Skye-Ridge-in-a-day Attempt and Dinner Meet - 2002

I was taking this very seriously. Oh yes. For the first time in my long career as a back-seat drinker, I went a whole journey without having a single can of lager….AND I had a case of 12 handily placed at my feet….so that’s no mean achievement I can tell you…right enough I went through 3 rolls of ‘STELLARETTE’ patches, and had a helluva time fighting off the Big-Giant Stella-Fella.

Iain, JD and I set up camp at the Sligachan Midge Sanctuary at around midnight on Thursday and set the alarm clocks for a 4am rise. Personally, I hardly slept a wink, what with nightmarish visualisations of:

1. England beating Argentina in the World Cup and
2. Queues of FEBS at the TD Gap, In Pinn and the Slig bar…

…I woke up in a cold sweat more than once I can tell you!

Anyway, we got the show on the road at 5am from the Glenbrittle carpark and strode out for Gars Bheinn. Iain was having a hard time with the punishing pace, and was to pull-out after 4 hours or so…[ I think he was suffering from HIV….Hill-walking Insufficient Velocity syndrome].

JD and I powered on, with me in a predominantly ‘slipstreaming’ role. The peaks were getting bagged in a blur. This wasn’t because we were going fast, but because I was delirious with exhaustion, and was sweating blood through my eyeballs.

We encountered a bit of a delay at the TD Gap [recurring nightmare?], with a couple of no-hopers getting a top-rope up the other side from a team of diddies. We ‘tossed’ for the lead. I won. I always was a useless tosser. I was unpleasantly surprised how gripped-up I got on this pitch…leg-shakes, crap runner placements, scrabbling bicycle-leg-footwork. Jeezoman, I’m sure I even reached back for a non-existent chalkbag. […pretty bad for an ‘extreme’ climbing Himalayan veteran with 22 years experience]. Shocking stuff, but we were up safely and on our way again.

All this time the weather had been good, with a little high cloud leaving the tops clear, but it was very windy at times. We got to The In Pinn at around midday, and decided to rope-up the short steep side as there was a queue at the long moderate side [recurrent recurring nightmare squared?]. JD got this pitch. I always said it, he’s a really good tosser.

Personally, one of the hardest things about this ridge traverse malarky is that bastard peak Sgurr nan Gillean never seems to get any closer. No matter where you are on the ridge it just looks fucken miles away.

By the time we got to Banachdich, the weather was changing, we could see rain clouds gathering out to sea. We arrived at Bruach na Frithe at around 5pm, and it was raining very heavily. Decision time.

Option 1…carry on and do Naismith’s Route on the Bhaister Tooth in the pissing wet

Option 2…avoid the Tooth by a big detour down into the coire with a big re-ascent all in the pissing wet

Option 3…accept defeat and be thankful we were in a position to get off the ridge safely in the pissing wet.

So option 3 it was then, and off we trudged down the hill. Crestfallen but not brow-beaten perhaps.

We got back to the Slig at 7:30pm. 14.5 hours on the hill, 9 out of the 11 Munros in the bag. So not too bad. In fact these were my first new Munros for about 8 years.

My back was crippled, and my feet felt like they had been cheese-grated, and to cap it off the bar was closed to the public for a poxy private wedding…[a recurring recurrent recurring nightmare…cubed]. In the end we pretended to be wedding guests in the Lounge Bar and got a pint OK.

….and to make matters worse…..the FEBS beat the Argies 1-0 [my worst nightmare x10].

Saturday was a bit of a rest day. My feet were blistered and my back was a bastard. Iain and I had some R&R in the Slig and took in some footy, then went for a lunchtime stroll up Glen Sligachan for a wee warm-down legstretch. We got as far as Marsco when our sunbathing was disturbed by the sound of a helicopter to-ing and fro-ing up at the crag. This was all a bit worrying since we knew that Bish and Tim, along with Rhona were up there climbing.

We had worked out in our minds that someone had been injured so we got back to the campsite to learn that Tim had lobbed off after some loose rock came away. He had been taken by chopper to the hospital at Broadford and then on to Raigmore, Inverness. Damage was 3 broken ribs, and an injured elbow and ankle.

It’s a mugs game this climbing lark, but I guess we all have our own reasons for continuing to do it.

The Dinner itself was good, if a little late in getting started. Much beer and whisky was guzzled.

Sunday was a stinking Skye day, with the Cuillins shrouded in mist and the rain pouring down.

Cuillin Skunk is a good way to describe it.