Thursday 25 October 2007--When we passed through here two years ago, Ron got the bug to take a serious walk in Glen
Coe. He's chosen to go right to the top, up Bidean Nam Bian, the highest peak in the area at 3772 feet. We drive two miles
up the glen to a parking area below the Three Sisters, buttresses extending from Bidean Nam Bian's massif. Our plan is to
ascend between the eastern and central Sisters, and descend between the central and western ones. We are pleased to note
that there is one Sister for each of us.
In the car park, we chat with a gent whose intended route coincides with ours for the preliminary ascent, and we
have plenty of time to compare notes. We cross the River Coe and ascend towards Coire Gabhail, the Lost Valley (or Hidden
Valley), a hanging valley where the cattle-thieving MacDonalds used to hide their ill-gotten stock. It's a lovely sunny
day, and we have spectacular views back down into the glen, but as we climb the headwall at the top of the valley, we enter
some stubborn low-hanging cloud. We say goodbye to our friend, as he heads east and we go west along the ridge. The cloud
breaks occasionally, giving us tantalizing views down Glen Etive, on the other side of the ridge. Eventually, though, we
are completely enshrouded. Soon enough, we are on the peak, and we celebrate with a very modest dram of Dalmore 12.
--Only it's not the peak, not the one we're aiming for, anyway. We reach a higher one, and then a higher
one after that, which we are certain is the summit of Bidean Nam Bian only after we find no further higher point. Up here
in the mist, we can't see from one peak to the next. And we miss our intended descent, which would have brought us back
close to where the car is parked. We end up virtually skiing down a scree slope, and then picking our way around boulders
for a while, until we can pick up a trail again. The descent now takes on the character of a forced march, for we are much
later than we thought we would be, and can see that we will be hard pressed to make it down before sunset. We land on the
main road just at that deadline, near the side road to the Clachaig, two miles from the car. Bobby and I are pretty well
exhausted.
Ron wants to close the circle of our hike, but I convince him that it's more sensible for me to hitchhike back to
the car, while he and Bobby walk the short distance back to the Clachaig, rather than risk being blown off the narrow road
by a speeding truck in the gathering gloom. It's twenty minutes or so before I get a ride from a woman who has been walking
herself today, and is on her way home to Glasgow. On the way up, we pass a couple who are also trying to thumb their way up
the glen, and when I see them still trudging up the road as I drive back down the other way, I make a u-turn and give them
a lift to their car.
I expect to fall asleep in my dinner in the Boots Bar this evening, but I'm actually feeling energetic as we settle
in for the whisky tasting, which is hosted by Gerry Brown of Gordon & MacPhail. We sample two Benromachs (Organic and
Peatsmoke), a Connoisseur's Choice Aberfeldy, Laphroaig Quarter Cask, and the liqueur Athol Brose. After, we are chatting
amicably with some of our fellow tasters when a staff member approaches me and asks if I am Mr Tattie Heid (actually, he
uses my real name). He has had a call from the gent we'd walked with in the morning, who'd seen our car still in the car
park when he returned at sunset. He tracked us down at the Clachaig via the plate number, concerned that we'd gotten down
safely. I am deeply touched, and ask the staff member to pass along my profound thanks. Moments later, the fellow I'd
picked up on the road approaches me--I had no idea that he was staying at the Clachaig--and offers me a pint, which I
gladly accept. I am moved by the way walkers look out for each other, and am only sorry that I cannot pass a pint along to
the gent who called, or the woman who gave me a ride.
There's another band in tonight. If their rendition of Folsom Prison Blues is nominally as absurd as last
night's band's cover of the Eagles, they nonetheless do a fine job of selling it, and I stay up far later than I would have
imagined possible as I stumbled down off the mountain earlier in the evening.
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