On Beinn Bhan of Applecross

 

A recent trip west produced a wonderful camp, awful midges, tough boggy walking, brilliant views, spectacular rock scenery, and an early return home due to a forecast for thunderstorms.

Beinn Bhan on the Applecross peninsula is one of the most impressive Torridonian sandstone hills with its series of magnificent corries and some of the biggest and steepest cliffs yet because it doesn’t reach the magic Munro figure (by all of nineteen metres) its not very frequented, as can be seen by the lack of paths. 

I’d wanted to camp in one of the corries ever since my first visit and with a good weather forecast and a desire to roam a bit further than the Cairngorms this seemed the time. A drive across the country revealed no roadside tents and only a few campervans and I wondered just how localised the much-publicised problems actually are.

A good path, the only one of the trip, led away from the road for a few kilometres. I left it for a sketchy narrow path to Lochan Coire na Poite, situated between the towering rock faces called A’Phoit and A’Chioch. Here I wanted to camp. It is not an ideal place, however. Most of the terrain is boggy and tussocky. It took a fair bit of searching to find a fairly dry spot atop one of the many knolls around the lochan and once I stopped to pitch the tent clouds of midges rose up. As fast as possible I was inside, doors zipped shut and a mosquito coil burning. 

Heat woke me. In sunshine a closed nylon tent becomes a hothouse very quickly. I unzipped the doors and looked out. The sun had just climbed above a bank of cloud on the eastern horizon. The lochan sparkled in the early light. There were only a few midges. Quickly dressed I was soon outside, wandering round the loch, gazing at the water and the cliffs and taking photographs. Breakfast could wait.

 

By the time I set off thin clouds were slipping across the sky. The ascent up steep, boggy slopes laced with little crags was tough in the heat. There was no path and the rough terrain meant maintaining a rhythm was impossible. But the views to the Torridon hills behind me were wonderful and a justification for many stops. 

 

Finally, the angle eased, and I was on the long ridge of Beinn Bhan, which stretches some six kilometres. Suddenly the walking was easy. Out across the sea the ragged silhouette of the Cuillin Ridge on the Isle of Skye came into view. I followed the rim of the corries round to the summit of Beinn Bhan, staring down into the depths and marvelling at the vast stratified cliffs. 

 

The descent was less steep than the ascent but still tough due to the rough boggy terrain and fierce heat. I found traces of a path that came and went. In the distance four figures were descending ahead of me, the only people I saw all day.

 

I had planned on a second night out and another ascent but a forecast for thunderstorms had been at the back of my mind all day. After my experiences in the Colorado Rockies a year earlier I really didn’t want to be in the mountains in a thunderstorm if it could be avoided. I certainly wasn’t going to risk a high camp. But a low, sheltered one would mean midges and a thunderstorm could still be worrying. Home, I decided. I’d had a superb camp and a superb walk. It was enough.

 

What I've Been Reading Online No. 23

Strathspey, August 8

 

A month has flown by since I last posted links to online reading I’ve enjoyed. Where has the time gone? Wherever that is I’ve now enough links for two pieces. This one covers outdoor activities. Unsurprisingly there have been many articles on the recent and ongoing spate of damaging camping and I’ve grouped these together.

 

HILLWALKING, TREKKING, ROCK CLIMBING, ACCESS

Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc backwards

Jonathan Williams of Cicerone describes walking the Tour du Mont Blanc clockwise.

Battle of Glen Tilt was just the start of fight for access rights as ScotWays marks 175th anniversary

John Davidson tells the story of the Scottish Rights of Way and Access Society (ScotWays) and looks at why it’s still needed.

A Homecoming

Lucy Wallace has an emotional post-lockdown return to the hills of Arran.

Out on a limb

Thought-provoking stream of consciousness piece from rock climber Nick Bullock.

Climbing the Corbetts – Harder than the Munros?

Dan Bailey talks to three  walkers who’ve completed the Corbetts.

