Issue 162: Ultra Meagaidh OK

Sanny meets up with forum regular Luke Bradley, aka Munrobiker, for a reader’s ride that very much lives up to his username. (With apologies to Soundgarden for making a really bad pun out of their debut album.)

Words Sanny Photography Sanny & Luke

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I have long admired Munrobiker’s posts on the Singletrack World forum over the years. His positively encyclopaedic knowledge of big mountain rides in the Lakes and Scotland has proven invaluable for my own adventures many times over, while his annual end of term ‘A Year in the Mountains’ forum posts have never failed to impress and inspire me for my own adventures. One of the great things about the forum [What, there’s a forum? – Ed] has always been its ability to bring people together to share their experiences and knowledge. We have communicated on the forum and by email, and for the last couple of years, we’ve been planning an adventure together. However, circumstances, my ongoing passion to ride all trails Lakeland, a nasty accident and the vagaries of the weather conspired to prevent us from making it a reality – until now. A Hail Mary last-minute text, coupled with an alignment of the stars, meant that we both had a free day to ride. The weather was looking pretty bloody perfect too. Get in!

But where to ride? It had to be somewhere that neither of us had ridden before, it had to be a Munro, of course, and it had to offer the right balance of riding and hikeabike. Perusing my well-thumbed copy of Ralph Storer’s The Ultimate Guide to the Munros, I happened upon the Creag Meagaidh range. A veritable giant of what looks and feels like a mountain range in itself, along with its two subsidiary Munro tops, it is quite the shapely mountain. Renowned for being arguably the place to winter climb in the UK, both in terms of the quality and quantity of available routes, thanks to the 3km-long cliffs of Coire Ardair that soar upwards for some 500m, it does not feature prominently in ‘Best of’ riding lists. However, the long and gently rising 6km of track that leads you into the corrie would suggest that this should not necessarily be the case. Only one way to find out.

It’s pronounced Craig Meggy!

Drawing up at the main car park of the Creag Meagaidh Nature Reserve on a beautiful Sunday morning, I was soon joined by Luke. “Sanny. At long last. It’s only taken us three years!” laughed Luke, his hand extended in friendship. I immediately liked the cut of his jib and knew we were in for some fun. Bikes built, we were soon up and riding through Aberarder Farm on a perfectly built Alpine-style path. What once had a reputation for being a boggy slog into the corrie was anything but. It looked and felt like it had been purpose built with mountain bikers in mind. Rising gently through the low-lying trees, bushes and myriad plant life with only the briefest of push required at one steep section, Luke set off at a fair old pace while I spun in a leisurely manner behind. We met a friendly walker and his collie companion (sadly losing its eyesight), who told us he had camped overnight on the plateau and had enjoyed an incredible night of unfettered star gazing. “How was the summit?” we asked. “Never seen it so dry. Even the boggy bits are like kindling.” Things were looking very promising indeed.

Breaking through the treeline, we took our time to really soak in the surroundings while I got to find a bit more about Luke. “So what was your first Munro?” I enquired. “Carn Ban Mor”, came the reply. Like me, Luke had discovered the joys of taking bikes up Munros through his first foray up the Cairngorm classic at the bottom of Glen Feshie. As an introduction to biking in the Scottish mountains, it is a well-known gateway peak, particularly when coupled with the descent off Sgor Gaoith. “It led to lots of other mountains, both here and in the Lakes and ultimately led me to my choice of forum name. That said, after a somewhat crappy couple of years, I might have had to change it to flat Edinburgh canal biker.” Luke proceeded to share with me how an errant off-leash dog and entirely unconcerned owner had taken him off his bike on a shared-use path in Edinburgh, resulting in a severe concussion, the after-effects of which he continued to suffer for many months. As he got his mojo back, it took another big hit as a thieving scumbag on Pinkbike scammed him in the sale of a bike frame. Luke got his money back, but it left a sour taste in the mouth. Fortunately, things began to take a turn for the better as he secured himself a used but not abused second-hand ARC8 mountain bike frame in excellent condition for a bargain price. “For me, it is a dream bike, so things worked out well in the end. It is light enough for big hikeabikes but burly enough for the downs.” I was pleased to hear that things were on the up for him; his 100-mile mountain bike ride in the Borders two days before was a testament to fortunes taking a turn for the better.

