A hazy shade of winter
Hang on to your hopes my friend
That’s an easy thing to say
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around
Grass is high
Fields are ripe
It’s the springtime of my life
Seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Won’t you stop and remember me
Look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky
It’s a hazy shade of winter
( Simon and Garfunkel)
Saturday was a bit of a tricky decision making process. Potentially the best day of the week, or so the forecasters would have us believe yet I wasn’t convinced how good it would be for photography. To me, it looked to bright and clear at sunrise then overcast with poorer vis and precipitation from mid morning.
I didn’t think I’d get any good photos from on the ridge but felt, if I was lucky, distant views to it could well work out. And, they certainly did. I was keen to get out especially as it’s been a rubbish winter so far and recently I’ve been a bit under the weather. I didn’t have any great hopes but a quality day in the hills would be worth the effort, any photos a bonus. As it was, the photo opportunities were unbelievable and I was one of my best ever visits to Sgurr na Stri.
Alarm at 0200 and, knowing I was on a mission, I was out of bed and had switched it off in nano seconds. It looked good outside. Minimal wind and no precipitation although the sky was partly cloudy which boded well for the photos. The high stretch of road once it levels off above the Fairy Pools required care and concentration with a fresh coating of snow. By Crossall, things weren’t looking so good as heavy rain began to fall and it looked as if the Cuillin was completely shrouded in cloud.
Parking at Sligachan, the situation didn’t look too promising but at least the rain had almost stopped. The walk along the glen was gloomy with minimal views and both the Red and Black Cuillin mostly covered in cloud. The distinct shape of Marsco loomed silhouetted out of the cloud but once past it and about to turn right, things improved markedly. Much of the cloud lifted and bright moonlight spilled down into the glen.
To my left was the snow covered, rounded top of Ruadh Stac then Bla Bheinn, it’s hugely long south ridge snaking away into the distance. Bla Bheinn looked like the skeleton of an enormous dinosaur, most of it clad in white but dozens of black streaks marked gullies and water courses, the effect looking like a spine with many ribs descending from it.
The walk to Sgurr na Stri took three and three quarter hours, twenty minutes slower than my last visit. I’d allowed plenty of time and realising I was easily going to make sunrise, slowed down so as not to arrive hot and sweaty then chill down rapidly.
Rather than head up to the summit, I descended slightly back towards Loch Coruisk on rocks jutting out to give a perfect view along the length of the water. It also allowed for a great view to Sgurr nan Gillian. Things were surprisingly calm, perhaps the lull before the storm. Minimal wind and not to cold but I still put my big belay jacket on, knowing I would be stationary for an hour or longer. If there’s a better place to chill out, to be at one with nature, then I’ve yet to see it. Sgurr na Stri offers three hundred and sixty degrees of world class views although where I was meant I couldn’t actually see the sun rise or the view to Bla Bheinn.
Behind me were amazing views over the flank of Gars-bheinn, across Soay to Rum with it’s very own white capped Cuillin. Ahead of me was Loch Coruisk encircled by mountains. The whole Cuillin ridge was in sight from Gars-bheinn all the way round to Sgurr nan Gillian. Knowing that things might get frantic at sunrise, I got my camera gear sorted then relaxed with a flask of hot coffee and a belated breakfast of a Cornish pasty.
Whilst it was still the blue hour, I took a couple of shots looking towards Sgurr nan Gillian. I was pleased to note interesting cloud shapes forming up above the Cuillin Ridge but especially over Sgurr a Ghreadaidh at the far end of Loch Coruisk. Glancing behind and above me, I could see the light show was about to kick off. Above the summit of Sgurr na Str, red tinged clouds signalled sunrise was happening and I thought of the old adage, “red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.” Perhaps the forecasters were right and things would kick off later in the day.
Being high up on Sgurr na Stri, it feels compelling to look down at the sea and loch far below, the water offering some magnetic attraction. I was staring at the distinct shades of water, Scavaig, green, Coruisk blue, fresh water versus saline, one landlocked, the other open sea, when the reflected light on Coruisk turned a magenta hue. This was my cue to look up. The sky above the ridge was a lighter shade of magenta. Fluffy, white clouds added to the interest.
The most intense hues were the dark reflections in the calm waters of Loch Coruisk. Glancing to the right, the scene above Sgurr nan Gillian held me transfixed, fairy tale peaks, jagged shards of rock jutting into a pastel lashed sky, magenta and purple, red and pink. A darker cloud mimicked the shape of Sgurr nan Gillian an ephemeral mountain of fast moving cloud.
Soon the magenta era was long gone. Oranges and greys moved on stage in a rapidly developing play of light. More ominously, clouds were building up big time. Not just, a few fluffy white creations adding interest to photos but wholesale change looked on the cards. All the summits on the ridge from Sgurr na Banachdaich to Gars-bheinn were hidden as a tsunami of cloud washed over the ridge and rapidly descended towards Loch Scavaig. It was a split of worlds, sunshine and storm, serenity and stress, bad weather racing in, unstoppable.
Things were calm on my lofty perch. Far below, the waters of Coruisk looked deep and still, a contrast to the clouds racing in. I was in the shade yet parts of the scene below were lit vivid orange, deep shadows picking out features. The scene was drama personified, a scene so vivid as to be dreamlike, a true virtual reality.
The wind was picking up, not just in the distant scene but where I was on Sgurr na Stri. Pulses of bad weather blew in over the Cuillin Ridge. At first, I was just viewing a distant scene, a scene so dramatic as to look like a film set. Then a gust of stronger wind propelled hail stones in my direction. A scattering bounced on the rocks at my feet then a stronger gust ensured my face was scoured, the stinging pellets jolting me into reality.
Time to get out of here. Camera gear packed away, I glanced around me and it was still very much a question of sunshine and storm. The southern part of the Cuillin was obscured by dark clouds, precipitation falling, but the northern end was blue sky and white clouds. Regaining the summit, I looked across to Bla Bheinn still bathed in sunshine, blue skies above, a total contrast to the stormy weather over the southern Cuillin.
Descending quickly, the weather worsened as, short, sharp hail showers punctuated bright spells. The skies darkened in a menacing fashion. The situation was increasingly dramatic if only for seconds at a time. There was one place I wanted to visit but it involved quite a descent and was a bit of a gamble. To be continued…..