Day 8, to Derry Lodge

 

The Gang of Four had agreed to meet up at 9am to make our way to Derry Lodge via the Fords of Avon, Lairigh an Laoigh and Glen Derry. Text messages had been flying around as plans changed to suit the weather – just a few hours ago we had convinced ourselves that Glen Feshie / Glen Geldie was the only practical way of making our way to Braemar. This low level route would probably have taken an extra day – not what we really wanted.

The very sad news of the morning was that Denis had retired from the trip. Considering his very recent bout of ‘flu this was exactly the right decision. We were all gutted by this news, but Denis was sensibly resolute – he was experienced enough to know when to throw in the towel.

This news came on top of Laura Liddel’s retirement the previous day. Both Laura and Denis are very competent on the hill and we knew their decisions to withdraw from the Challenge hadn’t been taken lightly. Louise & Laura are close friends and the news that Laura had pulled out at Fort Augustus was upsetting for her.

Louise’s David did the honours by delivering the now fragrant and freshly laundered Challenger back to us. She had enjoyed good food, drink, a soak in her bath – and a REAL bed for the night. She also had a slight hangover. But I didn’t tell you that.

75% of the Gang of Four heading towards Glenmore Coffee Shop

Off we went, much laughter ensued and my map of Wales was consulted. Satisfied we were still not in Wales he homed in on the excellent coffee shop in Glenmore. Good coffee and yummy cakes were consumed as we watched wild birds feeding in the, er, birdarium thingy. Red squirrels also frequent the garden but there were none today. They probably knew we were coming.

Peter and Allan struggling to keep up. Not.

Walking in the direction of Ryvoan Bothy and through the last couple of km of the Rothiemurchus Forest, we were treated to a taste of the weather that was to come later that day: wind driven rain and snow showers.

Leaving the forest on a LRT our long climb to the Fords of Avon began. The climb is not severe, but the paths had become flowing rivers. This rang warning bells, crossing by the Fords of Avon could be tricky if the river was in spate. In case we got separated on the climb, we had arranged to meet at the Refuge Hut so we could cross the river together if need-be.

The snow and rain showers were now slowing progress. Before long it was just one long shower. Louise’s leaky boots and poorly feet were causing her problems, but she’s a brave bear and she just got stuck in. Her foolishness fortitude was really, er, fortitudy.

A patient (ahem) Louise waits while Peter has a kit faff.

(Paramo is good. Honest)

Peter and Allan sped off towards the refuge whilst Louise and I, firmly in Slackpacker Mode, trudged through the foaming footpaths to the refuge. We were both tired and hungry when we got there and were disappointed and a little miffed that two teenagers had decided to use the refuge as an overnight stop. We tried to explain, gently, that this was an emergency shelter and not a bothy but our comments went in one ear and out the other.

Our faster companions had recced the river crossing and pronounced it an easy-peasy crossing, and they shot off whilst we stopped for soup and tea.

We crossed the two rivers with ease, Louise’s sooper–dooper waterproof sandals weren’t needed. Yes, you read it here first: WATERPROOF SANDALS! Surely this is the only way to cross rivers whilst maintaining dignity and style.

See, waterproof sandals!

Actually the rivers were easily crossed in boots, although in Louise’s case her feet were so wet that it would have made little difference. Her feet were causing her problems.

Rain and snow continued to hamper our progress and it took a long time and lots of zig-zagging off our river / path in vain attempts to avoid the worst of the torrents. Eventually we got to the more level and slightly drier ground of Glen Derry. The rain and snow had stopped – I became aware of a definite change in the feel of conditions, atmospheric pressure was on the up. I told Louise and she responded by trying to throw a walking pole at me, but she was too tired and missed her target. Although she did say something about a nerd.

Light was fading when I started looking for a suitable pitch, quite a few spots looked good: dry, flat, close to the river etc. I suggested this to my accomplice but by now she was firmly in Stubborn Mode – “We ARE getting to Derry Lodge tonight. Right?” I know when to shut up.

More wonderful pitches came and went, but little Miss Stubborn would have none of it, with my headtorch on she fairly blazed a trail through the glen. I’m sure that if it wasn’t for her soggy feet, she would have set light to the undergrowth – such was her speed.

When tiredness eventually overcame pride ‘we’ decided to look for a pitch. Sods Law states good pitches are simply not available when you need them. We spotted a good pitch but the militant wing of the DofE had got there first. I thought of waking them all up and telling them the river level was due to rise dramatically in the next hour…..but herself wouldn’t let me. Oh well, on to Derry Lodge.