Quarandreaming the Cairngorms

David Lintern takes a first post-lockdown overnight trip to his local hills, the Cairngorms.

Hidden Helvellyn

David Lintern visits Helvellyn with John Muir Trust land manager Pete Barron.

The Big Six

An entertaining run round the six highest Cairngorm hills with Ally Beavan. Whoever would have thought Star Trek’s Captain Kirk could be linked with Ben Avon?

Trio complete tough Mullardoch Munro round – and raise funds for MRT

Fiona Outdoors talks to three hillwalkers about their walk over the 12 Munros around Loch Mullardoch in aid of the Lomond Mountain Rescue Team.

Why I Still Carry an External-Frame Pack

External-frame packs still have a place says M.John Fayhee.

The Asian hiking group blazing a trail through Scotland's peaks

Nazia Parveen joins the Boots and Beards group of Asian Glaswegians for a wet walk.

Adrian Trendall of All Things Cuillin

Fiona Outdoors interviews mountain guide Adrian Trendall, who has just written a new guide book to the Cuillin.

What is a Colby Camp? Early days of Ordnance Survey. A bit of information.

There are ruins of stone huts high on some Scottish mountains. Heavy Whalley tells us what they are.

Trail Runners Vs Hiking Boots: A 30 Year Perspective

Cam “Swami” Honan on why he prefers trail running shoes to boots. A piece after my own heart! (And I get a mention).

Wherefore What3Words

Sally Seed and Judy Whiteside of Mountain Rescue England and Wales look at navigation and the advantages and disadvantages of what2words.

Navigating the grief of a lost Pacific Crest Trail thru hike..

A moving piece by Sally Phillips on coping with having to give up a long-planned PCT thru-hike.

 

All I left behind after my first post-lockdown camp

 

POST-LOCKDOWN CAMPING & RUBBISH PROBLEMS

Lockdown Rubbish – A Crisis Or An Opportunity?

How should we encourage those new to the outdoors post-lockdown? Matt Heason has some good ideas.

Counting the cost of campfires to the countryside

Countryside ranger Ben Dolphin looks at the problems of campfires.

Free camping vs. wild camping

Mountain Guide Mike Pescod suggests some positive ways to reduce inappropriate informal camping.

Education and infrastructure key to nurturing responsible access

John Muir Trust Engagement Officer Ross Brannigan shares his thoughts on responsible access and the infrastructure needed.

Wild camping: changing the name won’t change the bad behaviour

Empathy and inclusivity are needed to deal with the camping problems says Alex Roddie.

Exploring wild Scotland, or making Scots wild owing to inappropriate access? The right to roam in a summer of staycations

Malcolm Combe, the Senior Lecturer in Law at the University of Strathclyde considers the legal landscape and the current controversies.

The Great Outdoors August issue

In the August issue of The Great Outdoors I review nine three-season sleeping bags and three types of compass.

The issue is about holidays in the UK but the highlight is Alex Roddie's feature on his Haute Route Pyrenees walk and how it changed him.

Other main features are James Forrest on the Glencoe hills and Suzanna Cruickshank on wild swimming in the Lake District.

James Forrest appears again in the TGO Book Club where readers discuss his book Mountain Man. 

In shorter pieces Roger Smith calls for more tree planting, Ramblers Scotland president Lucy Wallace is optimistic about all the new people discovering the outdoors post-lockdown, TGO Challenge co-ordinators Sue Oxley and Ali Ogden enjoy climbing their local Munro after lockdown restrictions eased, and Jim Perrin praises Blencathra.

Book Review: Our Place: Can We Save Britain's Wildlife Before It Is Too Late? by Mark Cocker

My much-thumbed copy, complete with coffee stains

Wildlife and conservation organisations have huge memberships. We are often described as a nation of animal lovers. Yet the natural world is in serious decline. Mark Cocker asks why this is and what can be done about in this important book.

