Led on a Merrie Danse – The Stragglers’ “Tail”

Of sundry folk by aventure yfalle

In felaweshipe and pilgrims were they alle.

G Chaucer C1390’s

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“One scoop of pink sparkly fairy dust!”

“Two scoops of pink sparkly fairy dust!”

A cloud of tiny sparkling dots billowed gently before landing on the cold hard surface of the toilet floor.  On the worktop above the baby pink contents of the plastic bottle frothed and bubbled as tiny, mica-like crystals continued to dissolve.   Measuring equipment was wiped and quickly packed away in a small polythene bag; the worktop and tiles wiped clean of telltale signs.  No one would ever know…

It is said “the clothes maketh the man”. Given the circumstances the more fair minded among you might consider this to be a totally uncharitable phrase to apply to Mr P as he cajoled his motley crew into leaving the Tolundy car park, the tiny bells on his multi-pointed hat tinkling merrily.  But let’s face it fellow pilgrims who but a troupe of clowns, jesters and comic opera stars would consider 16km and 1500m+ of ascent as a jolly day out.  So it was with a resounding “Hey, nonny, nonny” we skipped and pranced after the hero of the hour, following his lead as he capered along the forest track which would lead us eventually to the shattered red scree slopes of Carn Mor Dearg.

It was a BIG party.  MrP’s Munro Completion had attracted as diverse a bunch of Shillers as had ever climbed a Munro.  The large enthusiastic turnout was testament to Simon’s popularity within the forum…and possibly a lot to do with his promise of free food afterwards.

The provider of free food…may his little bells always tinkle!

But free food was a distant promise and promises can only take you so far on a walk of this magnitude.  I was prepared.  Jammy hot cross buns, chocolate and Jelly Babies.  I took along muesli bars for appearances sake but I had my secret weapon…the Strawberry Milkshake.  Lurking in my two plastic bottles was my magic muscle replenishing formula, designed to keep those leg muscles rolling for as long as possible.

Up the hill to the left – across the ridge (centre) – up “The Ben” (right) – then back down the slope on the right…“tckkk…simples!”

It didn’t take long before the initial concertina-like movement of the bunch became a thin ragged line extending up Carn Mor Dearg’s north spur.  Mind you, perverse is what I’d call it.  After seemingly years of constant bickering and bleating on the forum about the number of bodies on Ben Nevis, here we were endeavouring to out- populate the Pony Track on our, less well used, route to the summit.

ChrisM struggled to get to grips with his water supply as it first ran down his t-shirt, then thundered down the mountain towards an unsuspecting Molly

I had a surprise meeting with Davelaid as we wandered up the first section of open hill; surprising, because (to me) Dave is usually a small dot in the distance.  I’m not sure exactly what happened; maybe I blinked for a second; but there was no doubt about it…Dave was now a small dot in the distance.

“Nice doggy….smile for the camera!”

“Is he with you?”

The Flickr “Beginners Boulder Photography Group” thoroughly enjoyed their first meet.  I believe they’re still up there.

The North Face (or at least a bit of it) from the slopes of CMD

My short stops for “drinks and photos” (ahem) found me gradually working my way to the back of the party.  I stopped while the final group caught me up; Tessa (goth_angel), Stuart (melancton) and Anne (Anne3366)…and a surprise, slightly breathless, addition.  Lorna (weeleo) had made a last minute decision to join us but had most sportingly given the group a 40 minute start before sprinting uphill from the car park to catch us up!  This explained the pale blue dot in the distance that we had all wondered about earlier.  So intent we were on our ascent that none of us had noticed Lorna’s frantic “Wait for me!” waving.  Now we were 5.

Lorna’s (40 minutes back) view of distant Shillers “Eh…Yoo-Hoo!”

By now my bottles of baby-pink liquid were beginning to receive some strange looks.  Maybe my comment…”Oh…it’s just a little something a bodybuilder friend of mine gave me to mix into my fluid supply to keep me going” could be subject to misinterpretation.   It was a case of any advantage I could find to haul my sorry carcass over CMD, the arête and that dreaded final boulderfield to the summit of “The Ben”.  I had another swallow of diluted pink sparkly fairy dust….and prayed for a miracle.

“…right…Right…RIGHT!!!”

The final sweep up to Carn Mor Dearg was an impressive swath of red scree curving upward to end in a point at the summit.

The summit of Carn Mor Dearg – almost there!

The wind was picking up and fine drizzle swept across the rust coloured top from the west soaking the outside of my right trouser leg.  This fine upward view didn’t last long and as we neared the summit the visibility began to drop.

No sooner did we arrive…than the group in front packed up and left, disappearing into the damp cloud covering the arête.  We Stragglers munched a quick lunch on top of CMD and, as more serious rain began to drive in, set off down the red gravel path into the thickening murk.  Today there would be no impressive view of one of our hillwalking treasures.  The Carn Mor Dearg Arete, with its sweeping curve of knife edge boulders, was in hiding.

“This CMD Arete doesn’t look too bad!”

“The Stragglers descent onto the arête”

“The murk sets in”

Soon it was decision time for our little group of five.  While Lorna and I clambered onto the initial rocks of the arête proper, Anne, Tessa and Stuart dropped onto a bypass path.  It was just after 1pm.  Lorna and I didn’t realise it then, but that was the last we would see of them until after 7pm that evening!

Lorna ready for the tougher stuff

The arête was a mist shrouded step into the unknown with little to focus on other than a narrow point of rock a few feet in front.  There was a suggestion of a big drop to the right but I barely noticed it.  That said, I had a feeling that you didn’t want to make a mistake here.

