The Modern Antiquarian. Stone Circles, Ancient Sites, Neolithic Monuments, Ancient Monuments, Prehistoric Sites, Megalithic MysteriesThe Modern Antiquarian

Beinn na Cailleach

Cairn(s)

Fieldnotes

First-time visitors to the wondrous Isle of Skye may, upon heading west from the iconic, graceful bridge spanning Kyle Akin, be forgiven a certain sense of initial deflation - perhaps even mild self-admonishment? - at having apparently been seduced by the legend, the myth... the mystique... that clouds any rational appraisal of 'The Misty Isle'... as comprehensively as the all too frequent cumulo-nimbus obscures its landscape. Where is the all too keenly anticipated scenic splendour? Where, indeed?

Persevere, however, for such disappointment is but short-lived, a brief aberration, for Beinn na Caillich soon reassures any initially bemused punter, the mountain offering a strikingly elegant, granite domed - dare I say 'mamillar'? - profile to travellers approaching the bustling town of Broadford. Some will pause here to replenish petrol and provisions; many more tourists will take the B8083 traversing Strath Suardal towards Loch Slapin and Elgol, enjoying some of the finest coastal scenery these British Isles have to offer en route; while other, more intense types (ahem) with a penchant for prehistory may well choose to divert in search of the four chambered cairns which cluster around the peak like chicks to Mother Hen: the massive Liveras cairn overlooking Broadford Bay beyond Corry to the north; Achadh a'Chuirn, hidden away in a local backyard at Waterloo; the excellent An Sithean beside our aforementioned sightseers' Torrin road; or even the monuments subsumed within forestry near the electricity substation at Old Corry. Whatever their bag, all visitors, regardless, cannot fail to notice the 'Hill of the Old Woman' looming high overhead, its red-granite eroded flanks rising straight from sea level and thus appearing much taller than its unexceptional (for Scotland) 2,402ft. I, for one, have rarely seen such an aesthetically pleasing mountain - so graceful, so curvilinear of line. Ironically, perhaps, so unlike the jagged black gabbro summits of The Black Cuillin for which The Isle of Skye is justly famed?

It is therefore easy to see why Beinn na Caillich might have been referred to as a 'sacred hill' by some, such is its complete physical dominance of the locality. However, arguably its most intriguing feature is not its enigmatic, seemingly unscalable profile, but rather the placement of a massive cairn near its summit. OK, some muppets, particularly those card-carrying, peak-bagging 'mountaineering' types, might tell you that 'every mountain has a cairn, so what?' Well, for one thing, they are in error - in fact, The Citizen Cairn advises that one should pity such fools lacking even a basic awareness of their prehistoric heritage. Yeah, there are 'marker cairns' erected by walkers for reasons best kept to themselves... and then there are ancient funerary cairns, the final resting places of our Bronze Age ancestors. And then, to be fair, there is the great cairn said in Scottish mythology to be that of 'Saucy Mary' (according to the owner of Achadh a'Chuirn - or did she not say 'Saucy Sue'?), arguably in a league of its own.

Now should any of the more perceptive of our visitors heading for the delights of Elgol happen to glance to their right as the receding treeline reveals the mountain in all its splendour, they might, perhaps, note a green mound some way distant crowned by a few upstanding stones... the latter arranged as if placed by human agency. This is the aforementioned An Sithean chambered cairn, surely one of the most gloriously sited Neolithic monuments in all The Highlands? Indeed, such is the welcoming, ethereal vibe here that I choose to park up overnight, lulled to sleep as if within the womb, the only disturbance caused by the soft thuds of lambs 'bonking' into the car during the depth of night. No damage done, however, the creatures equipped with natural padding for such an eventuality. Truly, Nature thinks of everything, does she not? Anyway, dawn arrives true to forecast, wraith-like early morning mist forlornly clinging to the summit of the mountain before quickly dissipating, succumbing inexorably to the heat of the rising sun to reveal Saucy Mary's cairn clearly visible far above.

