A Fionn Loch Diary

by H. Stirling

In 1955 I visited Skye for the first time. A hot sun shone from dawn till dusk. It was to have been a holiday for exploring the Cuillin and not for ticking off routes. We were to cross the ridge from time to time and camp in various places, one of which would be Coruisk. However, this was not to be. I found myself in Glen Brittle with a different set of companions who did not think much of my previous plans and were positive that camping at Coruisk was almost impossible.

One day we took Tex Geddes’ boat to this wild, inaccessible and unencampable place. It would have been very difficult to pitch a tent, but not because of ground conditions. The Y.R.C. had taken over. An adventurous crowd this, I thought. I will return. I did. In 1961, at Whit, with the Y.R.C.

It may not be as enterprising now to go to Coruisk, nor to Rhum since it has been Nationalised. The adventure of getting there has gone although the fascination of these places remains—in the off season. It is galling for us in the northern part of Southern Britain to know that the Lowland Scot can have a week-end in Glen Brittle returning by the Summer Sunday ferries, and that Coruisk, Rhum and Knoydart can be ‘done’ in a three day week-end. Ben More, Mull, has been achieved in a day with a 3 a.m. start from Ayrshire. The motor car is the greatest artificial aid to mountaineering. Nevertheless our Committee still try to find somewhere that is new for us, or is that little bit different. Suggestions have to be very ridiculous to be rejected. Seemingly impossible ones are considered and if desirable actually come to pass.

Fionn Loch was very similar to the latter. Arthur Leese started it off at the Annual Dinner and Stirling added momentum with enthusiasm. Both had been there. So had Francis Falkingham of the Gritstone Club and he added a few words more. Fionn Loch got itself on the drawing board. No sooner was the preliminary list of meets issued than a circular came out asking us to book provisionally for the meet with a view to using the night car sleeper service of British Railways. Then at the Hill Inn we saw pictures of our goal and discussed with our Gritstone friend Falkingham how to get there. More important, how to get our gear there. This was the big obstacle.

It was obvious that our camp should be at the head of the Loch. This could be approached from several directions depending on one’s ability to walk and to carry gear. Of these routes only two came close to our idea of practicability. One would be to cross Loch Maree to Letterewe by boat and then carry over the Bealach Mheinnidh to Carnmore House near the head of Fionn Loch. This involved an ascent of 1600 feet and a descent of 1000 feet over a distance of five miles. The alternative approach would be to drive up the private road from Poolewe to Kernsary and carry from there to Carnmore eight miles away, but only 600 feet up and down.

Naturally we would require ponies and boats, from either the Letterewe or Kernsary Estates, depending on which route we decided on. Naturally the respective proprietors would be pleased to let us have them. Naturally we would offer to pay for their use. Thus, presumptuously, went our discussions at the Hill Inn.

Fortunately the Club’s Officers presented a more respectful approach to Colonel Whitbread, the proprietor of both estates. A contact was sought, and our man with a man in Whitbread’s was found. An arrangement was evolved and in April we were presented with the details. Colonel Whitbread had done us extremely well. Land Rovers from Kernsary to Fionn Loch jetty and thence by boat to Carnmore. Simple, labourless and perfect for us. Snags did crop up but were resolved a week before the meet.

Saturday, May 27th arrived and perfect weather with it. A few of the early arrivals, in spite of the explicit circular, began to have doubts about the arrangements. A resident of Poolewe was astonished at the facilities at our disposal and was certain we would not get them nor even be allowed to camp. Depressed by this these early arrivals collected themselves together for a commiseration session in a quiet hotel. This was of no help. The picture of the entire Meet gently cruising up Fionn Loch in a vessel that, basically at least, could be described as The Estate Launch, dissolved completely. For here they had been informed that the craft on the Loch consisted of rudimentary rowing boats; and that was not all, some of them leaked.

Of these early birds, Spray and Stirling were fairly lightly laden and could carry themselves and their gear all the way. Everyone else could break their backs rowing as far as they were concerned. The others, who were to be guests at what would become known as the Carnmore Hilton (Proprietor: M. Church) looked worried. When this establishment erected itself at Carnmore one could see why. Nevertheless and notwithstanding, the arrangements went as sweet as the weather. Our cars were not even allowed to carry gear from Poolewe to Kernsary. This was undertaken by a National Trust for Scotland Land Rover handled by a very capable and charming lady driver.

