Solitude of pine tree hill
Wed, Jul 3, 2019
An early start a week ago to get into the hills before the weather turned in the afternoon. Quiet, deserted roads from Skye, across to Achnasheen and over to Kinlochewe, pulling in to the nature reserve trails car park on the shore of Loch Maree as the camper vans slowly woke up, urinating grey torrents from their underside pipes onto the tarmac.
We were headed for Meall a’Ghiubhais, pine tree hill, a cracking corbett set above the 8000 year old pinewoods on the south west shores of the loch and the going on the superb path was hot, hot and getting hotter as the morning wore on. I was doing a passable impersonation of a sprinkler. Rocky going all the way to Leathad Buidhe where the views to Beinn Eighe opened out on a sparkling landscape of lochans, rock and mountains.
At the ’lunar loch’ Mrs. Stravaiger headed down while I made my way up the very steep scree slopes, threading a way from grass to rock to buttress to ridge where the wind blasted in from the south west, cool and refreshing after the broiling heat of the ascent.
A short stagger against the wind along the rocky summit ridge to the edge that plummeted straight down into the wilds and rose immediately on the other side to the steep heights of Ruadh-stac Beag and on to the Black Carls of Beinn Eighe, leading the eye into the vast wilderness to the east of the Torridonian giants. I sat for a while out of the wind, looking out over Loch Maree to the mountains of Harris and the wild interior of the Fisherfield wilderness. Memories of lone traverses and a very remote and high bivvy made me smile. The 5th century mountain poems of Hsieh Ling-yun came to mind. A precursor to John Muir in the west, this Chinese mountain poet created the concept of ‘rivers and mountains’ poetry and wilderness appreciation and his poems are well worth reading. Looking out over Loch Maree to the wilds of Fisherfield, looking back in time to earlier stravaigs on the remote summits, I contemplated
remote and secluded depths of quiet mystery,
silence boundless, distances empty
Hsieh Ling-yun
Ruminations over, re-engaging with the wind and preparing for the steep descent to the heat of the glen, I was joined on the summit cairn by the redoubtable Dr. A.H.B. Man, fresh from his ascent of the steeper elevations of this fine mountain.
“You’re at it again, Stravaiger, aren’t you?” he quipped, rummaging in his ancient rucsack for his equally ancient pipe.
“Must you?”, I replied. “Yes, a bit of poetry is good for the soul Dr. Man.”.
“I’ll second that Stravaiger. Now, who’s for a manly abseil! Damn, I’ve forgotten the hemp again. Oh well, lead on, I feel in need of a fine frothing ale”.