Cnoc Dearg & Stob Coire Sgriodain, Geal Charn, Ben Klibreck

Prelogue

It's been a weird old year.  September is here and yet, my planned ambitious desire to complete the munroes before I am 60 came to a grinding halt between March and September as I single-handedly failed to travel North of the border for my own needs.  

I got unfit (see "Not Gairich" post) and convinced myself that to be successful I needed to train first and I never got chance. Our summer holidays were the first opportunity to set things straight and train into it.

I warmed up with some approach reccies and mianders along highland trails with my support crew (family) and generally tried to relax and cheer up.  It was easily done, give or take a few midges and downpours which are all part of the experience.

Munro walk 1 - Chno Dearg and Stob Coire Sgriodain Thursday, 8th August 2024

TSK dropped Lena and me off at the carpark at Fersit near Loch Treig and after a short walk to the bottom of the route, went off to do his own thing.  Every time I memorise the booky description of the hill route and I don't memorise it well so I take photos of it. I then get my camera out and read the book as well as interpreting the map.  I was at a farmyard, figuring out where to go as buzzy things flew by and I hoped I wasn't standing in someone's driveway.  All was quiet.

We followed the obvious path, tantalisingly labelled Corrour Station - miles away across the moorland track.  After the bookish km, a faint path did indeed head out across boggy moorland towards a shoulder leading down from the main summit.  We were mildly distracted by a quad bike track rather than accessing the shoulder and after quite some time bog-hopping, decided we should've stuck to the route description.  We spent the next forever trying to achieve the ridgeline, giving up in the end and cutting over to a grassy slope that went up to the ridgeline at around 45 - 50 degrees incline.  It was hard work but we sprinted it in a heather-bashing kind of way then sat down to eat crisps to celebrate being back on the route before the next bit.

The wind was pouring over the shoulder of the mountain and we had a great cool-down from earlier midge bites. I thought of work once - realising that there was no reception and I was missing a meeting with Aberdeen Council that I had said I would attend if I had reception.  I put my phone away for the rest of the day.  Even if I got reception they'd not be able to hear a word I said.

The view of Loch Treig told me TSK had no success with photographay unless he'd tried to get some gritty shots of the low shoreline.  The water level was low - whethter that's its hydro status or it is in maintenance, I don't know.

Grasping at the last tangible edges of any views from the summit, we rushed to the top of Stob Coire Sgriodain, camera in hand.  It was blusteringly windy and there was no shelter so the summit photo from there was rushed.  Impressive cliffs pointed down towards the loch so there was a semblance of reward from a relatively simple and close-quarters hill.  I won't say "easy" because the alloted ammount of heather bashing and swearing and lack of path had already put it in to the far-from-easy category which was satisfying for the proximity to a carpark.

I chose to do these two (slightly harder) peaks so that I could save their solo neighbour for another time on a weekend when I had limited hours to spare to climb a peak before heading back south.

As soon as we left the summit of Sgriodain, the clag started to descend so I took an inordinate number of photos of the view before it disapeared, and the route ahead.  I got out the compas just in case. The garmin was doing fine but it was suddenly easier to work in a more analogue way and follow the guidebook's more vague "north a bit then north east a bit", and there is, indeed, a sketchy path.  

I would later find out from TSK that some of the reviews of Chno Dearg describe it as "a really boring lump of a hill which no-one would ever bother to climb if it weren't a munro".  That's fine by me.  I'm in munro bagging as a reason to be in the hills places where I wouldn't normally go, sometimes in conditions I wouldn't necessarily choose, not to tick off the big-name items.  I understand that conflict of list-ticking, it's not lost of me.

What I enjoyed about Chno Dearg was the absolute sense of isolation we got from it.  Appart from it being a blustery, cloudy Thursday, it was still the middle of holiday season and we didn't see a damn soul all day. Even if they'd been up there, we might not have seen them.  The sensory deprivation that came from the clag was both eerie and all-consuming.  Chno Dearg did have a summit cairn and we sat on it, out of the wind, and celebrated with the second sandwich, frazzles and dog biscuits.  Lena stole herself a frazzle.

The clag was still down when we set off but we were rewarded by startling a grey ptarmigan in part plumage shift - or maybe a youngster.  They clattered greyly into the grey sky.

The route description changed to "North East a bit then North" but without the warning to avoid the quad bike tracks again.  We descended (as described) down some slippery rocks but then the whole hillside seemed to be a batch of slippery rocks and the path quickly disappeared.

We descended below the clag again so we could clearly see the way off the mountain but the illusive track disappeared so when we found a quad track we followed it hoping it would swing around and rejoin the earlier quad track to base.  We were wrong.

I finally gave up on the bog hopping through quad sinks when I caught sight of the forest and reservoir road below and the farm buildings where I'd looked at the book first thing this morning.  A suitable "paralell road" feature appeared in the hillside.  Not actually a road but a natural phenomena of ice-age deposits - an old shoreline - that was half way up the valley side and long-since abandoned by receeding water levels.  We attained it then followed it Eastwards aways before rejoining the Northerly direction across more bogs and moorlands to get back onto the Corrour Station trail.  

I'd been in my shoes all day which were new and very comfortable and successful.  My feet were still dry in them but I no longer had the energy to keep them that way with the car park only 1km away.  I trudged straight through the last river and instantly regretted it as the cold water seeped into my new shoes.  It made my feet feel lovely and refreshed but I could forsee days of waiting for the shoes to dry out again before I could wear them.

Back at the road through Fersit, I marvelled again at the remote yet beautiful houses lining the road side.  There was more to it than met the eye and for my next trip I recognised that leaving the van to nip off for a wild camp would not be an issue.  We were still the only ones in the car park in August.  Midges abounded, even as we moved and I started to formulate a plan to get us into the car as quickly and midge free as possible - involving dumping my rucsac, getting the dog towel to wipe the dog then bailing her in while I removed my layers and boots.  TSK helped.  Then I did a lap of the carpark on foot to wipe off the last of the bitey wee bastards.

In the car, I set about a killing spree before turning on the cool air conditioning while Andrew drove my tired feet back to the tent.

Rest day

The next day we had a sunny rest day trip to Mallaig to look at the sea and have seafood.  It was too windy for swims or walks and we had a townie day.  

Geal Charn, Cairngorms National Park, Laggan Saturday 10th August, 2024

TSK was keen to do a mountain with us so I scoured the book for one that I could drag my arthritic old man up.  We stepped outside the local area a little but it was worth it to find something that should be doable in 3 hours or so.  Particularly pertinent since we'd been lazy about the prep (and I wasn'st really rested enough to do another one but hey) and it was getting on for lunchtime by the time we got to Laggan.

We stopped in the cafe in the village, a little too early for lunch and were restrained since I had put sandwiches together.  We had coffee and cake then set off up the hill.  

After a short drive, I realised where I was.  I had not recognised it due to the slightly bizare approach and I'd rarely driven in the East of Scotland but I found myself driving along the Highland Trail route... or rather my comment to TSK was, "I have cried my way up this hill many times" - and this is just the first day!  We were on the road that turns into General Wade's Military road and "the Coireayrick Pass". We passed the bizare waterway which looks like a dutch canal dyke in the middle of the scottish highlands and it suddenly makes sense that it's part of a larger fishery and hydro network of waterways.

I looked at the farmyards I have dreamt of tresspassing in for a sleep or some shelter and, usefully, knew to bypass the over-prescribed car park and continue over the bridge to additional parking... also right on the bottom of the approah path to Geal Charn.  It's necessary to state where your Geal Charn is, for there are 6 munros called Geal Charn and 3 of them are in this area.

The day started bright, sunny and warm and we shed layers and I considered a swim in the natural river but decided to save it for the way down.  I did not want to burn my family mountain passes with frivolity at this early stage.  The going was good as a path (which was intentional) and took us over minor hillocks to the start of a more substantial climb up the hillside.  We stopped to take in lunch at a point that was out of the high winds but sufficiently breezy to keep bitey things off.  People count on the way up was two sets of hikers, a pair of fell runners and some muddy dog walkers... then we had the place to ourselves except for a few sheep.

