A Remote Munro? - Len Stubs
By Len Stubbs
"Ladhar Bheinn, in Knoydart." - That was the answer which John Wilding once gave to the question, "Which high ground in the British Isles, in your opinion, most resembles a true mountain?" His choice, I was to find, was truly admirable. No doubt several factors influenced this very wise and experienced mountaineer's opinion - the shape of the mountain, the terrain, the wildness of the upper corries, the near and distant approaches to the mountain, and its superb setting in an area of fine peak and loch scenery.
For three years Ladhar Bheinn was No. 1 on my list. During the first year an injury to a member of my party prevented an ascent. During the second year foul weather and shortage of time foiled my efforts. On the third approach, in September 1959, I was so determined to succeed in collecting this munro that I was quite prepared to devote a full fortnight's holiday to doing so. As events transpired a fortnight was not necessary. Nevertheless a hazard in the shape of some deer-stalking gentry did present itself, we, Eric (K.M.C.) and I, being hounded out of our delightful camp-site on the western shore of Loch Quoich by such a party and told in no uncertain fashion to leave the district.
Very early the following morning we did so, but not in the direction the gentry had prescribed. We drove down a very exciting and narrow road through some amazing gorge scenery to Kinloch Hourn, the head of Loch Hourn, where the road comes to an end. The loch scenery hereabouts is comparable to any fjord scenery which I have seen during my visits to Norway; steep hillsides, pine and larch plantations, cataracts of white foaming water tumbling down the cliffs, and wild bird life and waterfowl appeared to be in abundance.
We left the car at about 9:00a.m. and walked along a built-up footpath immediately above the southern shore of the loch. It was a delightful morning, and the heavy dew gave evidence of the sort of day we might expect later. There was a profusion of natural elements to converse about as we wandered through heather and bracken past the cottages at Skiary and Runival towards Barrisdale. Barrisdale I suppose could be one of the largest communities in these islands which is not troubled with the motor car, for there is no road to or from this hamlet, the usual approach being by way of the loch. We halted at the lodge and entered into conversation with a student from Liverpool University who was spending his entire vacation working there as a laborer; solitude he sought and solitude he had gained in this superb setting.
From here Eric and I ascended by a good footpath to a col above Mam Barrisdale. Unfortunately, a mixture of the terrific heat of the day, the glorious scenery, and a desire to bathe in many of the clear pools now over-weakened Eric's determination to ascend the mountain, leaving a solitary walker to wander along the ridge towards the gable end of the Ladhar Bheinn massif, which is Aonach Sgoilte. This obstacle I turned on the south-eastern flank by scrambling over some vegetated slabby rock; when my attention was not occupied in searching for firm holds I gazed across some amazingly desolate country towards Loch Nevis and Loch Morar. After some 400ft of scrambling I emerged on a grassy summit ridge which overlooked the wild and rocky Coire Dhorrcail, perhaps the principal feature of the mountain. I was highly delighted to reach this fine summit and secretly glad to have it to myself on such a lovely day. As I was most uncomfortable in my sweat-laden shirt I stripped naked and lay down to admire the surrounding feast of peaks, lochs, coast, and island scenery.
Sleep may have intervened: I do not know. Somewhat chilled, I bestirred myself, dressed, and made off on to the ridge Druim a' Choire Odhair, which is comparable to Striding Edge. The tremendous buttresses and walls at the head of Coire Dhorrcail immediately below the main summit of Ladhar Bheinn can be observed at their finest as one descends this ridge. I feel sure this would be a veritable heaven for the rock-climber, if only it was much easier of access. The lower reaches of the ridge deteriorate into some really hard going, and I was thankful to gain a path which though overgrown with heather was preferable to knee-high turk's heads. I strolled along to Barrisdale Lodge in a fool's paradise, thinking I should be able to board the 5pm. launch for the head of the loch; I was dumbfounded to discover that the time was 7pm. and that there were no further sailings that day.
The prospect of seven miles of rough going, only 1½ hours of daylight, no torch to resort to, and no food - I had had none since noon - was one that any true Bleaklow hound would whoop with delight at. A pace comparable to that of a five-hour Marsden - Edale broke the back of this loch-side tramp. In almost complete darkness I rejoined Eric, waiting with a good solid brew of tea - a wonderful finish to a wonderful mountain day.