We were on the west side of the Derry Burn, but I knew there was a bridge very close to the lodge that would give us access to the better ground on the east side – closer to the lodge. I recovered my headtorch, and in searchlight mode (it was rather late!), looked for the bridge. I looked up the river, I looked down the river. I even looked at the other river, Luibeg Burn. I could not find the bridge. Perhaps it had washed away. Perhaps, Brigadoon-like, it was simply the wrong day of the century. There was no bridge. It wasn’t there. Okay?

Poor Miss Stubborn’s Louise’s feet were in a bad state, wet and sore. She wasn’t going to complain. Well not too much anyway.

We pitched on the wrong side of the river and after a hurried meal and hot drink we crawled into our sleeping bags for a well-earned kip.

TGOC 2012 Day 7

Day 7, to Glenmore Aviemore

I awoke in some confusion. This isn’t unusual, I generally blame my advancing years.

It seemed that the Akto might not be well, the flysheet and inner tent were pushed together and only about 2” from my nose. It was also strangely dark – yet bright. Perhaps the previous evening’s libations were taking their toll. A mug of strong coffee might help.

Then there was a funny slidy sound and the Akto changed shape back to something like normal. Investigations were required. On poking my head out of the tent, everything was white. Very white indeed.

Snowy Red Bothy

The snowfall must have been quite heavy for my tent was covered in the stuff. Mike had been up early-ish and came over to shake most of the snow off my tent, what a star!

Denis emerging

I was quite happy with this situation until a snowball came flying over, fortunately I was quick enough to zip the tent up sharpish. Mike went on his way, as did Peter. Louise and I packed our kit and checked on Denis. Although my intended stop for the night was the Glenmore campsite I decided to have a night of luxury in the Aviemore Bunkhouse.We were now only going as far as Aviemore, a bit of a slog over the Burma Road but no big deal. Denis was taking it easy so we arranged to meet up with him in Aviemore.

I was to find out later that Denis had been down with ‘flu only 2 weeks before the Challenge – I’m surprised he could summon the energy to do as much as he did.

We set out around mid-morning, leaving Denis to pack and meander over to join us later in the day. Actually the poor man was quite knackered and didn’t arrive in Aviemore until late afternoon / early evening. If we had realised there’s no way we would have left him alone.

Once over the big hill it got brighter and perhaps a little warmer. Louise had arranged with her husband to go home for the night – they live not too far away. Her hero of a husband rolled up, chucked us into their car and drove me to collect my food parcel from Glenmore campsite. Up to this point the poor weather had us planning a re-re-route for the following couple of days, probably by Glen Feshie / Glen Geldie into Braemar.

In the meantime I had booked myself into the Aviemore Bunkhouse for a dry and comfy night.

Food parcel collected, we went for a very welcome pint and a bowl of warming soup. That really hit the spot. Louise and husband David went off home, whilst I returned to the bunkhouse to have a shower and generally get sorted.

Smelling (a little) more sweetly I called in to the Cairngorm Hotel where they were offering an all-you-can-eat deal for £12.50. Normally these deals aren’t up to much, the food quality is poor, the service is bad etc. This place was in a different category all together, top quality food and tip-top service….and good beer too.

Familiar Challenge faces began appearing, some came for a pint whilst others ate their fill. I think the diners got the best deal.

Well fed Challengers: Allan, Denis, Peter and Mike

At around 9.15pm Denis appeared. He’d booked himself into the hotel, really needing some TLC. At 9.25pm, 5 minutes before the restaurant was due to close, a bedraggled Roger Hoyle appeared at the hotel reception. He’s had a very long day and having walked off his map, had to road walk for miles. The hotel took pity on him, keeping the restaurant open until he’d been very well fed.

Roger Hoyle

After a pint and a chat with Denis, Roger and Mike in the hotel lounge, I sauntered off to my bunkhouse for some well-earned sleep. I had a large room to myself that night. It was good to have the space to spread my kit out but quite odd being so isolated from others.

I switched my radio on to catch the BBC R4 midnight news but all I remember hearing were the chimes of Big Ben. Zzzzzzzzzzz

Day 6, to Red Bothy

 

Well rested after the previous day’s exertions, the ‘A’ Team made serious preparations for the new day’s walk…..we had another cup of tea.