The summit plateau reached, I took heed to the guidebook's warning that the first cairn was not actually the summit but it was a litte further along.  I also took the opportunity to walk to the right to avoid the breeze coming from our left.  I say breeze, I mean, "stay upright".  I shepherded TSK to leave the cairn alone and follow the well trodden breeze-avoidance path that had formed over the years.  At one point he had to whistle to me to avoid getting lost in the clag as Lena and I strode out to get the wind flapping done with asap.

I can't remember if there was a cairn or no cairn but we had a spectacular view over the wind farm at the top of the C-Pass and the hills around and beyond.  It felt odd for me to be near somewhere so familiar and yet somewhere so new to me - at the top of one of the peaks I have so regularly wondered at when I ride by, underneath, on my way to something much bigger.  I marvelled at the difference between my historic self and my self, now - clinging on the edge of one-day trips and reminded myself to get in shape.

We ate snacks and I stuffed a sandwich into my pocket to get us off the hill quicker.  Me and Lena strode ahead and then sat on a rock to eat marmalade sandwiches while TSK caught up and laughed at me, "you're going to get fat if you start eating a sandwich every time you have to sit and wait for me".  It's photography and dank humour that will get us through ageing.

I helped myself to skipping down the rocks on the descent to practice a bit of running and fast descending.  Back at our lunch spot I sat near the river then we skipped on through the heather.  It warmed up but not much, the wind getting a better grip on the day.  The draw of the water had waned with the increasing cloud and we re-traced tired, praying that the van would appear around the corner and hadn't been stollen or moved out of (it wasn't in) the way.

It was there.  A hiking pole was left behind.  I propped it up for its owners to return for it.

We re-traced down the road.  The cafe was now closed, we'd been up late and were back late.  We retreated to the increasingly blowy tent to cook and easy dinner of pasta and sleep off the days wonders.

Recovery day

The recovery day was, as often happens in Scotland - packing up to depart in glorious sunshine.  We packed our bags and disassembled our dry (hallelujah) tent and drove on up to Lairg.

Thanks to TSK, we punctuated the trip with a visit to Dundregan Trees for Life, a Scottish charity "fattening up" saplings for planting out on rewilding projects, giving nature a helping hand to re-establish the ground cover of history, lost to the clearances and deer stalking for recreation.  It's likely that their results will save your children's lives.  Climate drama asside, they have a lovely cafe, visitor centre and shop and some nice walks to do  - some of which take you up to the highest points on their estate, overlooking Ben Nevis, Glen Garry (site of March's holiday fail) and Knoydart beyond (on the list).

What a difference 24 hours makes to the weather.  We sat by waterfalls in shorts and dangled our feet then I walked through bogs in my sandles and returned to the car happy and with soaking feet - and a full belly of delicious salad after 30 minutes watching the pond skaters and swallows, whilst I ate ice cream.

Lairg camp site is incredible.  It's run by a couple whose grandma ran the campsite before.  They're still working multiple jobs to make ends meet, having sunk all their money into the toilet block and kitchen.  The campsite spots are a free-for-all so we picked somewhere flat with a bit of breeze to keep the midges off but prepared ourselves to move the van should it get windy and feisty (which was the forecast). 

On our first morning I was awake at 5am - symptomatic of a day of driving and restless muscles which haven't quite recovered yet.  The sky was dark but the sun was on its way so I watched it on my way back from the luxury toiletblock then stood around some more.  We got up and ate breakfast, faffed and did some short walks nearby to recover from Geal Charn and a day in the car.  At the end of the day I walked out on to the campsite and did yoga into the setting sun, pressing my face and body into the dry grass.  I never thought I'd be doing that this far north.  When I checked the weather here the week before we travelled it had been 4 degrees C over night.  On our day out, we had investigated the next few days weather.  In the evening, we sat and watched the sunset which was cloud-filled and equally as crimson, the layers and intensity drawing across the whole sky until suddenly it was just dark and dull with a faint orange glow beyond the horizon.

Ben Klibreck Tuesday, August 13th 2024

Although I'd not had much rest or long sleeps, I joked with TSK that if I was awake at 5am the next day, I was going to pack my rucsac and go for another munro.  In my head, it was still a bit iffy.  The weather forecast was for high winds - upland gales I think is the technical term.  Tuesday was to be the better day before things deteriorated.  

From Lairg, I really have two choices - Ben Hope or Ben Klibreck (excluding the high number of other hills in the area that I want to walk on / past because they look good and are in a cool place).  With a solid weather prediction for mostly clear skies, I wanted to do something and I was ready for something a little challenging.  Although Ben Hope is the most Northerly Munro and has a reputation for being bleak and monsterous, it's actually an easy walk with a big path and not much time required.  in fact, the guidebook quips, you can walk both hills in the day - not together - but using a car to drive between the two - three hours in the morning, three in the afternoon?  I don't think so!

I decided to honour Ben Klibreck with the pleasant weather and do the longer, harder route.  That way I could attend to Ben Hope at my leisure, at the whim of tenuous weather and preferably out of season when there were fewer people on it... I have something in mind!

I had the route for Ben Klibreck plotted on my Garmin plus the book author's recommendation of an easier exit to the Cluannie Inn, at a different pickup spot to the drop off point.  I set my alarm for 7am and drifted into a sound sleep, uninterupted by the normalcy of city life - banging car doors, alarm sirens, streetlights and barking dogs.

At 1:30am my bladder spoked to me and, rather than try (unsuccessfully) to ignore it, I decided to deal with it and get back to sleep as quickly as possible.  There were too many on the campsite to wee in the field so i set off towards the toilet block, checking up at the sky which was awash with stars, the milky way being particularly prevelant.  This far North, there's very little difference between sunset and sunrise locations this far north so roughly where the sun set, to the North, streaks of cloud remained from the sunset and then I realised that they were curved and streaked and was it... was it really the Northern Lights?  I stared.  It wasn't moving.  One thing was for sure, I wanted to enjoy this in silence for myself but also, if I didn't fetch Andrew and the thing kicked off properly, I'd be gutted.  I woke him from his sleep, told him not to get his hopes up (it was, after all, very faint and very still) and dragged both him and the dog out of bed to look.

We stared for ages, postulated that it was just clouds and went for a week.  When we re-emerged from the indoor lighting, the streaks across the sky were still visible.  We watched a few shooting stars from the summer Perseids meteor shower, stared at the "clouds" a bit longer then went back to bed - thinking there was no point to getting out the camera.  

 

Again, I was awake at 5:45, this time being punched in the head by a dog who wanted to tell me that outside was on fire.  Actually, it was the sun making it's (now accusstomed) firey appearance on the Eastern Horizon.  I kept my word and ate breakfast with the kids from an Edinburgh Academy whose teacher confirmed the presence of the Aurora Borealis in the night and we cursed not getting the fancy cameras out.  As promised, I packed a rucsac and was dropped off beyond the Cluannie Inn at a carpark turn-out. I turned the GPS on and followed a combo of the route description in the book and the pink line on the map which was plotted from info in the book.  I thought I was on the route as I took great strides across the heather and tussocks of a headland past some small tarns and headed for a headland that led to the larger slopes of Ben Klibreck.  

After quite some time and effort I realised something was wrong.  I lookked for the easy way back so that I was informed later, when I would be more tired.  Unfortunately, the way back seemed to be exactly the way I had come and there I realised it.  Rather than starting from the hard start and finishing with the easy way out, I had actually made the easy way out difficult (by heather bashing instead of following the obvious path to the Cluannie Inn) and was going to have to walk out the hard way.  I had also missed the new appearance of a perfectly good path up from a new wind turbine centre where there was a perfectly good carpark giving perfectly good acess to this Northerly Munro.  I was a bit pissed off with my (old) book but also kind of smug because I like doing things the hard way and it was good training.  I sat by a spring and had snacks and watched the dog face-plant into the heather and blaeberries, smearing the purple juice across her forehead and legs so I had a multi-coloured dog.

