Friday:
We left work late as TSK had to finish his last day at his old job. He will
return to a new one. By the time we reached the A66 we are tired and ready
to stop – somewhere on the way, but where? We cruised past the place that
we had in mind and continue, eventually noticing a campsite sign at the last
moment, braking in the car and swinging in. They had room for us. Can
we book in tomorrow when the lady of the house is in?
She clearly runs
the show. I clearly do not as I have forgotten the tent pegs. I fixed it though and blagged some off a caravanner to save us the embrarrasment and
inconvenience of trekking to Keswick, only to come back and proceed again
tomorrow.
It was
such a nice evening we pitched the Tentipi without its inner for the first
time. We layed the Thermarests straight on the ground because it was so dry.
I went out
to do the dishes and captured a rising moon, bigger than I have ever seen in the UK. It’s glowing orange.
We had a
sleepless night. It was windy and stormy and the tipi flapped uncontrollably
(we later fixed this issue - User error!) and it lashed it down. We survived dry and
we cooked breakfast at 7 whilst the storm raged outside. It got closer and at one point we heard crack-boom. The closest lightening strike
we’ve experienced since Quebec 9 years ago. The stablehand thinks the shed was struck.
Once
things dried out a bit, we took the tentipi down, bundled it into the back
of the car and returned the tent pegs with great thanks and an appreciation of the
weather we’d all endured. I was glad we tested ourselves (and the tipi) before we committed to Scotland.
Next
stop: Gretna Green for tent pegs from the Sport Direct store where I was offered
a magazine with Mark Cavendish on the front. I explained I’d better pay my
husband some attention whilst I’m on holiday.
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| Karrera Island. Always sunny when we're there |
Saturday:
We’ve
been to Oban before and really enjoyed it. This time we signed up for a
4 hour wait at the ferry terminal. Unknowingly, we were sold a standby
ticket, with no more promise than guaranteed on the 8pm sailing. We
arrived at 3:30pm. Personally, I’d have chosen a night in Oban and crossing
the next day but I didn’t get a choice from the clerk on the desk. There
were a lot of disgruntled people - and not just me.
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| The Ferry to Mull |
We
arrived on the Isle of Mull at 9pm and set about choosing a campsite. We
had at least, by now, figured out where they all were and gradually discounted
them. If we’d turned left out of the ferry terminal we’d have been OK but
I had to chose to be near the mountain so after rejecting a few as mere fields
with no sign of sanitary drinking water, never mind toilets, we settled on
Tobermory which I thought would be over-commercialised but was far from it.
The
caravan site may have been but our tent field was occupied by one cycle tourist
and he shared his midge coil with us.
After a
lot of swearing putting the tent up and unpacking the car, we eventually burned
all the little feckers to death before settling down for the night.
Dishes were done indoors.
Sunday:
Mull’s
only Munro, Ben More. We were surprisingly organised and on the hill by
10:30. We ran up as much as we could. The top was surprisingly cool
but we persevered in shorts and fleece and ran to the top, waving to a couple
who got so far with their baby then had to turn back down because it was cold
and steep.
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From the summit of Ben More
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We
stopped and ate and enjoyed the view and we reached the top in time for a late
lunch. There were plenty of sitting places on the way down. I’d
earmarked a pool in the stream for a swim. Realising
I was wearing my shorts with the knickers sewn in and I didn’t want to get my
only teeshirt wet, it turned into a skinny dip with me getting full-on in for a
swim and Andrew making it in up to his nipples.
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TSK hides from the breeze
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As far as
I know we weren’t seen but I didn’t care, it was immensely freeing and I swam
up and down whilst Andrew got dry then prepared to give me my clothes, item by
item.
We were
down at the car by 3pm and watching the cows mootch around on the beach.
I wrote in my diary that I was happy with that day and anything else was a
bonus.
Monday:
First
real day of holiday and we chose to tell the legs to shut up and set out for an
85 mile ride as a leg stretch. That leg stretch was around the isle of
Mull. We set off in shorts and tees and headed for Calgary – one of the
campsites we’d passed on Sunday. In the village however was a café which
(of course) we had to go in and admire the sculpture and art.
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There is no basking shark in this photo, honest
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We
particularly loved the basking shark. We photographed the beach at Calgary
for later then made our way over to the pass leading back to Ben More - the
road we had passed along the day before, stopping at the wall to watch two
otters playing with a mollusc in the sea. After a time, we reached our
first col of the day, passing over the ridge that rolls down from the top of
the peak we had climbed the day before.
