Meananach bothy to Kinlochleven

Having slept so soundly I had no idea it had been raining (and still was), until I looked out the window in the morning.  I could hear the wind roaring – but I’d heard the weather forecast before I set out the day before, and was expecting high winds today.  However, taking a couple of steps outside soon revealed that it must have been raining pretty hard and for quite a few hours, as the ground was absolutely sodden.  On top of that, the roaring I could hear wasn’t the wind, but the river which had risen dramatically overnight and was now a real fast flowing torrent.  There was no way I’d be attempting a crossing.

However, I had planned for this possibility with an alternative route which follows a path down into Glen Nevis.  This would actually work out better for me, as it would mean I’d finish the day at the campsite in the Glen ready for my high level route the following day.

So, having had some breakfast and a brew (tea without milk is disgusting – but there was no pint left on the doorstep when I looked, so I had to bear it!), I put all my waterproof gear on and set off.  Walking a few paces soon reminded me that I really ought to buy a pair of leather walking boots – that dab-on waterproofing stuff just doesn’t work!

In order to get to my “new path” I had to cross the softly gurgling Allt nam Fang stream again – only the stream had spent the night taking steroids and was now a small river hurtling its way down the mountainside at breakneck speed!  “Oh dear!” was my pre-watershed reaction!  I was now in a bit of a dilemma.  Whichever way I chose to get out of the valley, I would have to cross this “stream”.  I walked further up the hill to see if it got any narrower – it didn’t.  Down at the valley floor it was deeper and wider, having burst its banks.  So, there was nothing for it – I’d have to attempt to jump across!  With a healthy knot of fear welling up in my stomach, I searched for what looked like the narrowest point.  As my rucksack was so heavy, I decided it would be best to throw it across first, then be that bit lighter to jump over.  (Obviously I’d throw it first – it would hardly be likely to follow me, would it?).  Grabbing it in both hands, I swung it a few times – because that’s what they do on TV when they’re throwing things, - then launched it over to the other side.  It landed nicely on a clump of heather – nice!  Except heather can be a bit springy, and my rucksack, obviously enjoying its newfound status as a bird, decided to have a go at being a boulder and proceeded to roll slowly down the hillside towards the stream.  Stupid, bloody thing – if I’d wanted it in the stream I’d have just dropped it in there – it should stick to being a rucksack.  Anyway, thinking shouting might help the situation I shouted “Nooooo!”  It was very dramatic and BBC drama-like, but amazingly it did the trick.  It stopped rolling with literally inches to spare!  So now it was my turn.  I tested the ground to see how close I could get to the edge, took a long run and launched myself across.  I landed with my full weight on top of my left elbow – absolutely excruciating.  But I think I was more relieved than anything.  I grabbed the rucksack and moved up the hill and away from the evil water!!

Now, at this point I should have realised that if the river below, and the little stream from yesterday, were in full spate, then the same would be true of any other water coming off the hills.  Taking that into account, I should have set off back the path I’d walked yesterday, and made my way back to Spean Bridge.  However, for some reason, this didn’t occur to me.  Maybe I was just relieved at having made the jump.  My only thought now was to get to the path and make my way to Glen Nevis.  (These writings give no concept of time – although I was only about 100m from the bothy, I’d been out for the best part of an hour.  Conditions underfoot were atrocious – even after this short space of time, my boots were swilling with water.

So, having crossed the first obstacle, I found the path I needed and proceeded to follow it.  However, it wasn’t long before I encountered the next crossing.  This one was too wide to jump across, so finding the narrowest and shallowest point, and accepting that my feet couldn’t get any wetter, I jumped as far as I could – and then scrambled out as fast as I could.  It wasn’t so much that it was cold, but I could feel the current trying to grab at my legs.  You honestly don’t realise the power of a river until you stand in it.  My rucksack was left securely on my back for this and subsequent crossings – I think it had got carried away with that little bit of independence!

This routine went on for the next hour or so.  Trying to follow a path that would disappear underwater frequently, jump across swollen streams, and generally pick my way down the valley.  But it was slow going.  The rain was incessant.  I was having to watch every footstep – sometimes, I’d stand on a clump of grass and my leg would disappear into a deep peat bog.  My elbow was horrendously painful, my feet were aching – all the water encouraging blisters to come out and play, and my legs were aching from all the jumping and climbing out of bogs.  However, I was managing to keep my spirits up knowing that I was heading in the right direction and that if it came to it, I had a rucksack with a dry tent, sleeping bag, stove and food.

Then I got to Allt Coire Rath.  Even looking at the map, this looks to be a fairly substantial waterfall/river.  So you can imagine what it would like in full spate.  When I saw it my heart sank.  This  was going to be a real tough obstacle.  There was no way I was going to go back, - the thought of having to go through all that again was too much to consider.  So, once again, I searched for what looked like a reasonable crossing point – only there wasn’t one.  However, walking upstream, there was a small island of rocks and grass, with the river narrower on one side – my side.  I managed to get on to this island, jumping from the bank.  But to get off and to the other side, I was going to have to wade over.  I’ll be honest, - it was terrifying.  The first few steps weren’t too bad – it didn’t feel as cold as I was expecting (or maybe I was that used to being cold, that I didn’t notice the difference), but the current – it was so strong.  Every time I took another step I could feel it trying to grab my leg.  The river was only knee-deep, which I’m sure is what saved me next.  As I got closer to the other side, well, I’m not sure what happened – did I lose concentration, or did I become a bit too confident with my progress, I don’t know.  However, the next thing I knew was that the current completely swept me off my feet and before I knew it I’m being taken down the river.    I could feel the rucksack getting heavier on my back, having taken a fair amount of water onboard.  As I’d said, the river was only knee-deep, and I somehow managed to grab a rock on the riverbed and hang on.  Slowly, and against the force of the current, I was able to bring my legs up and get my feet on the riverbed again, before managing to scramble to the other side and pull myself up on to the bank.  Whether in shock, I don’t know, but I actually found myself laughing about it all as I lay there, completely soaked through – no longer able to rely on having a dry tent, sleeping back, etc!  I would say I was in the river for less than a minute, but I had been swept so far down – when I got out, I was only metres from where it joined the main river, and I think had I been swept into there, then this walk would have had a completely different outcome!

By now I was exhausted and completely demoralised, but I had no option but to keep going.  If I’d wanted to get a rescue team out (and I had considered it), I couldn’t due to having no phone signal.  I check where I was on the map – which didn’t do anything to lift my spirits.  I had only walked about 2 miles, with another 6 to go.  So the routing began again, jumping streams, avoiding bogs and talking to myself about really random things, just to keep my mind of the state I was in.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, I was at Steall ruins at the top of the tourist part of Glen Nevis.  The ruins sit beside one of the most thunderous waterfalls you’ll ever see.  Fortunately, as it’s at the end of a tourist footpath, there’s a footbridge across it.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a footbridge in my life.

The rest of the walk is pretty lame in comparison.  I made my way down to the Glen Nevis road and managed to hitch a lift into Fort William, where the driver very kindly dropped me at the door of McDonalds.

A quarter pounder cheese meal (medium) and a bus ride later, found me back at the cottage near Brora.  Heating on, hot shower and a few aches, bruises and blisters.  A truly horrendous day!