I knew Am Faochagach had a particularly boggy approach, so I planned to either do it in the height of a dry summer or the cold of winter when everything would be frozen, the latter won out.
The ground was particularly frozen and I was making good time up until the first obstacle, the river crossing is known to be challenging to impossible when in spate. The issue now was that a lot of the boulders were covered in ice. I decided to take an alternate route further up but this meant some heather bashing which is hard work but I made it to the first river crossing, yes there would now be two hopefully easier crossings. The first was alright with a shallow gravel bank at an angle, with a hop, skip and a jump I was across; yippee.
The joy was soon short lived as I realised I was now having to cross through massive highly frustrating peat hags, some around 2 metres deep, the only up side they were frozen. I took close to an hour to navigate the short distance of about 200 metres to the next river, which looked harder to cross. I just went for it and luckily made it dry to the other side. Energy at a low I now had the steep pathless climb up to the shoulder I’d planned to camp on, I made it weary and fatigued just before dusk.
A frosty start.
Up pre dawn the next morning to a tent both frosty on the inside and out but to a cracking morning with beautiful views.
Looking to the Fannichs range.
Beinn Dearg and Cona’ Mheall pre dawn.
It was a fantastic morning that kept on giving, the frost covered hillside adding to the atmosphere not to mention what you can’t see, the lovely clean, crisp fresh air.
The Fannichs, a future challenge with issues!
I had breakfast, porridge of course washed down with delicious hot coffee followed by a small siesta, yes already; but it was so warm and cosy in my tent. I paid for this later as I didn’t pack up for the next part of the ascent until around 11am, tsk,tsk.
I plotted my route visually up the hillside, but it wasn’t long before I hit the snow line which slowed things down. After a slog with many gasping rest stops, the joys of carrying winter gear together with water for the summit camp, I made it up onto the ridge line. The angle was easier, but the snow ankle deep or so, which still slowed things down. My goal was in sight and with fading vigour I pushed on to the summit where there was a brisk chilling breeze.
This sparked a little more energy, however I was torn between getting some images and getting the all important camp set up, the light was starting to go. The photography won.
End of day.
A few images in the bag and a new problem appeared, the ground was frozen solid, no way to get tte pegs to secure the tent with. I spent 40 minutes scouring around the summit to no avail. Eventually I found a spot which the pegs went into if only as a token gesture, any strong wind would probably play with their weakness, I was carful not to sneeze. Luckily the Hilleberg Soulo tent is fully free standing or else I would have had to descend to some spot where pegs would gain purchase.
Hope she doesn’t blow away.
It was good to be out of the bone chilling breeze in my tent where I could coax some feeling back into my fingers and get my pasta dinner on the go. After listening to a little music I peeked outside to see starry skies, no rest for the wicked, it was tome to muster up and get out there.
The Great Rift over Beinn Dearg.
A distant Ben Wyvis with the lights of Inverness beyond.
After midnight and a brief look outside the starry skies had been replaced with thick fog and zero visibility, more concerning was the noticeable pick up in wind speed.
I slept fitfully as the tent flapped in protest and awoke early, I waited until it would be dawn where I would beat a hasty retreat, though it was still quite dark come the time. No time for porridge or coffee, just a flapjack and cold water stored in a vacuum flask to prevent it freezing, my pockets filled with snacks for energy on the descent. The fog swirled in and around, the wind making strange noises as with practiced skill born out of experience, I speedily packed everything away. It was good to be on the move, the summit no longer felt welcoming and hinted that I should leave, now.
Navigation was taxing as it always is in these conditions in deep snow with the wind blowing you around and visibility poor at best. Eventually I dropped below the level of the fog and could see where I had to aim for, it was time for a break and some of those snacks.
I headed back down directly for the spot where I couldn’t cross the river before, I was determined even if I had to wade the icy waters, there was dry clothing back in the car. On arrival at my nemesis I searched up and down the river, there were possible convoluted crossing points but again ice covered boulders. I hit on a solution, I’d carried them the whole trip but never needed them, crampons. I strapped them on and with a questionable balancing act proceeded to step out onto the icy boulders, the rushing deep water baiting me; aided by my trekking poles, step by step I made my way across.
On the other side I scrambled up onto the bank and gave out a small embarrassing shout of joy, problem solved. With almost a spring in my step, well, in my mind at least I headed back to the car, dry feet and success. Patience had paid off and the timing just perfect. Task complete.