Before long we spotted Peter walking down the glen, he came over to see what we were up to and have a chat. The Pieman was next to arrive – in a terrible state. All upset he was….he’d broken his spork. If you have you ever tried delving into depths of a rehydrated meal bag with a broken spork to try to get at the best part of the meal (the bit at the bottom) you’ll appreciate how distraught Mike was. After three very full glasses of Schadenfreude I took pity on the poor man and loaned him my very special lightweight teaspoon (liberated from a café somewhere).

Mike mourning his terminally broken spork

Discussions took place to try to decide on the finer points of the day’s route and it wasn’t long before we were agreed: we didn’t have much of a clue.

Navigation by committee, Mike, Denis and Peter

We packed in a leisurely manner and drank more tea. After carefully referring to our Challenge Notes we determined to avoid going past Glenmazeran Lodge by taking the appropriate path.

It didn’t work. Heaven knows how or why, but before long we were marching right past the lodge in a slightly embarrassed manner. Ho hum.

We trundled on, and before long came across Brian and Allan enjoying lunch in a beautifully peaceful and tranquil spot. I regret to say we once again shattered their sublime silence they were enjoying. They must have been highly delighted when we didn’t hang around for too long. They were intending going in our direction – although I imagine they were making mental notes to try for a re-route!

Off we went, leaving the shattered wreckage of Brian and Allan’s oasis of calm. Denis and I were in deep conversation, discussing in great depth……something. Unfortunately this meant we subconsciously decided to continue north-east with a view to, er, doing something. Can’t remember what, but it must have been important.

The young lady member of the Gang of Three uttered some interesting sounding Gaelic words when she realised we had taken an alternative route and we needed to double back to get back on track. Scots Gaelic is a wonderfully expressive language.

In the meantime The Tranquil Pair of Brian and Allan had taken the less adventurous but more correct route. By the time we were eventually going in the right direction The Tranquil Pair were clean out of sight. They probably thought they’d escape our attentions until some time later when we arrived at the Wendy House shooting cabin (plastic spoons a speciality) to find tents pitched outside, the owners being inside the building, busily writing up their logs. In peace and quiet.

The Wendy House shooting cabin

In what was now becoming an unsociable habit, The ‘A’ Team made it’s presence felt by launching through the door with a mixture of laughter, curses and demands for tea. The Tranquil Pair were well established in the hut, and clearly thinking they had avoided our attentions, had set up the woodburning stove for visual effect and a little warmth.

The Tranquil Pair’s peace and quiet. Not.

More laughter and jollity ensued. Tea was brewed, soup was made – it was getting cold outside, and routes discussed again.

We thought it completely unfair and outwith the traditions of the Challenge to impose our presence on these two gentlefolk any longer. So we had another cuppa before heading off into the wild.

The LRT from the hut climbed a short way SSW to the point we thought it prudent to bash heather and stuff in the direction of Red Bothy. The weather was deteriorating, with snow and sleet blasting in from the west.

Cacky weather

We rather unexpectedly came across a double electric fence that definitely wasn’t there last year. After a long but unsuccessful faff trying to locate a gate or some other way across, the decision was made to disable the fence’s shocking properties. This task completed (the buggers made be grab hold of the fence to prove it was safe!) we still had to cross the damned thing. As Denis and I agreed A Plan we noticed our Navigating Officer-ette on t’other side of the fence. She was getting a bit shirty with her two rather less-agile charges. How on earth had she crossed so easily? More strange Scots Gaelic words were uttered, this time not so quietly. Denis and I thought it prudent to get over the fence sharpish so as not to incur any further wrath. So we did. And we were all happy again.

Splish-sploshing down the banks of the Caochan na Gaibre, Denis soon got into his stride, making light work of the rough river bank. Louise and I were rather slower and with the best will in the world we couldn’t catch Denis. A few hundred metres before the bothy we were able to leave the river bank to finish the walk on a Land Rover Track.

Approaching the bothy we saw a figure heading our way, he marched straight past us, muttering a ‘Hello’ in the way hill walkers do. He then did a sharp about-turn, caught us up and chatted to us as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

It was of course Mike Knipe.

Mike had pitched directly outside the bothy, in the gathering gloom we did the same. In the cold and wet it was just so much easier to cook and eat in the bothy so that’s what we did. Peter was already firmly established in the bothy where they had a nice fire going. After eating our fine rehydrated meals it was time for some warming magic medicine, after all it was very cold. Bottles of all sorts of spirits appeared as if by magic. They were passed around the room to share and much fun was had.

