There’s not many club meet firsts left in a mountaineering club lucky enough to boast such a deep bench of hut veterans, but Raymond managed to pull one out of the hat with this meet. No creaky bunkhouses, no smoky bothy tales, this time it was a booking at the Spean Bridge Community Centre.

The Spean Bridge Community Centre might not have the patina of decades of mountaineering history, but for a March meet it delivered warmth, space, and a fresh take on what a club weekend can look like. It was the reminder that a “club hut” is less about the building and more about the people who fill it. A different kind of hut, maybe, but a hut nonetheless.

Purpose-built in 1980 to serve as a hub for the local community, owned and operated by the residents of Spean Bridge, it was designed to provide an affordable, accessible space for local groups, meetings, and events. By weekend it can just as easily be taken over by a band of slightly damp hill-goers such as our very own 45 degrees MC. The main hall served not only as a very spacious bedroom for the weekend, but with acoustics better than expected, it also set the stage for two very different auditory experiences (more on that later).

Members attending: James Fraser, Neil Fraser, George Henderson, Susan Henderson, Stephen Hogarth, Paddy Marrs, Louise McCulloch, Craig O’Connor, Mike Partington, Norrie Shand, Pete Smith, Ewan Stewart, Graeme Wilmott, Tim Woodcock.

FRIDAY NIGHT
Friday night was, for the most part, a quiet affair, folk arriving, settling in, a few drinks, and an early drift towards sleeping bags. That said, “quiet” only really applied until the lights went out. Once the hall settled, somw discovered just how good the acoustics were, amplifying what can only be described as a communal effort. Somewhere in the darkness, a particularly committed individual (or individuals) set the tone. At this point, the Chairman took it upon himself to act, and a brief but determined investigation was launched into the source of the disturbance. Efforts were made to identify the culprit and, ideally, enforce some form of stop-and-desist order, though, as with most things of this nature, compliance proved… limited.
And so, the night carried on in much the same vein: part sleep, part endurance exercise, with the hall offering an early preview of what was to come on Saturday night.

SATURDAY
Saturday saw the club scatter to the winds, some high, some low, all at the mercy of a forecast that never quite made up its mind. It was one of those classic Highland days where you pack for everything and still feel vaguely underprepared.

Fraz and Neil made the short hop to Torlundy and grabbed the last space at the North Face car park, always a good omen, or so it seemed at the time. The plan was flexible: head for CMD and maybe, just maybe, take a look at the arête if things improved. They didn’t. As height was gained, the weather steadily shut the door, snow thickening, wind picking up, visibility dropping away. Groups ahead were already turning back, including a guided party who’d had enough of the referencing reports of declining conditions. The gallant pair pressed on regardless, over Carn Dearg Meadhonach and onto CMD, only to find themselves facing the full force of the blizzard on the return, now walking straight into what had been helpfully pushing them along earlier. Spindrift lashed faces, progress slowed, and the descent added a bit of spice: one unplanned “shortcut” down an icy bank ending abruptly against a boulder,
leaving Fraz with a damaged ankle, followed by a couple of less-than-graceful encounters with the terrain from Neil, who would later discover a fractured wrist. As they neared the path, a rescue helicopter thumped overhead, with a team heading in towards the CIC Hut, later news confirmed someone had come off the arête. A timely reminder, if one was needed. CMD had a decent crack at Clan Fraser, but both walked (or limped) away.

Over on Creag Meagaidh, conditions were every bit as “character-building.” Graeme and Craig went for a full anti-clockwise circuit: three Munros and more than a handful of tops, skipping only one to keep the day vaguely sensible. It still turned into a long winter outing, with the full rotation of Highland weather: bursts of sun, driving snow, wind, hail, and long stretches of poor visibility. Deep snow gave way to ice and back again, crampons required at times, and sometimes all conditions at once just to keep things interesting. They spotted Pete at the Window but couldn’t quite catch his attention as visibility worsened—more door than window, by that point.

