Liathach Traverse

It was wet. I remember that much. Rain thumping on the canvas like a regiment of drummers beating a heady tattoo. North of the tent lay the brooding mass of Liathach. I sat, crouched over my phone, watching YouTube videos of the traverse.

It’s hard to know where to start describing Liathach. It’s the kind of mountain legends are made from and, from the road it towers over, it looks impregnable. It rises at what seems an impossible angle, more fortress than hill. Songs have been written about her and the An Fasarinen pinnacles are infamous in their own right.

I never did get to climb her that first trip to Torridon. I’d ran Beinn Alligin on arrival. It’s a steep monster in its own right, home to the wonderfully named Eag Dhubh nah-Eigheachd – ‘the black gash of the wailing’. After that the weather closed in. Liathach’s pinnacles look fierce enough when you can see, I didn’t much fancy them in the wet and with no visibility.

Since watching it recede in my rear view mirror that trip, it’s dominated my thoughts in the same way it dominates the Torridonian skyline. I’d started my holiday week with a snowy run up Creise and Meall a’ Bhuiridh, followed with a round of the Grey Corries.

Since watching it recede in my rear view mirror that trip, it’s dominated my thoughts in the same way it dominates the Torridonian skyline.

The weather didn’t look promising for a trip to Torridon and I’d resigned myself to having to wait again when, unexpectedly, I woke up in picturesque Dornie with MWIS assuring me there was an 80% chance of cloud free Munros. Seeing my chance, I drove straight to Torridon, parked up east of Glen Cottage, and set at it.

The initial climb is breathtaking. There’s a clear path that wastes no time in getting steep. By the time I’d done 2km, I’d gained over 700m of elevation. There are moments as you climb steeply through the coire of Toll a’ Meitheach that the sandstone terraces seem to be teetering over you.

The gradient is often more than 40% on the ascent and after only a shade over 2km you hit the ridge. The wall of stone before you is replaced by a vast vista of the great wilderness, running across lochans and moor and out beyond Loch Maree. You’re reminded of how truly remote Scotland’s wild places are.

I head east first to bag the summit of Stùc a’ Choire Dhubh Bhig, a Top with incredible views across neighbouring Beinn Eighe. There’s no time for soaking up the view though, because the first Munro of the day awaits.
Spidean a’ Choire Lèith sits 1.6km west along a ridge made up of large quartzite boulders. Everything feels outrageously sized as you clamber over and across a sea of stone. There are two smaller tops to cover before the steep climb to the highest point on the ridge.

Spidean a’ Choire Lèith sits 1.6km west along a ridge made up of large quartzite boulders. Everything feels outrageously sized as you clamber over and across a sea of stone.

The views across the country are breathtaking but the most exciting thing is the view of the ridge ahead. If the exposure is too much, you can turn around and take the steep path back to the car. Your other options are the drama of the pinnacles or the dizzying heights of the bypass paths. I’d decided ahead of time that I’d attempt the pinnacles head on.

I’ve done a lot of scrambling over the past year or so, but most of the routes have been grade one. I’ve done steeper climbs, like the northeast ridge of Binnein Mor, but I was keen to measure myself against a known quantity. Taken head on, the An Fasarinen pinnacles are a grade two and would be a good measure of progress.

I clambered up onto the first pinnacle and started to climb down the other side only to freeze. I’d came off the top facing forwards and soon realised it would need me to turn and climb down or to hang and drop. Neither of those things are complex when you’re close to the ground, but with a yawning 3000ft drop beneath you start to question whether you fancy it.

As I clung to the rock and wondered about my options, two fellow climbers came over the adjacent pinnacle and offered to spot me. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t somewhat a relief. Knowing someone else was present proved enough to get my mind moving again. I pivoted, found a few good holds, and got back onto the ridge. It was nice to breathe. We had chat and a nice biscuit. There are few problems that a biscuit isn’t a good answer to.

Having mastered the first pinnacle the rest felt a lot easier. There are jaw-dropping moments when you look down to see your parked car three thousand feet below your feet, but the rock is grippy and offers a good choice of holds. The final pinnacle, An Fasarinen itself, is big and looks daunting but it’s problems didn’t seem any more technical than the others. From the top you can see a clear and easy approach to the ridge’s other Munro, Mullach an Rathain.

There are jaw-dropping moments when you look down to see your parked car three thousand feet below your feet, but the rock is grippy and offers a good choice of holds.

It’d been slow progress across the pinnacles and it took a little for my legs to recover their spring for the run up the ridge. From the summit I drank in the views across to Meall Dearg, a Top to the north east across the fierce Northern Pinnacles. It’s a rock climbing route that made Irvine Butterfield consider it, “the most difficult top in the British Isles”. I’m not capable of that yet and so I headed down the main route.

Any thoughts of a quick descent dissipated as I dropped down steep scree paths with some scrambles, rejoining the road about two km west of the car park.

After looking forward to this mountain for a year, it didn’t disappoint. Liathach lived up to its reputation, with incredible views and some great scrambling. For me it was a bucket list route, the right level of technical challenge at the right time.

With Liathach done, An Teallach and Aonach Eagach beckon and then, one day – with luck and practice – the Black Cuillins.