A Fourth Ardnamurchan Holiday

From Marc Gerard

Eagles Of The Caldera.

Our fourth and most recent visit to Ardnamurchan in the first week of October 2012 took us onto the Ardnamurchan Estate and a stay at one of their properties at Fascadale. The preceding week of this year’s fortnight Highland holiday had been spent at a cottage in Saasaig right on the shores of the Sound of Sleat on Skye. Using the ferry brought us across to Mallaig from whence the mid-holiday changeover journey took us to Lochailort, through Moidart and down to Salen. All that was then left was the 200 mile drive through the peninsula – this distance surely being closer to the mark than those written on the road signs.

Car Of The Year: If Ardnamurchan ran such a competition I’m fairly confident that “low”, “wide”, and “firm suspension” would be traits likely to get a car immediately dismissed – my car is quite low, quite wide, and has firm-ish suspension. The drive as far as Laga was fairly familiar thanks to the previous years’ visits, but thereafter it was essentially uncharted territory as I could not accurately recall our 2009 trip to Ardnamurchan lighthouse. Having one’s view forward alternately filled with bonnet tip, A-pillar, roof edge or just sky tends to make progress rather hesitant, as does avoiding the worst potholes and potentially bottomless puddles (notwithstanding the resurfacing work mentioned earlier in the year within the Diary). Anyway, all this was forgotten after the turn off the B8007 whereupon a stunning view out to Eigg, Rum and distant Skye opened up before us.

Fascadale Lodge was rather more spartan than the previous week’s place, but we rapidly tuned in to the fact that this week was going to be much more about the surroundings than the house. Many and varied walking opportunities were plainly available direct from the doorstep.

Muck, Eigg, Rum and distant Canna could all be seen from the house. Those islands have always had an almost mystical appeal to me, this being partly due to their shapes and outlines, and partly due to their ability to completely disappear. The coastline stretching east towards Moidart and distant Knoydart framed the right hand side of the view, with the Isle of Skye providing a backdrop to the north. Stunning.

The first proper walk of the week took us back up the lane and down to Achateny’s pale sand beach. Even though it was a rather dreich day, we decided to carry on to what the O.S. map was showing as another sandy beach under Kilmory. We were able to more or less track all along the water’s edge, but overnight rains had made Achateny Water a bit lively so we had to divert up the bank, cross at the nearest road bridge and return down the opposite bank before continuing on across an area of salt marsh. We assumed sheep were responsible for the neatly manicured grass which, thankfully, made the myriad of leg-sized holes and channels easy to spot. The Kilmory beach has an interesting rock pillar standing sentinel at its western access point and beyond, sure enough, thanks to a receding tide, a broad expanse of sand dotted with rocks. It was interesting to note that this beach’s sand was much darker than that barely half a mile away at Achateny. Sadly, it was still not the sort of day to stay and relax so after a quick wander about we headed back – a list of things to do next year had just been started.

Significantly, despite my brother again declaring a list of twinges and injuries long enough to keep a Premiership rugby team’s medic busy for weeks, there were to be no terrain-prompted outbursts of profanities on this, or indeed any other walk this year.

The very next day we decided to head in the opposite direction, drop down to Fascadale Bay, cross the burn, and head off on an indistinct path which apparently leads to Glendrian and beyond. Whilst the O.S. map showed a footbridge over Allt Fascadale, no bridge was to be found so the burn was crossed using the larger rocks in its bed. Then we were hit. Lochan Dubh was our first check point, but before we could reach it we were caught in a fairly vicious hailstorm. Hoods up, rucksacks to the wind, and still it hurt. A lot of time was lost cowering against the storm and trying to find a bit of shelter next to raised ground. As the storm eased somewhat we soldiered on, but since getting the map out would have instantaneously reduced it to papier mâché navigation was done from the memory of the pre-walk map check. The weather brightened almost as swiftly as it had closed in, at which point we could see that we had gone about 100 yards wide and 200 yards beyond the lochan. With time lost and the possibility of another storm we decided not to go any further. Instead, we headed up to the cairn which we could see on Meall Buidhe Mòr. This was a good call as our arrival at the cairn and a place to sit was greeted by the sun coming out. Gradually the views opened up all around. Behind us the jet black rocky outcrops of the caldera ridge stretched away and in front of us the islands came out of the gloom – a good result.

Unfortunately, by the time of our walk back to the house, the earlier storm had turned Allt Fascadale into a raging torrent and our attempts to find a suitable crossing point led to much pacing up and down and general faffing about. Eventually, with the tide at its lowest, we decided to just go for it and stride across – the usual step of removing boots and socks to make such a crossing was disregarded as the house was so close. Squelch, squelch was the sound of the short stroll back.

