NEW YEAR 1991:
THE FARM ANIMALS MUNRO
BASHING TRIP TO
“Any
fool can monkey about on these rock over-hangs, but it needs courage and breeding to beat the Brenva” - George
Mallory
“Always
trust
your compass” - Andrew
Bimble-Grip Hall
“Get on down, I’m a sex machine” - James Brown
The day after Boxing day saw 9 of the Red Rose
farm animals making the long
drive north to sunny Scotland
in order to escape visiting relatives and bag some Munro’s.
For the un-initiated amongst you, a “Munro” is a peak in
The base camp for the expedition was the Sail Mhor bunkhouse near
Dundonnell, which made Bull Pot farm
look like the cesspit it really is.
However, within 10 minutes of
our arrival we had
managed to drag it down to our
standards. Home from home!
Expedition members:
Andy (Bimble-Grip) Hall. Leader and
navigator of great accuracy
Charlie (Who can I wind up next) Spurr
Jo (I’m going to stop ******swearing) Spurr
Fran (Sex Machine) Dyke
Charlie (Fran leave me alone) Frankland
Richard (Big Dick) Jones
Paul (Sex guide to
Pete (Shag it) Hall
Liz (I want to look at the flowers) Daniels.
Day 1: Sgurr
Breac / A’Chailleach
The clean sterile conditions of the bunkhouse proved to be too much
for Jo who woke up with a dose of flu. We decided that this was not a strong enough reason for us to stay in bed all day so
after a monster feast of dead
animal and in-humanly killed vegetables
we drove to the walk starting point.
A quick look at the map revealed that a direct ascent of the mountain was called for and off we went.
One hour and 1000 feet of vertical grass later left us stomping along a wide grassy ridge towards our first Munro, Sgurr Breac (3281 feet). Jo at this point was doing a good job of making the rest of us look very fit as she wheezed
and coughed her way up the hill.
Some cunning navigation work helped us to find a suitable traverse line that allowed us to avoid having to climb over Toman Coinich (3040 feet)
in order to reach Sgurr Breac. “Wimps” you may say,
but although Toman Coinich
is over 3000 feet it is not a Munro, only a “top” and
therefore not worth bothering about. A blustery walk up snow on the final ridge deposited
us on the summit. The view was outstanding. To the north grey clouds, to the
east greyish clouds, to the south darker grey clouds and to the
west more clouds. A rapid retreat was made down the snow slopes to the col where lunch was hastily eaten
and bladders emptied.
The route to our next Munro A’Chailleach
(3276 feet) was again blocked by Toman Coinich which as you will now remember is
only a “top” and therefore not worth bothering about so another
devious navigation exercise found another suitable traverse line to avoid walking unnecessarily over the top. The bulk of A’Chailleach
soon loomed above us in the mist and the Munro was quickly bagged. The descent from the
summit was guarded by steep
cliffs so our intrepid leader
“Bimble-Grip” took a compass bearing to lead us safely past the steep
stuff. 10 minutes later we were peering precariously down 1500 feet of vertical nothingness. “Good” retorted
Bimble-Grip. Now we know where the cliffs
are”. A quick change in direction
lead us all safely down off the ridge.
The pace quickened on the
long walk back to the cars in order to avoid
having to make what could have been a
tricky river crossing in the dark. Fortunately the river level was fairly low and unfortunately no-one fell in. The cars were soon regained and it was agreed upon reflection to be a fine day out. After dinner the beer and bullshit flowed in copious amounts, which
proved to be the pattern for the remainder of the week.
Day 2: Beinn Dearg
After much stumbling about in the kitchen making breakfast and nursing
the hangoveer caused by too
much 80 shillings the night before, we managed
to get a early start. All except Jo who had decided that a big day in the
hills with flu may get the better of
her, s’ she stayed in bed. An unnecessary 2 mile slog up a perfectly drivable forest track
deposited on the open moor where
the main objective of the day
could be viewed. It was miles away and there was a lot of “up”
between us and it.
The direct “shag it “approach to our first Munro of the day,
Eididh nan Clach Geala (3039 feet),
was decided on and after much sweating out of excess alcohol we arrived
on the wind swept ridge leading to the top. The last few hundred feet were heavily verglassed (iced) which made
for much hilarity as everyone slithered
and slipped around on the
boulders. It was much too cold
to hang around on the summit so a rapid decent to find some shelter was made.
Fran at this point
looked totally cream-crackered, she had
picked up the dreaded flu from Jo. This combined with the
prospect of what could turn out to be an epic day out on the hill lead to Fran making a very sensible decision. She retreated to the bunk house. Volunteers were sought to
go back with her, and before any
of us had plucked up the courage to admit that we wanted
the easy way out Chas volunteered to take her back. We waved farewell to our colleagues and got on with the next Munro, Meall nan
Ceapraichean (3205 feet), which stood between us and Beinn Dearg. The ascent proved to be
relatively straight forward- just keep walking up the hill until your
legs say no-more, then you make an excuse to stop and look at the view. Lots of looking at the view later left us standing on the
summit contemplating the final Munro of the day, Beinn Dearg (3547 feet). The only problem was that we
had to drop down 1200 feet
before climbing back up 1500
feet to the summit.
