Torridon 1978

In September 1978 a further reunion for Venture Leaders was arranged.
This time a caravan at Inveralligan, Torridon, was the chosen venue, perched looking across Loch Torridon to Ben Damph.
Participants were Ian Holland. Mike Beck. Alec Webster.

Transport was again my car, and I had recently just purchased a five seater Peugeot Family Estate, ideal for expeditions such as this.

En route for Torridon Ian, Mike and I ascended Beinn Dorain direct from the station at Bridge of Orchy.  Straight up and no messing.  The summit ridge was more complex than expected, in mist.
Alec opted to watch us from the luxury of the cars fully reclining front seat, easing the seat back a notch for every 100 ft we climbed.  His own idea of exercise.
Beinn Dorain is still one of my favourite hills when seen as a cone, beckoning, as the road tops the incline between Tyndrum and Bridge of Orchy.

Much of the week at Torridon we spent beachcombing, one of Alecs speciality pastimes.  It was his birthday so we bought him a book on 'Beachcombing'.  No winkle was too tough to prise from its rock, or too small to leave uneaten.  Old ropes, driftwood, flotsam and jepsom made his eyes gleam as he rolled his own, and muttered about the 'bloody slag heaps' of hills that surrounded us.

Despite his affinity with the coast, and feigned abhorrence of the high hills, he did accompany us on an epic day along the tops of Liathach.  This great mountain of mountains was climbed from the East end, climbing up Stob a Choire Dhuibh Bhig from the North side then taking in Toll a Mhuic, Spidean a Choire Leith, the highest point.  Then we contoured on a narrow, vertigous path below the pinnacles, to arrive at Mullach an Rathain.  Here we descended by the wrong gully as it was going dark, and a lively scramble was required

Another day was spent around Ben Damph but the actual summit was not attained.

Talking of the Ben Damph, this was also the name of our 'local' for the week.  It was this week that Ian learnt about 'hot drinks' which usually meant a hot rum and blackcurrant, guaranteed to warm you up and give you pink lips.
One good night here ended up with the locals organising a disco after closing time.  This was held in the closed up café adjoining the pub, and 'carry outs' were duly purchased, records and player found, and action started.  The stalker and ponyman were in attendance.
The headwaiter from the hotel seemed a particularly fine dancer, dressed almost entirely in white, with white shoes and a white suit.  I found it odd that none of the girls danced with him and when I transmitted this piece of observation to Alec, Ian and Mike they suggested I dance with him myself.  Naturally I refused, until a suitable sidestake was arranged, and then I earned a fiver by performing a duet, although the motions I go through myself have not often been referred to as 'dancing'.
It was a surprise that when all was over, and we came to leave in the pouring rain, our friend in white came over to the car and knelt at the window, getting drenched.  I wondered what it was he wanted, to be advised by my more worldly friends that he wanted a goodnight kiss.  I found this rather startling, if not amusing, and another sidestake of £5 was agreed.  Easy money.

Another night at the same Hotel ended up with Ian, unbeknown to me, perched on my roof rack.  Instead of heading for home (our caravan). I took a left from the car park and followed a locals car in which we knew there to be a full bottle of whisky.  We followed this at speed towards Sheildaig.  I was surprised by the size and uncontrollability of my windscreen wipers.  I couldn’t switch them off.  When an upside down head appeared I quickly realised that it wasn’t the wipers I was watching, but Ian's frantic attempts to convey the fact that he was on the roof rack, that the car was going at speed, and that the roof rack was loose.

On arrival at Shieldaig we lost the car we had been following, and Alec decided that perhaps he should drive.  As he had been drinking I considered this a poor idea and, lest he try to get my car keys from me, I ran off in the safest and nearest direction, which happened to be straight into the Loch.  It was not very deep for the first 20 yards or so, and in deeper water I saw a rock, so aimed for this and crouched upon it.  Unfortunately the moon was now coming out and my white pumps gave my position away.. The Loch Torridon All-In Wrestling Championships were inaugurated during the course of which I lost my car keys to Alec.  Feeling a little deprived I decided to walk back to the caravan rather than suffer the indignity of a ride in my own car.  The fact that this was a 10 mile trek did not at the time seem significant.  Each time I saw headlights coming down the road I jumped into a ditch to avoid detection. But after an hour or so this got boring and so, with only another 6 miles to go, I opted to ride.

Another hill day this trip was when we set out to do the valley walk around the back of Liathach.  We set off in two pairs, one pair from each end.  This meant that someone would end up at the car and could use it to collect the others.  Half way round we met up (There is still debate about who exactly went which way round).  Ian and I decided to climb Beinn Eigh although we didn’t have the map to hand.  We climbed steeply up Sail Mhor, then followed the good ridge to Coinneach Mhor and Spidean Coire nan Clach at 972 metres.  Ian was feeling a bit groggy for some reason and descended somewhat light-headedly.  It was only later, in the Ben Damph, that we discovered that we had not in fact visited the highest point on the mountain, Ruadh Stac Mhor.  This was still early days and we were only just getting used to the term Munroes.  I had the book, but we only referred to it casually and occasionally.