Gazing wistfully at the ridiculously steep-looking flanks and seemingly razor-sharp ridges as I munch my Coco Pops (other cereals are available) I suddenly realise that, like our first-time visitors, I've been seduced by 'Saucy Mary'; find that I'm tentatively discussing with myself the possibility of an approach from the north, or thereabouts. You what? Give me a break.... you want to climb that, you eejit? But the seed, now sown, begins to germinate at a prodigious, accelerating, alarming rate. 'After all, you ain't getting any younger', snipes the outwardly silent voice of introspection. Damn it to blazes.... and - retrospectively, at least - praise it to the heavens. To be fair, I'm by no means the first (relatively) modern antiquarian to wish for an aerial perspective, a certain Thomas Pennant having done so in 1772, noting 'the prospect to the west was that of desolation itself; a savage series of rude mountains, discoloured, black and red, as if by the rage of fire. The serrated tops of Blaven affect with astonishment: and beyond them, the clustered height of Quillin (sic)'. I'm suckered into accepting the challenge. Hey, what could possibly go wrong?

So... a minor road signposted 'Old Corry' leaves the A87 a little Sligachan-side of Broadford, plenty of parking space available before the electricity sub-station (incidentally, also the starting point for a visit to the nearby chambered cairns). The mountain rears disconcertingly far above, prompting last-minute thoughts of backing out. 'Only' 2,402ft eh? Ha! As any experienced upland wanderer will confirm, starting from near sea level makes all the difference to those that are - OK - 'not getting any younger'. Before I can countermand my decision, I set off through a break in the forestry cloaking the rough north-eastern slopes, the route an assault course of ankle-twisting tree stumps and timber residue, but nonetheless passable. As is the deer fence which has clearly seen better days. Traversing open hillside now, a westerly bearing sees me arrive at the prosaically named Lochan Beinn na Caillich, a pleasing body of water set within extensive bog. The eastern flank of the mountain overwhelms above and beyond, two steep ridges defining Coire Fearchair.

I decide to go with that to the right, for better or worse, although in retrospect a direct approach across boulder fields is probably not the best option, there being a more grassy alternative a little further on. Cresting the ridge, the magnificent vistas northward to Scalpay and northwest towards the fabulous Glamaig (and cohorts) ensure the sweaty struggle is more than worthwhile. From here 'the only way is up', as Yazz euphorically sang back in 1988, the obvious onward route very steep and narrow, particularly during the final stages. However, what with the absence of what the more tedious mountaineer would term 'technical difficulties', the frequent pauses to drink in that scenic grandeur is not a hardship. Clambering - at last - onto the curving summit plateau, the pent-up anticipation of arrival, of seeing the cairn at close quarters, immediately evaporates as like Pennant before me, I'm totally awestruck, completely blown away by the stark, magnificent vista to the west. Sinking to the ground I stare, spellbound, the sheer overwhelming impact of the imagery akin to being hit by the allegorical freight train, the curvaceous Red Cuillin drawing the gaze, beyond Bla Bheinn, to the magical, serrated skyline of Britain's finest mountain range, bar none: The Black Cuillin.

If ever there was a vision to enjoy for eternity, this has a pretty good claim. Speaking of which.... ah, yes, the cairn. Regaining my composure I head toward what is clearly a very substantial monument indeed. The approx northern arc is held in situ by several massive blocks of what I assume to be natural outcropping, smaller slabs having apparently been utilised at other points of the circumference as kerb stones. Folklore holds the monument - according to Canmore apparently never 'opened' - to be the final resting place of our 'Saucy Mary', said to be a Norwegian female dignitary of some description, dependent upon source, with a nice little earner on the side (that Arthur Daley would've been proud to call his own) involving levying tolls upon passing ships from her Caistel Maol...and flashing her breasts to reward supplicant sailors. Effective, perhaps, but not very PC. However, bear in mind that QE2 Crossing at Dartford, way down south, has been extracting money from us for over 30 years now. Go figure?

