coruisk : The Birds In The Meadow

I’ll be honest with you… I wasn’t the one doing the navigating, so I’m not going to try and name all of the many lochs, rivers, mountains and glens we crossed – I would only get it wrong and make a fool of myself. What I do know is that for a relatively short hike without any challenging bits I’ve rarely come across a route so beautiful. Unfortunately, shortly after disembarking from the Bella Jane, I managed to fall flat on my face doing nothing more challenging than putting one foot in front of the other. Two things you should know about me and hiking – I am clumsy, and I am scared of heights. I know I’ll probably never manage the more glamorous ridge walks like Crib Goch or Striding Edge, but I don’t do too badly considering. Still, there I was, at sea level, sprawled flat on my face on a slab of “non-slip and beloved of mountaineers” gabbro rock. Apart from gaining some cracking day-glo bruises all I really hurt was my dignity (I fell so hard that the resounding comedy “thwack” turned heads quite a long way up the trail) but it certainly slowed me down. Enough of my foolishness; I know what you are here for – pictures! And pictures you shall have.

We climbed the slopes at the foot of Sgùrr na Stri, and as we looked back a chain of Lochs spread out below us, starting with the Sea Loch Scavaig in the distance, and followed by Loch Coruisk.

A series of shallow climbs and descents saw the lochs disappearing then reappearing again, each time more distant, cradled in the widening, ferocious landscape.

On one such descent, a greenshank began calling querulously. The further down the trail we got the more the bird whistled, wheeled and fussed. Its nest must have been close by – and as another bird joined in the commotion it is possible that there was more than one nest to be protected. The lonelieness of the place intensified – a path with birds nesting along it cannot be commonly used.

At the top of a wide, rounded ridge we stopped to take in the view and eat. This was the highest point on our walk, and although we were maybe only a thousand feet up or so, it felt like the top of the world as we gazed across at the crests of the brooding red hills, sailing among low cotton wool cloud.

From here was a slow, gentle descent back into Glen Sligachan from its south side. We didn’t make for the cloud obliterated top of Sgùrr na Stri, and it’s a good thing we didn’t try; I was so stiff from my bruises we wouldn’t have made it back before the midges descended. It’s a walk to be savoured another day.