information was accompanied. The appetite of some men, however, for anything in the shape of a new mountain is insatiable. The prospect of a "grind” does not deter them. One would think that this acute form of mountain-hunger, which is peculiarly the mark of the man who is "qualifying for the Club," might have passed away with the probationary period; but it is not so. Thus, when the ship's boat was lowered, behold! four such gluttons tumbled in with ice-axes and rucksacks, heedless of the opprobrium attaching to inveterate "peakbaggers," and with the avowed intention of making Sgor na Ciche their goal that day. Perhaps, however, I should mention another circumstance which must be held accountable for the smallness of our muster. The skipper had declared that if we wished to make certain of catching the early train at Oban next morning, it was imperative that he should weigh anchor at 6 P.M.; and the President had therefore ordained that any man who was not on board by that hour would be left to find his way back to civilisation as best he could, for the yacht he should see no more. A threat which certainly put the fear of death into the hearts of many a would-be aspirant after the maiden beauties of Sgor na Ciche, for the question arose, Was the expedition feasible within the time? Now, had we anchored at the head of the loch, as we at one time fondly hoped, there would have been small difficulty; the mountain would have been before us. But the captain would not venture his vessel through the Kyles that divide the upper loch from the lower; and lying as we did at Inverie, it was another matter. The maps showed that the distance to the foot of the mountain was about eight miles in a straight line through Glen Meadail-for there appeared to be no reliable road round the loch-side. Add to this, that the road through the glen rose to a height of 1,700 feet, then sank again to sea level, after which the 3,410 feet of the mountain had to be faced, and some idea will be gained of what had to be done within the eight and a half hours at our disposal. Nearly 7,000 feet of vertical height and twenty miles of walking within that time did not appeal to all. Men who had been climbing the day before said they preferred to have an off day -the weather was not looking nice- they would gather primroses, for was it not Primrose Day? And so, as I said, our party numbered only four-the two Barrows, T. H. Smith, and myself. Landing, then, at half-past nine, we took our way through the village, and up the shore of the loch as far as the entrance to Inverie House; then turned off to the left, XXIV. B and began to ascend by a road which wound through woods of larch just beginning to break into their tasselled green. We were much struck with the contrast between Loch Nevis and Loch Hourn in the signs of the approach of spring. Loch Hourn we had seen yesterday bathed in the brilliant April sunshine, but with hardly a trace of greenery; the earth and the trees seemed still to feel the hand of winter. To-day, on the other hand, though dull and cheerless, the earth was bright with primroses and daffodils, and everywhere the trees were putting out their fresh green leaves. A striking contrast; and yet the two lochs are separated by only a few miles. It was difficult to account for such a difference of climate in so short a space. The road soon leaves the trees behind, and takes us over the bare heath-a good road, so far as we could see, leading through Glen Dulochan to Barrisdale on Loch Hourn. Presently the track for Glen Meadail branches to the right.* This is our route. After crossing the Inverie River by a wooden bridge, a little below its confluence with the Allt Gleann Meadail, the path winds for some distance along the banks of the latter stream-a fine picturesque piece of Highland river scenery-the water dashing fiercely through a narrow rocky channel, over linns and falls overhung by budding birch trees. Then we reach a place marked "ford" on the map, at the entrance to the glen, where the stream, though broad, is easily crossed by stepping stones. The burn is gradually left below, on the right, as we rise steadily, mile after mile, up the glen, along the side of Meall Bhuidhe. The glen presents very conspicuous evidences of ancient glacier action; the lower slopes are planed smooth; moraines abound; the line of flow of the ice can everywhere be detected in the smoothing and polishing of the rocks. On the other side of the glen stands the rugged mass of Bheinn Bhuidhe, the blackness of whose upper rocks, slashed with snow, is dimmed with * In the older issues of Bartholomew's maps (only two or three years back) this track is indicated as a main road; the same is true of other mere mountain tracks in this region; their true character is correctly indicated in the latest issues. Cavete, all ye who venture to combine cycling with mountaineering! the gathering mist; the snowfields above are almost entirely blotted out. For the weather, which was dull and gloomy at the outset, has now settled down to a regular fit of the sulks. The clouds hang heavily on the hills, and come far down their sides. As they draw closer down, a dismal rain begins to fall; it is clear we are in for a spell of typical "British hill weather." The pace, too, is severe-indicated by the monosyllabic character of the remarks that interrupt occasionally the regular swing of the feet, and the sigh of relief with which the rucksack is transferred to the shoulders of the "next man." At last, after two hours' steady walking, we reach the col, and get our first glimpse of the other side. Over against us lies the huge bulk of Sgor na Ciche, wrapped in mist, its base only dimly visible. But what a drop lies between! From where we stand the path plunges abruptly down in sharp zigzags for 1,700 feet to the deep valley of the Carnach, crossing it close to the muddy flats at the head of Loch Nevis. That has to be descended before the mountain is approached; it has also to be reascended on the return. Can we do it in time? A hurried council is held; a hasty calculation-necessarily uncertain, as we do not know the nature of the difficulties above the snow line. It is now half-past eleven. Allowing half an hour for the descent to the Carnach, and two and a half hours (including halts for lunch) for the ascent of our peak, we should be there by half-past two: that would leave us three and a half hours for the return. Again, can we do it? A division prevails in the council; some think we can, and that in any case it is worth while to try it, in order to accomplish the object of our expedition: others insist on the utter uncertainty of accomplishing anything at all if we make the attempt. And then that steamer - and the President's threat! Too awful to contemplate! Then a vote is taken. Walter Barrow and Smith wish to make sure of something -of ascending some mountain-and catching the steamer; so they elect to climb Meall Bhuidhe. Harrison Barrow and I decide to go on to Sgor na Ciche. We can but turn if we find it impossible. The contents of the rucksacks are redivided, and we part. Trotting and jumping down the well-made stalkers' path, and cutting off all corners, we achieve a rapid descent. The singular thing about this excellent path is, that within 50 yards of the foot, it comes to an abrupt stop-evincing a sudden and unaccountable shyness of the solitary cottage at Carnach. Just below the cottage is a bridge over the river leading to-a morass; the map indicates a continuation of the road here, but we saw no signs of it; only half a mile of the most approved style of bog, full of lanes and pools of water and villainous quagmire, reaching to the foot of our hill. And here we passed the only sign of humanity we met with that day out of Inverie-an old woman gathering peats. The lower creation was represented chiefly by deer, with which these hills appear to be abundantly stocked. Being on strictly Salvationist principles for the day, we selected the longest and easiest grass slope that we could see, and were gratified to find that the south-west slope or ridge, which runs down towards the loch, presented delightfully smooth and even going; no switchback curves, or time-losing excrescences; all nice easy inclined plane. And so, having made good progress, we flung ourselves on the turf, about one o'clock, for a well-earned lunch. We had entered the mist by this time, and it was raining heavily. Nothing was visible but our grass slope. Soon we came to the snow line, and the rain changed first to sleet, finally to dry snow. The higher we climbed, the heavier it became. At the same time the slope steepened, and became more rugged; the snowy covering grew firmer; rocky pitches, covered with crystals and drapery of snow and ice, occasionally confronted us, and called the axe into play. Now a short ice gully, where a staircase had to be cut; now a rib of rock, where the snow, crisp or powdery as the case might be, had to be cleared away to obtain sure footing. And all around the whirling snowflakes, whitening us from head to foot. There was nothing really difficult, however, to turn us aside. Such obstacles as we met with afforded interesting climbing, and served to vary what would have been otherwise a monotonous ascent. But they lost time; the deep soft snow made climbing heavy work, and necessarily slow; it was uncertain |