Oban, a town that I’ve oft frequented
17th July 2008 For various reasons and a variety of journeys, I have happened on Oban on a good number of my trips to Scotland. Unlike either Fort William or Kinlochleven, it is not immediately surrounded by hill country and so might seem a surprising destination for a hill wanderer. However, its plentiful supply of accommodation and decent transport connections very much work in its favour as a base for exploring Lorn and any nearby islands.
Casting my mind back over the numerous trips that had me frequenting the place, the thing that strikes me is how I made something of the opportunities that basing myself there given that they aren't exactly on its doorstep. Of course, the internet helps with planning, but it is hardly a substitute for going somewhere in person and just skimming the surface to get a feel for what might be there. After all, I have often found that ideas for future visits come from trips that I have been making. For example, my most recent outing to the Lake District bore that out when I came home with more walking ideas than I would have had if I never went walking from Borrowdale into Great Langdale. It's great that you can hardly ever run out of places to see and explore, even on an island the size of Great Britain.
When I first wandered into Oban on a day trip from Edinburgh in June 1999, I was very much in skimming the surface mode. That day, I was heading off on a day excursion to Mull of my own making and saw enough that I liked to nearly make visits to Lorn and Mull an annual occurrence since then. There have been years when my attention lay elsewhere (2000, 2006 & 2007) but I always seem to be able to make a return to sample more of what the area has to offer.
There were actually two trips in 1999 with the second one being made with my brother. In both cases and also for a trip in 2001, Oban acted as a staging post for Mull and Iona, something that it does very well. An inclement weekend in November 2002 saw me walking on the island of Kerrera and by Loch Etive with friends from Edinburgh. In July 2003, I managed to avoid the rain and even catch some sun on walks that took me from Oban to Taynuilt via Glen Lonan and then from Taynuilt up the shore of Loch Etive to Glen Kinglass and back again. I snatched a drier interlude in July 2004 to hike from Oban to Taynuilt (again via Glen Lonan) and then up the shore of Loch Etive in showery weather that allowed the hills to show their dramatic side. Deeper incursions into hill country occupied me on a wonderful weekend in June 2005 with Mull and Loch Etive behaving as muses yet again. The quality of the walking was such that, if I did it now, there might have been two trip reports on this blog afterwards. Summing up the trekking in a few lines just doesn't seem to do a deserved amount of justice, so a retrospective posting might be the way to go. As it happens, it surprises me that my hillwalking attention drifted to other parts after that, but it did, and it was May of this year before I found myself back in Oban again. You may already have seen my telling of the first part of that adventure, and the second part has spawned this piece, delaying its appearance in the process.
In that quick potted history, Mull turns up more than once. My initial visit to the island saw me perambulating along roads and tracks on its eastern side. I ended up walking from Craignure to Duart Point and back. Along the way, I crossed both Duart Castle and Torosay Castle. The day started off cloudy and, like so many Scottish days, got better and better as it wore on. The result was memorable views up Loch Linnhe from Duart Point, and the castle looked splendid too. In August of the same year, I returned with my brother on an organised day excursion to Iona. I wouldn't be surprised if he came away with a wrong impression of the islands because neither Mull nor Iona were looking far from their best in the murk and rain. Two years later, I had better luck with the weather when I dropped in on Tobermory. Cloud may have rolled in as the day went on, but I got enough sun on the ferry ride and when I first reached the said town to satisfy me. I did a spot of road ambling that day rather than proper hill wandering. That was left until a trip nearly four years later when I crossed the island from Salen and picked up a hill track that took me past Loch Ba and into Glen Camel. The right of way continued on for Glen More, but I had a ferry to catch, and so retraced my steps.