Once we reached the big path from across the heather we had a sit in a sheep shelter to eat early lunch and change out of the early morning waterproofs.  I didn't even bother to change out of shorts and into long trousers.  The weather was holding out nicely.  Again the dog waved her feet in the air and I looked out across the flow country to Ben Hope and the sea beyond.  

For a good 2 hours I strode across the ridge which led to Ben Klibreck and the route up that I should have taken.  Eventually I was beaten by the wind to start walking along a sheep-trod-turned-footpath which ran along the leeward side of the hill to get respite.  Second lunch was consumed in another sheep shelter, changing into those long trousers and adding my waterproof coat for warmth rather than rain proofing.

I tried to reccy the route down on the way past but "straight up there" (or now, "straight down there") just seemed like a mental concept.  I decided I'd make the decision later and was thankful for my Spot which would actually let TSK where to come and meet me at the end of the day. 

When we got to the end of the leewards path, we finally had to come to terms with the full force of the wind as we made our way over a number of rock bluffs, exactly where the wind was tearing over a low col.  The path to the summit set off in the wind and never got out of it.  Only my legs, below the knee, were safe from the breeze and the rocky path disappeared into a bit of a rut in places.  I decided to ditch my rucsac to summit.  I don't usually like to leave my safety kit behind but the bag was making my progress more difficult and dangerous as the wind snatched at it sideways, pulling me off ballance even more than necessary.

A convenient boulder emerged and I hung my rucsac off it upside down, using the waist strap to secure the bag to the top of the boulder.  I took my camera and one pole because the other was useless and merely served to blow in the wind and try to trip over my left foot with every step.

The top was truly beautiful - even on the leward side.  Inside the shelter cairn, the trig point lay on its side - presumably blown over by decades of gales.  An attempt had been made to errect a post of some kind but that was gone too.  I ate something then dared, momentarily - to stand up and photograph the rest of the scene.  I should have stayed longer but I was concious I was already going to be late for my pick up and I didn't want someone to find my rucsac and worry that I was gone or lying inured somewhere.  I'd seen one couple walking on the hill - quite some way behind me.

Still, when I turned to descend, I found quite a troupe of people on their way towards us.  

Lena and I recovered my rucsac then, still being blasted by the wind, we took to the leeward side of the hill again and rather than use the windy path, I staggered down a moss-covered boulder-field, carrying my rucsac in my hand, from time to time dragging or heaving it against the breeze instead of wearing it on my shoulders where it got blasted and blew me off my feet.  It was embarrasing.  At the bottom of the steep descent, everyone else looked so composed.  A couple smiled, an elderly couple (seriously, they looked about 70!) waved hello and proceeded like lightening.  At their age, I'd be worrying about my capacity to stand in the conditions I decided I was incredibly out of shape and as a solo mountaineer, didn't regret my over-packing in the slightest.

Back at the steep descent, I attempted to find any trace of a path described in the guidebook as "mostly pathless exept for where one has established itself near the top across some greasy rocks".  At the 60 degree slope, greasy rocks didn't sound like a healthy thing.  We found what we could which was probably a sheep trod rather than a greasy rock and that deteriorated into a steep stream / spring which oozed from the ground.  The descent had 2 things going for it - it wasn't a 3 hour re-trace the way we had come, it was as described - a grassy slope.  Not once did I find a sketchy boulder to fall over or off.  It was long-winded and awkward but terrifyingly simple and its bark was worse than its bite.  I constantly thought, "one foot wrong and I'm a gonner" and I constantly put feet wrong. The worst thing that happened was I fell on my bum and slid a bit.  I wondered if it would be the fastest way off the hill but didn't have the guts to try.

Up the valley in the coire, I heard deer bark and huff at us.  I watched them stare.  Thankfully the wind was blowing the wrong way for Lena to even notice them. 

We acquired the lake shore which we should have passed on the way out in the morning.  It was beautiful. It had a little sandy beach.  I should've stripped off for a swim but I was a bit behind my timeschedule.  I still regret not doing so.  The constraints of time and space were weighing down on me.  I appreciate everything Andrew does for me but I have a guilty conscious which makes me try to stick to time as best I can.  I suspected I'd already be 1 hour late.  Future note to self - add an extra 90 minutes to all estimated trip times!

We picked our way around the loch shore following sheep trods again.  Any path the writer of the book might have imagined were long gone to the convenience of the path from the wind turbines.  At the edge of the Loch we followed the book to the North side of a smaller lochan before striking off up the hillside over a headland.  There were tracks in the grass here - our old friends Quad bike tracks but at least here they went vaguely in the direcion we wanted and all we had to do was put up with a few bogs where they'd dropped down off the hillside at speed through stream beds.

I knew there were two headlands to clear and in between the two I was washed with depression.  Effectively this was to be the last big hill day of my holiday and I was sad.  Like the last day of a bike tour/race, I didn't want the simplicity to end.  I needed a wee so before I got back to civilisation and watchful eyes, I dropped trou and sat on a tussock of grass to have a wee.  The flow country lived up to its name and drained my bodily fluids into the ground away from my tired, damp skin. It was like a natural nappy.  Tired dog lay down in the heather and went to sleep.  Still not wearing any pants, I had a few biscuits then packed up my stuff, re-dressed and set off over that last bluff.

For all that I didn't want it to end, I was very relieved to see the van parked in a large carpark at the top of the main road climb.  He was parked below me but my easiest way off the hill was to descend to the river directly ahead then cross it and join the road on the other side.  The quad bike tracks plunged into the river there so I assumed there would be a sensible crossing point.  I pinged my spot then set off down the hillside, stopping only to get the dog over some wire fencing that had been ploughed down by the quads. 

I told Lena to "Go find dad" at just the moment a couple of touring cyclists were riding up the hill so she started pulling me towards them, rather than the van that I had my eye on.

Everything was as it should be.  The stony bed of the river permitted easy crossing and we just about managed to scramble out of the other side to attain the road as the mercu trundled down and I indicated at the driveway to the forest land on the other side of the road where TSK dutifully parked up and picked me up.  Lena crashed out in the back, I crashed out in the front and we trundled back into the village to the perdiam question of what to have for tea.  Easy - pasta and sauce.  

Epilogue

We had days of wind storms to follow.  2 nights of tending to the tent to ensure it didn't fail... and it didn't - nice one alpkit!  As a new tent, we were unsure about how it would respond and it felt touch-and-go.  At one point I got up in the night to move the van, reversed over the guy ropes then had to lie on the ground to move the peg from under the van and ensure the van didn't saw through the guys.  The wind was so fierce, the ground wasn't even wet, despite it raining quite intensely.  Andrew thought I'd collapsed in the night.  The tent survived and we just about survived two nights of noisy flapping and intermittent sleep.  At one point I thought about switching for the low-level tent and kipping in its porch while Andrew and Lena slept inside it.  Might have worked but we didn't get that extreme.  There was no damage to the Alpkit Axiom and it lives to protect us another day.

I thoroughly enjoyed this trip.  It was everything I expected from Scotland and nothing less.  I'm disappointed I didn't get to swim or take the kayak out but it will come another day.

I came away with a renewed enthusiasm for walking the scottish hills and started making plans.  Those plans get put to one side every now and then in favour of the house sale / purchase and work commitments but what I need to do is make time for the hills so that I remain a happy person and keep going with my absolutely pointless quest.

Because I like it.

Bynack Beag, Bynack More and Cairn Gorm

Driving out to places to walk isn't something I've done for a while but I decided knocking the approach hike down to 4 wild kms around Cairn Gorm's flanks was infinitely preferable to 9km hiking over stony fire roads and rocky approach tracks from the Campsite (only to have to walk down on the road and repeat Wednesday's walk" home"). So we chugged upto Coire na Ciste carpark and joined 1 car and 5 vans staring into the fog.

It was the first time we've hiked together in a couple of years, racing having taken precedence over most holidays. I was in charge of now so I cheated and used the GPS to avoid any agonising back-tracking but the paths were mostly worn to the first ridge.

Just below the rim of the Choire, an older couple were stopped, discussing where to go next and we tried our best to persuade them to venture further whilst inwardly hoping they'd move on so we could steal their rock and stop for some food. They didn't.