I nearly forgot to mention, this was the evening where the tin of peaches was opened and enjoyed by those who like tinned peaches. Me for instance. My pack would be lighter the next day.

What a wonderful evening, we were protected from the elements and warmed nicely by the bothy fire, we enjoyed excellent company and good craic. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much for so long - my sides ached! It was an evening to remember.

Louise, with the Pieman conducting Nasal Passage Exploration

 

The warm Pieman and Denis, eating his tea.

All to soon it was time to retire to bed. Food bags were hung up out of the way of hungry rodents, the lights switched off, TV unplugged and we went off to our tents.

The weather was horrible outside, sleeting and snowing…..and it was dark. It was difficult to keep the wet slutchy stuff from getting into the tent but I managed. Cold and miserable it may have been outside the tent, I was snug in my little Akto.

TGOC 2012, The Challenge continues….

Day 5: to Glen Mazeran

The day dawned…..it’s what they do.

Apparently I had missed Mick & Gayle’s departure, they left around 7am I think. Today was to be a relaxed day, wandering through the delightful Monadhliath. Fast walking was strictly out – this was a day to savour.

The ‘A’ Team was now up to full complement, a formidable sight indeed. Leading the assault on the Monadhliath was Denis, loins suitably girded for the operation. Louise was 2^nd in command (She had a GPS phone thingy with proper maps. There’s posh for you.). I was rear gunner….well somebody has to do it. I mean, we might have been attacked from the rear by a militant DofE team. Anyway, with TWO figures for me to follow it was less likely I’d get lost.

Previously soggy boots and socks (my undies were now dry so I didn’t need their facility. I thought I should tell you that.) were recovered from Alec & Janet’s drying cupboard. Alec came out of the house with his fiddle and played a tune or two as ‘her with a GPS’ pulled on her boots. Alec and I chatted about musical stuff, I sang a bit of a song, Denis threw something at me to shut me up (it didn’t work), and with a heavy heart we prepared to leave this wonderful oasis.

Alec serenading Louise as she pulls on dry boots

Our plans for a prompt departure weren’t going to be thwarted, so at 11.56am on the dot we dragged ourselves away.

The sun was shining brightly as we headed off to inspect Errogie’s immaculate telephone box, maintained to a high standard by the locals. There was something to sit on, flowers (plastic ones, but nice) and books to read. Oh, and a visitors book that we dutifully signed.

Onwards toward some upwards, we dawdled along the tarmac - occasionally having to dive off the road to avoid the odd large lorry. In true Scottish fashion our lovely sunny morning had deteriorated and soon we had to wrap up to avoid onslaughts of wind, rain, snow, hailstones etc. Fortunately, and again in true Scottish fashion, these wintery intrusions weren’t too prolonged.

Louise had intended to post some maps home but was struggling to carry the envelope, use her cattle prods walking poles and still hold map and compass…. I thought it was men who weren’t able to multi-task. I offered to carry the package, promising to post it at the first available post box (in the Monadhliath???).

There came a very loud silence from behind, accompanied by a quiet but polite cough. I had steamed past a post box without posting the maps. Whoops.

I made my excuses (Well I AM old) and we continued on our way.

Leaving the tarmac near Aberarder House a choccy bar and drink break was called for. The sun was shining again and it was a pleasant rest. The tug up the LRT had us gaining height quite rapidly and we were all soon puffing and panting. The LRT followed the Allt Mor to a shooting cabin. Denis and I, in the company of Jon Hancock, had visited here on our 2011 Challenge. It’s a lovely place…..well it was until The ‘A’ Team arrived.

Inside the hut we found Brian and Allan. They were enjoying their lunch in the peace and tranquillity that only such a location can offer. Both were obviously well brought-up chaps, for they were very polite – pretending not to mind our boisterous intrusion at all. Much laughter and jollity followed – late lunches were demolished, chocolate was eaten and much tea was drunk.

Louise, Brian, Allan and Denis

A map check confirmed we weren’t near Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. This was a Good Thing. I knew my map of Wales would come in useful.

Leaving Brian and Allan to wonder what the hell had hit them, we trundled off in a sort of easterly ‘up’ direction. The ground was a bit boggy, but nothing that this band of rufty-tufty Challengers couldn’t handle.

This part of the route is lovely. When I went this way in 2011 I could honestly say that Denis’s route over the Monadhliath was my favourite bit of Challenge of all time – not difficult or strenuous, just wonderful.

