Beinn Bhan of Applecross
Writing in the Scottish Mountaineering Club Journal in 1892 author Lional W Hinxman described Beinn Bhan of Applecross as having “every attribute of hell except its warmth.”
In wintry conditions Beinn Bhan can certainly display a savage imagery, made no less dramatic by the vertiginous slopes of no less than six impressive corries that have been bitten out of its east-facing slopes. The hill, a Corbett at 2939ft/896m, gives the impression of being an elongated and steep-sided ridge, rising rather gently from the head of Loch Kishorn and dwinding out, some four miles later, amongst the anonymous knolls and bumps of the Applecross Forest, but in actual fact the hill forms the most eastern and highest part of an elevated plateau of Torridonian sandstone that occupies much of the south-eastern area of the Applecross Peninsula in Wester Ross.
A rather infamous road, due to its steep bends and precipitous embankments, climbs from Kishorn up the steep glen of the Allt a’ Chumhaing to the Bealach nam Bo at over two thousand feet, one of the steepest roads in the country, before dropping down towards Applecross village.
Beinn Bhan is probably best viewed from the east, somewhere on the Shieldaig road. From here it appears as a small range of peaks and domes, corrie-bitten and impressive and pretty remote. However, a good fisherman’s path runs north from the foot of the Bealach nam Bo road at the head of Loch Kishorn and climbs up over the moorland to Loch Gaineamhach.
I’d climbed this hill a couple of times many years ago and the vision that was at the back of my mind was of steep slopes and a fair bit of hand-on scrambling. With temperatures below freezing and the boggy ground near the Kishorn bridge looking like an ice-rink I decided discretion was the better part of valour and I’d take the easier route to the summit. I must confess that the fact that I’d left my crampons at home played a little part in my decision.
There are two popular routes to Beinn Bhan. One follows the fisherman’s path up towards Loch Gaineamhach but before you reach it you have to peel off from the path and climb the slopes that lead to Lochan Coire na Poite. Beyond the loch a steep and narrow ridge drops down from A’Chioch and offers a good, “sporting” route to the summit plateau. At the top of A’Chioch there is an intermediate top to cross before a steep and rocky climb presents itself as a barrier to the summit plateau. One of the modern SMC guides suggests that in winter conditions climbers should prepare themselves for a Grade 2 snow and ice climb to the reach the plateau. Without crampons that might have been tricky…
The alternative route is to follow the ridge that forms the north arm of Coire na Fhamhhair, just a little north of Lochan Coire a’ Poite. This only really involves some mild scrambling, an easy enough route in summer which, in winter conditions of snow and ice, can also morph into a full scale climb.
Sans crampons, I drove round to the west side of the hill, to where a track runs north to Loch Coire nan Arr. An easy enough climb over the heather took me onto the hill’s south ridge, which I followed happily enough up to the hill’s first top, above Coire Each. By this time it was quite clear that any ascent from the east would have been a fairly adventurous undertaking and by the time I reached the ridge above Coire na Feola my breath was taken away by the sight of the wintry A’Chioch ridge, a sharp fin of sandstone, streaked and gullied and precipitous, whose horizontal lines of stratification split three independent tiers of sheer cliff. In summer the tight-rope route over the crest of this hill is a magnificent high level scramble, today it appeared horribly daunting.
Coire na Feola, Coire na Poite and Coire an Fhamhair are certainly amongst the most impressive corries in the western highlands – the latter is the “giant’s corrie” for good reason. I must admit it felt good to be looking down into them – Coire na Poite’s twin lochans were frozen over and great cornices hung over the corrie lip, beautiful and impressive sculptures of snow, created by the intense cold and the wind, beauty formed by malevolent forces. I guess that’s the essence of winter hillwalking in Scotland – it can be cruel and unkind, it can be vicious and ferocious, but out of those negative influences comes intense beauty and an inner satisfaction. As I sat by the summit trig point and gazed around me at the sprawl of these west highland hills the fact that I had climbed the hill by it’s easiest and safest route didn’t matter a jot. For a few moments I could have been on top of the world.
Photo: Beinn Bhan’s A’Chioch ridge