Just over the top of the ridgeline we made use of a few stones in the heather to consume sandwiches whilst quietly watching an eagle soar by even closer than the one I saw on the flanks of Bealach Horn.

We dropped down to the river easily, the substantial bog having been dried out by the summer sun. The book said "straight up the other side to a sandy path".

Future sandy path - about 100m from the summit

• • •

We complied but it was hard going against the grain of the heather so found a faint path to follow in a zigzag. It intermittently disappeared so was still a tough climb. A gaggle of 12 ptarmigan scattered in the sun, taking to the wing like a flock of mountain pigeons then disappearing amongst the granite rocks.

 

At the top was Bynack Beag which we summitted to add to the Corbett list then hiked over to Bynack More where bizarre granite rock formations looked more like a jumble of dumped armchairs and sofas piled up alongside the path. 

 

These "Barns" continued off our first Munro of the day looking like a combination of cosy bivi shelters or stony coffins.

• • •

More Ptarmigans mooched around on the descent, convinced we couldn't see them, even though snow hasn't yet fallen. Their fluffy feet now visible, they were so close. A mountain hare saw us before we saw it and darted across the hillside, disappearing faster than the spindly path we had been following. 

I challenge you to spot them (2)

 

The book lamented "descend to the saddle where the full glory of the Cairn Gorms opens up before you".  Smug bastard.  The cloud lifted and broke enough for us to take it in "piecemeal" rather than "full glory" but Look Eounach was exposed along with its surrounding peaks and as we crossed the (not so) boggy ridgeline from where we could see many Cairngorms summits intermittently spread across the Landscape rolling around us.

 

• • •

The path up to Cairn Gorm's South shoulder was taken at a slower pace by me, still struggling with biking last week  and 2 walks this week.

It was a beautiful place to stop and eat the rest of lunch and take in some sugar though.

We left the path too early, making a bee line for the summit up sheep flanks but it was too hard going and we didn't seem to be making any progress. We must've looked desperate and lost as the mountain rescue helicopter made 2 passes to check we were OK. It didn't help that TSK's bootlace snapped so on the helicopter's second pass, I was providing shelter whilst he repaired the lace. We gave them the signal for "No thanks, we're fine, really", at 4:30 pm, and carried on. As the chopper disappeared up the Glen, I inwardly wobbled and hoped there really *was* a nice easy descent from the top.

After what seemed like a never ending trudge across a lunar landscape, the tourist path up from the carpark finally came into view. We bailed out of our rocky, mossy trudge and enjoyed the final 50m on compacted sand. 

 

The only other 2 people we saw on the mountain were well loaded backpackers about to make their descent to the loch for the night before attempting Ben Macdui tomorrow. She reassured me they had a fine selection of layers - as we all stood chatting amongst the summit snow which fell yesterday evening.

Summit selfies taken, we started the march down the tourist path, ignoring what would have been the easier option over something we perceived to be quicker.

It was our only nav error. In our rush to go the quick way down we endured a steep harsh descent on big rocks interspersed with slippery gravel and a few close-calls on my part as I skidded around on the loose stones.

The route we should have taken was glaringly obvious as a path but we'd descended too far and there was a steep gully in the way.so we sucked it up and kept going.

• • •

While there were no "tourist hoards" around to avoid (the book recommends the descent of the Coire na Ciste ridges to avoid the tourists), we did encounter a drone pilot as I weighed up the most effective way to rid myself of the electronic hornet - a small stone or the discarded orange peel 1'd picked up on the way down. The pilot took the hint, jumped in his car and left.

 

The walk to the van along the road was predictably tedious yet quiet. Interesting noseying at the out-of-season ski infrastructure.

The distant sunset developing under cover of the mountain cloud we'd been cursing turned from yellow to gold then finally, as we got to the van and ate our sandwiches, the glow emerged, casting pink light across the highlands, including through the clouds still shrouding Cairn Gorm and I experienced The Most Enchanting evening of the whole fortnight. It could only have been more perfect if we'd lingered on the mountain a little longer but still, it was a tad chilly for that and we quickly started the engine on the van and headed down to a warm pod and a hot shower.

 

The ridge behind the campsite.

After a couple of rest days, I still wasn't really ready to ride a bike and definitely not on the road or hard forest trails. It was also a really windy day, so I left TSK to go out for a ride whilst I mulled about on the campsite and considered my next move.

I seemed to be OK on foot so I decided, after lunch, to check out the ridge behind the campsite - a series of lumps - 2 or 3 of which may be Corbets. It didn't matter really-it was more about the boundary than the summits. I'd planned to start with the indeterminate link between a forest trail which ended before the forest boundary and a footpath off the hill which ended at a dry stone wall before the forest edge. However, in seeking out the start of the forest trail, I walked the wrong way around the campsite and rather than retrace my steps, decided to do the walk the other way around. It was late in the day so maybe I'd just recce it for another day.

I started my watch and noted it took me 40 minutes to reach the path that headed up to the ridge. On the climb, I met a walker in shorts and light windproof who warned me it was incredibly windy on the tops. Since I was wearing my paramo waterproof trousers and coat with all the venting undone to let out the sweat, this was excellent news.

• • •

The trudge to the ridge was tough and I merely wrote it off as "take a look over the other side then head home". 

 

It sure was windy but I could now see over the black isle and beyond the Forth of Cromarty to the wind turbines near Dingwall and beyond and I couldn't resist climbing to the peak of my first summit on the ridge - the highest at 837m.

On the top was a substantial cairn with walls to add protection from the swirling winds. I sat, tired, in its warm, sheltered embrace, admired the scenery and ate some food and marvelled at how a mountain and a little bit of shelter are amazing for making you feel amazing. It had taken me 20 minutes to Climb 1cm on my map so I calculated that it would take me two hours to get back. It was 4:00. Sunset was about 7pm. I had no head torch, emergency shelter, compass or whistle but 3 maps (2 elec­tronic) and plenty of layers and food.

I felt a little vulnerable but also unnecessarily epic but confident given the low elevation so I sent TSk a text

"Walking the ridge behind the campsite. Forgot spot - back about 6. I was also in full view of the camp- site for most of the route and whilst I didn't have a strong torch suitable for navigating, my red bike light was still in a rucsac pocket and would be visible from the valley should I get into difficulty. All of these musings were a little over the top for what was essentially a stroll in the park compared to most of the terrain in the Cairngorms. but the wind was making the chances of a fall seem highly likely and I was against the clock with the light.

Quite windy.  Having quite a lot of fun.

The first peak I'd just climbed was an outlier with a tempting draw to continue on to the Cairngorms range. Instead I retraced to the saddle before climbing back to the the first plateau on the return route at a substantial 735cm.

From here on it was more of an open moorland trudge to the two other summits so my 40 minutes per peak was a massive over-estimate.

• • •

I had a satisfying snack out of the breeze atop each one to fully appreciate the scenery and the shelter and continue my programme of refuelling after the top loop exertions of last week.

Finally, the part I had been dreading - the intermittent path down. However, my mind was put at ease by the sheer volume of mountain bike tyre tracks on the hill path and the sight below me of several possible work-around routes although my preferred direction wasn't obviously visible.

The forested area where we were camped was known as "The Queen's Forest" and as I moshed along the mountain, bike trail admiring some peoples' line choices and laughing inwardly at others' obvious failures, I said aloud, "Come on then Queenie, I can't imagine you descending off the moorland on your horse, getting branches in your hair, show me your path!"

Sure enough, the tyre tracks continued through the trees at the edge of the forest, snaking around the branches or roots of some fuller trees and boulders then morphed into a dreamy single-track that I promised I'd come back and ride (but never did) before pouring out onto the dead-ended forest trail which I suspected wasn't a dead end either.

 

I appreciated it as forest trails go. It didn't farce about with meandering up and down but set a steady descent all the way back to the campsite where I still had the pod to myself for an extra hour as TSK was still out playing with the breeze on his bike.

