Eye for Adventure - The Black Cullin

'I saw this picture the other day of the Cullin Ridge.'
'Oh Yeah'
'What do you reckon?'
'Have you got a map?'
'No.'
'Let's do it!'

And the adventure was born, like so many before, in a pub, after a fourth or fifth beer. The bell for last orders came and went. And two young gentlemen hatch another plan. Two adventurers with a thirst for excitement. Most of the time, in these midnight drunken hours, the best ideas come to the fore, like an underground spring, jetting to the surface. The Cullin ridge. Calling to me in a picture, a picture I can't remember seeing. The Isle of Skye looming, beckoning me, wanting me to spend this last week in October, basking on it's violent spine. Scotland and it's Highlands and moors and harsh weather, cold and rain and cloud. My heart beats again. The adventure, like the last before it, is born.

------- BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP ---------

Tuesday morning. The alarm went off and I woke up with this new chronic back pain, too many nights, sleeping in sheds, barns, boathouses, floors and cars. This morning I woke up in Mike's van, the birds chirping outside, the cool air coming through the cab window, was it morning already? If we wanted to get to Skye we needed to be on the road - it was 8am, we were hungover and had 9 hours of driving ahead of us.

I'd seen the Cullin in a picture not so long ago but I couldn't quite put my finger on when or where it was. But for some reason we were heading up the M6, the van loaded with gear, fixed now after the epic in the Alps. Tea bags, powdered milk, eggs, bacon, tinned sausages, beans, the whole lot. We were off, Mike at the wheel, coughing, cracking his neck, 88mph, Zepllin blasting. I wind the window down, stick my head out of the window and scream at the top of my lungs - 'freedom, you'll never take me!!'

The air is fresh and the sun is shinning. We blast through Carlise, Glasgow, Glenn Coe, Fort William, Loch Lochy and Kyle Lochalsh. The mountains are huge, the roads are empty, and the wild all around as far as the eye can see. By the time we get to Skye's Glenn Brittle beach it is 6pm and the night is drawing in. A look at the Cullin and all looks clear, with the stars about and little cloud we bed down with a we dram of whiskey.


There was a little rain and wind in the night but nothing that kept me awake. The whiskey was enough to knock me out. The sky was grey but clear and the sausage and eggs were cooking. Mike hints that I may be the Don Williams element in our dynamic duo, but I think I do my bit in the kitchen - some times! By 8.30am we were on the trail. Walking down to the beach and through the Glen Brittle camp site making our way to the Cullin. The plan was to summit Sgurr nan Eag via Loch Coir a' Ghrunnda at the west end, and walk along the ridge to bag Sgurr Dubh Mor and Sgurr Alasdair, before bumbling back to the van before dark. The delights of whiskey and rice!



It was a long walk in before we got close to our summit face, the Soay Sound to our left, the Isle of Rum and Mull out on the horizon shrouded in cloud. I could see a few golden beaches, which made me want to replace drizzle and lochs for sun and sea. We marched on and finally reached the corner of Coir a' Ghrunnda. The massive rock face on our left reached up and into the cloud. The Cullin suddenly seemed a lot bigger, slightly more intimidating than I'd imagined. Continuing up hill we got our first sight of the awe inspiring space of the lower basin of Sgurr Dubh an Da Bheinn. The river flowed thinly but fast down the black rock, huge bulbous slabs, what must have been big bubbles of lava, millions of years ago. And when you're in a space as huge as this you feel like you are steeping back in time. A needle in a haystack.



After stopping for a quick snack and a drink we weaved our way through the boulder garden and scrambled up and down the crags and cliffs to the Loch. Some of the routes took a bit more time as we weaseled or way through cracks, waterfalls and holes in the rock. Some of the scrambles got a bit tricky and sometimes I was wondering what the hell I was doing on them without a rope but somehow we got to the Loch unscathed.

The cloud at first seemed to be lifting. The wind picked up for a brief spell and blew some of the thick mist away. I was stunned at the sight all around me. Spires and spikes, steep scree, boulders thrown and placed around, the size of houses. Peaks above like sharks teeth, standing alone, thirty to forty feet high, threatening danger above -BEWARE. I wondered what the Inaccessible Pinnacle would look like. A huge gulp in my throat and we took a bearing on the old compass to the summit. As we made our way up the scree and across more huge boulders the cloud got thicker and we could barely see where we were going. 'Just keep going up' said Mike. Good idea! I heard a bird, at least something is alive among the rock.


Crags appeared near the summit, more scrambles, squeezing and stretching. I felt like I'd done six rounds of a boxing match and a half marathon once we reached the ridge. The mist by now was so thick I couldn't see 20 feet in front of me. To one side jagged rocks and drops, the other a slab sliding down into oblivion, don't slip now I thought or it could be nighty night without a glass of whiskey in sight. Finally we'd reached the peak of Sgurr nan Eag; 924 metres straight up without a twist. The view was white as day, the mist was getting thicker, what a shame.

We marched on back along the ride and suddenly like a ghost ship cutting slowly though the fog; a huge peak of rock, jet out high above the ridge and stopped us in our tracks. There was something incredibly ghostly about it and the foggy indelible mist made us feel very small and alone. We stopped and watched this piece of mystical rock like something magical was going to happen. We were the only ones up here on the ridge.


I just sat back for a while and took in the spooky atmosphere. But we needed to move and circled around the huge mass of free standing rock. But light was not improving, it was getting darker and harder to figure out where we were. By now it was almost 2pm and considering the time of the walk in; our plans needed modifying. We decided to slack off Sgurr Alasdair and get back down to the Loch but that was easier to say than do. There were huge drops on all sides, it took us almost thirty minutes or so to figure out a route but once we did we scrambled and climbed down the huge 200 metre cliff pretty quickly. And we found the Loch again. The cloud was definitely lower and it took us another hour to get back down to the lower basin and over the boulder field.

An eye opener indeed in the potential of Skye and the Cullin. I now know why this mountain range is considered to be on a par with the ridges and mountains you get out in the Alps. I can imagine being up there on a winters day with an axe and crampons - I just hope when I come again it's bright blue sky!! On the walk back we were accompanied by 3 sets of deer, which looked stunning and healthy.

Mike did his bit as a former president of the Falmouth Sea Swimming club, stripped down to his pants and went into the Sound for a swim. He didn't realise that there was a 200 metre walk until the depth of the water dropped below his ankles - thank god he had pants on! A fire on the beach rounded the day off nicely and warmed us up, the Glenfiddich did the rest. What a day on the Black Cullin. Breakfast at the Taliska Distillery to look forward to!



Peace,

Dan