I was packed in plenty of time, despite the last minute crampons switch which I’ll be talking about in detail another time. But for some unknowable reason, by some undecipherable cause, despite only having to fill a flask, it was late when I left.
It was bright though, and very cold. The road was okay too, light traffic and a 57mph average which was fine for a boy from 1968. Ben Lomond looked like it had icing the snow cover was so thick and grinned all the way to Arrochar.
The car park of course is where things took a sinister turn with a few folk wandering around gazing to the sky like electronic disciples holding their phones closer to the satellite god to get a better reception as the sole ticket machine was gubbed.
Unexpectedly I had useable O2 4G and had to use of all of it’s sauce to download the parking app (the one that isn’t RingGo, green coloured, the name escapes me) to pay for my parking because I knew I’d be there until dark time. In the time I was doing this two council vans had visited the car park, I think it’s probably best to pay these days. I have an old personal beef with Argyle and Bute Council, but this isn’t the field to fight them on.
I was bitterly cold by the way, I had got back in the van and restarted the engine and heater while doing my parking penance. I was then away quickly to get some heat in me and soon enough I was in the sun and there was no escaping the heat in those rays.
I had my vents open and my zips undone to keep cool and a mug of coffee to sip and warm me up, it was a metaphor for the rest of my life. It was a lovely walk up on the recently remodelled path which now feels steeper and longer despite following the same lines, maybe it’s just me. The works on the lower part up to the forest road are delight to walk on but it still looks pretty rough in a few places higher up, time will diminish the impact and the surface grading and drainage looks like it’ll do the job, but it’s freshly sewn wound material right now.
Lomond shone like it’s name depicts and one clear of the trees the familiar points of the Cobbler and Narnain sparkled back and white above the golden grass of the wide shallow coire. It’s like coming up for air arriving here, every time is better than the last.
The track is lovely all the way to the Narnain Boulders, twisty turny, up and down and always with some of the best scenery you’ll find. I know The Cobbler is the star, the pin-up, but Beinn Narnain just draws my eye and my feet follow on nine times out of ten.
I took a different line in the southern coire, I went high to the right with a view to circling below the big crags near the bealach. The terrain is as fun and funky higher up as it is down the middle and I was very much watching every single foot placement in case I lost a leg down the gaps between the jumble of rock that is this whole coire. It’s the standard approach here which is always exacerbated by heather growing over the gaps but with height I also had pristine snow filling every gap and hollow I wanted to step on.
It’s tiring and getting it wrong is a nerve sharpener, I have a couple of cracking bruises today from getting it a wee bit wrong on my climb up.
The terrain is rough and many rest stops cooled me and let me gaze around this wonderful wee place. Not a soul to be seen near me but there was a couple crossing the bealach above and a few folk by the Cobbler’s summit, obviously thinking about whether to chance the clamber up or not. I looked ahead, those big crags were pretty close and it looked like it would be better to circle onto the top of them. Easier and safer ground for sure, but also there’s view waiting for me that I’d never had.
I was soon sitting on dry rock with my pack leaning on a boulder with a hot cuppa in my hand. It is a glorious spot and I’ll be back next time, I think I’ve found a new favourite corner on a hill of favourite corners.
I sat and time ticked past me. I stretched my legs out, I was a wee bit stiff and the stumble had given me a few niggles and I will not hide it, my nerves were rattled. Had I jarred my neck again? This is my single biggest fear, the recent six months of limited feeling and mobility in my right hand is not something I will forget quickly.
Ach, I could go back down. I had a wee photo job to do while I was out and I’d done it, I’d be home for dinner time. Narnain will always be there.
Whoop whoop whoop whoop
A raven rose from the coire and passed close over my head, it circled below Cruach nam Miseag and flew back over my head
Whoop whoop whoop whoop
It flew across the coire and its graceful black wings carried it to the tip of the spearhead buttress where it landed deftly on an iced rock just off the top.
Raawwrrrkkk
I know it’s stupid, I’m a science and dinosaur guy remember, but that was as plain an invitation as I’ve ever had. Okay pal, wait for me there, I’m on my way.
The bealach was close and was the first place I felt that my Kahtoola spikes were too short, the second place was on the first short iced scramble. But what a place to be, the crags towering over me with teeth of ice bristling on every surface, the blue sky above and the wind trying to cut through me and failing on my multi coloured shield of invincibility.
I was soon swinging my pick into the neve ahead of me as I scrambled over the steep iced terrain, my spikes didn’t bring me enough confidence to feel like they were enough so I was making it safe and having the best time doing it.
I passed old camping spots, I took in the views, I looked down at the sunshine on snow between my feet as my ice axe leash took a little weight and I pulled myself up with the gripless shaft.
The final scramble is in darkness between crags covered in white teeth and then I was in bright sunshine on top of the spearhead. Where’s my pal? Ah, gone till next time, eh?
The summit plateau was deserted but not empty, it was full of colour and light and joy and then the wind tore it to shreds and weaved back it into that rarest of moments where everything is just fine.
It’s funny how you can sweat and swear yourself into a place of peace and contentment.
I wandered around, crunching from view to view. It’s such a wonderful place to be, to spend some time. I started to descend, planning on taking the long slope through the boulder field and picking up the main track for a less complicated way home. But the light changed and I was back at the trig point again in case I missed something, just for a second the thought “What if I never come back?” flitted from ear to ear. Age brings so many previously unknown concepts with it.
But oh, to have had a tent.
I meant it the next time, an hour in the top is plenty in that temperature and I walked confidently west again only to meet a smiling Italian fella, who too was full of the joy of what we’d discovered.
It was lovely, we had a long chat, I passed some descent advice his way which I saw very happily that he’d followed and I pointed out a nice wee bit of trivia for him – “See that little dark pyramid on the horizon? All of the curling stones being used back home at the Olympics come from there”. Ailsa Craig.
We parted and with now extremely cold hands because I’d stopped for so long I descended into glorious colours on steep snow. The Cobbler looked ten times it’s height, Beinn Ime reclined muscularly as it’s snowy flanks burned pink into the night.
My hands eventually warmed to match my heart and soul. One little hill, one big day.
I walked out in darkness as the green coloured parking app weakly implored me to top it up. The sky was black, the stars twinkled and my breath obscured my headtorch beam.
Haggis neeps and tattie were waiting for me and I was buying new crampons as soon as I could get to a shop.
The story doesn’t end here.
