ON THE
FORCAN RIDGE.
By
Anthony Toole.
One of the problems with the Forcan Ridge is
that you cannot really form a true impression of it from the valley. Though if
you could, it probably would not make much difference. You would either be attracted
or repelled in slightly increased measure, depending on what you seek in a
mountain. Being foreshortened somewhat, and with its main summit, The Saddle,
hanging back from the road, it does not stand out from the rest of the high
hills that surround it. Only a closer scrutiny reveals it to be one of the
finest scrambles on the Scottish mainland.
The road to the Isles snakes down from the
Cluanie Inn into Glen Shiel and on to Loch Duich. To the north are six Munros
and a further three 3000-foot tops, including the Five Sisters of Kintail.
These rise so steeply above the road as to feel almost threatening. On the
other side, and only marginally more distant are the seven Munros of the South
Cluanie Ridge, and by extension, the two further peaks of Sgurr na Sgine and
The Saddle. All of these look formidable, and no one appears less so than any
of the others.
From the road, the stalkers’ path
zig-zagged up the grassy slope and onto a shoulder. It then took a more direct
line for about a kilometre, rising gently up an otherwise very steep hillside
toward a grassy col. As we stepped over the lip, we were able to form our first
opinion of the Forcan Ridge. And it looked good. It was steep and craggy. Its
We followed the track round and up to the
base of the first rocks. Here the track split. The lower one contoured round to
Bealach Coire Mhalagain, then up grass and scree to the summit, so by-passing
the difficulties of the Forcan.
First
shoulder of the Forcan Ridge 
The ridge itself began with a short
scramble up a slabby groove onto a shoulder, thus establishing its ethos at the
start. Most of the famous Scottish mountain ridges, like Aonach Eagach, Carn
More Dearg and the Am Fasarinen Pinnacles of Liathach are essentially
horizontal. True, they rise and fall over craggy humps in spectacular fashion
and over vertiginous drops. They can become very serious in bad weather. And
some, once embarked upon, can be difficult to retreat from. But there is almost
no height difference between start and finish. The Forcan, in contrast, climbs
relentlessly upward.
The second rise was longer than the first,
and more sustained. In fact this was where the ridge established its true
character. It was sufficiently broad to allow us several ascent routes. The
track meandered around the rocky sections, avoiding anything that might have
been too steep. But the difficulties, and even the dangers were more apparent
than real. The rock was sound and rough, with plenty of good hand and foot
holds. The trekking poles, which would have remained useful had we followed the
path, got in the way on the scrambles and had to be pushed away into the
rucksacks.
This is the kind of mountain terrain I now
enjoy above all others, except perhaps for a frozen snow slope in winter. I
dislike long walks to the start or from the finish of a hill. And steep uphill
slogs are often too much like hard work. On a good rocky scramble, I feel as
though I am making less effort, yet gaining height more rapidly.
Glen Shiel from the Ridge
Despite the absence of real difficulties,
the ridge had a big feel to it. The warm, though quite strong breeze
contributed to the sense of exposure as we climbed higher. The floor of Glen
Shiel was far below us while the ridge just seemed to keep on going higher. The
whole became increasingly photogenic, and several parties we had passed on the way
up now overtook us as we paused frequently to take photographs.
Another shoulder led to further scrambling.
The ridge became narrower and the rock less broken. Again, the main
difficulties were avoidable, but this would have missed the fun. From a
The next small hump was mainly grassy, and
beyond that was what appeared to be the final long drag to the summit. But not
quite. There was yet another fall and rise to the horizontal, grassy ridge
along which a trig point marked the true top of the mountain.
Scrambling on the Ridge
The summit, in fact, stretched for about a
hundred metres to the west, and narrowed to a rocky knife-edge before dropping
to the next col. Over lunch, we debated what to do next. Brian, being keen to
capture the 3000-foot Tops as well as the Munro summits, was all for continuing
over Spidean Dhomhuill Bhric and Sgurr Leac Nan Each, a hard-looking two
kilometres away. Being less of a fanatic, and hampered somewhat by an arthritic
ankle, I decided to wait for him on The Saddle.
I watched him for several minutes, as he
descended to the col, continued up the next rise and disappeared over that. He
reappeared some time later, slowly climbing upward again. At the end of the
ridge, someone else on the same quest was just approaching the summit of Sgurr
Leac nan Each. The distance was dominated by the bulk of Beinn Sgritheall,
which we had climbed a week earlier.
I moved down to a warm grassy patch, but
quickly returned to the breeze of the summit to avoid the midges. I continued
to follow Brian’s progress when I could see him.
This mountain complex amply demonstrates
the lack of any kind of logic when it comes to classifying the Munros and Tops.
Prior to 1997, The Saddle consisted of one Munro and six Tops During the
re-classification, three of the Tops were deleted, one on the Forcan Ridge and
the others along the route Brian was tackling. It was clear from where I sat
that the deleted tops had quite significant drops to their surrounding cols,
and also presented some difficulties on their ascents. So why were they deleted?
The farthest point, Sgurr Leac Nan Each, was two kilometres from The Saddle, so
why was it not a separate Munro?
I have been told that the classification of
the lower peaks known as The Corbetts is based on much more rigorous criteria.
Why not such rigour for The Munros?
Final rise to the summit
My cynical conclusion was that the Scottish
Mountaineering Council runs short of funds every few years and goes through a process
of Munro re-classification, knowing that it can cash in on the fanatics who
will rush out to buy new editions of the tables, books and maps that will
follow.
Such musings filled the hour-and-a-half I
waited for Brian’s return. When he joined me, he rested for a few minutes, then
we set off down the steep grass and screes to the loch at Bealach Coire
Mhalagain, and a junction with the track that by-passed the Forcan Ridge.
Brian’s extension to the walk had not
drained his energy, so we quickly moved on up the track on the far side. This
climbed steeply for
We did not linger on the summit, but
retraced our route to the loch, and from there to the Start of the Forcan. The
final descent to the car seemed endless, but then it always does at the
anticlimactic end of a superb day. And while the car glinted at us in the early
evening light, we were encouraged by the knowledge that The Cluanie Inn, and a
welcome drink, were less than a 20-minute drive up the road.