Pete himself had started with loftier intentions, eyeing up the Post Face for a bit of easy winter climbing, but quickly reassessed and decided to head up to the Window. Knee-deep powder on the approach, drifting higher in places, and a small avalanche witnessed on route confirmed the decision was the correct one. A walk through the Window was enough before turning back, one of those days where simply being out there is enough, and pushing it isn’t worth the gamble.

Lorn, meanwhile, was purely hunting Creag Meagaidh’s tops, finding the same conditions as the others on these hills, turning a 5–6 hour day into something closer to 8. Other than a brief encounter with Graeme and Craig on An Cearcallach, the hills were found to be fairly quiet.

Ewan and Paddy had a similarly honest day out on Stob Coire Sgriodain and Chno Dearg. Expecting relentless rain, they instead got a mix of snow showers and brighter spells, but with deep snow underfoot and the occasional hidden hole waiting to swallow a leg up to the waist, it was hard-earned progress all the way.

Mike and Stephen let the weather make the decisions, heading into Lochan na h-Earba with thoughts of a climbing Creag Pitridh that never quite materialised. When the snow showers intensified, discretion again won out, and they settled for a solid 20km day instead, more than respectable by any measure.

Not everyone opted for the high ground. George and Susan took a lower-level wander through Glen Roy, following the famous parallel roads and seeking out a natural bridge formed by a chockstone the size of a double-decker bus, proof that you don’t need altitude for a good day out.

Louise and Tim went in search of the Skippinish tree at Loch Arkaig, an objective that turned out to be more mythical than expected. A fine walk nonetheless, even if the target remained elusive.

Norrie kept things local with a wander through Killiechonate Forest before turning his attention to the afternoon’s main event: the pub, the rugby, and—crucially—a Guinness priced far more reasonably than on previous meets.

By mid-afternoon, a steady migration began, not back to the hills, but to the far more reliable refuge of the Spean Bridge pub as George, Susan, Norrie, Tim and Louise, Mike and Stephen filtered in to watch Scotland in the Six Nations. The Wee Minister must have had a word with the big man upstairs; Norrie’s pint of Guinness was only £4.50 – he paid £7.80 at the pub on last meet!

SATURDAY NIGHT
Back at the hut there was a slightly more subdued feel than some meets, no surprise given the conditions people had been out in. The hills had taken their share of energy, and it showed. Conversations came in waves: bursts of animated storytelling followed by quieter stretches where people simply sat, ate, and zoned out. George’s Silver Birch water, collected by his own fair hands, and went down very well. As the night continued there was a gradual shift from recovery mode into something more social.

At some point George turned into a salesman, raising funds with his very own bring and buy sale, while Neil proved he is a master of wood craft with a collection of whisky staves repurposed into wine bottle holders and whisky flytes/candle holders, which were pretty much a sell-out, well done Neil!

Music followed, as it tends to. First up was Tim performing an intimate gig in the main hall. Although not everyone made it in to the hall, we could all hear the music being played, every song played confidently identified (however incorrectly) by Lorn as “The River”. Norrie was later than usual getting the guitar out but as usual belted out some of the classics we all love to sing along too.

A few beers, a bit of whisky, plenty of chat and the shared sense of a day well spent in mixed conditions. And then, inevitably, the lights went out and the hall revealed its true character…….cue the 45 degrees whisky induced rhonchus chorus.

SUNDAY
In the morning the usual clean up was taking place, some carried this out with near military grade precision, thank you!

As far as we know the only club members foolish enough to get back in the hills on Sunday were Graeme and Craig. A quick out and back to bag Geal Charn turned into a surreal experience, visibility can only be described as what it would feel like walking in white noise. Anyway, they got to the summit and back down safely and headed home like the rest of the 45.

Roll on Milehouse… let’s just hope everyone makes it to the correct hut!