As mountain days ago it was no epic-a mere 4 hours-but it felt like a homecoming. It's so long since I've done a walk for the sake of doing a walk. No trophy hunting, no training stats, not even much of a view.

It kicked of a chain of emotions including" I should do more of this" and Ultimately led me to get the Munroes book out after dinner and head for the big hills the next day-both mind and body freed up from the shackles of uncertainty about my condition and ready to take on new challenges.

Random Screams - The Highland Trail and how Covid Ruined Everything and Nothing

I set aside part of my annual leave to recce loop 3 of the highland trail from Oykel Bridge and back. It includes Bealach Horn, the fifth highest pass on the route, the third steepest and the most Northerly points on the map. It is notoriously difficult and therefore slow going and so far I have only watched in wonder as my heroes, these worship­ped dots - slow to a walking pace as they cross what is, interchangeably, one of the most beautiful and inhospitable places in the UK. I have been toying with the idea of leaving this loop for the event as a "nice surprise" but knowing how much confidence and reassurance I get from a good recce, I decided to crack on. Only I can suss my own acceptable camp spots and understand my pace and time restraints based on what's on the ground, not what's on a map.

A few things contributed to the title of this post. In the days leading up to my departure I had cause to look up a Golden Eagle in my bird guide having seen a large raptor with feathered legs in a field near where we were staying. I am humble enough to believe that out of a choice between 440 pairs of Golden eagles and 187 rough legged Buzzards in the UK (Scotland), I saw a Golden Eagle (but not naive enough to think I might be wrong in the assessment of the fluffiness of a raptor's legs).

However when the book described the eagle call as "Random screams" it made me laugh and also think of the Internet - that other place whose calls are made up of Random Screams. One particular Twitter post this month crossed my mind as several of my cycling friends had commented on it. "The Highlands are being ruined". I generally find it's best not to get involved in Twitter any more and hoped that any "ruination" would be merely temporary (and hopefully over after the kid's school holidays which we were * definitely * avoiding).

I'm happy to say that it definitely wasn't ruined where we were staying but our holiday host seemed to have some pent-up issues on his mind, which this post does go into.

• • •

We booked accommodation about 15 km by bicycle from Amat, a little village / Lodge on the HT Route . By car it is a sensible 40 mile drive avoiding the gravel tracks (closed to vehicles).

I left our temporary "home" at 9am, quickly hit forest trail and quickly saw my first bike packers coming the other way. They'd stayed the night in the BBITW, and reminded me of its location. I thought I might stay there on the way back. What I should have done is use fresh legs to go and find it again to mark it on the map for next time, but that might be for another day now.

At the top of the climb through the forest woodland I emerged onto the moor with a deer gate / stone ruin to mark the boundary. The ruin was inspected for bivi purposes. Just beyond, a collection of 6 enorm­ous boulders blocked the route ahead to vehicles but they were awkwardly, (not easily) passed by bike.

From there,  the track led mercifully and impressively in a dead straight line for a mile. It must have been a road once upon a time as the tarmac was more than intermittent. Yet heather was now established up the middle, a deer fence continuing to my left. At the summit was a lake, the perfect swimming spot, with a sitting / bathing rock, but today was still too cool and I had places to be.

• • •

These places

As I summitted the final rise, the peaks of Coigach - Suilvan and Canisp came into view. It would be the end of my loop but I was really excited. THIS is my place! I whooped out loud a little bit (a lot - but it didn't matter as there was no-one to hear for about 2 miles).

On the downhill a hiker was pushing his beaten bike in the opposite direction. He looked a bit annoyed to be pushing this extra load up, the hill that he was so clearly intending to hike on foot. Still, my enthusiasm could not be damped. I wished him a cheery hello whilst secretly realising this would be me on the way home.

As the pastures opened out at the bottom a wooden bridge came into view, the perfect place for a snack I leant up the bike, crossed my legs and listened to nature whilst eating crisps. 5 minutes later I was in Amat, the end of my 27km commute and the start of the top loop. I deposited my rubbish in a bin, noted the turn off to the BBITW and cycled the familiar route past Croick church to the "Road" to Ullapool, no hesitations on navigation this time to reach the turning point of last year where I decided not to bother with the OBH (Oykel Bridge Hotel) but instead keep going to the school­house as part of loop 2.

Th OB in OBH

Today I descended to OBH to see what all the fuss was about. Past a water treatment works (ah, how sweet, they can't do mountain water) and onto the "carpark" by the bridges. I couldn't see the hotel from the road but the steady stream of fishermen in brushed tweed shirts had already persuaded me not to bother. I sent Andrew a text and sat down to eat my lunch, realising instantly that I had left my lunch in the fridge back at the Croft. Ah well, I had enough to see me through. I ate half the beef jerky I only really carry for emergencies and some fried beans then descended the road only to be saved... SAVED!... by the tea rooms at Invercassley being open and serving.

I ordered a tuna chiabatta and helped the owner chase an invading sparrow out of the building.

After the cafe stop I discovered the biggest challenge to attempting to "race" the highland trail - a lovely couple from Lossiemouth who wanted to chat. But I wasn't racing so we talked for a bit then I got a little fed up when the conversation moved on to where my husband was and how I could possibly be driven / brave enough to go out and do this on my own. Not so extreme, never in so many words but why is it folk need to feel reassured that somewhere at the end of the leash / chain of command there is a man waiting to come to the rescue, should things go wrong.  The old paradigm of there needs to be someone who cares because what will  you do if there's no one to care... and if there's no one to care then no-one will care... and I'm not sure that's ever a problem.

I think I might invent myself a Lesbian wife who is at home doing the dishes or maybe a dog called Lassie who will raise the alarm if he thinks I have fallen down a well. Or maybe I'll just keep telling everyone about my real life husband who is doing his own thing, thanks very much.

• • •

I made my excuses before getting embroiled in a long discussion about where we were & where to go next, excusing myself with, "I don't know, I'm just following a pink line on a map". Not entirely true-I knew exactly where I was and where I was going but I wasn't about to get involved in whether "that road there goes to Laing". They passed me in their car three times after I set off up the Glen, eventually having to stop to remove my big coat. It wouldn't go back on again until the evening.

There's a lot of very pleasant woodland riding until the final hydro scheme infrastructure and resulting slog up some switch-backs to the top of a hill.

The other side was a beautiful yet slightly frightening descent above fish farms and reservoir worker's cottages where I admired Karl Brooks imaginative yet unpicturesque bivi spot between 3 brick walls of the 1970's hydro station buildings.

There aren't many things that make me glad to have stopped last year but the unromantic reality of what it must've been like to try and sleep there in -7 degrees C (and then find out your mate has scored a hot bath down the road) is one of them. A locked gate sent me and Midnight through the eye of a needle deer-kissing gate (not sure who wants to snog a deer) that I swear added 5 minutes to our time. Highlanders went about their business of putting dogs out & playing with kids & I passed un-noticed.

• • •

It was a late Lunch when I finally turned off the road onto the track towards the most Northerly part of the route at about 4 pm.

Just like Fisherfield last year, the area around Ben Hope and Foinaven has been an imposing target since childhood. Ben Hope is the most Northerly Munro. Its neighbour is pretty inaccessible and difficult and there are many unpronounceable (for a non Gaelic speaker) neighbours that are equally inaccessible and dangerous due to their exposure and sheer Northern-ness.

Robert McFarlane, lover of all things wild, in his book "The Wild Places" did not even like Ben Hope. (insert quote if I get around to it).

Me and TSK drove over on our honeymoon to take a look at it and drove away again.

I had certainly packed an extra jumper this time. Still, the start was innoccuous. A locked gate with a sign on it saying, "The occupants of this house do not have the keys to the gate". A car parked in the gateway had a sign on it that said "the rental of this cottage is for holiday-makers" - a road bike with some geeky TT bars bolted to the roof rack. 