A couple of km of bog-hopping and heather-bashing took us to another LRT that would guide into Glen Mazeran. Time was getting on and we decided it really would be a good idea to get a shift on – putting tents up in the dark isn’t ideal. Descending into the glen we spotted tents – Peter and the Pieman had found good pitches in the higher reaches of the glen. Peter came over for a quick chat before we left to walk a further 5km to our pitch for the night.

In the gathering darkness we found a suitable pitch, about a mile west of Glenmazeran Lodge. Someone had beaten us to it – a Nallo was also pitched nearby. It was 3 very happy but weary walkers who eventually climbed into their sleeping bags that night. It had been a grand day!

I slept extremely warmly and comfortably.

TGOC 2012, the first bit.

TGOC 2012 Strathcarron to Johnshaven (Not quite)

This was to be the 4th time I had succeeded in not finishing at Johnshaven. To find out more, read on…

 

In the Beginning….

….there were omens, bad ‘uns at that. For some months circumstances in Timperley had been plotting to stop me even starting this year’s Challenge - even up until the Thursday lunchtime before the Grand Start:

The Metrolink tram system threw a wobbler. It’s usually a 20 minute journey into Manchester where I was due to catch the 7.47 train northwards. I thought that arriving at the tram station at 6.45am would be suitably early, but….the tram system broke, delivering me to Manchester Victoria 2 minutes after my train had departed. Not good.

Should I just turn around and go home? I really felt like doing just that. I knew however, that once in Scotland and amongst familiar faces and in the Scottish wilderness, things would get better.

They most certainly did.

I managed to catch a later train northwards that, if on time, would deposit me at Glasgow Central at 12.01. This would give me just enough time to walk over to Queen Street for the 12.21 to Fort Bill. The train arrived late at 12.09, entailing a run through the streets of Glasgow – not easy with a 30lb pack on my back and in walking boots.

I arrived at Queen Street with a minute to spare. Then it all started to get better.

I dutifully stowed my pack and sat down in the first available seat. I was amongst very familiar faces of fellow Challengers. The banter in the carriage soon had me looking forward with optimism. We had fun and I felt positive at last.

Fort Bill came and went. A meal in the café at Morrison’s, a wander around the town in the wet – then it was time for the bus to Dornie where I had booked a B&B. My plan was to take the bus, then train to Strathcarron the following morning.

A couple of beers in the excellent company of Morpeth, Brian & Allan, and other Challengers in the Dornie Hotel set me firmly in Challenge Mode.

 Eilean Donan Castle, Dornie

 

Day 1: to beyond Loch Calavie

Things were still not going quite to plan, the bus service from Dornie to Kyle had ceased in January although it was still advertised as being current. A taxi was ordered and all was well.

The train delivered me to Strathcarron at lunchtime in the rain. After signing out in the hotel bar I set off eastwards. Eastwards is good for this trip.

It was really good to be out in the wilds again. The peace, rain (eh?) and dramatic scenery all combined to lift my spirits and help me on my way. I soon came across two Virgin Challengers, Darren Fowler and Stuart Dixon – both apparently on the run from Durham Jail.

Darren & Stuart

A seriously dodgy bridge convinced me to wade (Ho-ho!) the river. The bridge was certainly too wobbly for my delicate senses to contemplate.

The dodgy bridge

Bendronaig Lodge soon appeared. I had no idea that one of the buildings was a bothy, it looked too immaculate - it would have proved a good excuse for a sit down and a cuppa. Oh well.

Continuing the eastwards theme through Coire na Sorna, Loch Calavie soon came into view. There’s a shieling marked on the map, at the east end (East is good) of the loch, and that was my intended pitch for the night.

Approaching the shieling and searching for a suitable pitch, a smiley figure jumped up, waving quite gleefully and pointing downwards. The figure, swathed in finest Paramo, was quite unrecognisable – such is the disguising effect of outdoors attire.

The figure was pointing to the horizontal form of Vanessa Ling who had chosen the lee of the shieling for a quick (half-hour!) kip.

We introduced ourselves. I was rather embarrassed not to recognise Louise Evans as ‘the figure’. I first met Louise at Tomdoun, 2 years previously – albeit briefly. Once she emerged from her Paramo hood I recognised her smiley face – it was indeed ‘that Louise’, the first-time Challenger involved in Uncle Roger’s retirement presentation from 2011.

We chatted for a short while and because of the unsuitability of the spot to pitch, we three set off walking once again. Eastwards.

