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.