I snaked through the footpath access, made a mental note to book that cottage for another time, then headed over to a big rock to fuel up for the trudge across the moorland track. My waterproof socks went on in anticipation of some puddles or later bog- hopping. It's a long, long track but I have taken a look at it on Google Earth and someone has walked it with a goggle backpack-showing that much of the surrounding moorland is wet, open expanse. It was enjoyable at first, then started to get chilly around 7pm as the sun descended then,from the high rolling plateau reappeared (much to my excitement) taking on the pinkish hue of evening sunlight and I started to accelerate my pace towards it in the hope of snagging some kind of moment of sunset + one of my increasingly favourite peaks. 

Mind, I was hungry so I also had an eye out for a camp spot. A series of dug-outs from the track construction appeared. One was occupied by a couple on their way home to Carlisle from Durness. They were fully loaded with thick down coats, a full 2 man tent and already scoffing hot food from pouches. Their hidey hole seemed a little high and breezy to me but I still coveted one of my own***.

I finally found one with its back to the wind and a fine rock wall plus an animal feeder to lean my bike against.

Unfortunately it came with a feeling I was about to pitch my tent in shit.

I put my dinner on to "cook".  Now bear in mind that I forgot to bring stove fuel so I left my stove behind. Still, (small mercy) the water had been carried in my camel back so was body temperature (30C at least). I sealed the pack & put it in the kangaroo pouch of my coat to "cook" while I fussed around pitching up my tent. First the pegs wouldn't hold as the thin layer of shit just covered rock and more rock. Weighing the guys down with rocks wasn't going to hold against the wind which had moved, ever so slightly, to gust around the edge of my mini quarry instead of over the top of it.

For the first time in my bivi life I deemed my spot "a shit idea', packed everything away again and moved on, my dinner still sloshing around in my coat.

About as close as the sunset got

• • •

I knew that at the bottom of the track was a Lodge so I needed to stop before it to remain out of sight, following the wild camping code and generally not being disturbed by barking dogs.

The Google Camera had mercifully stopped at the lodge so I did not know what was beyond except for satellite images.

I had it in my head that after the lodge, things would get soggy under foot, further driving my desire to stop before it, not after. However, as I checked on my Garmin screen to see how far away I was, I noticed a pin on the map that I had placed during one of my sofa recces. Oh, a reassuring strike of genius. I flew past the lodge, on a new mission and after giving my food a proper dose of heat from climbing three steeps wearing *all* the layers, I reached my spot on the map. 

I briefly assessed the safety of the situation, deemed it absolutely acceptable then set up camp, snuggled into down and gorged myself on lukewarm pasta. I lay down at 9.30 pm. An early night for me. I only had one day of (relatively easy) riding done and so I found it difficult to sleep. 

I'd dropped my earplugs outside so was hearing every noise but I didn't want to go out into the cold to look for them. At midnight I woke up for the third time, this time needing a pee so I braved the cold, instantly found the earplugs nestled in my bike's rear triangle and peed under the MOST impressive stars I have seen for a LONG time.

I'm not kidding myself. This will not be an option in May.

Back in my tent I sat up for a while staring at the stars, watching satellites drift by, catching shooting stars in the corner of my eye and watching really hard just in case there was any sign that I might eventually get to see the Northern lights.

Morning audience

I thought of various people who have put me off this recce, telling me "it's just something you have to get done". "Might as well leave it for race day". How wrong they were (sorry). First, it was good to see the terrain for myself - how much road, how good / bad the track is.

Second, here I was, having a great time.

Breakfast should have been Sunday night's pizza leftovers but they were still in the fridge. Instead I ate the honey / coconut mix I'd carried without the porridge to put it in, a cereal bar and a packet of crisps. The pack-up was less romantic, fuelled by getting away from midges. 

Paddling

To go with that, the track became intermittently boggy then really hard and jarring. It was actually a relief to turn off onto the Beallach Horn track and begin riding across heather in between short boggy walks. Instead of being bothered by the wind I was pleased to be away from midges and it cooled my midge bites. I stopped still for a good 5 minutes to watch an eagle soar and swoop over the peak at the other side of the valley. I was terrified I'd scare her away but after I'd had my fill of birdwatching I set off riding again & she came to take a look at me, gliding past around 20 m away from me. I could see the shape of her head, she watched me watching her before drifting over to perch on the crags at the head of Meall Horn. her Random Screams fitting in amongst the grey crags and cloudy skies.

• • •

The Peat bogs up there were something to behold. I balanced Midnight precariously on a few walls whilst I jumped down then lifted her down from above.

I found a glacial boulder with a rock ledge to perch on out of the wind whilst I demolished more beef jerky and peas and washed it down with M&Ms.

I was pretty tired already and although I'd enjoyed myself, the old question still remains, how on earth will this feel when I am 3 or4 days in and the weather is shite (as it inevitably seems to be when I race my bike)? Then I thought of people currently battling cancer and thought, as struggles go, mine is paltry, at least vaguely enjoyable and after all, voluntary.

• • •

Still, it was time for the big hike up the Horn! Again, I found myself asking, how will this feel on day 4 or day 5? and quickly telling myself that I'd be carrying fewer bloody jumpers for a start.

From other peoples' write-ups of their experiences, Beallach Horn wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting (not un­common) but also I had fresh legs and wasn't trying to race it either. I picked up Midnight, for a short steep section but the rest of the way relied on the step-step-shove-recover method.

The lift was interesting. Considering I'm still only squatting lightweights (12.5kg) in the gym, I suddenly needed to lift my awkward bike at around 22 kgs. It almost wouldn't go but the thought of struggling to push it one more metre was too much to bear so a mighty heave got us upright and far enough up the track that it was safe and comfortable to put her down and start walking again. 

This time I managed to extract myself (more) gracefully from the handlebars which was a relief as I stood up to find my red face had an audience of 2. A couple walking the Cape Wrath trail in stages of one week were on their Last pitch. We compared bivi notes. They had camped the night at loch Stack bothy (still dosed due to Covid). We chatted until her knees got goose- bumps.

 

The descent to the Loch was dreamy, fuelled partly by a pang of sadness to be leaving such beauty or remoteness, a sense of achievement at having not just survived, but enjoyed, one of the most wild places in the Uk and a hopeful return to civilisation.* .

 

The descent pops into trees. After hours of exposure to the elements, trees are so precious. This boulder is at the end of the path. It gives the last opportunity to waste some time photographing stuff before reaching civilisation.

• • •

* There's nothing public at Achfary. No services. For some reason it has a black telephone box that people come to look at and photograph. It has some fishing lodges. Now the phone box has been repainted with a white trim and its telephone sign replaced by the inevitable "Defibrilator" sign. What it does have is people - people who could (and probably would) help if you were really in difficulty.

I wasn't in difficulty, although I did fancy some more savoury food. A few camper-vanners said hi.

I continued on my way. Next destination: Kylesku and the Kylesku hotel where I was looking forward to a fine, indulgent non-race holiday slap up dinner, four courses my good man.

First though, I had a hill to climb and I was set to become dinner.

The path at the back of Achfary passes the WTW and a fancy shed housing the estate's backup generator before reaching diagonally up the edge of the forest. In contrast to the wild exposure I'd left it was the height of the sun's day, sheltered due to the trees and so humid it showered, momentarily. 

 

Despite the heat I had to keep on my long sleeves and wear a head net to stop the persistent attacks of some rather annoying fly / ant species that was highly motivated by ears, noses, mouths and eyes. I can usually ignore creepy crawlies but these bastards were persistent in trying to crawl into orifices and were almost impossible to shift without resorting to killing them which consisted of very carefully pinching them (and a handful of skin) and purposefully pulling them away. I blew on them. they flattened down and held on. I flicked them and they latched on again 5mm away, held firm then recommenced their determined scramble for the nearest nostril or ear canal. 

To stop them I had to stop progress so off came the helmet and on went my headnet and the buff to close off all access routes.

Then came the difficult task of identifying a crawling insect from the rivulets of sweat pouring off me. My midge bites from the morning were long forgiven & forgotten. 

 

Fun fact: As a child, I was stuck in a traffic jam on a family holiday whilst the Army carried out a bomb sweep of the newly constructed Kylesku Bridge prior to the Queen visiting to open it.  I have never seen it from this angle.  Also: yes, I am that old.  The day's finale was my mum explaining to some French tourists, through the medium of mime, what a Bomb(ber) was,.