Loch Etive is another name that crops up a fair bit when I think of my explorations of north Argyll. That first visit under grumpy skies in November 2002 exposed me to the sight of the hills lining both its shores and Glen Etive. In fact, you could say that you are seeing all the way up towards Glen Coe. That first stroll took us from Taynuilt to Glen Noe by way of Bonawe Furnace and Inverawe Country Park, with a scary bridge crossing over the River Awe that I have made a number of times since. The outing was enough to whet my appetite and I returned the next summer and got up beyond Glen Kinglass before turning back, catching another side of the Ben Cruachan massif along the away. The route that I had taken was identical to that followed in November; I just continued on further and without any navigational blunders. Speaking of blunders, I did make one: I left Oban thinking that I had more camera film than I did, only to end up rationing it later. My next encounter with the sea loch was on a lengthy tramp from Loch Awe station to Taynuilt. My route took me up Glen Strae, over Lairig Dhoireann, down Glen Kinglass and along Loch Etive again. I started it later than I should have done, so a taxi was needed to get me back to Oban afterwards. Nevertheless, what started out showery in Glen Strae, turned glorious in Glen Kinglass and memorable along Loch Etive. Speaking of memorable exploits, a two-day hike from Taynuilt to Kingshouse at the head of Glen Coe beckons. For now, that's for the future and will need me to abandon my usual overnighting habits to use a bothy at the end of Glen Etive. I could what seems on paper to be an epic walk from Oban if I wanted, following the quiet road through Glen Lonan that I have done on a number of occasions. It's good to have possibilities in mind.
Even with all my visits, North Argyll still has more to offer my love of hill wandering, and Oban may even see me again. Now that I have got the history shared between us out of the way, it's about time that part two of that report on my most recent stay in the area made its appearance here. I'll need to get on with it, then...
A pair of boots ready for longer walks?
2nd July 2008 When I buy a pair of walking boots, a number of months elapse before I take them out on a full day's walking. While trail shoes might suffice for a lot of my trips, I tend to prefer boots for their better ability to keep out mud and water. With boots, there's always the risk of ending up with the "stiff and stout" variety because so many are like that. In fact, conventional wisdom is that strong supportive footwear is what is needed for traversing hill country and mentioning the idea of using flexible footwear could result in a tide of disapproval heading in your direction. Solid ankle support and stiff footbeds are very much part of this usual line of thought.
While my Scarpas very much fit in with the above convention, I am inclined to wonder I need quite as much ankle support as they provide. Their predecessors were similar in this regard and their ankle cuffs gave me grief on a walk in North Wales one evening, an experience that taught me a lot; a back up pair of Columbia trail shoes were extricated from my rucksack so that relief could be provided. I usually don't seem to have trouble with how boots fit my feet but its my experience with ankle cuffs that taught me that a good run in period is in order and that's what I have been doing with my Scarpas since the longer evenings came upon us. The boots seem to doing OK but I am not planning to use them on all day walks straight away but am pondering taking them on half day hikes instead; taking them out in the Derbyshire Dales has come to mind. Whatever happens, I shall be keeping an eye on those ankle cuffs as well as doing more work on my lacing so that my feet are held in them that bit more securely.
Even with all this preparation of the Scarpas for use as my main pair of walking boots, I am beginning to think ahead to the future and what I really need in a pair of walking boots. An ability to take the rough stuff and keeping out water, mud and such like is all very fine but fit has to be a major consideration. This is why I am challenging the idea of high and somewhat less flexible ankle cuffs. It might be that I include that need on my list should I need a new pair of boots in the future. Another notion is percolating into my mind too: having different boots for different types of walking. The Scarpas could remain in use for rougher terrain while a lighter pair of boots, that are quicker to break in, would do a trek along good tracks and paths, keeping feet dry along the way. Along with the fit and comfort side of things, there are other advantages to having two pairs of boots such as spreading the wear across both, making them last longer, and having a dry pair ready after the other has been used on a hike through waterlogged terrain. With all the other demands on my income, I am not planning to rush out and buy anything just yet but there is enough going for the idea that it might take hold sometime.
