A five day camping trip in the far northwest of Scotland may sound relatively straightforward until you first remove all the months plagued by midges and then look for a forecast giving five days of dry weather. Given that such things can't easily happen just at the drop of a hat it really needs a forecast that has held firm since the middle of the week before.
Despite the enormous odds against, such a window of opportunity opened in late April. Sadly a range of non weather related factors conspired to reduce it first to four days then finally, after an unplanned rapid return home, to just 26 Hours.
Given firstly how rare the opportunity was and quite how big the itch was that needed scratching, I decided to press on with a plan for a four day photography trip to Coigach and Inverpolly.
Firstly a word on naming and I’d advise any visiting photographer to read the work of Doug Griffin https://www.douglasgriffinphotography.co.uk/ and avoid the all too common labelling of everything north of Ullapool as ‘Assynt’. Roughly speaking from the Summer Isles to Loch Lurgainn is Coigach, from The loch to Cul Mor is Inverpolly and only beyond that does assynt truly begin. That’s rough and ready but it serves the purpose.
My original plan, in line with my normal way of working, was to photograph very little but spend as much time as possible doing so at a very slow pace. As the visit wore on, this transformed into effectively a hit and run of just two locations.
By the time of departure the trip was three nights camping and even the start was slightly delayed with wheels rolling at 6.30 am instead of the intended 05.00. At 2.00pm I was pitching the tent and trying to shovel some food down together with getting a tiny bit of rest. 7 hours of driving takes its toll and there had been no time for decent leisure breaks. By 4.00 pm I managed to occupy the final remaining parking space in the only viable car parking spot for Sgùrr an Fhìdhleir. Two hours of gentle uphill plodding followed on easy but indistinct paths. The path is occasionally cairned, often braided and while it presents no hazards, manages yet to be irritating. Fortunately after more than a week without rain, it was bone dry. The general direction is clear in daylight but there would be little help in poor visibility.
It’s uncanny how the light teases us. The sun had shone continuously all day throughout the 12 hrs since leaving home and yet within 10 minutes of arriving at the summit it sank into the cloud bank. My preferred meditative approach was thrown overboard into a frantic race against time and several different compositions were quickly made in this time. I even stumbled upon Joe Cornish’s well known image from here and made one from the same place.
Watching the sun sink and the light depart from the foreground, took a little of the pace out of things and I had the chance to explore more widely for other compositions. In truth, the majority of the good options were in a remarkably small space. Watching the cloud it was evident that there was the possibility that at sunset the sun would drop out below before sinking into the bubbling haze on the far horizon. I’d planned on waiting up there until the end of the day anyway.
For a moment as the light left the sandstone foreground it lit the clouds but then was gone. After many years in the mountains I have learned how conditions change and was very glad of my cautious approach in choosing warm clothing as the temperature plummeted without the direct sun and as the wind picked up. At about 8.30 pm the sun finally popped out at the bottom edge of the cloud but only to shine on the sea rather than to shed any direct light in my direction. This gave an opportunity for an image made over Beinn nan Caorach.
Some people, including me, believe the view from Sgurr an Fhidhleir (The Fiddler) looking northwest over Stac Pollaidh to Suilven To be the finest in Scotland. I'd also add that from its lower slopes, the view over the summer Isles is one of the most magically beautiful anywhere on the planet. The time spent waiting for the sun to appear allowed me to observe one singularly dark cloud sail across the horizon with a backdrop of the peaks of Torridon.
The descent into darkness was tiring after a long day and by the time I was back at the tent my energy levels were on zero.
Sadly the tiredness didn't endure a good night's sleep and I woke next morning feeling pretty wiped out.
However, I'd come a long way so after a quick breakfast and bag packing I was off to Stac Pollaidh. My legs were still aching from the night before as I crossed the road from the car park and headed up the tourist route. I always look for and notice the first cuckoo. This morning I was serenaded by at least three. A hind looked at me from about 50m away, I suspect she judged from my speed and laboured movements that I presented no threat. 1hr 45min saw me at the bealach. I’d last stood on this point some 40 years before and I’m pretty sure I’d made slightly quicker time up on that occasion. In the climbing days of my youth, I'd also explored every inch of the summit ridge including those parts now beyond me. The view even from the bealach is exceptional.
I’ve always thought the great quartzite giants looked like the fossilised remnants of a great herd of giant beasts frozen while making their way across a plain to the sea. Cul Mor, Suilven Canisp, all names to conjure with.
The contorted and weathered sandstone of the summit ridge provides some great foregrounds but the weather began to close in soon after I arrived and visibility began to fail. I made one image looking across towards Cul Mor.
The air quality changed really dramatically and in an instant the opportunity for the intended photographs disappeared. However turning through 180 degrees gave a fine view across back to my vantage point of the night before Sgurr an Fhidhleir.
As the weather headed downhill so did my own wellbeing. Within the space of half an hour I developed a steady cough, sneezing and runny nose. There was Covid around locally at home and I was pretty sure I was now positive. Arriving back at the tent prior to the intended afternoon’s photography at Loch Bad a Ghaill I had decisions to make. I’d not thought to bring a test kit with me but I had pretty much textbook symptoms. I was tired after a long drive, poor sleep and two hills but there was every chance that I’d feel worse the following morning. If I was positive, I would be sharing public campsite facilities with others. The decision was made, 26 hrs after arriving the car (already with a full tank) was packed and at 4.00pm I was heading away from Achiltibuie and back towards the Lakes. Judged overall it was a stupidly long distance to drive for such a short amount of time but in my defence, I had not the slighted amount of advance warning. If it weren't for the negative environmental impact of the trip, I’d still make the effort for the pleasure of being in those places even for such brief moments.
Are there lessons to learn? I’m not sure, one can never really plan for unanticipated illness when away.
I’m already looking forward to a more routine visit on the next occasion.
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