Creag Uchdag from Glen Lednock

My walk today begins at the Glen Lednock car park. My destination is Creag Uchdag, a small Corbett rising 877 metres above sea level. Creag, like many Corbetts, is infrequently hiked, with people drawn to climb taller Munros. This makes the Corbetts more appealing, offering the solitude of mountain environments that I seek as I venture into the hills.

Beginning with a short section of road walking to Lednock Dam, I then start going uphill into open mountain moorland to reach the summit of Meall Dubh Mor. From there, I push on to the summit of Creag Uchdag (the highest peak) and Creag Uchdag, before backtracking slightly, to descend into Lednock Glen to scramble around the Lednock Reservoir. My motivation for choosing this route wasn't to summit Creag Uchdag, but for the short scramble along the banks of Loch Lednock Reservoir, which I hope will offer a different perspective on the dam at the head of the reservoir... and be fun!

Writing this journal has taken me longer than I would have liked. Between a busy job search and Eve's home education, my writing schedule has been disrupted, and I’ve felt somewhat overwhelmed at times. But in the midst of it all, I’ve noticed a lingering feeling—a feeling I'm not used to. Sitting here at the start of November, writing about Creag Uchdag that I walked at the end of August, I find myself feeling melancholic for the warmth and brightness of summer. I believe many of us share this: we eagerly await the cosy, crisp mornings of autumn and winter, only to sometimes wish them away, longing for the lazy summer evenings and the longer days. It’s a reminder of how human we all are—struggling with patience and appreciation for each season. But perhaps, in acknowledging these feelings, we can be gentler with ourselves. 

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Starting down the road towards Leddock Dam, I passed several cottages where I was waved at by a lady out of her front window. On the first gate I passed through I saw a poster asking walkers to keep an eye out for a lost sheepdog. IHaving seen many of these posters over the years of hill walking, I often wonder how often they yield results. Either way, I hope the poor dog didn't suffer or better, was eventually reunited with its master!

Today’s weather was fantastic! The sun was shining brightly over a gentle layer of cloud, accompanied by a refreshing, crisp breeze. I adore days like this—perfectly warm yet cool enough to keep things interesting, with just enough variation to make everything feel vibrant and alive! I stopped for my first break, sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of a small woodland.

As I climbed higher, I passed a minor burn where the track I had been following started to fade and eventually disappeared. The terrain ahead was open moorland with small grassy tussocks as I eyed my ascent towards the summit of Meall Dubh Mor. Finding a small rock, I sat down, leaning against it and watching the clouds drift across the sky. These are the moments I enjoy the most: quiet times of reflection and meditation, the silence and solitude a drug I can't get enough of.

Climbing to the small, non-descriptor summit of Meall Dubh Mor, I could see the hump of Creag Uchdag in front of me, over a wide area of peat intersected with blankets of purple and pink from the flowers of common heather. Walking into the small saddle between the summits, I looked for a suitable spot to start the descent towards the reservoir, before the final ascent to the summit of Creag Uchdag.

On the short ascent to Creag Uchdag, I followed a line of rock jutting out of the grass that acted like a natural handrail, guiding me to the summit. Although climbing, this was much easier walking than traversing the soft ground between the summits, avoiding the hidden burns and soft peat bogs.

Once on the summit of Creag Uchdag, the breeze had picked up, and combined with the windchill, made any exposed flesh feel cold and numb. Beneath my windproof jacket, I stayed warm, finding a spot out of the wind make the obligatory phone call home (signal permitting) to my wife Sarah and daughter Eve.

I made the decision at this point not to stop. Instead a walked onto the next summit of Creag Uchdag for a quick photo, before heading back to the summit of Creag Uchdag.

I sat on the summit of Creag Uchdag for as long as I could, totally oblivious to the passing time. As I sat looking overlooking the landscape, enjoying the feeling of solitude, the inevitable burden of time, and responsibility, started to bear down on me. I packed my bag and started to head back into sandals, to find the spot I decided to start the descent towards the reservoir.

The descent from Creag Uchdag into Glen Lednock was steep and tough, as descents always are. The inexperienced hillwalker worries about the ascent. The experienced hill walker, however, soon learns it’s the descent that demands the most effort and concentration! This was no exception!

I could see the reservoirs clearly below me as I descended, making navigation easy. As I approached the reservoir, I noticed animal trails and dried-up burns from the summer. The reservoir was low, exposing a large area that was normally submerged by the water. The exposed land was dry. A light shade of brown, cracked like tree bark. On the opposite side, I could make out a group of people slowly walking down the main track. Their backpacks looked large and heavy. As I got closer, I realised they were a group of youths, likely on a Duke of Edinburgh award expedition. I reached a large sheep pen, finding a flat area on the edge of the reservoir to rest.

On this trip, I brought my camping stove with me. Not knowing how challenging the scramble along the riverbank would be, I decided to sit down and enjoy some soup and bread first, taking a moment to relax before the final section.

As it turned out, the scramble wasn't as difficult as I had feared. I had read a few reports describing it as very tough and even dangerous! I went prepared to retreat if it got that bad, but with the water level so low, there was no real danger, and the scramble was no more than a rocky walk. It was altogether pleasant… albeit in the shadow of a huge man-made dam that had transformed the glen beyond recognition.

The only difficulty I faced was finding a way past the final inlet from the burn. The water was flowing with a speed and force that couldn't be safely waded through, even if it meant getting wet feet. I retreated slightly and walked up the steep embankment to a farmer's track.

Within a few minutes, I was back at the start point at Lednock Dam. Finding a bench, I sat down to rest before retracing my steps back along the road. The bench was placed there in memory of a local man who had helped to construct the dam. I sat, trying to imagine what the area would have been like before the dam and during its construction. Very different from what I was looking out over today, I imagine. 

The final walk back down the road was as pleasant as it could be, walking on tarmac at the end of a long day. I was slightly sad I couldn't phone the farmer with news of his sheepdog, regardless of the outcome, and the lady in her front window was no longer there. 

I returned to the car feeling cheerful after a wonderful day on Creag Uchdag, where I barely saw anyone except the Duke of Edinburgh group across the reservoir. I truly enjoyed every moment of my hike. Now, I look forward to embracing the crisp winter mornings, enchanting sunrises, and Auroras — I hope — as I put summer nostalgia aside.

Thank you for reading today's journal, and I genuinely hope you enjoyed it. I look forward to talking with you again soon. Ian Alderman

I hope you enjoyed this journal. Please consider supporting us. Your support means so much and helps us more than I can possibly tell you. Thank you. Ian 🙏🏻
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