Solstice
21st June 2008 It's amazing how some months fly by you and others go slower than you would like. I have come to like the passing of the winter solstice because it heralds what I think to be the best part of the year for wandering through the countryside. Yes, the trees may be as bare as the landscape that surrounds them for what seems like aeons but that has its attractions too. The summertime hoards are but a brief memory and there are ample opportunities for life detoxification in those wide open spaces. Those months before the greenery makes its appointed appearance allow you clear your mental clutter in time for when the countryside is clothed in a most wonderful lusciousness. For me, May and June should be the holiday months rather than July and August. The current arrangement means that year is slightly past its best when most have time to savour it but it also might mean that places are less crowded for connoisseurs of such wonders.
That curious timing of the summer holiday season brings me to my thoughts on the summer solstice. If its winter counterpart is a reminder of all that is wondrous, the longest day of the year is all the poorer for its pointing out that the only way from here is down. True, the colours of the countryside in autumn can be staggeringly beautiful but the whole feeling of decline and the passing of yet another year means that you need to work harder to keep up that interest in hill wandering. Apart from those colours, that decline has its uses, though, and you need only need to encounter an overgrown public footpath (I have been on a good few in north Wales...) to realise the benefits of winter's chill. Anyway, without all the dying off that happens in the second half of the year, all the growth of the first would never seem so wonderful. Speaking of spring, the longest day of the year is also an impertinent reminder of what you have and haven't been doing with regard to appreciating nature over the previous months. If you have been too busy to enjoy spring, then it's a rearguard campaign to savour the countryside at next to its best before it's too late and you feel that another year is gone out of your life without your making the best of it. Yes, those enticing months can often seem too short and the idea of taking more time away from the daily grind becomes a most tempting prospect.
A weekend around Argyll: Part 1
19th June 2008 It's been a while coming, so here's the first instalment of the description of my trip to Scotland over the Spring Bank Holiday weekend. The outing itself turned out to be planned at the last minute because the overall tenor of the weather forecast hadn't been the most promising. As it happened, I gleaned that heading north was best, and that's why I tried Scotland. I was far from wrong: the weather in Scotland couldn't have been better, and I ended up kicking myself that I hadn't taken a day off from work to spend a little more time up there.
Of course, I had gone for a spot of walking among hills and my first day, the main subject of this post, was spent making my way along a hill track from Inverarnan to Dalmally. The idea originally came to mind a while back when pondering improvements to the route of the West Highland Way. The route that I took was encapsulated by road walking, first along the A82 from The Drovers Inn to Glen Falloch farm and latterly on the A85 until I reached Dalmally. In between, progress was over good tracks and pathless moor in open country, albeit with a line of pylons stalking their way through the glen and over the bealach. Navigation was non too taxing for the most part, even if a spot of forestry track building needed rather more thought than would have been desired.
The route came from Scotways' Scottish Hill Tracks, a good source of ideas, even if caution is needed when following them on the ground. Don't expect nice clear tracks because they may not exist, and I followed enough of them to know. In fact, anyone following Mick and Gayle's LEJOG might know that their following another of those hill tracks involved negotiating loads of fallen trees; it almost reminds of my WHW hike along the shores of Loch Lomond last year. There's a certain caveat emptor to the whole business, so it's best to be prepared, as the old scout mantra goes.
Anyway, to the day itself. It began under cloudy skies with the sun struggling to make its way through as I made my way up the A82; some blue sky made its appearance a little later only to disappear again. As I know well from my WHW tramp from Inverarnan to Crianlarich last August, this is a busy road that creates an unpleasant amount of noise. At 08:00 in the morning, it was quieter, but there was no pleasure in plying along its margin watching out for traffic and keeping in from approaching vehicles. I was happy to be rid of it when I picked up a clear track that took me up the slopes around Troisgeach Bheag. I crossed a bridge over the West Highland railway just as a rail tour passed beneath me, and took in views over Loch Lomond on the ascent.