The three tents of the Dynamic Trio of Irreverend David Albon, Sue ‘Fast’ Oxley, and Heather ‘ain’t no mountain high enough’ Thomas-Smith were spotted. It was great to see Heather bounding up to greet us, camera in hand and determined to photograph us. The Dynamic Trio had spent their first day doing high stuff and had had a really good day. They intended doing further tops the next day, but too much white stuff made them re-route.

I soon separated from Louise & Vanessa, and after another 3 miles I found a suitable pitch just to the north of An Gead Loch: flat, dry, and next to a stream. Ideal. Tent up and tea on the go, Vanessa and Louise arrived and also found a suitable pitch. I had no idea they had camped only 50m away, I had assumed they had continued towards Pait Lodge for their overnight stop.

I was relaxing now and sleep came easily.

 Badly pitched Akto, the first night

Day 2: to Glen Strathfarrar

I had slept very well. A slightly muzzy head was soon set right with a couple of mugs of coffee. The morning was bright, more importantly it was dry.

Louise appeared as I was packing, it was quite a surprise – not that I was packing, but seeing Louise when I had assumed she and Vanessa were miles away. The Dynamic Trio then also appeared and announced their re-route. My visitors all left me to continue packing and before long I was heading in the direction of Pait Lodge.

A footpath to Pait Lodge is marked on the map, but this is Scotland – there was no path, just peaty hags and bog. The 1.5 - 2km to the lodge took ages. I was to overtake Louise who had taken a higher route in an attempt to miss the worst of the crud, but it didn’t help her. I was to learn later that she’d had and nasty episode with a fetidly swampy bit of bog that threatened to swallow her forever. That’s what she told me anyway.

Loch Monar, Pait Lodge, bog…and Louise. Honest.

After the Battle with the Bog, I finally gained the bridge by Pait Lodge and crossed over the river. A cursing Louise was very close behind, and considering her bog-trauma, I thought it wise for us both to drink tea. A chap can only take so much trauma without tea. We found a nice grassy spot on the shore of Loch Monar and I fired up the Quattro stove. Tea, biscuits and good company were enjoyed. This is an important part of the Challenge for me.

More bog battles followed, but not as serious as the earlier scrap. Louise, being a kindly soul and clearly worried that an old fart like me shouldn’t be allowed out alone in wild country, decided it safer to keep an eye on me and very diplomatically suggested we walk together for the day – our planned Challenge routes being remarkably similar.

It’s a good job that she did follow me, for as I prepared to leave our elevenses spot I would have headed off in completely the wrong direction if it wasn’t for her foresight in looking at the map first. Oh well, I was on my holidays now and the odd wrong direction wasn’t going to spoil my fun. And I am old.

Now heading in the right direction (east, if you haven’t been paying attention) we set off. Bog and tussock-hopping, going by Meallan Buide and Meallan Bhuide na Fheadain to pick up the path and LRT through Gleann Innis an Loichet.

Vanessa appeared, she too had endured the Battle with the Bog. Vanessa still had a long way to go, she was to meet her husband in Struy that evening so she didn’t hang around with these two slackpackers.

The weather had deteriorated, not dramatically, but enough to need to batten down the hatches from time to time.

 Weather coming in from the west

The small hydro-electric power station in the glen seemed to have sprung a leak, I didn’t stop to fix it – messing with water and electricity is not A Good Thing. I know these things.

 Water and electricity are unnatural bed-fellows

Time was getting on and my intended overnight stop around Inchvuilt was bypassed. It wasn’t entirely suitable and I wasn’t ready to stop anyway. It had been an easy day so a couple of extra miles wasn’t a problem. Louise had suggested a pitch towards Ardchuilk, a better choice considering the next day’s route.

The weather forecast for that night and the following day wasn’t too sparkling – high winds, driving rain and snow. A sheltered pitch was needed. A nice spot was discovered, very close to where we had to cross the River Farrar the following morning. Although not startlingly sheltered, it proved a good choice. Other Challengers had also thought similarly, and a small Challenge Village was born.

Pitch near Ardchuilk in Glen Strathfarrar

Louise celebrating (cursing?) not losing me in a bog or something.

A meal of rehydrated something-or-other (I can’t remember – beef hash followed by rhubarb and custard probably) was enjoyed before an explore of our transitory village. A quick wash down – I hate climbing into my sleeping bag feeling sticky and horrible, another cuppa, then bed.

