On this trip we had Sean Adames, an old schoolfriend of Graeme's, with us. After a long 620 miles overnight journey we went straight to the hill and parked up the glen at the same spot as for the Saddle. I had warned Sean how slow I was but I suspect I was slower than even he expected. He was always miles ahead. The route to this hill splits from the Saddle at the point where you scramble up a polished rock face onto the Forcan ridge. As we went on, explaining to Sean how good the Forcan Ridge had been, you could sense he wanted to be there and it was no surprise when at the col between the Saddle and Sgurr na Sgine (i.e. Bealach Coire Mhalagain) he announced he was going back to the "scramble". We agreed to meet either at the top of Sgurr na Sgine or back at the col. Much to our surprise he caught up with us again when we were only just reaching the ridge. He had only done part of the
Forcan ridge and came down some scree slopes at a point where someone told him it was safe. Unfortunately he missed the best bits but catching up with us shows how fit he is -- or probably how unfit we are. Actually our climb onto the ridge had not been that easy. The path fizzles out and you have to make your own way up some boulders and steep grass. It got quite awkward at one stage until we found a gully which was steep but easy. This led surprisingly suddenly onto the ridge proper, usually it takes ages to get to the centre of a ridge. From here it was just up and up until we reached the cairn, propped up against a cliff drop, not dissimilar from the top of Buachaille Etive Mor. Guinness for me, Grolsch for Graeme and juice or water for Sean. It was such a nice day by now and we were so tired -- at least Graeme and I were -- that we sat there for at least half an hour soaking in some lovely views. This was Sean's first munro and he thought the scenery was fantastic. While at the top we noticed a few walkers going along the ridge to the right towards a lump at the end of the ridge. It didn't seem to make sense until I realised this was the way down, the purist's way down as I called it. I had intended to go down the easy way we had come but as soon as they realised it was a different way down Graeme and Sean wanted to go that way. Comments that it was a very steep descent got me nowhere and that's the way we went. The lump at the end was Faochag, itself over 3000 feet and there was some nice narrow ridge walking around this peak. The way down was as steep as I expected but was much rockier than I had expected. Even with a path the whole way down the descent was hell for me -- I was so tired. Three times I fell, twice bouncing and rolling over and banging my knee, fortunately only scraping it. On the second fall I also hit a rock with my rib, only gently I felt but it gave me gyp for the rest of the weekend and for many days after I got home. On the third fall I seemed to twist the muscle in my upper arm which gave me a fright though it sorted itself out quite quickly after. After this I took it very carefully which added to the time and I was miles behind the other two. This is about the tiredest I have ever been except for coming down Ben Nevis, not surprising I suppose after a 620 mile drive and climb of a hill. I was so relieved to reach the bottom and grateful to Graeme bringing the car 200 yards up the road to the gate to meet me.
