Five Months is Over.

I'm back in Wyoming after my five months. There are so many entries I missed making that I hope to fill in some of the blanks as time permits. Missing: a weekend on Loch Hourn and climbing Ladhar Bheinn with Roy and Marta Bilkova; a weekend on Skye with Penelope and hiking the Quaraing and climbing Bla Bheinn; a weekend with Penelope on the Isle of Mull climbing the classic scrambling route via A'Chioch on Ben More and visiting the island of Iona.

Missing also is an account of golf in St Andrews with Alexander Konovalov and Peter Nightingale. An evening at the Scotch Malt Whisky Society in Edinburgh with Edwin Brady. A second (unsuccessful) attempt at Salmon on the Tweed gratis Allen Brady (Edwin's father) including a Spey casting lesson from Andy Murray.

For all the fun I had, I also got top quality technical work done with Ian Gent, Peter Nightingale, Roy Dyckhoff and Edwin Brady (publications forthcoming.) Thanks also to Kevin Hammond and his functional programming language research group.

Now that I'm intermittently blogging, check out Old Gunkie in WY, my new one.

Bidean nam Bian

On the south side above Glencoe there is a large massif whose main summit is Bidean nam Bian. Edwin Brady and I climbed Bidean and one of its satellite peaks, Stob Coire Sgreamhach. We descended the NW shoulder Stob Coire nan Lochan into the Coire and back to Glencoe.

Both Bidean and Sgreamhach are classified as Scottish Munros (peaks over 3000 feet in elevation.) By current classification, there are 284 Munros. To be counted among the Munros, a peak must have more than 500 feet of prominence from its neighbours. Although Stob Coire nan Lochan at 3658 ft. is well over 3000 ft. its summit does not rise more than 500 feet above the col where it meets Bidean nam Bian and so is not classified as a distinct Munro but is a "top".


Our route took us across the River Coe and up the Lost Valley and up the steep snow slope to the col between Bidean and Stob Coire Sgreamhach. Clicking on the photo above shows the snow headwall leading to the col (low point between the two peaks; Stob Coire Sgreamhach to the east (left in the photo) and Bidean nam Bian to the west.

I had been loaned an ice axe for the climb, and though Edwin had walking poles, he did not have an ice axe. Neither of us had crampons (yet). The further up the Lost Valley we walked the more steeply the headwall loomed and the more my hopes of ascending it without proper tools diminished. I've ascended such slopes before; it reminded me very much of the slope to the col between Snowpatch and Bugaboo spire in the Bugaboos. This slope runs out 600 feet below to an impressive cataract flowing down into the floor of the valley. Edwin insisted we continue on, and we saw a number of parties ascend the headwall, including a large group without ice axes. Based on that we decided to try it. I took the photo (displayed to the left of this text) on descent from Sgreamhach of a party from a Mountaineering club in NE England ascending the headwall.

Once we'd gained to col we left out packs and scrambled to the top of Stob Coire Sgreamhach, our first Munro of the day. The photo at top is of me on the summit with Bidean nam Bian behind. As we headed up the ridge to the summit of Bidean nam Bian, the weather continued to deteriorate with rising winds and drizzle. On the summit, the wind was high enough that it buffeted you off balance if you were caught mid-step. We snapped a few photos and, without lingering, started our descent.



As we descended, the wind continued to increase in velocity and the drizzle turned to icy rain. With the temperature dropping, and the snow firming up I was concerned that Edwin did not have an ice axe, and neither of us had crampons. Fortunately, the party form Sunderland caught up with us and one of them had a backup pair of instep crampons they loaned Edwin. After these were strapped on his boots, his security on the snow improved significantly and we were able to safely descended to the col. The video linked above is of Edwin making his way down the upper section of the ridge. On the saddle, we felt some relief. The other party descended the steep snow slope from the col back into the Lost valley. I felt the slope was too steep to attempt without an axe. Edwin agreed. The map clearly showed the exit from the far end of the ridge (over Stob Coire nan Lochan) to be a far gentler slope. Dropping off the col into the Lost Valley clearly was the quickest exit from the heights, but I felt the risk of a tumble without the possibility of self-arrest was too great. So we somewhat reluctantly headed up the ridge toward the summit of Stob Coire nan Lochan.


But the wind, blowing from the East, only increased in velocity with extreme gusts knocking both of us down more than once. From the speed of the mists blowing over the summit it was clear that, if anything, the wind was blowing harder above. Based on this, about 250 feet from the summit, we traversed out west onto the vast scree and rock slope that is the west side of Stob Coire nan Lochan. Away from the ridge, the winds were manageable. After tedious going on loose rock, we rejoined the ridge at about the same elevation we'd started at. And after easier descent, the skies lightened and then we even caught some sunlight from the West.