The overnight weather was unexpectedly good, I slept quite well again.

My Challenge is coming together.

 

Day 3, Wet Sunday: to Cannich and beyond

No photographs today, the weather was just too awful for a camera to be out on it’s own.

After the second mug of coffee I really couldn’t find any more excuses not to get up. In fact, after two mugs of coffee and the mug of drinking chocolate the previous evening, getting up was becoming an urgent necessity. But you probably didn’t need to know that.

The morning was overcast but not unpleasant although I knew from the BBC and MWIS that the wet and windy stuff was on it’s way. There were noises from Louise’s tent as she made ready to make a break for the hills. I thought I’d best shape myself for fear of missing my navigator for the day. I had a map, of course. And a compass. If cornered I wasn’t afraid to use them in anger. Perhaps a map of Wales was the wrong choice for the day.

My fearless navigator appeared and filled me with the confidence that only years of experience can give you. It’s a shame I don’t have those years of experience. Oh well, the map of Wales might have to suffice.

Another cup of tea was needed to calm our nerves. After all, this woman had agreed to accompany a screwball into the hills – without a safety net. I bet she doesn’t do THAT again in a hurry.

At 9am we promptly left our pitch at 10.30am just in time for the rain to start and the wind to get up…..somewhere. We wandered through the boglands of Glen Strathfarrar in search of Brigadoon Bridge over the Allt Innis na something-or-other. We found the bridge, walked straight past it in a most confident manner (We just DID, okay?), and proceeded in a southerly direction to face some rather severe upness. The choice was: stay on the left side of the River Wotsit to gain a rather rough-looking path, or wade / trot across the river to make use of a Land Rover Track on t’other side. The Land Rover Track won, unfortunately my foolish brave companion’s boots lost. Rather badly. They leaked. They didn’t just leak, they allowed water to pour in – soaking our fearless heroine’s socks and feet. Not a good start. There might have been grumpiness but there wasn’t. I did however have to point out that my parents WERE married to each other at the time of my birth.

Perhaps Brigadoon Bridge would have been a better choice.

The steepness of the stony LRT got steeper and it took a long time to get to the bealach between Meallan Odhar and An Soutar. By this time the rain was, er, heavier. And driven by strong winds. Thank heavens for Paramo. Those who stayed dry that day missed the heavy rain and strong, gusty winds. At least in Paramo we were warm, if a little damp. The very strong gusts frequently knocked us sideways, making steady progress all but impossible.

Our vetters suggested we enter a forestry plantation to descend towards Liatre in Glen Cannich. A quick recce revealed steep, pathless, boggy ground with no clear route of descent.

The strong winds made communication difficult. My companion had to resort to signalling, frequently indicating that she had spotted TWO potential routes, other times only one. This hand-signalling lark could catch on.

The decision was taken to bypass the plantation and plough our merry way down through the heathery steepness. This was not A Good Thing. It was slippy, slimy, had big boggy bits and lots of hidden holes. This was generally Not Nice. Once again I had to remind my accomplice of my parent’s marital status, adding that I left school with a whole 2 ‘O’ levels. Nuff said.

It seemed an age before we hit the Land Rover Track in Glen Cannich. Louise, apparently speechless with happiness, sat on a trackside rock to empty the contents of Liatre Burn from her boots. It’s funny, the things that make folks happy.

Fortified by fruity bars or Mars Bars or whatever wasn’t water-logged in the bottom of my pack, Louise sped off in the direction of Cannich at such high speed that she must have been deafened by the wind noise – however loudly I called her, she just couldn’t hear me. Quite amazing.

The campsite at Cannich was to be my stop for the night, whilst Louise had booked the night in a bijou bunkhouse in Bearnock. Jealous of this very thing, I suggested that I might try for accommodation at the same place. Louise’s face was a picture, the veins in her forehead stood out, her face turned red. She was quite overcome. She had clearly agreed.

We decided a meal in the pub in Cannich was A Plan. And so it was.

To show my gratitude I bought Louise a bowl of soup and half a cheese toasty. I mean, it’s not often you come across such an agreeable walking companion. Whilst she tucked into her meal, I had steak in ale pie with all the trimmings, followed by a rather delicious jam / suet pudding with custard.

It was with great delight that I found Denis in the pub. He had managed to secure a room in the pub for the night and was settled for the evening. I knew that Denis had an excellent route across the Monadhliath, I walked with him that way last year along with Jon Hancock – I just couldn’t make out the route from my maps once I’d got home. We arranged to walk across the Monadhliath together. My Challenge was really getting on track.

