Stob Coire Sgreamhach and the Beinn Fhada Ridge, Glen Coe

We follow the stream for a few hundred more meters. We now make our ascent up towards the ridge. There’s no path here and we pick our way carefully amongst the crags and steep terrain. Upward into the silence.

We don’t talk much. Happy to be alone with our thoughts until we hit the ridge. When we do the scene is ethereal. Can we ever remember a time in the mountains surrounded by such ghostly silence? We literally whisper to each other.

An acute counterpoint to the usual attempts to communicate through powerful gusts battering us from the west.

The world around us is locked in ice and frost. Not a sound. No signs of life. We traverse southwest along the ridge. As we gain height the views open up and they are spectacular; to the west Bidean nam Bian and Stob Coire nan Lochan tower above us.

The low winter sun picking out every gully, cliff and scree slope. Far below us the Lost Valley sits in total shade. This dark chasm will see no sunlight today.

The ground is frozen with a dusting of snow. Ice axes out. We reach the summit of Beinn Fhada at 931m. Coffee and a few squares of dark chocolate. This morning’s porridge and peanut butter seems a long time ago. We talk for a while in the sun. What an extraordinary privilege it is to be here, right now, at this precise moment, there really is nothing else.

Finally the silence is broken; a raven croaks in the cliffs below us and its time to move on. We are now scrambling down a narrow section of the ridge and at its base we will be presented with the “bad step”. An enjoyable scramble in the warmer months. We need to understand it in winter, both ascending and descending.

There’s a reasonable path along the ridge, lost at times in scree and rocks. Without ice and snow the scramble in front of us manageable, the route defined by a 100 years of climbers boots, ice axes and crampons. Today, it’s not so apparent. Light snow makes the scramble less obvious, the route less clear.

We climb with some exposure. Perceived and real risk on our minds. We then descend, always the trickier proposition. At the base we look up again and pick a line with less exposure. We ascend slowly, taking in everything around us, carefully assessing and planning.

We descend once more to explore a potential route bypassing the scramble altogether. At first this seems positive, but in fact leads to more untested scrambling.

There’s a clear decision for us. We understand the correct route and how to identify it visually; the ascent in light snow is acceptable. The decent is not acceptable. It’s simply too difficult to identify the downward route and what condition it’s in from above. There are too many wrong options, even under light snow.

We have now built a clearer picture of the Beinn Fhada ridge and the ascent to Stob Coire Sgreamhach in winter; in light snow it’s a challenging and inspiring route to ascend with clients. [But not descend]. In full winter conditions its off limits in either direction with clients. We can now build this knowledge into future trips and adventures.

We make our way back up the ridge towards Stob Coire Sgreamhach. We arrive and have company. Half a dozen chirpy folk, pointing, laughing and taking photos of the magnificence that surrounds us.

Their maps are out and they ask us if it’s OK to descend down towards Beinn Fhada. Friendly and helpful chat advises them not to, not under snow, not today. It’s the Lost Valley exit route for them.

We sit for a while and take it in. Glen Etive and Loch Etive disappear into the west. The Paps of Jura just break the horizon. The mass of Buachaille Etive Mor sits frozen in the low sun. Mountains in every direction. It’s impossibly beautiful. So many memories and a lifetime of adventures still to come. How very lucky we are.

We break southeast and make our descent towards Lairig Eilde.

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