Despite protestations about taking it easy, Luke set a strong pace on the steeper sections of the ascent. Later in the ride, he admitted that he was pushing hard to keep pace with me, which made me laugh as I was mostly taking up the rear. Once a racer, eh? A split in the trail appeared – to our right, a steep hikeabike all the way to the summit of the Munro that is Carn Liath; ahead, an easy ride through the glen to Lochan a’Choire. It was not exactly Sophie’s Choice. With the trail gently rising and occasionally falling, the breathtaking sight of Coire Ardair loomed increasingly large on the horizon. With little in the way of technical challenge, we made easy progress all the way to the water. Our only challenge had been a couple of boulder water bars to lump our bikes over, the gently flowing stream to our left offering us a mindful soundtrack of quietly gurgling water over rocks.

Into the unknown

Ahead of us, Uinneag Coire Ardair stood between us and the saddle. Known more commonly as The Window, it is the only route up for mountain bikers like us unless we fancied having a crack at some serious solo climbing up the intimidating and frankly jaw-dropping vertical walls of the corrie. With neither of us keen to end up nothing more than a bloody streak on the rock and a footnote in the Darwin Awards, we shouldered our bikes and proceeded to make slow but steady progress through a defile of boulders and rocks. At times, our shoes scrabbled for grip as forward progress was thwarted by the slip of unconsolidated rock on rock. It was not easy, but despite appearances from afar, it was not a long and drawn-out affair. Both of us have endured far harder and longer hikeabikes where this one would barely register on the scale of jaggedy bastardness©. As we crested the saddle, the wind suddenly picked up. This part of the mountain has a well-earned reputation for channelling in some serious wind when all around is calm – today was no exception.

“Where are you heading, lads?” a couple of clearly bemused walkers enquired. “You’re not planning to ride, are you?” their questioning betraying their clear judgement that we were a pair of dafties out of our depth. “Up the summit of Creag Meagaidh then back down this way”, I replied, matter of factly. Luke and I reflected on the conversation after and came to the same conclusion that it never ceases to amaze us that riding adventures we regard as normal are often beyond the realms of comprehension of many other mountain users. Some might regard it as extreme, but to us, it is really just a day in the mountains with the added benefit of the descent being a lot quicker and a helluva lot more enjoyable to boot. Why run when you can walk and why walk when you can ride?

More hikeabike followed as we made our way up an easy to follow track that would take us up the very edge of Coire Ardair. It looked like a fair old schlep from below, but it took a lot less time than either of us had anticipated, the break at the saddle giving us a bit of time to load up on sustenance and play a game of ‘Name that Peak’. Despite our experience in the mountains, we were both singularly terrible at it to the point that every peak was named either Schiehallion or Ben Kingsley. Frankly, we didn’t really care. The views west were astonishing – the light was clear and we could make out a whole myriad of inviting peaks stretching off as far as the eye could see. We contemplated the wisdom of attempting to ride all of the Munros, and it was something that neither of us felt any compulsion to do. Explore them, yes, but carrying a bike over the likes of the Black Cuillin in Skye felt like an exercise in list ticking just for the sake of it. Many years ago, Steve Thomas ‘rode’ the Aonach Eagach ridge for MTB Pro magazine, and it was ultimately a great summit ridge scramble spoiled. Fair play if you attempt it, but do it for the right reasons for you and not just to complete an arbitrary list so you can tell people about it down the pub.