The descent to Kylesku was a little early for dinner but that didn't matter. I was excited to have finished this stage and be getting some food. I pulled up with other bikers & had a chat before heading up to the till to greet the waitress or ask for a table. 

• • •

"theres a one way system, can you use the other entrance?"

Me, confused, "The one that says residents only?".

Her, "well, there's a walkway isn't there?".

Is there? (I'm all for the right measures in place but clear signage is a good start). I re-traced my steps. Fuck the walkway (40in round trip) and went up the stairs where I heard the couple in front of me being turned away. "Sheer number of people blah de blah". * "The higlands are being ruined" rang in my ears.

In retrospect I'm not sure any Scottish accents were involved in this exchange.

I went back to my bike. Before leaving I decided to use the public facilities The toilets were clean so I filled my water bottle then gave the hotel one last try with my best solo desperate female face on. I like to think there was a glimmer of compassion there but the answer was still no so I snaffled a paper take-away cup so that I could make up a re-hydration tablet without getting my camelbak sticky or messy.

I'd almost considered paying through the nose for a room so I could get a meal but as I sat on the grass watching the harbour, listening to the people at the room behind me with their balcony window open and TV blaring. I realised that after 30 years of passing this hotel which is "only for the rich people" I now have a salary that allows me to stay here but a spirit that does not.

A little face bobbed up or down in the water, inspecting the shore from afar, then dived down, it's sleek body cresting the water before it disappeared from sight. Did anyone else notice that? I doubt it.

Time to try for Drumbeg Stores. Maybe the hotel there would have a table.

I've read about the climbs heading to Drumbeg. They made Ian cry. My parents, absolute dedicated visitors to the Northwest highlands rarely came here on our family holidays - probably because those roads made me or the dog sick.

I didn't cry. I did push my bike quite a bit and I zigzagged a lot and I sat down in lay bys, supplemented my calorie intake with skittles & kept going to Drumbeg aside from the occasional interlude to allow a car to pass.

• • •

A lot of time passed-about 1.5 hrs and Drumbeg stores was closed at 5. 30 anyway. The hotel had a large sign outside advising "Residents only due to Covid". I decided to aim for Clachtol so at least use the campsite or - more aspirationally, Lochinvar where there might be someone at the petrol station or another hotel. 

I did still have a stash of sweet calories and more re-hydratable pasta, even desert, but a packet of crisps or a bowl of chips was high on my list of desirables. As time passed on after Drumbeg I started to notice the sheer volume of vans parked up. Campsites were all full (or still closed), lay bys were full. Passing places were occupied until there was only one spot remaining to use for passing vehicles. "No overnight camping" signs were blatantly being ignored by scores of vehicles. 

At least 3 cars passed me repeatedly, first one way and then the other or they'd stop at a campsite as I rode past, only to find it full and move onto the next. 'The Highlands are being ruined! I was glad I can still park anywhere and it's why I've stopped tweeting my exploits hoping that my personal little corner of the blogger net will continue to fail to attract any attention whatsoever.

A short time after Drumbeg at the bottom of yet another descent was a grand house with 5-10 acres of green pasture around it.

The fence line was intermittently signed "No camping" with a picture of a little stick- man asleep in a tent inside a red prohibition circle.

• • •

He looked so warm and peaceful and I immediately started to look out for a more welcoming spot with just the right amount of breeze to keep the midges away. Partway up the climb out of that dip, I just CBA'd to climb any more and a flat spot next to a very old gateway appeared. In any normal year it might have been boggy but it was dry underfoot so I pitched with a view of Beinn Mhor Coigach on one side of a hillock and the sea and the summer isles on the other side. 

There had been no sunset to speak of, cloud cover meant a gradual greying of the sky whilst I set up my cold boil rehydrated food to" cook" and pitched my tent. When each of the two or three motor vehicles passed, I killed my light and hid by my tent just in case they were a grumpy farmer but most would (should) have been concentrating too much on the snaking single-track road to care.

I snuggled into bed, actually enjoyed cold spagbol (I pretended it was goulash soup) and ate some fudge as desert.

I sent some dramatic text messages about how the next day would be dependent on me getting resupply and received one from my mum (who loves to send the daily forecasts) warning it would be cold overnight. I had enough data to check the forecast but was relieved to find nothing dramatic and continuing low wind speeds.

• • •

The tent flapped a little in the night but this time I had been more careful with my earplugs and no passing motorists woke me either.

Brightening skies and an empty belly woke me up. It was cold re hydrated apple and banana crumble for breakfast which looked like soggy baby rusk in a bag but actually tasted ok. I ate more sweets and packed up quickly, hitting the road at 8:15am.

It wasn't too far to Clachtol and I was beginning to wonder if I'd missed something navigationally as the off-road sections here seemed a little thin on the ground.

Calchtol tea shop was an unexpected pleasure. The weather was having a little coastal Scotland moment and showering slightly so I was just contemplating putting my coat on when something the shape of a beach hut appeared by the roadside and a jolly voice inside confirmed they were open for business.

I felt kinda guilty ordering a Scotch Pie for my breakfast at 9am but then a local stopped by and ordered a bottle of grouse, 4 pack of Tenants and would have had rum too if they'd had any in stock. She had to ask him to come back later and pay at a legal time.

When I'd eaten my camp breakfast that day I noticed my dynamo charging cable was snapped so I set about stripping cable with a penknife

Just at the right moment John Waugh. and his wife Andrea pulled up and joined me for about an hour discussing routes.

Soon after Clachtol, the off-road routes appeared and I enjoyed every moment - occasionally dropping the seat and having a chat with a few more walkers.

Life was pretty normal in Lochinvar and surprisingly my legs felt pretty normal. I really fancied riding on after today and whether I decided to go home to "our" Croft or carry on over to Ullapool and Fisherfield to recie the new route there, I was probably going to need dinner for the night as neither the Alt Hotel or Oykel Bridge were serving non-residents. 

I locked up the bike, hit the shop and secured pot noodles, a pasty and replenished the savoury snack supplies for 2 days ahead. I wasn't sure how pot noodle would fare on cold water but I was willing to find out if I needed to. I wasn't particularly enjoying cold re hydrated food but I was enjoying finding out that it is an Ok (feasible) option. I also found out that there's only 25% of the energy in a pot noodle compared to outdoor shops boil in the bag type meals. So I bought 2.

• • •

I secured tea from the cafe opposite my bike and had a laugh with some bikers who witnessed me trying to blow a wasp away while still wearing my mask. They had failed to secure a "slot" to get a cup of coffee from the Lochinvar stores (having spent 30 minutes downloading the app to do so) and were heading across the road to an alternative source. They watched me cram 2 pot noodles into a food packet I was carrying and passed on dinner at my place.

After the usual comments about how brave I was, they asked where I was headed next.

I've got this. I was on home (holiday) territory. So instead of the usual,"I dunno, I'm just following a pink line on a map," I was able to respond. "Well, it sounds like you know the area" he said. Boom!

After a third breakfast of yoghurt it was time to tackle Glen Canisp.

After the first climb I had to stop and remove baggy shorts and knee warmers and change out of my thick waterproof socks.

A steady stream of pink sweaty men heading the other way reminded me to apply sun cream against the Scottish sun in a clear end-of-summer sky. I sat and ate my pasty over­looking the loch then after I witnessed a group climbing into a river pool in their underwear I started scouting for my own swim spot. 

The path passed close enough to the lake for me to take what I thought was a secluded dip in just my tee-shirt, although I knew my mate Stu might've been up on Suilven somewhere so I hoped he wasn't laughing at my white pasty bum.

In the end I couldn't bring myself to swim in the cold water as my core wasn't ready for that kind of shock so I settled for a sit down wash -carefully so as not to waste the sun cream I'd applied. It was nice to give my bits a wash. Of course, just around the next bend were a couple sat eating their lunch so I apologised for ruining their view.

 

At the other end of the lake I met a climber named Andreas (two in one day!) who was fishing for information about the trail ahead to decide how to get over to Leadmore. Unfortunately I couldn't help. 

