- Ben Vane – the hill we didn’t go up!
The Ascent of BenVorlich
I wasn’t in top form. We’d been walking along the tarmac road towards Loch Sloy for some 45 minutes and I was feeling more than a bit lethargic. Although we were making reasonable time I suspected that there wasn’t much get up and go in the legs. Yes, they were going through the motions but it was pretty obvious that that all important drive wasn’t there. By the time I’d reached the legendary 4th pylon before the dam I wasn’t convinced I’d make it off the tarmac road and was considering an alternative walk through Glen Loin to Arrochar instead of a hike up Ben Vorlich.
- The dam at Loch Sloy and nearing the legendary “4th pylon from the dam” where the uphill path begins.
Having said that – I am very competitive (with myself) and even though I knew I wasn’t firing on all cylinders I knew I was going to give it a go.
The Fatdog had also decided she would give it a go and started up the well eroded path like a miniature traction engine, grinding out that relentless steady pace I have come to know (and fear) so well. If I had any concerns regarding her ability to cope with a major hillwalk after a few months off they were soon dispelled. Gone was the shambling, droopy head geriatric canine of the morning dog walks and in its place was the alert summit fixated Fatdog.
If FD had a theme tune it would be “The Only Way is Up”. Ignoring anything other than the path in front she was totally fixed on the ascent, leading out the climb like the “hard-man” domestique of a pro cycling team. I followed on in the “slipstream”, head down trying to block out any negative thoughts and just hanging in there.
The first hour was an unpleasant slog up a steep, reasonably well defined, path into a shallow corrie just below the main ridge. The recent dry-ish weather had left the going mainly dry underfoot with only patches of soggy ground to be tolerated. The Fatdog was lead-bound, the hill being covered by an unpredictable spread of white wooly grass munchers. This did nothing to relieve the misery of the climb. With my pace inevitably dropping off the higher we climbed, the more The Fatdog’s lead went to full stretch and the more I was being forced to push that wee bit harder to keep up. FD is a real slave driver.
- The slavedriver takes a well earned break.
- Climbing out of the shallow corrie
- Looking back down Loch Lomond
- The tiny figure on the horizon (top right) we’d be meeting very soon!
It was a humid ascent and I had the urge to wring myself out by the time the gradient eventually eased on the final climb out of the corrie. I don’t even pretend that I enjoyed it…but, as always, I was looking forward to that gentler gradient and a wander through the hummocky summit approach.
- This is the bit I like…a wander along the ridge!
- That’s a piddly wee dam…and a very big boulder…hmmm.
- A look back along the ridge to Loch Lomond
Beside the path we found a solitary man sitting on a rock. I took one look at his face and instantly realised this was a man we had to befriend. The black dotted face identified him as that most valuable of all outdoor resources; the next best thing to finding someone prepared to carry you, the dog and your pack to the summit and back down again. We had found us a bona fide midge magnet.
I hadn’t even noticed the presence of the irritating wee b*****s, but there they were splattered in their hundreds across his cheeks and forehead; a sea of miniature roadkill. My hand went instinctively to my face to wipe away my own collection of removable black freckles…but it came back clean. I was puzzled but not unhappy. Apparently the couple a few minutes in front of us had complained about the midges and our acquaintance clearly wasn’t over enamoured by their presence either. The Fatdog and I exchanged glances as if to say “What’s all the fuss about?” The typical west coast feeding frenzy appeared to have bypassed us completely.
I’m sure it wasn’t malice on his part, but after my comment that I’d barely noticed the presence of the local insect life, he seemed to take great delight in announcing that we’d still some way to go to the summit. I was suitably crestfallen.
I should have done my homework. Ben Vorlich is one of “those” hills! The sort of hill you think “Great…there’s the summit”…only to think it again…and again…and again. No sooner we were nearly at the “top” of one “summit” than another of the wee buggers loomed out of the cloud to mock our misplaced optimism. We were well mocked by the time the regular shape of the concrete trig point appeared some 50m in front. The cloud was now lifting from the summit and a wee bell rang at the back of my mind that this was indeed one of “THOSE” hills – the ones that trick you into believing you are at the summit but it’s actually a hundred metres or so further on hidden in the cloud. I checked the map to make sure. Yep…glad I remembered that! Could have been embarrassing.
- Of course the summit is the next bump along…you all knew that!
A young couple we met had warned us about black flies at the summit so with some trepidation FD and I settled down to lunch at the cairn waiting to be chomped by the dreaded blood sucking beasties. Then I saw the welcome (and timely) approach of our midge magnet. Good on ya mate!