By now the pub was filling up with Challengers in various degrees of sogginess. The place was beginning to steam gently. It was good to see familiar faces from previous years.

Keith, Biaggio and Piero entered the pub, all looking rather worse for the weather. They had walked along the north shore of Loch Mullardoch, not the best idea in good conditions – it must have been truly awful that day. A phone call to the Bijou Bunkhouse secured beds for them also.

Our kit had been hung up in the pub in an attempt to dry it out. By the time we were ready to head off to the Bijou Bunkhouse the large puddles of water on the pub floor were rather embarrassing. Oh well, they didn’t know who we were. I gave my name as Alan Sloman and denied all knowledge of the identity of my companion. Problem sorted.

6 miles later and now dry, we arrived at our resting place for the night. A hot shower, clean and dry clothes, cups of tea and real beds. Luxury. A shame the telly didn’t work. What the hell, we were too knackered to bother with it anyway.

We washed our mucky clothes and hung them in the boiler room to dry, by the following morning they were only wet.

I slept quite well.

Day 4, to Ault-na-Goire

On the dot of 9am I had my third cup of coffee. I was determined to make an early start to Drumnadrochit, so I promised myself a 10am departure. We left the bunkhouse at 11.07am prompt. Not bad eh?

For some reason Louise didn’t seem overly keen on walking with me that day. Was it because my damp socks were hung out to air on the back of my pack? Surely it couldn’t have been the two pairs of still-wet undies dangling from the pack straps, they were almost new and still fairly clean.

The 6-7 mile road walk to Drum, punctuated by an ice-cream stop, was a bit boring – but it didn’t rain too much so that was good.

On entering Drumnadrochit we searched out food and drink. For some reason (was it the underpants?) the pub wouldn’t let us in, they reckoned they had closed 30 minutes earlier….at 2pm? Business must be good for them.

Drumnadrochit, the grand entrance

We went next door to the café where we (well me actually) enjoyed mushroom soup, a bread roll and more tea. A cake may have been involved but I’m not admitting to that without photographic evidence. Louise didn’t have much of an appetite so I may have had her lunch too.

Peter Molenaar came to join us, he had been in the pub and had spotted our ejection. We laughed lots, exchanging tales of daring-do and bad weather. Peter’s one of the really good guys and I enjoy his company very much. Before long we had to leave to catch the 5pm boat from Temple Pier to Inverfarigaig, but not before topping up with food stuff. The stuff included a tin of peaches. It’s important to eat fruit on trips like this.

Peter & Louise do lunch in Drumnadrochit

We scarpered off to Temple Pier, en-route arranging to meet with Denis at the ferry. At 5pm on the dot he appeared and boarded Gordon Menzies’ boat to cheers of waiting Challengers. I used the opportunity to get my captive audience to sign Lynsey Pooler’s birthday card, Callater Sunday just happened to coincide with her xx birthday (you didn’t really think I was going to tell you how old she was…did you?). Detailed plans had been laid to ensure a suitable birthday surprise for her. More of this later.

An unhappy Louise, Koos  (The Flying Dutchman) and Denis

The night’s pitch was Ault-na-Goire where Janet and Alec, the residents, kindly allowed Challengers to camp in their grounds. What fine people they are, exhibiting the kind of hospitality not even dreamt about south of the border. Alec’s love of traditional Scottish music is wonderful. A fiddler, we chatted for ages about songs and tunes. I immediately warmed to these people, they’re the right stuff.

Ault-na-Goire – Alec and his daughter

The ‘garden’ was full of tents, it was good to see Mick and Gayle and to meet up with new Challengers. This is what it’s all about – walking through wonderful country and meeting with such good people. And getting cold and wet.

For not a lot of money, Janet provided Challengers with an excellent meal of lasagne with a wonderful green salad, followed by a scrumptious apple & blueberry crumble….with CREAM! The following morning she provided a cooked breakfast that really set us all up for the day ahead. It was hard to leave Ault-na-Goire, but I’ll be back.

Ault-na-Goire breakfast table: Denis, Louise, Janet, Carol and Sandy

I’d love to be able to tell you that I slept really well that night, but a faff in an adjacent tent disturbed my slumber. Oh well, I didn’t mind – I was on my holidays and was sliding comfortably into ‘Denis Mode’.

 

More to follow….when I remember what happened.