This photo shows the view of the north side of Stob Coire nan Lochan, with a number of classic Scottish winter climbs going up the gullies. Our descent traversed the ridge from left to right from just below the summit until we were able to descend a gentle slope into the Corie. By the time I took this photo, we'd been going seven and a half hours and it took another two to get back to the car (and another two and a half to get home to St Andrews). In the end, this turned out to be one of the most satisfying mountaineering trips I've been on in a number of years.

Salmon Fishing on the Tweed

A goal for my trip was to do some salmon fishing in Scotland. I brought equipment to do so (and didn't bring enough for the mountains.) In a talk I gave at St Andrews early on, I announced my interest and suggested that anyone who might know how I might achieve my goal of salmon fishing should talk to me. Edwin Brady came later and said his father was a long-time salmon fisherman and had rights to fish on the River Tweed, one of the most storied salmon rivers in the world.

When Edwin's father Allen visited St Andrews sometime in early March, he stopped in my office and we talked a bit about fishing and showed one another our flyboxes. At that point he invited me to fish the Tweed, though he said he would wait to call me until the Springers were in and the water was at a decent level.

Springers are the spring run salmon that may tend to be smaller than those picked up in the fall run, but which are fresh and bright and quite lively fighters. A good springer could go as much as 25 lbs, though generally they are smaller.


Scottish fishing is a highly structured affair since all water is private. This means that you always pay to fish, essentially renting the right to fish from one bank of the river in a particular section. For less popular waters (e.g. the Eden that flows through Cupar) you can buy a season ticket and have access to a stretch of river that is miles long. On more popular water, you purchase the right to fish a beat whose length is maybe 100 yards and only from one side of the bank or from a boat in that stretch. On the Tweed, beats can go for from around 40 pounds to as much as 400 pounds per day.
Each section (which may consist of many individual beats) is managed by a ghillie whose services are included in the price of the beat.


In late April, I got the call that I would be able to fish the river on 3rd of May. The section is known as Lower Lennel. THe Tweed here is the boundary between Scotland and England. I was scheduled to fish in the morning on the beat known as the Pot pool and then fish the Bottom Wellington (Wellie) in the afternoon. The ghillie was Douglas Tate (Dougie) and he guided me to the Pot Pool. After fishing the main bit by wading in from the Scottish side of the river, he took me out in a boat which I fished from for about an hour. We discovered that aside from fishing, we had a common interest in stalking. He is an avid deer stalker and, being a ghillie on the Tweed, has many connections. He helps in a culling operation in the Highlands where he killed more than a hundred and fifty Red Deer last year alone. Dougie left me to my own devices around 10:30 to and I fished hard, trying to get the hang of the highly technical Spey casts which are the fundamental technique for casting the 14 - 16 foot long double-handed rods used in salmon fishing -- but concentrating on trying to get good long drifts through the best holding water.

At lunch (1 PM) the anglers break for an hour. Allen met me on the bank of the Pot a bit after noon and we ate lunch together at the bothie shown behind us in the photo. My waders were leaking a bit and my arms were tired from casting and the rest was welcome. Allen had planned on coming up to the river with an old angling partner, but his friend was too ill to make the trip. The other anglers proved good company, including Christopher who sang me the 1955 number one hit Jimmy Young hit "The Man from Laramie".

After lunch, Allen walked upriver with me to the Bottom Wellie beat. He stayed with me for a bit while I fished my way down the beat, giving me some confidence that I was not doing too bad. The wind was blowing downstream (from my right to my left) and so I was doing my own cobbled version of the double spey cast where you drop the line upstream, then downstream and then out with a backhand. After Allen left, Dougie came by and spent part of his afternoon trying to teach me Spey casting techniques with a more suitable rig than my own. It is hard for me to convey how truly bad I am at taking instruction in physical activities. If you try to imagine taking dancing lessons from Fred Astaire and you might have some idea of my Spey casting lesson in the afternoon. As I beat the water, with each cast, prospects for actually catching a fish diminished to nil. I resigned myself to the idea that Spey casting is a highly technical skill and that I was getting excellent instruction. Dougie tried to teach me the single Spey cast, which I was no good at with the intermittent downstream wind, and also the circle-C which I was a bit better at.

One fish was caught and released in the morning (on the same beat I fished in the afternoon) and that was it for the day. Two had been caught the day before. Once hope I realized I had only photos of Allen and myself. I'll get more photos of the river and surrounding environs next time.

Extreme Geography of Britain

Is it possible? To drive north from St Andrews to John o' Groats, and then back south to Fort William to climb to the top of Ben Nevis, and then home again to St Andrews in a single weekend? It took some driving and some serious walking, and a bit of snow climbing, and some more driving, but I left Saturday morning around 9 AM and was back in St Andrews at 8 PM on Sunday. All together my route (by no means the most direct) included around 600 miles of driving on the exciting Scottish roads, with around thirty of those miles on the famous single tracks.