Moving swiftly on... while The Citizen Cairn believes there may well be more than a grain of truth in such a legend - the Norse were, of course, hereabouts back in the day and certainly not averse to such extortionary practices - if someone was ever interred (and perhaps still resides?) within Beinn na Caillich's behemoth of a cairn, he/she would surely date from a much earlier epoch in what was to become Scotland's story: The Bronze Age? On balance, The Saucy Saga appears to me reminiscent of the appropriation of the sentinel peaks of Snowdonia's Y Carneddau (Carnedd Llewelyn and Carnedd Dafydd) to the memory of the medieval Welsh Princes, notwithstanding those mountains' confirmed prehistoric pedigree. Whatever the truth, significantly placed a little to the approx north-east of the OS trig pillar, this is clearly no walker's cairn, certainly, when bearing in mind I quite literally see no other soul during c10 hours upon this mountain, time spent under peerless conditions. You do the maths...

The sun beats down from a pristine blue sky (yeah, I know, in Scotland?), yet it is bloody freezing up here in the company of the Norwegian ice maiden, a forceful wind requiring the wearing of full winter kit. Wandering around the summit plateau of shattered rock attempting to take it all in I note how the fabulous coastline of Skye offsets the predominantly green and grey of the landscape to great dramatic effect.... drama.... yeah, that is the keynote here, what this mountain is all about. Such theatrics needed to be artificially contrived at places such as Stonehenge, far to the south upon Salisbury Plain - and, to be fair, how! - but, clearly, there was no need, indeed no possibility of improving upon Mother Nature here upon this brutal mountain summit. Isolated from the main
bulk of The Red Cuillin and significantly lower than The Black Cuillin's numerous, jagged munros, the location of Beinn na Caillich accords the spellbound traveller a unique, privileged, bird's eye view of this wonderful Isle... a view fit for a king. Or princess, perhaps?

.. land and sea in such close proximity as to appear - no, to BE - mutually inclusive. Reluctant, in the extreme, to leave, I note another craggy height overlooking Kyleakin to the east, beyond the seemingly toy town rooftops of Broadford. I check the map, then double-check - surely some mistake, or perhaps the locals having a good-natured laugh at gullible tourists driving around in circles? - since this is ALSO named Beinn na Caillich. The thought occurs; well thoughts actually: 1) does this one possess a cairn (it does, but that's another wondrous story); 2) since Caisteal Maol lies immediately below to the approx northwest, perhaps this was actually the last abode of Saucy Mary? No, on second thoughts, let's leave things as they are since it appears this Beinn na Caillich is
actually eulogised as the last resting place of Grainnhe, wife of Fionn, whom students of Celtic mythology will immediately recognise as head of the mystical warrior-giant clan The Fiennes... assuming that, being students, they weren't down the pub during that particular lecture? Goes without saying, right? Also, that there is clearly a touch of local brinkmanship - or rather brink-womanship - inherent here in this corner of Skye. "You say tomato, I say tomato". Pah! Who needs a legendary Norwegian sexpot princess when you've a goddess warrior giant like Lucy Lawless on steroids? Next, they'll be saying the pathetic little French dude with the silly hat is actually buried at Waterloo?

Time does its thing, refusing to advance such seemingly epic moments in a frame-by-frame motion, as is the custom of dodgy Hollywood blockbusters. There is no overbearing soundtrack, either, simply an all-pervading silence.. assuming one discounts the curiously synthetic sound of wind upon Triplepoint Ceramic. Consequently, a full six hours spent upon this wondrous spot seems to evaporate into the void, here where the landscape intrudes into the upper realm. Here, where the Bronze Age inhabitants of this idiosyncratic, magical Isle chose to (probably) send their VIPs upon the journey to eternity. I finally bid the great cairn and its magical environs, plus whoever might be lingering around from times long passed, a fond farewell to begin my descent. No need to rush, right?
GLADMAN Posted by GLADMAN
27th July 2013ce
Edited 4th March 2023ce

Comments (2)

A perfect day out. Great stuff. thesweetcheat Posted by thesweetcheat
28th July 2013ce
I'd love to get up there. It was difficult to tear myself away when we skirted its foot. The chambered cairns are also on the list (not sure if it'll be this year though). thesweetcheat Posted by thesweetcheat
28th July 2013ce
You must be logged in to add a comment