…and off we go…

The narrow ridge proved to be a tougher proposition that I had anticipated.  Slick from rain and drizzle, outward sloping, lichen dotted slabs were not to be trusted with hesitant boots.  I kept hands to rock as much as possible.  Over the past four years I have completed sixty five doggy-walking Munros, but I was a complete novice on this terrain.  Lorna was faring better; she had done more scrambling than I and had greater confidence in her abilities.  Sometimes we found ourselves walking with comparative ease over the narrow top of the ridge then suddenly we had to drop down to scramble around a trickier assembly of boulders.  It was slow going.

“Our visibility wasn’t great.”

Every few minutes we stopped and peered over the south side of the arête looking for the other three on the bypass path, but no sign.  Our visibility wasn’t great.  At times we could see up to about 20m but that was the limit.  Suddenly the mist in front of us blew off and we could see forwards about a hundred metres or so…but there was no sign of the others in front either.  The bypass path must have taken them past us quicker than we thought possible.  The mist swirled back in and our visibility dropped yet again.  Where were they?

Indescribable levels of happiness…just before it all goes…aaarrgggh!

We were just over half way across and I knew I was beginning to slow, big time.  The unaccustomed clambering had been stretching the leg muscles to the limit and at the same time draining my energy supply.  Sadly pink sparkly fairy dust can only do so much for a body with so little recent hill time.  Threatening twinges on the inside of my legs just above the knee warned me of what was coming.  Pain flashed up the inside of my right leg as something inside shot into spasm, forcing me to hold onto rock to stay upright.  Bugger!  Nothing for it but to stop for a few minutes and hope it eased off.

Fortunately it was only a minor attack and after a very short break we were moving again, if a little more slowly than before.  Minutes later its counterpart in my left leg twanged in sympathy but this time it was with a bit more intent.  I was going to need a longer break this time.  Lorna was beginning to look more than a little concerned.  Her face spoke of yellow helicopters and the approaching cries of mountain rescue teams.  I was more terrified of Simon sending Will (Mountaineagle) trotting back down from Ben Nevis, slinging me over his shoulder and trotting back up again!  Oh how we all would have laughed…well some us anyway.

I was now 2 legs down.  I sat immobile on a rock staring abjectly into the mist considering our alternatives.  That didn’t take very long; we were rather low on those.

After a few minutes the sharper pain eased and I was able to take a few tentative steps.  I could feel the muscles tight and threatening but it seemed they were prepared to stay quiet and calm as long as I behaved myself and didn’t make any silly moves.  The first job was to make it off the arête.

We set off through the boulders once more but with me reduced to the pace of a geriatric snail it was pathetically slow going.  The odd mild aftershock hit nervous leg muscles, but I was ready and stopped moving before they came to anything.  Thankfully it wasn’t long before the unmistakeable shape of the Abseil Post loomed ahead as we neared the end of the arête.  We were 2 very relieved Shillers at this point.

Fed up with me bleating about my legs, Lorna checks her bag for a rope…”….hmmm….maybe he could just…”

It was only later that I recalled the efforts of a couple of my fellow bloggers who had recently, on one of their wee ambles, taken extreme measures to seek help for my wee leg problem.  I think now would be a very good time to have a read here (my legs come into it half way down).  My thanks to Alex and Bob for all their spiritual efforts. Just like the pink sparkly fairy dust every contribution had its part to play.

Lorna hauled out her map and compass to confirm where we were and to give us a line for the final haul up “The Ben”.  There was a path shown on the map and I could see the beginnings of one ahead.  Unfortunately it proved to be a very short one and soon we found ourselves clambering in amongst boulders yet again.

The final 200m of ascent was hell.  The muscle spasms from the arête had left my legs underpowered, but on the bright side there were no further twinges that required a complete halt.  Lorna, bless her, moved up in front to find the easiest way through the seemingly endless boulderfield, zig-zaging upward until she picked up the rough path.  I shuffled from stone to stone but could only manage about 5-10m before I needed to halt once again for a few seconds breather.

Some six hours after leaving the Torlundy car park the boulderfield ended and we found ourselves on the mist shrouded plateau of “The Ben”.   We knew we were south and west of the summit but by how much?  Lorna’s map made its final appearance as the last bearing was taken.

In reality we probably had as much chance of being trampled by a herd of rampaging wildebeest as missing the summit.  Numerous large indistinct shapes loomed eerily out of the mist accompanied by the crushing sound of many hooves on shattered rock. It was possible that the wildebeest hypothesis was already losing credibility.

Nothing prepares you for the sudden appearance of so many people on a mountain top…especially after the remote feeling of walking the cloud covered arete.  Around the old observatory a swarming mass of walkers had congregated…though I discovered afterwards that that had something to do with the dubious pleasures of MrP’s “Love Shack”.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen such activity on a summit.  It was surreal winding our way through various groups of strangers while trying to find a familiar face.

I think I speak for both myself and Lorna when I say there was an incredible sense of elation completing those last few steps and finding our friends still on the summit waiting.  Simon’s group had hung around waiting for The Stragglers to arrive and we were met by big beaming smiles and all round congratulations.  Mr P had an enormous grin on his face as he descended from “The Love Shack”…which reminds me that we’re still waiting for an adequate explanation of his “bruise”.

The “Love Shack” empties.   Last out turns off the red light.

Our elation dissipated rather quickly when we found out that Anne, Tessa and Stuart hadn’t arrived in front of us.  So they hadn’t passed us on the bypass after all.

Where were they?

I think I’ll finish here on the summit.  Hopefully others will add their thoughts on the day and fill out the remainder of the story.

Other than…

“I don’t care if it’s his big day out.  If he doesn’t take off that f*****g hat he’s not getting a lift back!”

And I’ll leave the final words to SimonP.

“Right…you’ve all had your free food…now b****r off!”

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