Much of the book tells the story of organisations like the RSPB and the Wildlife Trusts, campaigns successful and unsuccessful (especially Cow Green Reservoir and the Flow Country), plus the government bureaucracies set up to look after 'nature'. Small local successes exist but overall the story is of big failures. Too many committes, too much rivalry, too many acronyms, too many designations. And a big split, the 'Great Divide', between landscape conservation and nature protection, as if these were unconnected. But these organisations, however big, were unable to combat the devastation of the environment "largely through the instrument of farming and forestry policies".

The book isn't just a requiem for what is lost however. Mark Cocker looks at the core of the problems and the radical change in attitudes needed for change. "Ecological thinking entails that we see ourselves within nature, and that we understand everything we do has ecological consequences. We can, in truth, never escape nature." (Italics are the author's).

The tangle of designations, says Cocker, "have constructed a barrier to the general public's understanding of nature and of environmental activity". He calls for just one name. The same, he argues, applie to organisations. "The most important single measure to improve all environmental effort would be to forge genuine systemic unity among all parts" - an "NEU - National Environmentalists' Union".

This is a thought-provoking book packed with facts and ideas and well worth reading by anyone concerned with the future of nature in Britain, our future in fact.

Along the Yukon River & through the Klondike Goldfields. Stage 4 of my Yukon walk, July 13 - August 3, 1990

Beyond the little settlement of Carmacks (see my last Yukon post) I would not cross a road or pass through a village or town for twenty-two days. Yet during this long remote section of the walk I met more people than on any other. This was because for half the time I followed the Yukon River, down which a procession of canoes and small boats drifted and paddled, pulling into the bank to camp, and for much of the second half I was in the Klondike goldfields where there are still miners working.

I was still alone most of the time though, only camping with others on a few nights. The river is the way to travel here. I met no-one else on foot. I could see why. The land is forested and gently rolling. I could walk all day and see little change. The walking was tough at times too. There were paths and old tracks in places but sometimes I was bushwhacking through dense spruce forest.

This forest was beautiful in a soft, subtle way though, and there was much wildlife. That included bears. I never saw one but I saw plenty of signs such as droppings and tracks. I made sure to cook and eat well away from my tent and to hang my food in the trees, though few of these had branches long enough to stop a determined bear. Usually I set my kitchen up by the river, my bedroom back in the woods.

The first half of the walk was hot, very hot, with temperatures in the 30s Celsius every day. Even in the shade of the trees I sweated continuously. At dawn and dusk there were mosquitoes. Drifting down the river did seem appealing.

After a week I arrived at the abandoned settlement of Fort Selkirk, which was being restored as a historic site. Here was where I was meeting the Youcon Kat tour boat, which was bringing my supplies from Whitehorse. I was two days early however so had time to relax, watch the river, and talk to people. I laid out my gear and photographed it. An awful lot, I thought. It was.

My pack was about to get much heavier though. The Youcon Kat arrived. I unloaded my food box. I had packed enough food for fifteen days. I knew I'd need it but I wasn't looking forward to carrying it all.

At Fort Selkirk I left the Yukon River, having been advised that following it would be difficult. The alternative route wasn't easy at first though, with more dense forest to negotiate and several rivers to cross. After six days the first signs of the Klondike began to appear. Ruined cabins in the trees. Old roads. Then blasted terrain. Working gold mines. The romance of the 1890s exists in the tourist area around Dawson City. Beyond it is the reality of an environmentally highly damaging process, the land stripped bare, great gouges hacked out of the earth.

I was relieved to reach Dawson. I had a bad cold, which didn't help my feelings in the goldfields. I was tired too. From here I would be back in the mountains. But first I needed a rest.

I wrote a book about the walk. It’s long out of print but I expect there are second-hand copies around.

Photographic Note: I carried two SLRs, the Nikon F801 and FM2, plus Nikkor 35-70, Nikkor 24mm,and Sigma 70-210 lenses, plus a Cullman tripod. Films were Fujichrome 50 and 100 slide ones. The total weight with padded cases was 4kg. To digitise the slides I photographed them on a lightbox with my Sony a6000 with a Sony E 30mm macro lens.