Following more overnight rain, crossing the burn the next day was to be avoided, but this did not matter – the sky was turning blue so we should climb. Straight out the house, up the slopes behind and on to Cathair Mhic Dhiarmaid, our route avoided all the deer fences. A grassy ramp took us up the top’s western side and then our jaws dropped. Those “mystical” islands and the views to the east were clearly laid out before us, and the air resounded with the roaring of stags.

We spent a long time here just staring and listening and it may have been because of this that my suggestion to crack on and get to the cairn on Beinn an Leathaid received a fairly obvious “you blithering idiot” look from my brother. From here the opposite side of the glen looked like an interesting walk, all the way from Meall an Fhìr-eoin up to the trig point on Meall nan Con – maybe next year.

The walk back to the house gave us one of those special moments which linger long in the memory. With the hills now rising on both sides of us something caught our eyes – a pair of eagles were heading our way. Unbelievably, they paused to circle above us and stayed long enough and got low enough for me to grab the camera and capture the moment, even if only in silhouette against the sky. From the colouring of the heads and necks, which the eye could see but the camera did not, I remain convinced they were golden eagles rather than sea eagles, although I am well aware of the identification problems which immature birds can pose. Either way, it was a real punctuation mark on the day. Interestingly, the previous morning had seen a couple of sea eagles cruise past the house, their white tails catching the light and making identification easy on that occasion.

The week’s weather was now firmly fine and settled, albeit with night-time rains – time for a beach. We took the 110 mile (at least) drive round to a parking area above Portuairk, strolled down the hill and took the coastal path to Sanna. The walk was barely a mile long, but was no less enjoyable because of it. A couple of narrow wooded glens with small burns feeding into tiny inlets provided a huge contrast to the previous day’s hill walk. Soon, the rise above Sanna was crested.

Not sure how long we spent on the beach busy doing nothing, but it was great. Bright sand, receding turquoise water, sunshine, few people – superb. We could do this again – another thing for next year.

All too soon the last full day of our stay dawned and it was another corker with bright sunshine and barely a breeze. With the long journey home to happen the next day, we kept our outing simple. Recalling the views from the cairn on Meall Buidhe Mòr we decided to head back up there. A couple of days of dry weather meant Allt Fascadale was easily forded and, after the short climb, we contoured around keeping Fascadale Bay in sight. Then came another memorable incident. We had stopped to watch a sparrow hawk wreaking havoc amongst the many small birds possibly making the most of the calm conditions, when one of these small birds seemed to get latched onto and a pursuit began – the speed and manoeuvrability of the hawk was simply staggering. Suddenly, the small bird headed directly towards us and flew straight into my brother. With the hawk disengaged, the little bird fluttered off and sought cover in the grassy tussocks. Did it maybe deliberately come to us knowing the hawk would not follow?

Arrival at the cairn presented quite a sight. The sea was unbelievably calm and it seemed as if you could reach out and touch the islands. The distant Outer Hebrides strung out along the horizon were plain to see.

The hills of the caldera ridge behind us looked far more benign than they had the last time we were up here. Looking down on Fascadale one could clearly see the ice pans which I recall the Diary had identified as being related to the ice-house in the bay and its use as salmon store, and the view up Allt Fascadale enabled us to trace the route of our earlier walk.

It was easily warm enough to linger, so we did. Our tick-list for wildlife spotted over the fortnight was extensive with this week providing hawks, eagles, red deer, and any number of sea and small birds; and the previous week most memorably giving us otters and seals viewed from the cottage’s picture window. What we lacked, we decided, was a large sea mammal. Flat water, high vantage point, this was surely our opportunity. Alas, no – there’s yet another thing for next year. After a pleasant hour or so of just sitting and staring we dutifully placed some fallen stones back onto the cairn and headed back.

Autumn 2012’s Highland holiday was coming to a close, the fridge was nearly empty, all the beer had been drunk and we were down to half a bottle of Talisker. In many ways it had been one of the most memorable fortnight’s stays in Scotland. Was it that the combination of Skye and Ardnamurchan was providing the ideal mix?

The answer to that question was illustrated on the return home by our immediate booking of next year’s two weeks in the same locations.

To those who live on Ardnamurchan - even with the undoubted community-related problems and concerns which come with it - you continue to have my unending envy.  It really is time the National Lottery relented, finally recognised our plight, and gave us a number match – in terms of what any winnings might be spent on, the decision is essentially already made. Hope springs eternal, even if in this instance its reliance on pure luck is somewhat pitiful.

So that brings my quartet of Ardnamurchan holiday tales up to date, and the days until the next visit are being marked off. Here’s to late September 2013.