Southern Highlands - streapadair

On Beinn Dubhchraig, the Force 10 about to meet its match.

3pm, 12/12/81

~ With the moon nearly full and the weather fair, a summit camp on the Saturday night seemed like a good idea. A few hours of sleep on Beinn Dubhchraig then up around midnight and traverse Beinn Oss to the regal Beinn Laoigh - was the plan.

What matter the forecast, what matter the grossly lurid sunrise I could see through the back window of the bus taking me up the A82, what matter the plume of windblown snow spinning off the summit of Beinn Bhuidhe - ah, the follies, the follies of youth . . . I was wakened about 8 pm by a sudden violent shaking of the tent ( a sturdy Vango Force 10, with A-frame and ridgepole), and a reluctant peek outside showed the view all gone and a maelstrom of snow, falling or rising or both. The many remaining hours of darkness were grim beyond recalling, sleepless, counting the snapping guys, crawling out a one point for some running repairs when I feared for the flysheet.

Dawn brought no respite, but I'd had more than enough, and bundling things together fled down to Tyndrum, where a long wait for the first southbound Sunday bus was mercifully cut short by the kind offer of a lift back to Glasgow (Howard Ashton, stalwart of the MBA, if you read this, I think you were one of the other passengers). Camped on top of Dubhchraig??? Testing a tent or something? No, just being bloody stupid .

scotlandmountainsscottish highlands