11 - L Baghasdail to L Aineort via Stulabhal

Thursday 11th May – Loch Baghasdail to Loch Aineort via Stulabhal - 15.6 km, 506 m ascent
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I was up at 6 am, showered, camera battery charged, breakfasted with lunch prepared at the same time, washed-up, packed up and parked by the corner of a small residential road to Lasgair, north of Loch Baghasdail town. Setting off at 9:15 am (NNE from 786203) with skylarks singing, the nice green track soon became soggy, sunbeams to my right moved to meet me, but the steamy mist from my breath told me it was still cool. Crossing the bridge (fishing by permit only) I checked my compass direction – 72 degrees is my route and it conveniently points directly at the pointed top of Triuirebheinn. There followed a myriad tangle of pathways – man, beast and quad-bike – I chose according to the height of the ground, the breadth of the path, but most of all by the direction of the repeated choices. A straight line of five geese sped across from my right, a stone-chat appeared close by me but did not call and a high and sweet bird-song accompanied my walk. I recognised a wren joining in.

Nearing a concrete construction, probably for water, the quad-bike tracks turned sharply left.  It dawned on me that this could take me through higher, better drained ground, lead around the southern edge of Loch Stulabhal and on towards Bealach a’ Chaolais – the dip between hills that would take me onto the ridge of Stulabhal.  I considered a more direct route, but the prospect of firmer, dryer footing (or less soggy foot-and-ankle-swallowing ground) persuaded me to stick with the quad-bike trail.  The track descended right down to the next stream, and where it crossed it, a large pallet served as a simple wood slat bridge.  To my surprise the banks were full of primroses, celandines and indications of what may later be raspberries and yellow flag irises.  The stone-chats were now making their stone-tapping calls and their songs from all sides blended with the babbling of the stream.  Finding the trail running alongside a whitish water pipe, I guessed that the pipe led down from the loch that I was heading for, so when the trail deviated left, I stayed with the pipe and found a feint trodden path curling gradually right, then on a rise, without sign of any trail joining it, somehow, miraculously, transformed back into a quad trail again; the pipe dipped down to the loch, the trail curved right, left and upwards in the direction of Stulabhal.  

Loch Stulabhal with Stulabhal behind

Reaching the first fold of Loch Stulabhal at 10:30 am, the wind reduced and I felt warmer.  Removing cag and down jacket, rolling and stuffing my down jacket into my pack, I then put my cag back on as wind protection.  Looking back, Dalabrog lay on a bearing of 260 degrees, but around me, I was otherwise surrounded by the sight of unpopulated hills through 330 degrees.  There was a track to take me around Loch Stulabhal, passing three inviting beaches of pale golden straw-coloured sand.  Somewhere around the last hump before the last beach the main path must have taken a sneaky turn upwards.  My path became awkward.  I gradually found I was having to push through tall heather, and twist between standing rocks.  A while later and the main path returned down to meet me and then led me upwards. My cag came off as I entered this most sheltered end of the loch and anticipated that a longer climb was imminent.  Over the last loch-side hump (807227), descending on 80 degrees, a track wound down to meet the stream crossing from the right. At 11am, seeing the track making repeated ups and downs above the stream, I chose to follow the leaning grass sides of the stream, delightfully decked with primroses, celandines and daisies.  A wren called and stood a moment on a tuft of heather with its beak sprouting tufts of nesting material. 

I very soon arrived at a point where a track rose up from the edge of this valley.  I might have continued on a gentler rise to Loch nan Arm and then north west up to Bealach a Chaolais – the name Bealach suggesting its use as a pass through the hills, but I was looking for a route up the largest near hill.  Rising on a 70 to 90-degree bearing for a short distance, I was aiming for a way onto a bit of a ridge to follow a 340-degree bearing to the summit.  

On the ridge rising to the top of Stulabhal - panorama S to W over L. Stulabhal

I noticed small blue flowers with white centres hanging their heads with disappointment – I kept on meeting them, but never greeted them by name.  My good intentions to look them up yielded more disappointment - failing to find them in my ‘Complete Wild Flower Guide’.  I did repeatedly encounter the sundew rotundifolia bedded in the sphagnum - insectivorous plants, awaiting the population explosion of midges as summer progresses, providing their sticky leaves with nutrients lacking in the waterlogged peaty soil.  Winding my way up the ridge, going around the right of a large hump, I saw that it had a steep drop on its opposite side.  This confirmed in my mind that it is better to wind my way around and up with a series of zig-zags, heading on the general bearing of the summit, and avoiding the temptation to climb onto the top of each obstacle.  

Passing the east edge of the 260-metre false summit at 809235, rounding the lochans on the slightly better drained ground on their west, I then veered north-east, to lessen the steepness and get a better view of three fishing vessels and twelve circular floating fish-farm enclosures tethered just off the eastern coast below me.  Then, finding a suitable gulley heading for the top, checking its direction matched the 300-degree bearing I estimated that I wanted, I plodded up and emerged into the full jostling power of the southerly wind - on the top, at 12:25 pm, feeling satisfied. 

On Stulabhal - panorama S to N

Looking around, the southerly airstream had brought with it an inevitable moistness, soft lighting with no distinct horizon; the land, still waiting for spring warmth to bring green shoots, surrounded me with shades of straw and mossy-brown, mottled with slate coloured lochs to the  north-west and grey-green land and light grey lochs to the south-west; grey silhouetted hills to the south – Triuirebheinn and Beinn Ruigh Choinnich in front; Easabhal, Marabhal, and Rhiconich forming a hurdle; Eriskay and the isles surrounding the north of Barra, and then finally Healabhal, on Barra, rising into the misty cloud.   To the north, Beinn Mhor stood tall, dark and foreboding, with cloud and gloom above; behind, Hecla poked the point of his sharp nose into a soft cloud. 
I took a few photos to the south-west, bracing the camera on two walking sticks, raising the ISO setting and the shutter speed to compensate for the buffeting from the wind, before diving behind a cliff-edge of peat to put on my down jacket and cag.  Standing, embracing the trig. point (gripping the concrete pedestal between my knees and the top between my elbows) I took a series of photos to form into one panoramic image, above, and admired, at its base, the close cluster of violets that flourished in such a harsh habitat.  Then I moved to the lee of the summit, placed my 'sitter' - a small, bottom-sized square of closed-cell mat - and lay my back against part of a large survival bag and stretched out in calm repose, facing Beinn Mhor with Loch Aineort at its feet, and Loch Snigiscleit spread below mine. 

Lined up northwards - my boots, Loch Snigiscliet, Loch Aineort and Beinn Mhor