HILL WALKING IN AUGUST:  LOCHS NAN ARM AND SPOTAL

The principal downside to hill walking in August is the company.  By that, I do not mean my 19-year-old son Max, whose companionship was delightful, and who managed this time to avoid sliding waist-deep into a bog, as reported in the June issue of this newspaper.  I refer, rather, to the multi-legged company of midges and such like that elected to join us.  In addition, after three weeks of uninterrupted sunshine a torrential rainstorm fell the very day we landed on the island, so the ground was soaked and we were grateful for our Wellingtons.  Where it was dry we often had to fight our way through high heather, using walking sticks to test the invisible terrain below us.  Nevertheless, we accomplished two spectacular walks.
	
The first required the aid of a boatman:  our neighbour John Joseph MacDonald of North Locheynort deposited us at Kyle Stuley, on the east coast of the island between Loch Eynort and Lochboisdale, whence we had once commenced our mist-shrouded journey over Stulaval, as reported in the July issue.  But this time we by-passed that hill and instead made our way through Bealach (“mountain pass”) Chaolais to the left, that is, to the south of it.  This portion of the walk was relatively easy:  a mostly gentle ascent through tall but yielding grass.  Our destination was Lochboisdale.
	
Bealach Chaolais ends at Loch nan Arm, a small, shimmering gem, invisible almost until you reach it. It fairly exudes history and legend.  Shortly before you arrive at its eastern shore, you will see, if you look closely enough, on the southeast side of the pass, an exposed souterrain,  one of those mysterious man-made tunnels, of uncertain age, origin and purpose that burrow beneath so many of the glens.  This one must have settled somewhat over the past 30 years, for whereas John Joseph had managed to crawl through much of it on his last visit there during the 1970s, I was only able to back in up to my thighs.  Of course, there is an alternative explanation for my inability to penetrate further – but I pride myself on being pretty slim.  A famous lochside battle is said to have taken place many centuries ago, between local MacDonalds and invading MacLeods from Skye, after which the survivors tossed their weapons into the water and erected a memorial cairn nearby.  Alas, Max and I could not locate the cairn.
	
Some uncertainty now arose as to whether we should proceed along a nameless pass to the left of the loch, as I proposed, or walk around its eastern shore and then continue in the same south-westerly direction through yet another pass, Bealach Diollaid, which runs between Stulaval and Triurebheinn.  Max, reading the map better than I did, advocated the latter option, and I followed his lead:  a good thing, too, as my route would have marooned us in the eastern glens.  The bealach was rough going, for it rose steeply through tall, thick heather, but once we emerged from it Lochboisdale loomed to our left less than two miles away, and it was all downhill from there.  The total distance was about three-and-a-half miles, the walking time about three-and-a-half hours plus half an hour seeking the souterrain.
	
The other long walk was to Loch Spotal, and it would have been even longer, to the very peak of Hecla, if my wife Beth had not accompanied us.  Beth, however, has no taste for hill-climbing, or for marathon walks either, so we made Spotal our target.  After a brisk initial ascent the route takes you across mostly level ground and the loch is exactly an hour from the Skipport Road.  But there are challenges on the way; first you follow the improved Skipport footpath uphill almost to the end.  Just before the path peters out, a few yards beyond a ruined cottage with a corrugated roof, turn right.  You will now be going south, and the terrain is almost flat.  Skirt the western shore of Loch Beinn and then head south again until you reach a powerful stream.  Turning right at the stream, inch forward for about twenty minutes along its eastern bank.  You will struggle, for the slopes are steep and the surface uneven and my cautiously probing walking stick did not prevent me from taking a scary tumble into a deep water-logged crevice that lay concealed beneath the bracken.  But soon the stream opens suddenly to reveal the stunning beauty of the loch, framed by the palisades of Beinn na-h’Aire on the far side, with Hecla rearing up immediately to the west.  If your soul does not respond to that beauty, you have no poetry in you.  But I bet you’ll find that you have.

Martin Margulies
(Adapted from the newspaper article)