On Wednesday night I was frantically sifting through a dozen different weather forecasting sites trying to find a forecast I liked the look of for the the next day ;-) Yeah I know it's a tragic and delusional thing to do but it looked as though Thursday was going to be half-decent in Sutherland and I was desperate to confirm it.
There were gales and rain forecast for practically all of Scotland.....except for Sutherland, it seemed. The BBC forecast showed the tightly packed isobars sweeping across the Central Belt through Glasgow and Edinburgh, but seeing as the low pressure system responsible for those winds was practically on top of the northwest coast of Scotland, it meant that winds here were light.
Next morning dawned cloudy but I headed along the road to Altnaharra, eager for my first glimpse of Ben Klibreck, because if it was clear now it would probably be clear all day.
And there it was! A snowy peak well clear of the cloud above, and what's more the sun was coming out!
I was ecstatic. Parking the car I headed straight up the broad ridge line and gained height quickly. The summit reared up ahead in the distance:
Two large cairns sat atop Cnoc Sgriadain, a lower hill on the way to the summit:
As I gained height the vast open spaces of northwest Scotland opened up in every direction, but especially out to the west. Views reached out across a rusty brown landscape far towards Loch Shin and on to the magnificent Ben More Assynt in the distance:
Farther up the hill, two bright white blotches against the snow caught my eye. Ptarmigan in their winter plumage, wisely sticking to the few remaining snow patches:
Ben Loyal in the distance:
There were a few (mercifully frozen) peat hags to negotiate on the way up:
They were more a nuisance than an annoyance but once up on the ridge line, Ben Klibreck loomed into view and looked even more enticing in the sunshine. I still couldn't quite believe it was clear! Even farther north I could see Ben Hope, capped with snow:
From this distance Ben Klibreck's conical summit was clearly white but the big question was whether it was snow or ice. Chances are it wasn't snow, given the strength of the winds over the previous three days.....but I continued to hope.
Not because I don't like ice, but more because I don't like walking on crampons very much. If it's hard, crusty snow then it's not so bad but when it's just plain old ice, smooth and glassy then I never feel completely comfortable balancing on those metal teeth.
Worse still is when the ice is bumpy and uneven. You're never quite sure which way your ankles are going to bend on terrain like that.
Even when I was standing at the foot of the final haul I couldn't tell either way, but I reasoned it was probably ice:
I shouldn't have been surprised at what I found. After extreme cold and heavy snow followed by a thaw, a refreeze, three days of 100mph winds scouring every last grain of snow off the hill, freezing rain and then a hard frost.......the top half of the mountain was easily the iciest conditions I have ever seen on a Scottish hill.
Weird bubbly ice covered absolutely every surface:
No hard glassy ice here, it was undulating and bumpy and scoured, and was pasted like a glaze on absolutely everything. Outcrops of rock exposed to the wind had acquired a foot or more of ice, which grew outwards in a jumbled fashion:
Crampons and ice axe were absolute necessities!
Upon attaining the summit there was the startling image of the summit trig point, which had more than doubled in size:
Northwards, Ben Loyal's outline revealed how close the north coast was:
I stared southeastwards beyond the edge of Ben Klibreck's bulk and felt a wee bit depressed at the thought of the windfarm planned for the high hills in the middle-left of this photo close to the loch you can see:
As far as you could see in every direction there was barely a trace of human existence other than the conifer plantations. To approve a 27-turbine windfarm, each 121m high in one of the last remaining wild areas of Scotland seemed reckless and short-sighted.
I couldn't help but feel the day was ending on a downer, but I kind of knew that would be the case. The fact that the hills east of here are about to be industrialised and Ben Klibreck is set to lose its status as a remote hill set amidst a remote and empty landscape, played a large part in why I chose to come to Sutherland this week. I wanted to get up this hill and see it before the damage is done.
Fittingly perhaps, the sun then disappeared and everything felt a bit colder and gloomier.
Heading down was a simple task of retracing my steps back over the same hills. I very rarely do step-retracing, preferring to do circular walks, but given the bogginess of the surrounding countryside I thought I'd stick to the high ground which I knew wouldn't be too bad:
Looking back up at where I'd been, the summit no longer in the sunshine. Perfect timing:
Two hours later I was back at the car. I had a beautiful drive home, stopping every ten minutes or so to stand and marvel at the scenery I passed, like here at the oddly named 'Palm Loch' where Ben Griam Mor peacefully reflected off the water:
And to marvel at the stunning light that fleetingly burned through a gap in the cloud just as the sun was setting over Loch Rosail. A fitting sight to end the day, as that's Ben Klibreck brooding in the distance :)
Last but not least the requisite deer were grazing alongside Loch Badanloch:
They're always there. But this is the first time I've seen one with a saltire on its nose :0)
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