Taexalia

wild.life

Women With Altitude

Stac Pollaidh

My Mum and Dad have been known to do the odd bit of walking in their time. Their pursuit of height has seen them conquer more than one hundred Munros, as well as many other smaller hills and winding paths. I have joined them on occasion and my own walking resume includes some long paths like the Lairig Gruh, as well as a small puckle of Munros and assorted hillage.

There are various reasons why our hill-walking exploits have been curtailed in recent years, but both Mum and I have developed an itch of late to get back up on top of hills, look at bonnie scenery and enjoy that wee rush of "I made it" that always accompanies the crest of a hill.

Having set our sights on Stac Pollaidh some time ago, we simply needed to co-ordinate a mini break that allowed us to wake up fairly close to our hill so we could have ample time for pechin, bearing in mind Stac Pollaidh stands in the far North-West of Scotland and we are as far flung as Fife and Aeberdeen. Dad appears to be enjoying his new role of logistical planner, transport chief and support team (aided by the Great Gemmadog) as much as we are enjoying our new set of challenges.

So, last weekend, I faced the vagaries of the rail system and had a quick sleep under a very large ginger cat before we set off to try and escape the Rain. I was not best hopeful about the weather thing because the further North I got the more driech it seemed to get. After Inverness, tho, we started to see patches of light cloud mingled with the occasional teaser of a possible blue streak.

The problem of weather meant there were many discussions regarding Plan A, Plan B, Plan C and Plan C subsection vii... When we finally came into view of Stac Pollaidh, she was hidden behind around a hundred feet of the Cailleach's skirts and Plan B was shunted up to first place. Plan B was the nine mile round trip to Sandwood Bay.

The following day we enjoyed a good breakfast before a leisurely meandering towards Stac Pollaidh. We could see lots of blue sky, some sunshine and our hopes were high for a successful ascent. We weren't disappointed.

The paths on Stac Pollaidh are well built and offer a varied set of options - there's a circular walk that avoids the Torridonian Sandstone monoliths that form the summit(s), and there are two paths marked in the guidebook that take you up into the crags. Since we had left the guidebook in the car (yes I know, but we did have proper clothing/footwear/water/etc - unlike one numpty we saw in tennis shoes) we decided more with instinct than with educated guesswork that we'd take the left path when we came upon the first pair of options.

The left path goes UP. More UP than the UP of the path prior to the fork in the trail. UP. I had already been hearing the sound of thundering drums as my heart aerated my moist and shrinking body, (OK I had to wait three days to see the change on the scales but sometimes you just *know* you are fat-burning), now my inner workings sounded like the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards Pipes and Drums on speed. The pipes being the screech of various things including my knees.

At various points we had discussed the wording of the absent guidebook - wording that suggested hill-walkers would have difficulty getting to the top because of scrambling. The scrambling was made to sound like vertical Spiderman-like clinging over vast cliffs populated by jagged claws waiting to claim slightly out of practise vertigo afflicted women.

We clambered up the steep path, stopping as needed, with the proviso that we would both be able to tell when we needed to stop and that no matter how far from the top we were - it wasn't the end result but the doing that counted.

We soon found ourselves on a plateau complete with a view ower the ither side - top enough for us in the moments it took to get our breath back. Then I spotted an interesting outcrop that just begged for me to walk out onto it. So I did. Mum attempted to hide the fact that the sight of her eldest daughter stepping out over basically nothing was giving her a conniption, but she didn't hide it very well. I don't think I helped much by wiggling my bum and uttering things like "Are you nervous? Are your ovaries doing somersaults?"

She took photos of me whilst wishing me to step back in to safety.

This is not a photo of me, this is a photo of Mum who, almost as soon as I had returned to normal width mountain-side, threw off her rucksack and stepped over her vertigo to pose. Feel free to send her 66th Birthday Wishes via the comments form on the 8th of June

Stac Pollaidh Ledge

But there's more.

You see while we were cavorting about on rocky outcrops, I was noticing the gait of people continuing up the path - and I was noticing that although there was the odd grab-the-rock-above-for-a-handhold type manoeuvre, there weren't any rope tricks or Spider-Webs or anything.

So I took off to see for myself and left Mum with the weirdest looking bee type beastie I've ever seen. Twas not long before she was clambering up behind me - and soon we stood on what is the lower of the two recognised tops of Stac Pollaidh.

Breathtaking, in more ways than one.