A bit of a hoot
Wed, Nov 28, 2018
The other weekend I headed across the water, with my lovely wife, to the wonderful island of Raasay for an ascent of Dùn Caan, the flat topped highest point where Johnson and Boswell danced a jig in 1773. I also brought an old friend.
The sun was just rising behind Glamaig as the ferry chuntered across the calm sound with the soft morning light bringing out the subtle winter colours of the Storr
and I gazed longingly at the abstract nothingness of the Minch where the world dissolved in pinkish imagination.
We met Tom the retired teacher on the ferry and gave him a lift up to the car park at the start of the path and had a spiffing stravaig up the rocky path into the rising sun, with the light bringing out every detail in the landscape.
Near the summit I brought out my old pal for some climbing. He’d been patiently watching the views from my rucksack pocket but was itching for some action. Allow me to introduce that old friend, of old style Victorian nomenclature, Mr. A. H. B. Man, hereafter affectionately referred to as A.
After an initial climb on the lower slabs, A then took a moment to survey the route to the top,
before making the tricky traverse across the lichened face towards the final groove and crack to the wind blasted summit.
Topping out in the morning sunshine, the views behind stretched over the east coast of Raasay towards the north west highlands shivering under a crystal clear winter sky as A stepped onto the summit.
A fine ascent indeed which we celebrated with sandwiches and coffee before offering the services of my rucksack pocket once more for the rocky descent as A has still to procure suitable rope apparatus for rapelling the vertiginous west face of the mountain.
A grand day out indeed, toasted at Raasay House with coffee, tea and should I whisper, a soupcon of the craitur for Mr. A.