In retrospect I should have told him that Lee Craigie did not enjoy it but thus far I thought it was ok so that meant the worst was yet to come. I was to find out soon that there was great mobile reception at the beallach so I could have quite easily taken his number and texted him my findings when I reached the end of the track. Those findings would have been "don't bother mate!" Not that I didn't enjoy it but it's not for everyone and Andreas's tent was not lightweight.

After a mash through dry bogs to reach the Beallach I sat down for more food and checked my phone. Despite being in the middle of nowhere I had clear sight to a transmitter across the valley. Sure enough I texted TSK to let him know I wanted to stay out, not get a pick up and to book more days at our accommodation for me to finish what I was doing.

• • •

I also let my mum know things were great and despite her weather report, my sleeping bag was warm enough. My day one legs were back and I felt ready to take on Fisherfield.

I had not envisioned the next 8 miles. The track down was definitely single and littered with limestone boulders that went on and on... for hours. It wasn't completely unrideable but anywhere that was rideable soon became unrideable due to slippery loose rocks, bog or more rock or short sharp inclines.

I walked most of it. Completely and utterly enjoyed it but still, I walked it and it took time but it didn't matter. I didn't *have* to be anywhere. This is what holidays are for.

Last gratuitous picture of the same mountain

 

I consider­ed stopping at the end of the trail but what to do for 4 hours before dark? So I kept going, promising myself a night at the Schoolhouse bothy. It would be locked up still (I presume) but nice enough. Or I could head "home". The insects were waking up. No midges but the clingy flies that had dogged me at Achfary were back and now they were starting burrow into my hair and bite. Time to move.

Some of the single track along the lake was rideable - some of it was really sketchy but after so much walking I was prepared to give anything ago. Midnight rolled out of most things that I threw her into, making me giggle with delight or shake my head in horror at our near misses.

I checked my phone again when I saw that transmitter station on the hillside. I was tired now and TSK had only managed to extend our stay 2 more nights so I had 1 day before needing to help move all our stuff and unpack it at the next venue. My day 1 legs were starting to crack and I decided I'd quite like to quit while I was ahead, call this an enjoyable outing and leave me wanting for more on race" day". I arranged for him to leave the front door unlocked for me to get in the croft whenever but also to expect me to camp out but somewhere less bitey if I needed to. I did the last bit of proper off-road and being honest, the rollout to Leadmore was the most linked section of riding I'd done in the last 8 miles.

• • •

The breeze was now keeping the flies away and was mostly at my back so I can't complain that it was a little cool. The very gradual climb from Leadmore junction kept me warm though until I started my descent towards OBH. Then the inevitable seat by the roadside to reapply baggy shorts, knee warmers + windproof coat. There was a short pang of accomplishment as I reached the OBH along with resentment and distaste towards the podgy rich fishing parties, their exclusive use of this facility edged with a modicum of "what's all the fuss about?" The place has the look of a 1970's scout hut about it. Maybe I didn't see past the facade. 

Around the corner I plonked my ass on the ground again, ate some crisps and loaded my return route onto the Garmin to make sure I was going to go the right way in the dark. It took me several tries to realise my route home started at Amat, not OBH so I lost a bit of time here. Lets say I was basking in the glory of a successful mission and not really paying attention.

I reloaded "HT out" to get me back on course and waited while the Garmin crashed a few times. Thankfully I had a nice long fire road to climb to get out of there interspersed with deer suddenly bouncing out of the trees once I'd got onto open moorland.

My last task having left Oykel bridge behind, was to find clean water. I rejected the first stream on cloudiness but eventually decided to rely on water taken from near the upper bothy where a bottom-feeder fish gazed lovingly into my head-torch right up until I plunged the camelbak bladder into her pool and she was gone.

Hunger finally got the better of me once I reached enough breeze to even consider stopping. I even considered a camp - my spot was so flat and comfy but I was also considering the BBITW.

I put on layers, sheltered my legs behind my laid down bike and tucked into Oatcakes and cheese that I had forgotten at lunchtime.

In the near-distance a stag bellowed into the darkness. He sounded pretty pissed off to the extent that I was considering if it was safe to carry on. I extinguished all my lights and he seemed to calm down.

Through the next deer gate and the whole herd seemed to be in the field, scattering across my path as I rode through. Thankfully no sign of the big fella though.

I descended to Amat after passing Croick church. I'd momentar­ily considered a sleep here but little red and white blinking lights put me off.

Trying to weave through Amat Lodge back the way I'd come was much less intuitive than in daylight-especially when an Audi driver blinded me with his headlights then got frustrated when I took a wrong turn. 

When I nearly fell down the cattle grid shutting the last gate I knew I was getting tired now. I had bypassed the BBITW because I still didn't know exactly where it was and decided it was probably closed despite my Friends on day 1 having told me they'd actually stopped in it that night.

For what seemed like an eternity I trudged onward, trees to the left, river to the right. After the bellowing stag, my nerves were on edge so when Random Screams came from the forest, my adrenaline was peaked again but at least I knew what they were this time. My thoughts turned to my friend Ella with whom I discussed many random noises in the night during a November 200k audax. Now she has a baby she has her own collective interpretation for things that squeal in the night.

Unfortunately the wind was making the green open pastures too cool to pitch my tent on and anyway, they were all slightly sloped. All I had to do was get over the S-bends where I had seen the hiker on day 1 and then the climbing was all rideable and the descent took me all the way home.

I was navigating by bridges although somehow I missed the one that marked the start of the S-bends. What I did notice was a single wooden pedestrian bridge off to the side. I was still wearing all of my layers from my oatcake stop and had built up quite a lot of body heat. The timing was perfect for a nap - 10:30pm, past my bed time.

• • •

I propped my bike up, hid my dynamo light away to glow discretely inside my nose bag and lay down with my helmet as a pillow. My legs ached so I folded them up and leant them against eachother. The dry wood of the bridge felt like the perfect mattress and I drifted in and out of sleep between staring at the stars above me, framed by the latticework of the bridge's handrails and some overhanging branches. I pretty much avoided the flies as gentle tickles on my neck transpired to be the breeze blowing through hairs that had gone astray from my ponytail.

When I woke up I decided to get going before my body temperature got too low. Some more pushing and a bit of riding and suddenly the lake above the Croft came into view-on my Garmin screen. Somehow the S-bends had passed without me noticing and I was into the beautiful stretch of deciduous woodland that I'd noticed on the way out. Next was the lake and then it was all down hill, down the mile-long straight descent along the deer fence where an owl bobbed along with me for 200m before peeling off into the forest.

Heather in the middle.  Extra jeopardy at the edge.

Even the boulder barrier was easier on the way down and with nothing but the forest descent to go, the stone ruin lost its bivi appeal.

For a moment I considered a sleep in the Sumer house at the Castle (the highlands is *not* ruined) but the pull of hot fresh pasta back at the croft at 1am was too much to turn my back on.

I wheeled my bike down the steps to the door which was difficult because my brakes were squealing and I was trying not to wake the farm dogs.

Minutes of panic ensued as the door was locked & I had to try to wake TSK without waking every canine in the valley. Thankfully the croft has a floor to ceiling cathedral window so my downstairs tapping and strobing Exposure light both woke him and illuminated his way downstairs to let me in.

I put the bike away whilst he boiled pasta for my late dinner then despite my best intentions I slept in a clean sleeping bag for the first time instead of the one that matched my filthy body. With no hot running water at the croft, a hair wash in the kitchen sink and stand-up wash over a concrete floor and a bowl of kettle-heated water would have to wait until tomorrow.

The most precious outcome by far was the next day I actually managed to move. Not just a little bit but we went and got in the sea and walked along the coast and did stuff. 

 

I'd even go so far as to declare I would have gone for a ride. Sure, I slept fucking HARD but I wasn't dog tired-just regular tired. Unlike my previous recces.

If you're wondering if the highlands is really ruined? Yes it is, don't go there you wouldn't like it.

• • •

I hope you find my review useful.

What's less important is: I'm not ruined.