Camp at Loch Coruisk

By Miss M. Barker

In the late summer of 1924, after an August spent with dogged enjoyment in camp at Seathwaite, a too trustful comrade came with me on a rapid reconnaissance of the west coast of Scotland, in the course of which we managed to get a week-end in Skye. Armed with a Bartholomew half-inch map which we thought could be trusted, and with a compass which we thought, from Coolin tradition, could not, we went straight to Sligachan and over the pass to Glen Brittle,— and the following day, unable to see the Coolins, but fiercely determined to see Coruisk, we went right round the coast by the longest possible route, and made Loch Coruisk about 5.30 p.m. We tried to follow a track along the loch and over the Coolins. The track was not there, the mist was, so were the Coolins, for we felt them. I am not going to detail that adventure ; sufficient to say that we spent the six hours of utter dark somewhere on the south side between Bidein and Mhadaidh, carried on in the very grey dawn, and by the aid of our most trusty and commendable compass got down, with the proverbial luck of lunatics, into Coire na Creiche by Tairnlear, reached the farm, ate an enormous meal, and walked back to Portree that same day. Anyhow the point is that we saw Coruisk, and for a year dreams and schemes for a camp there ran through our minds, coloured our correspondence, affected all our intercourse with our fellow campers, and gradually took shape.

The weekly steamer was discussed and rejected as too uncertain. We knew no friendly motor boat nor steam yacht; a fishing boat at Glen Brittle there was not, and one from Soay would need catching. We determined to depend upon ourselves only, and to make a sporting shoe at a light-weight camp for just so long as the food we could take with us would hold out.

We founded the enterprise upon the fact that, in the most attractive camping site we had ever seen, where the Scavaig river rushes into the sea, there was a hut, not beautiful, being made of corrugated iron and concrete, nor yet comfortable, having neither door nor window to shut, and no fireplace ; yet a shelter from wind and rain, and one that cut out the need to carry tents. Our hope was that we should find it this year as last; neither too ” sore decayed,” nor repaired and locked by some owner who had awakened to its value.

Our base camp we made at Glen Brittle with Mrs. McRae, ever kindly and thoughtful, and an empty cottage as an ultimate refuge in time of storm. And well so for us ! The storms were not unbearable, though we had two or three pretty tough gales to weather, but the large crate of provisions ordered from Glasgow was three days late, owing to a misunderstanding (and then only retrieved by a heroine who motored over those appalling roads to seek it when she might have been in Coire Lagan), and for those three days we were fed by Mrs. McRae. However it arrived, we fed wisely and very well, and planned the Coruisk expedition.

The first move towards it was a reconnaissance in force, by the coast, but not by our laborious and long route of the year before. By keeping well up near the openings into Coire Lagan and Coire Ghrundda, and high also on Gars-bheinn, we got a view of Loch Coruisk in about four hours. There some of the party waited, while the four strongest, carrying rucksacks full of food, went down to the loch, found the hut as we had left it, observed good store of drift wood, cached the food, bathed in river or sea according to choice (water f. and s. at our Scavaig Inn !), and got back to the others (and tea) in about two hours.

So far well. A few days later we set out again, six humans and a dog, carrying more food, bedding, and a minimum of camp tackle. That was a glorious day, one of those precious days revealing a beauty indescribable and unforgettable, jewels set in that golden August of 1925. We went up the shoulder of Sgurr Dearg, and had a sample of ridge-walking, arduous enough when all carried heavy packs. We had no rope either, for we had preferred to take out its weight in food, and the plucky little “low geared” Sealyham asked and got a friendly lift now and then. By the summit cairn some of the party rested for an hour after lunch while the more active or less tired got up the Inaccessible Pinnacle most ways (Long and Short routes, up and down : South

Crack: Pigott’s Climb, and some uncharted scrambling). Then we made the Banachdich Gap, and plunged down the screes on the Coruisk side. It was a fairly long descent, though cheered by finds of much white heather ; and it seemed a long two miles down the side of Loch Coruisk for all its loveliness ; and we were glad to make the hut, and to find our cache safe. Near it are the fragments of another structure of which practically nothing is left but a concrete floor and a chimney. There we made a fire and welcome supper, Gertrude and Margaret promptly taking charge of that department with crushing efficiency. The other four tackled the uninviting floor of the hut, which was simply a jumble of concrete blocks and timbers, with a low wall dividing it into two, lengthways. We moved a few blocks, and packed it with bracken and heather, and when the groundsheets and sleeping bags were in place, a small fire lit inside to drive out the midges, and our possessions were arranged all over the place, it began to look like home. Some of the family tried sleeping out : the others reflected that we were in Skye—and turned in. They were awakened later to the tune of rain on the corrugated iron roof, while the imprudent ones made a perilous traverse round the prudent to the inferior sleeping places kindly reserved for them.