What's in name? Wild camping, backpacking, backcountry camping, bivouacking ......

Walk into the wilds with your camping gear on your back, pitch your tent, sleep, pack your tent, move on. What are you doing? Backpacking, wild camping, or something else? The name shouldn’t really matter, it’s the activity that counts. The name is just a convenient label, shorthand to describe what you do quickly so others understand. The name becomes a symbol of identity too. It joins you to a tribe. With others using this name you can make assumptions, share experiences, use words that may mean nothing to those outside the group. 

In the last few decades wild camping has become a common description to describe those of us who camp in the hills, in wild places, having carried everything in on our backs. Much more recently wild camping has been used by the mass media to describe roadside camping outwith campsites, sometime not even in tents but in campervans. In particular it’s used to describe those who leave litter including discarded tents and other gear, light fires, hack branches off trees and generally cause mess and damage.

Unsurprisingly there have been strong objections to this recent use of wild camping. People don’t want their style of wild camping with its philosophy of leave no trace sullied by association with campers who leave a mess. People are concerned too that if wild camping gets a bad reputation in general then there may be restrictions placed upon it that will affect everyone. 

To address these concerns there have been suggestions for a name change for wild camping or a new name for those causing problems. For wild camping ‘bivouacking’, ‘lightweight camping’ and ‘leave no trace camping’ have been suggested. I don’t think these will catch on. In the UK the first usually means sleeping out without a tent (in some countries it does include using a tent, as long as it’s not tall enough to stand up in). The other two are not, I think, specific enough. Wild camping is, I suspect, here to stay. The mass media is slow to change. As to changing the name for the campers who leave a mess all the ones I’ve seen are pejorative – ‘dirty campers’ and similar. I don’t think this would be helpful. There are likely to be many of these campers who simply don’t know what they should be doing. Education and help can achieve changes in behaviour. Insults are unlikely to do this.

 

For myself, I’d be quite happy to go back to backpacking to describe the activity. When I started out in the early 1970s there wasn’t a word in the UK for it. I went fellwalking and camping. Then the word backpacking was imported from the USA, where it was used to distinguish those who carried all their gear on their backs from those who used pack animals. The first books I bought on the subject all had backpacking or backpacker in the title. The Backpacker’s Club was formed and there were backpacking columns in camping magazines (there were no walking magazines). I had a name and a tribe. That continued through the 1980s and early 90s. My first three books all had backpacking or backpacker in their titles.

Then the mass media began to use the word to mean “a form of low-cost, independent travel, often staying in inexpensive lodgings and carrying all necessary possessions in a backpack” (Wikipedia definition) and I had to get used to being misunderstood when I used the word outside outdoor circles, except in the USA where it still meant the same. Around the same time ‘wild camping’ came into being, to describe what backpacking used to mean. And now ‘wild camping’ is changing meaning too. Damned awkward thing language. It just won’t stay still. 

 

Backpacking in its original meaning has been subdivided by proponents into traditional, lightweight, and ultralight backpacking. All these refer to the weight of equipment carried. The activity remains the same. I wrote about these labels here. Then there is thru-hiking, which means backpacking a multi-day route, usually a trail, to distinguish it from weekend backpacking. It’s also a relatively new description and didn’t exist when I began hiking long-distances. I was a thru-hiker before the term existed!

Possible alternatives to wild camping could be borrowed from North America just as backpacking was. Frontcountry camping and backcountry camping make sense. Backcountry has been taken up by ski tourers here to distinguish themselves from resort skiers. Perhaps wild camping could become backcountry camping and roadside camping frontcountry camping. Perhaps.

 

Whatever the name good practice, which means minimum impact camping, is essential and I think all of us who go out and camp in wild places should not only do this but should show we do it, both to set an example and to let those who might want to restrict our activity know that the majority of us are responsible.