All the while, the hubbub grew all the weaker. It wasn't intrusive like that day last August, but I like my wild country without that racket. I also rather it without pylons, but that was not to be as I flew along the track up Gleann nan Caorann. Though clouds filled the sky, the sun managed to light up the summits of Ben Oss, Ben Lui and Ben a' Chleibh, at least when I first glimpsed them. It didn't stay that way for long, and the sun continued to fight a losing battle with the clouds until I crested the bealach between Ben a' Chleibh and Meall nan Tighearn. The track stayed with me for most of the journey into a landscape that was boggy and crossed by a myriad of watercourses. Losing the track as it reached its terminus, a shieling, meant I was in for a schlep through and over what was a watershed. I followed whatever vague track took me where I wanted to go for a lot of the time, but some freestyle wandering was needed too, and that line of pylons served as an excellent handrail. As I continued on a lung and leg busting ascent, a good view of the many lines etched into the terrain across it opened up.
Other views opened on making the crest of the bealach, and the sun came out to enliven them too; it was to remain thus for the rest of the day. I could see now beyond the glens occupied by the Orchy and Lochy rivers towards Ben Cruachan and such like. Such an arresting vista demanded a stop for its appreciation, and I took the opportunity to have some food too. After that, my nigh on pathless course continued as I started on my descent, confident that I was to reach Oban, where I was going to be staying on this visit.
Pylons were being painted, so a myriad of rough ATV tracks abounded, and I picked my way down to the entrance to the forestry plantation that lay between me and the A85. That entrance wasn't a welcoming one, with its rickety wooden gate and the need to dodge water and mud to get in. In hindsight, it could have been seen as a portent of what was to come. I made my way down the firebreak with no sign of the path shown on my map, but a track to the left soon offered itself. That took onto another track, a well-made affair that clearly had received recent attention and lorries were making their way along it. Navigating forestry tracks can be a confounding experience, but all seemed well for now; new tracks can appear, and the OS might not be able to keep up with a path turning into a track. However, I don't know whether I missed a left turn due to an episode of reverie or what happened, but I started to feel that something was not quite right about where I was going. Trees had been cleared, so I could see the A85 below me and I opted to use my right to roam for a more direct approach to reach it, even if it meant crossing the railway and the River Lochy, a perfectly traversable affair. It was not the most dignified route, yet I got to the A85 and turned left for the tarmac tramp to Dalmally.
Walking along a busy road like the A85 is hardly the best, yet it can cure all sense of navigational uncertainty. The road margin was generously proportioned, but that did not excise the need for being ever watchful of cars and other vehicles; it was a constant necessity. The day was by now glorious and hotter than I would have liked, but I made Dalmally in good time. I wasn't timely enough to make the 17:03 to Oban, the base for my visit, but the 19:08 was easily made, and I got a good rest too. While I suppose that I could have gone and walked about a bit, it had been a long day of walking and the heat made relaxation the better option. I was soon enough in Oban and, rather than me plotting out the next day's wandering, the need for a good night's rest took over. Sunday was another day...
Not a bad weekend…
15th June 2008 It's the sort of time when I might have been off somewhere, braving the threat of showers. However, a bout of flu picked up last weekend in Ireland has meant that staying at home has been the most sensible option. Still, getting grounded with sunny skies outside does wonders for the outdoors enthusiasm, never a bad thing. For one thing, it allows ideas for excursions to foment, and the same could be said for that weekend in Ireland.
Regular visitors will know that my native Ireland has never played host to a proper hillwalking outing of mine to date and that I am always wanting to change that, even if plans have never come to fruition to date. Last weekend's outing to Killarney was as strong a reminder of that as any. It was anything but my typical outing with it involving a lot of driving and I doing it. My people are not big into walking, but I still managed to get a stroll lasting up to two hours out of the day.
This part of Kerry plays host to a goodly amount of quality hill country, and there's a very tempting long-distance trail that threads its way though a lot of it: the Kerry Way. As it happened, my short walk wandered along part of the said trail as I plied my way from Muckross House to Torc Waterfall and back again. The day was a grey one, damp at times, but the scenery was nonetheless wonderful; if we had the weather of the preceding and subsequent days, then the appearance of the surrounding landscape would have been next to peerless. I had to leave the tempting track of the old Kenmare road after me, or those with me might have been wondering what happened to me on my brief escape. The amble was a good taster, and I must sort out that proper Irish hillwalking trip...