Lunch was taken at the base of the ridge leading
to the top of Beinn Dearg. We were all
feeling a little jaded so Pete produced some cans of Heiniken from
his cavernous rucksack to refresh the parts other beers could not reach. This was followed by a mixture of complex carbon and hydrogen molecules from Charlie’s hip-flask and a very refreshed team of farm 2nimk got on with
the ascent.
This proved to be excellent,
steep rocks and snow fields leading
to a very cold and windy summit. The team needed refreshing once again so the remains of the
hip-flask and more Heiniken were
consumed. At this moment it started
to snow so Andy took another of his “Get em of the hill safely” compass bearings which
we all ignored and wandered off
in totally the wrong direction. After much discussion and lots of Andy
telling us we were a bunch of knob heads we finally agreed to let him lead us safely back to the correct bearing (things bad been going too
well up to now so we wanted
an epic). A descent along the edge of
some very big cliffs dropped us out of the clouds revealing a long
descent down a fine ridge. After a very one sided snowball fight and a quick calculation that it
was going to be dark in about 1
hour, the business of getting
down the hill in the remaining daylight was started. Despite Liz wanting to stop to pick flowers, which some anonymous persons stamped
all over, we managed the final descent and river crossing in the gathering
darkness to be greeted by the “spunky love bus” parked at the top of the
forestry track. Big cheers and promises of pints for Chaz and Fran all round.
We picked up some other walkers on the track back to the road, who I think on
reflection wished that they had walked after been savaged by the animals in the
back of the van which Liz insisted on trying to roll over on every bend.
Day 3: The
rest day - Stac Polly
The
exertions of the previous 2 days and the excesses of alcohol during the
evenings were taking an effect on the team, so an easy Bimble about day was
agreed on Stac Polly was the objective, and although not a Munro was good
value. The hill is a massive ridge of rock standing up alone out of the
surrounding bogs. The ascent starts as soon as you get out of the car and is a
lung bursting couple of thousand feet of straight up. Chaz sprinted off like a
top class fell runner but most of us were content with a more sedate pace,
giving ourselves lots of time to take in the scenery. We all eventually arrived
on the ridge, Andy looking a very peculiar colour and most people requesting a
total body transplant. Andy and Fran decided that they were going to tick off
the end summit which was 2 minutes away while the rest of us fired off along
the summit ridge to enjoy the exposed scrambling. This involved lots of
climbing on greasy holds above big drops, some of which had to be jumped over.
When we were nearly at the end of the ridge we decided to wait for Andy and
Fran and admire the superb view. When they finally arrived the usual tales of
Andy having a wobble unfolded and we all felt slightly guilty (but not that
guilty) due to the fact we had the rope with us. A quick descent down a
horrible loose gully where we managed to do lots of unnecessary erosion, lead
us back onto the steep moorland where Andy once again amused us all by falling
flat on his back in a large bog!
The day was still young so we invaded a tea shop in Ullapool where we had to be
more obnoxious than usual in order to get some people to leave so we could sit
down. After tea and cakes we tried to sell Fran to some Russian sailors, but
the absence of hard currency left the deal un-finished.
Day 4: Bimble
along the coast.
Today was
going to be a big day out in the hills to work up a massive thirst for the New
Year Eve celebrations. The weather, which had been kind to us all week decided to give us a taste of true
The walk
turned out better than expected with lots of sea-caves to explore, cliffs to
climb and plenty of opportunities for people to fall in the sea. Unfortunately
we didn’t find any crabs to poke with a stick but we did see a sea-otter and
lots of nice birds. The weather took a turn for the worst so we retired to the
“Ocean View Inn” where we drunk lots of Guinness, Bitter at £1 per pint and ate
Jo’s enormous (but cheap) pizza. Back at the bunk-house we prepared ourselves
for the Hogmanny celebrations. We put on our best Disco gear, filled our
pockets with beer vouchers and went to the Dundonnell Hotel to get totally
horizontal. What happened next is a little sketchy but here are a few
highlights, the rest you can fill in with your imagination!
We all drunk lots of beer and whiskey.... We wound up lots of people in the
pub.... The electricity went off at 11 o’clock.... It was pitch black in the
bogs.... We all went to the bogs for a piss.... Lots of people had wet patches
down their backs.... We didn’t win the raffle.... We got thrown out at half
past eleven.... We kidnapped a local who thought we were going to give him a
lift home (he was wrong).... We got back to the bunk house and drank lots more
beer and whiskey.... It started to blow a gale outside.... We decided to go and
rescue our kidnapped local who was freezing to death behind the van.... Andy
got blown over by a massive gust of wind. We picked him up and his glasses got
blown off by another gust of wind.... We all stomped about in the dark trying
to stand on Andys glasses.... Someone found them.... We went back inside to
wind up the other occupants the bunkhouse.... Still no electricity.... Pete and
Liz locked themselves in the broom cupboard for some unknown reason.... We all
listened at the door.... We know what they were doing!... Someone shouted it
was 12 o’clock.... We all sung songs and kissed each other.... Jo made a New
Years resolution to stop swearing.... Andy made one, it was to make Jo break
hers!... We drunk lots more whiskey and beer.... We wound a lady solicitor
up.... We wound everybody up.... Chaz went to bed before he fell over....
Somebody was last seen wearing a Russian fur hat and nothing else!... We all
woke up with massive hangovers.... The bunkhouse looked like Bull Pot farm
after one of the parties.... We all went home.
P.S. Jo’s New Year resolution lasted 1 hour and 25
minutes. There’s always next year.
Charlie
Spurr
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