So the morning was wet, and the long excursion planned for our one full day at Scavaig was impossible. To ensure another day with comfort more food was necessary,-—not bully beef (of which we had cached a 7-lb. tin), nor raisins and chocolate, our staple for walking on, but bread or meal. Also by some strange error we had forgotten the tea. What is camp without tea ? A relief expedition was arranged, not going all the five hours back to Glen Brittle but to Camasunary, where we understood there was a keeper’s cottage. Now strictly speaking we could hardly ask the keeper to help us to camp at Coruisk ; moreover it was the Sabbath. However it was a case of try that or give up our extra day, so all the discretion, tact and information discoverable in the party was canvassed. Now there is a certain song about a certain party that once ” Came to Camasunary,” so we simply collected—and used all the information given in the said song. (H. has an amazing memory for doggerel!).

We set out from the hut six strong, not to mention the dog, but the rain had fallen and the Scavaig River risen. The foraging party of three found the stepping-stones by feeling for them, and found the crossing quite sufficiently exciting. Margaret and Gertrude decided to get supper ready, aided by Patch (who, in point of fact, very promptly produced a rat as her contribution to the food question : now whence a rat in such a place ?). Frankland found a patent crossing of his own lower down, fell in with great thoroughness, damaged his ankles, and came near to the supreme tragedy of losing his boots, which he had taken off ! He clung to them at the risk of his life, struggled to the farther shore, and after a short interval presented himself to the provision-seekers clad in a wet minimum. However they said that dignity, tact and discretion were needed on this job, and sent him back (and he must have spent the day in bed, or continuing to bathe).

Two hours’ easy going brought us to Camasunary, and nobody could have been kinder to the most deserving than Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were to us. We returned by another route, crossing the Sligachan track to Coruisk and giving us a view to the east of the Druim nan Raav ; and so returned to the shanty and the rest of the family, well pleased with the day’s work, and with time for a bathe before an early supper.

The others had also done some exploring, up the valley and on the lower slopes. All had collected impressions of marvellous views and colour effects, for the day was not so bad after all, and any day is worth while there, and worth all the effort and forethought necessary to secure it.

But next day the weather was considerably worse ! Yet, since it was the only chance now, some of us determined to try the long walk we had hoped for. No rain was falling at sea level, nor indeed on the ridge to which three of us, C.D.F., H.V.H. and M.M.B. struggled up, but there was a very thick mist which never lifted, and strangely enough, there was a pretty strong wind blowing as well. Even when it rained heavily later in the day the mist never broke. We followed the main ridge for a long way with never a glimpse of a view, and with every bit of rock work as difficult as it well could be

In summer. Hughes (who is a great hand with aneroid and compass) kept our direction most admirably until we got to Sgurr Dearg. We did the Inaccessible One again, finding it very different in boots and wet (that was when it chose to rain its hardest) from the rock we had scrambled on so joyously in sun and rubbers two days before. And then, on the one bit of ridge we had all seen previously, we could not find the Banachdich Gap. We had hoped till then to make the Druim nan Raav and follow it back to the Scavaig River ; but the Lordly Ones of the Coolins sat on the Sgurr Dearg cairn and played with us. The compass spun round derisively, justifying all that has ever been said about its unreliability in these parts. We found our own tracks of two days before, and could not follow them into that Gap : we followed a false ridge ; we got through or over the main ridge on to the Coruisk side in various places, severally and together, and could not be sure of it, and when sure of it could not make a safe route down in the mist unroped. And in proportion as the case seemed more hopeless, so did C.D.F. become increasingly energetic and determined and rapid of movement ! Seven times at least we came back to that summit cairn to try again; and at last—refusing to go down to Glen Brittle as the gods or demons of the Coolin evidently desired, for their amusement to be complete—we went back over Sgurr Dearg and An Stac, and took the Coire Lagan gap into Coire Ruada ; and so down the screes again and back to the hut and our waiting family, and the good meal and better welcome they had for us. We were as wet and tired as well could be, but ” It’s the best day I’ve ever had,” said one. Well, it was a sporting and happy failure. Mean­while the others again had a good day of more restricted walking and plenty of bathing. Never was there such a place for bathing. Anyone who can swim at all can do it happily in the warm salt water of Loch Scavaig when the tide is full. You can get into the rush of the Scavaig River and go down its water-chute, and play in the yellow sea-tangle like a seal.

Tuesday morning was glorious again. Coruisk and the Coolins showed us their grand beauty bathed in sunlight, and the salt lochs and little islands were all smiling and sparkling.

Perhaps the Lordly Ones had tried our mettle, and found us not unworthy to walk their hills, and will allow us to go again.

Anyway all our wet things dried nicely, and we evacuated the hut and ate up everything in a grand last meal. Regret­fully, and hopefully, we left Loch Scavaig, and returned by the shortest coast route : that is, across the Mad Burn, down on the sea-shore, if the tide is out, and if not, as low as may be : make height quickly on the shoulder of Garsbheinn, and then keep most of it to avoid boggy ground, till it is possible to go straight down to the track from Glen Brittle House to the cottages, where we got a kindly greeting in passing. It is undoubtedly the easiest route when carrying packs.

Camping at Coruisk is a wonderful and arduous experience, the toil it entails rewarded by extreme beauty and a satisfying feeling of achievement; but it is not a place to take novices camping, and should not be tried unless every member of the party is prepared to pull his weight in the team, and to face the certainty of hard going, and the threat of real hardship.   It is camping worthy of the name.