Cresting the top, we were back on and riding. The wind was blowing up and over the corrie from below, which was strangely reassuring as it meant that we were unlikely to get blown off to meet a rocky fate far below. The ground displayed a level of dryness that you rarely experience in Scotland in the late spring. Sections of ground that would be clearly home to sloughs of despond and boggy morasses positively crunched under tyre. It was a very peculiar feeling, but on the plus side, it meant we left no visible tracks in our wake. A late-season bank of snow drew our eyes – hard to resist riding through but it would have been soft, so we were quickly dissuaded from persevering with that notion. Now in a riding groove, we made our way to the westerly top of Sron a’Choire. Despite the corrie having been a constant companion, we never grew bored of it every time it loomed into view to our left. We felt like tiny dots on a very large canvas of nature’s making, and it felt good. I reflected on just how many folk would have made the effort to bring their bike up and ride the tops. Probably precious few, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. It didn’t diminish the experience but actually added to it. How lucky to be here on such a lovely spring day and have this all to ourselves.

Hoolie, anyone?

Turning tail, we struck out on a trod that would eventually lead us to the summit of Creag Meagaidh proper. As we crossed onto the obvious main path taken by walkers, the wind began to take on a turn for the fierce. A deceptively simple and easy to follow narrow ribbon of singletrack took on an entirely unexpected character as we were increasingly at the mercy of the wind. Reaching the summit, we hunkered down by the summit cairn and reflected on how every piece of ride kit Luke was wearing was black. Not a conscious fashion choice, but good fiscal prudence on his part, securing bargains.

What goes up must come down, and it was a fight just to stay upright on the first gentle section of the descent. Popping a lip was not an option as the wind would have whipped our front wheels away without so much as a by your leave. Thankfully, things got less fresh as the trail steepened, the bulk of the mountain acting as a natural windbreak. The steep track we had carried up proved to be a gem of a loose but flowing descent on the way back down. “How good was that?” we practically said in unison when we got back down to the saddle, our downward progress halted only briefly to give up the trail for a couple of friendly and chatty walkers on the ascent.

Looking westward, I quizzed Luke on his geology skills, his day job being a specialist soil geologist – something his geology lecturer described as being “the crap on the top”. A distinctive red streak could be seen in the distance, and I eagerly awaited his reply. “Not my speciality!” he laughed, although to be fair to him, he found out and sent me an email post-ride, so my scientific curiosity was ultimately sated. “Keen for some more?” I asked, and true to form, Luke was. Another remarkably rapid hikeabike beckoned, and in what felt like no real time at all, we were at the summit of Stob Poite Coire Ardair. A mishmash of clanking rocks, it was not the most interesting of tops either of us had ridden, but it rewarded us with expansive 360-degree views and a different perspective on the corrie, so was well worth the effort. The third peak beckoned, but neither of us felt particularly inclined to do it as an out and back. Like the contestants on Bullseye, we’d had a great day out and didn’t want to gamble, thus retraced our steps.

Houston, we’ve had a couple of problems…

Reaching the top of The Window, as expected, riding was not on the cards. While we both made a decent attempt at sections of it, the prolonged dry spring had rendered it a dusty mess of unstable rock and sand. Who would have thought that rain would have improved it? Us neither. As the steepness and looseness receded, we were back and riding again – right up until I had a rear wheel tubeless disaster. Despite our combined efforts, neither of us could get an anchovy to insert into the hole in the tyre, thus an old-fashioned inner tube repair was called for – which is fine until you realise that it jettisons a fine mist of tubeless gloop that makes your backside look like a plasterer’s radio. Not cool. That said, as a setting for repairing a puncture, it was not half bad. Getting back to the descent, Luke decided to join me on the mechanical woes front as the battery for his wireless rear mech decided to jettison itself into the undergrowth, never to be seen again. Technology can be great, but not so much when it leaves you at the start of a 6km flow descent stuck in first gear. Unflustered, Luke pressed on, his legs on occasion whirling faster than a spinning top. We weren’t going to break any speed records, but by the time we finally reached the bottom of the trail, we were both grinning like a pair of clowns. It had been a truly memorable day out that had been far too long in the making. As I made my way back down the A9, I resolved to not leave it quite so long before having another adventure with Munrobiker, as there are still an awful lot of mountains to explore that neither of us has ridden. It had been a most excellent day out in excellent company. Here’s to more Readers Rides in the future.