Duncansby Head is a mile or two form John o' Groats and is commonly considered (like Lands End in the south) the extreme point on North end of the British Isle. From Duncansby head, to the north you see the Orkney Islands and just a short walk south over the crest form the car-park is a view of the Duncansby Stacks and the Thirle Door, a large tunnel carved through the cliffs by the North Sea.



Duncansby head is, by all accounts, one of the largest seagull rookeries in Britain and there were thousands of birds. With the tide out, I managed to get down onto the stony beach and was able to make my way across slick seaweed covered rocks to the Thirle door. There were gulls (mostly Fulmars) nesting on every tiny ledge and in every nook and cranny on the sandstone cliffs. At any moment, looking down the shoreline, there were a hundred birds in the air with thousands more nesting.

With the summit at 4,406 ft, Ben Nevis is the highest point in all of Britain. I ascended the so called tourist route which follows the old pony path used to supply the observatory that used to sit on top. Being out of shape and with an unusual snowpack for this late in the year, was as much of a climb as I could handle. The pony path zigzags up the slopes just to the left of the right skyline of the peak as pictured here. I was glad to have a borrowed ice axe kicking steps up the steeper part of the climb from the Red burn to the summit plateau. The actual pony track was buried in snow from there up. It is ten miles round trip from the car and the elevation gain is nearly the entire height of the mountain.

I have climbed rock and ice and mountains since I was in my teens and Ben Nevis has always stood high in my esteem. I learned many techniques from Alan Blackshaw's Mountaineering: From Hill Walking to Alpine Climbing published by Penguin in 1970. This book has a decidedly British take on climbing including many photos taken in mountains of Britain. Ben Nevis is where modern ice climbing was first developed. This weekend was, according to more than one climber I spoke to on the summit, the best conditions seen in fifteen years with many of the big climbs that are rarely in good shape perfectly formed. I saw many groups top out onto the summit plateau from the north face. A number of the most difficult climbs in Britain saw ascents this past weekend.

On Loch Hourn

Rite of Spring

Hill of Strone (above Glen Prosen)

Sunday, I climbed the Hill of Strone (512 m) on the south side of the road into Glen Prosen. Across the glen and to the north is another Hill of Strone (850 m). That larger hill is shown in the photo above. There had been a snow storm on Friday and Saturday that left the peaks to the north snow covered. There was patchy snow on Strone. I got there a bit late to try for the larger hill so I parked at the base of the smaller one and headed up. In Scotland, walkers have very liberal rights of access allowing anyone to walk virtually anywhere.

Not far up through the heather, I jumped a pair of grouse. And then more, and after seeing more than a dozen I lost count. Near the top of Strone, I jumped two up close and clearly saw that they were Black Grouse (Tetrao tetrix). The wind was high and so they did not hear me approach until I was on them. When they jumped I clearly saw they were large black birds with brilliant red wattles (patches) over the eyes. I had been assuming they were the more common red grouse and I am not sure that I wasn't seeing both species. All appeared to be black grouse whose numbers have been dangerously low but seem to be on the rebound. The photo shows three departing in high wind; it you click the picture you'll be able to view a larger copy of the image. They tend to take off rather slowly into the wind and then swoop left or right across the wind and soar low downwind with great speed.

We do not have these birds in North America. They are central figures in one of my favourite books, Turgenev's variously titled^&Dagger Memoirs of a Sportsman which is a collection of stories translated into English many times. I have read a number of translations and by far my favourite is Isabel Hapgood's translation in which the Black Grouse are called Black Cock, another common name for Tetrao tetrix. As far as I can tell, Hapgood's translation contains the most accurate translations of naturalistic terms. Others variously translate from the Russian as Black Grouse, Heath Grouse and as just plain Grouse.

On the walk up Strone I'd seen tracks in the snow (wondering to myself if they were hare or fox) and I'd watched a single hare run off at high speed over the skyline when I got too close. As I passed the col between Strone and Eskilawn (607) I saw an amazing sight, a drove of white hares frantically running in every direction except mine. These turn out to be Mountain Hares (Lepus timidus). I was able to capture part of the scene on video and I also captured (barely) some grouse in flight. I will include the film in a later post.

As I continued up Eskilawn, the weather deteriorated and the sun dropped lower in the sky and, as it did, I saw more and more wildlife. There are an amazing number of hares and black grouse, too many for me to count (and who could tell how many I'd seen more than once.) With so much prey about, I am quite surprised I only saw one pair of raptors early on in the walk. There are so many eagles and hawks at home in Wyoming.

^[&Dagger] Other titles include, Annals of a Sportsman, A Sportsman's Sketches, Sketches from a Sportsman's Album, Russian Life in the Interior: Or the experiences of a Sportsman, and A Sportsman's Notebook.