The cars were parked at Kernsary and soon a convoy set sail from the jetty. This consisted of two rowing boats with outboard motors, each towing another rowing boat. These were crewed by Stanley Marsden, naturally, and Jack Hilton to one pair of vessels, and Mr. Anderson, the keeper at Kernsary, and young Woodward (who was apparently not fit enough to walk) to the other pair.

The rest walked. A quarter of a mile from Kernsary the Carnmore path starts at a small cairn and follows the burn to its watershed. The path is not always prominent and at the watershed one tends to lose it. However, once under the cliffs of Beinn Airidh Charr it becomes excellent and provides a fast trod all the way to the head of Fionn Loch, across the causeway separating it from Dubh Loch and round to Carnmore.

It is when one stands on the causeway that this place first makes its great impact. Fionn Loch stretches out, smooth and spacious, as if to the sea. In contrast Dubh Loch, round and dark, is walled in by sweeping slabs, beetling cliffs and steep hillsides. From there you come round to Carnmore, a white house in a green field, and overhanging it is Carnmore Crag, a soaring, leaning presence.

Awaiting the arrival of the boats we heard voices and then, high above us on Carnmore Crag we heard the ding ding of a wee hammer. Inspection of an old stable confirmed that we were not to have the place to ourselves. The fleet arrived with the baggage and soon tents were up, including the Carnmore Hilton, a large pneumatic igloo. The occupants of the barn turned out to be two members of the Creag Dubh Mountaineering Club and they soon came amongst us, swopping tales and information.

Sunday was a sun day. Many trekked off to the high hills of Sgurr Ban, Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair, and Beinn Tarsuinn. The last mentioned is one of the doubtful Munros^[1].  The Munro list compilers maintain that it is approximately 3080 feet but the Ordnance Survey refuse to recognise this. Whether this height was correct or not we may never know, such things now depend on the sea level at Newlyn, Cornwall, not at Liverpool as heretofore.

Five other members in two separate parties and by different routes went to Beinn Lair. Initially they had intended doing the same route but pretended to be unaware of each other’s intention. However, to avoid being beaten to the start, Spray and Stirling changed their minds and tackled the Tooth. This was an easy, interesting and pleasantly steep route which soon had them on the summit, a plum of a viewpoint. Loch Maree lay below, forest fringed and isleted, providing a gentle foreground to the massed peaks of Torridon and the Beinn Damph range. Further away, to the East, rolled the Fannichs. Then nearer were A’Mhaighdean, Tarsuinn and Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair. Beyond that the great comb of An Teallach, “… the last blue snow barred mountain.” It was the edge of sight and reality, beyond that, mystery and Samarkand. Today we had come a little further. It was this year’s Tir nan Og. Sick Heart River ran among these hills^[2].

Colour, subtly shaded by a slight haze, seduced the eye. The ijslands on a blue Loch Maree were a fresh early summer green. The purple of Torridonian sandstone was all around but interrupted here and there by the pale pink of gneiss. From this rose peaks capped in milky quartz. The first view of the country on the first day gave an added lustre. Unfamili-arity sharpened the senses.

Suddenly the panorama shimmered, shook and disintegrated : the great poetic vision destroyed by the uncultivated Yorkshire voices of Woodward, Church and Barker. They had selected the wrong buttress and found themselves committed to long stretches of heather and short pitches of rock. However, after a truce was called in the recriminations, they took time to absorb the scene about them. A refreshing plunge in Fionn Loch completed the day and also restored goodwill.

This bathe in the Loch became a pre-breakfast ritual on these sunny mornings. No matter how much energy had been expended the day before, it would have been shameful to lie in bed. Everything added up to total perfection; the warm sun and the sparkling loch; the rugged scenery and the good company; the early morning swim and the alfresco breakfast. Yes, the alfresco breakfast was very good, lingering as it did into the morning coffee hour. Why rush off? Daylight would last until 23.00. Relax, enjoy the sunshine, and soon it would be lunchtime. Anyway, if you wait till after that you don’t need to take so much food on the hill.

Thus Spray and Stirling set off to climb A’Mhaighdean, selecting Pillar Buttress as their route of ascent. They struggled up from the head of Loch Duhb and through the rocky bealach to Gorm Loch Mor, being grilled by the heat radiating from the rock. Seven or eight hundred feet of scrambling brought them to the foot of the climb proper. The route gave some very nice situations, with a sufficient sense of exposure on all sides. The rock was sound and rough although perhaps a little too hot for tender fingertips.

