The Steall Hut.

Charlie, Grandad and myself are just back from a fantastic spot near Fort William, 'the Ring of Steall'. The name refers of course to the ring of 4 Munroes (7 peaks in all); we were staying in the 'Steall hut' next to the 'An Steall' waterfalls in the Glen Nevis valley.

Unlike a bothy, this hut had a generator and a gas supply which kept it bright and cosy, however it did not have a fireplace or even a wood burning stove which as a pyromaniac, I have to say was a big draw back.

Gas cooker, microwave, kettle, radiators, tables, chairs, flushing toilet are all handy but it really doesn't make up for the loss of the dancing flames that mesmerize and inspire.

Luckily the sights filled that void, the thundering gorge, the snow capped mountains and especially the waterfalls. Although, when we arrived at the car park it was pitch black, there is no darkness like being in the countryside when it is overcast. We had one head torch between us and I had Charlie on my shoulders. The first sign we see as we head down the trail is a warning that this particular trail has caused a number of fatalities because not only do you have to cross a few waterfalls like the one above.

But one loose or slippery rock and it down you go into certain death, there's no surviving that gorge even if you managed to miss the rocks, the noise was deafening. So there we are, me wearing the head torch, Grandad walking virtually blind along the cliff edge of death in the dark blissfully unaware of how treacherous this mile and a half is.

Look how beautifully the force of the water has carved the rock, during the day this gorge really was a thing to behold.

Here was our final test, traversing this bridge in the dark, on the far side it gets a bit dodgy because one arm is stretched out and the other bent in close to you but we made it to the hut without getting wet or dead for that matter.

Got the gas and electricity hooked up, had some din dins by which time Charlie was out of the game, she had done a fair amount of walking on the pathy parts of the walk in and had fallen asleep before I finished reading the first page of 'Beauty and the Beast'.
About an hour after that Mike whom I had met at Ben Alder arrived in, grandad and I had already cracked open the vines.

The next day Mike woke early to do the 'Ring of Steall' (here come the science bit!)
Ring of Steall is the number one classic hike in the Mamore range, and a famous hike in the entire Scottish highlands. The hike runs over 4 Munroes and a number of other unranked peaks. One of the peaks, Sgorr an Lubhair, used to be a Munro, but was withdrawn from the Munro list some years ago. The Ring of Steall denotes a number of peaks forming a horseshoe around the An Steall waterfalls in the Glen Nevis valley. (click on the picture it should zoom)

An Gearanach, 982m (The complainer)
An Garbhanach, 975m (The rough ridge)
Stob Coire a' Chairn, 981m (Peak of the corrie of the cairn)
Am Bodach, 1032m (The old man)
Sgorr an Lubhair, 1001m
Stob Choire a' Mhail, 980m
Sgurr a' Mhaim, 1099m (Peak of the breast)
Mike reported back later that evening that he was waist deep in snow at the peaks, what a nutter...
The Martin posse opted for a more leisurely stroll along the glen taking in the views at a more humble height. Charlie having her first experience of drinking straight from a flowing river, she loved it so much she was trying to drink out of puddles too.

This is probably the most amazing place I’ve ever seen although visiting at this time of year with all the vibrant colours of autumn combined with the crisp clear air really gave it an advantage.

A drunken autumn, staggers raucously
across the crumpled glen,
trailing peroxide blondes with tousled hair
through the amber sheen of polished elegance.

The brazen relatives
also flirt in tipsy invitation
spiralling sassily
unashamed of the wine stains
upon their character.
But below the revelry
shy sage shuns the celebrations
and curls in acute embarrassment
under trumpeting orange pride.

Wind and dappled cloud conduct a wild concerto
over this incestuous orchestra.
But in the distance - by a ruined sheilling,
a rowan tree
bleeds a tragic memory
upon a yellow sea.
It calls to us,
so we accept the invitation
and listen to its silence sung
by the bloom of lichen on a stone.

Then the air splits
into a glut of roaring,
as primeval passions flare across the glen.
Bursting hearts that challenge fearlessly
and juxtapose upon the silence
the focused fury of the rut.

Then the eye brims - again,
but this time crystals swell across the leaden sky,
to spill the vibrant choir of a perfect bow
upon gray satin luminosity.

The entrance fee?
Two death defying miles …
There were no concessions.

Throughout the weekend this was my fire place, the An Steall waterfalls. Oh man, it was pure magic by the way. A picture just can't do it justice, like a fire it's the motion - the dance, which hypnotizes you.

After our wee walk, Grandad and Charlie had a nap while I headed back to the car to pick up a crate of beers and the bag that contained our dinner (this is when I realised the danger we had been in the evening before). When I arrived back I couldn't resist a cheeky wee Stella with a J. I soon realised just how knackered I was and for the rest of the evening regretted not joining the others for a quick sleep.

Here's Mike and Grandad in a trance cast by the watery enchantress while Charlie fights off Snappy the Croc who had been hunting her in a bid to retrieve his teeth from Grandad's hat.

Sunday already and it's time to go, back to concrete prisons and a cesspit of fear and control - what fun! The walk out is easy going; it's only in the dark sharing a head torch that things could have gone very wrong. But isn't danger cool? I think it is...