On a parallel ridge another party, two males, two females and a juvenile basked in the sun and made witty comments on the efforts of the Y.R.C. party. Their remarks were quite unintelligible, but when Stirling changed into lightweight rock boots, one of these characters is thought to have said, “Look at him changing his hooves”. Unfortunately their method of climbing was rather different and consequently no useful information was obtained regarding the continuation of the climb. They were an impressive clan of goats.

The top of the climb was within one hundred feet of the summit and there the unroping took place. At this moment Arthur Leese came striding into view, hence achieving one of his targets and reason for his enthusiastic promotion of this meet. Soon the rest of his party arrived, having just been on Roadh-Stac Mor. Comments could have been made on the condition of the party now assembled on Scotland’s geographical maiden but weren’t. Everyone descended by the Northwest ridge. On this ridge, seemingly perched on the gneiss, are some large towers of Torridonian sandstone giving some scrambling interest.

At Fuar Loch Bheag the party met up with Woodward and Company who had been amusing themselves scrambling on an outcrop and sunbathing. They had also been swimming. Church had ventured a plunge into Fuar Loch Mhor and complained bitterly of its icy waters. Sometimes these Gaelic names mean what they say, but Church had no Gaelic.

An outsider arrived and camped at the causeway; an angler seeking solitude and fish. What with late evening, chattering strollers and the early morning bathing party, it was just as well he did his fishing around 04.30 hrs., gladly leaving for London shortly afterwards.

On Tuesday no-one, as usual, was in a hurry to go anywhere. In the afternoon Church, Barker, Swindells and Woodward set off for Shenavall bothy, eight miles away, whence they could do An Teallach the next day. Spray and Stirling made for Carnan Ban and by taking a circuitous route inadvertently arrived at the top of the crag. However, they soon remedied this and roped up for “Dishonour” on the South face. It proved to be a very good route and considerably more exciting than the others. Standing on top of a rocking flake in a very exposed position is exciting. Gneiss tends to be slabby and occasionally a natural belay is not to be found, even on comparatively easy climbs, and it is as well to be prepared for this.

The heat wave ended. On Wednesday the mist was down and the rain fell steadily. Shapeless unidentifiable figures in plastic raincoats and oilskins moved back and forth. One of the Creag Dubh was however identifiable by his monkish garb of faded red ankle length cagoule. Seen alone, crossing the causeway in the mist, he looked supernatural. Spenceley and Hand-ley disappeared and returned soaked; they claimed to have climbed Slioch.

On another wet day Dossor and Spenceley went off, conning Spray into accompanying them. Apparently the object of this excursion was to collect a stone for Dossor’s garden. This stone lay a good way up A’Mhaighdean. It was heavy. They took it in turns to carry it and hence the necessity of having Spray with them. Unusual and interesting this stone may be but it would be commonplace in a graveyard. No doubt its intrinsic beauty is seen to better advantage in Jack’s garden.

Geoff Bates kept people in a good humour on these damp days and all tents welcomed his contributions. The An Teal-lach party returned with tales of happy nights before blazing log fires in Shenavall and cold wet gales on the mountain.

Friday was a busy day. We had been warned that if a strong westerly wind arose, the boats might not be able to return for the gear and we would have to shift for ourselves. Various plans were discussed but some had their own ideas and put them into operation. Thus Spenceley, Handley, Dossor and Arthur Leese left on unscheduled sailings. The Carnmore Hilton bunch deflated their hostel and decamped on foot under enormous loads. They didn’t quite manage it all on their own as Stirling, as a means of passing the time, carried a large rucksack of tinned food for them. Pat Stonehouse also carried out some of his gear and returned to Carnmore. Everyone got soaked. Thus, should the boats fail to come for us, those now in Poolewe could help the others to move out on Saturday.

The weather did not worsen. The boats arrived, were loaded and crewed. The rest of us walked to Kernsary. After getting the cars down to Poolewe, they were loaded and everyone took their various routes homeward.

It is to be hoped that our conduct at Fionn Loch has left no blemishes and that, in some future year, we shall be permitted to return. We are very grateful for all that was done for us by Colonel Whitbread, his Factors and Mr. Anderson. The arrangements were not only a great aid to us, but also added their own mark of distinction to, for us, a meet of great distinction.

Can we go further next time?

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