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There are otters in this photo, honest
|
We
arrived safely on the other side, turned inland again and found ourselves in
the widest, most open valley. We stopped in an Audax hotel (bus stop) for
a bite to eat whilst watching the traffic (occasional car) and then, noticing
the hotel’s air conditioning was a bit keen (window missing), we set off with
knee warmers / leggings and waterproofs at hand.
We had a
long climb out of this valley to go. Half way up I started to bonk and helped
myself to the sesame snaps I’d been saving (forgotten) all day. They are
packed with energy!
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Beautiful single track of Mull
|
Down the
other side and back to the ferry terminal where we found the worst café on the
island (early closing and surly staff) and then went on to discover there were two cafes and we missed the better one.
We
soldiered on fuelled by a bad coffee and a twix each. One inconsiderate
trucker later and we were in a rainstorm. It didn’t matter though, we
hadn’t got far to go and we pushed our speed to make it go away. We were
fast into Tobermory and set about enjoying cooking our dinner in the cool air
with the wind keeping the midges away (mostly and finally).
So by
Tuesday we were properly worn out. We did what every tired tourist should
and headed to the whisky tour at the local distillery. Happy that it was
a small, local place steeped in tradition and interest, TSK enjoyed his first
tour. We paid to taste both the Ladavuglin and the Tobermory. We
walked away with a bottle of the stuff (though not the finest on offer) and a respectable shot glass to boot. It beats the free, plastic one we have at home.
Ice
creams and lunch in the cheese factory later, we could hardly walk but we
climbed in the car with my wetsuit and headed over to Calgary bay for that swim
I’d promised myself. Andrew went for a brief paddle but it really was
much colder than the stream. I got properly in there, despite the grey skies (though no
rain) and did three lengths or so. Sadly, there was a little too much
weed so I kept getting freaked out and wasn’t really able to put my back into
it so got cold. We dried off and sat on the benches enjoying the evening
before heading back to camp for a late (small) dinner.
On
Wednesday it was time to move on. Our legs were still too tired to do
anything major and we wanted to find a site that was a little more
exposed. Resipole is just the place and in the past my family’s caravan
has almost blown away. Never mind tents. I sent a brief belated
birthday card to my dad saying that is where we were going with the tipi and
trepidation.
The drive
to Resipole from Mull was beautiful passing through places I have not been
before. We arrived in good time and good weather and spent a lot of time
trying to find our exposed, midge free spot. We didn’t really, the lure
of a quieter area of land overcoming our desire to be in the breeze. We
carefully avoided the multi-person tents that probably housed large (or
multiple) families or indeed and entire scout troup or university group.
We did
well to get away from the electric as later, stereos did arrive and children
were terantering at will. We snuggled into our quiet corner. Once
installed, we took a brief walk down to the pub which is now an art gallery
(boo) before going to sit out on my old hideaway place, one of those places
where kids go to get away from their parents, sit on a rock and watch the tides
and the sea birds and dick about with seaweed… well you do if you’re an only
child. We sat for ages watching a little girl play in the tide, watch sea
birds and dick about with seaweed and razor shells.
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My old happy places - now shared
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On
Thursday we set out rectify our earlier mistakes and ride before running.
I would’ve preferred to do it the other way round because a clear day on the
mountain is more rewarding than a clear day on the bike and a wet day on a bike
is less dangerous than a wet day on a mountain but then, I remember Ben
Resipole and have seen it on perfect days. I do not, however, remember
Ardnamurchan point that much so we set out to ride there.
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| There is a real shark in this photo |
It was 60
miles to get there and back. The road is not flat. By the time we
reached the turning point for Ardnamurchan point we were ravenous. A café
/ craft / leather shop was our first available fuelling point. Served by
a man who looked more like he’d just come ashore from a month fishing at sea,
we weren’t expecting great coffee but it was out of this world, topped up without
thinking or charging and scrumptuous brownies which he proudly told us were made
by “May” were proffered.
They were moist and delish!
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The lighthouse and perfect picnic spot at Ardnamurchan Point
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We
arrived at Ardnamurchan point in fine fettle and set down to polish off our
lunch, saved up until that point. Andrew did the most westerly trackstand
and I insisted we went and walked around the lighthouse. So glad we did
as I don’t remember the fog-horn and 150m of cast iron compressed air pipework
that feed it. No longer necessary but highly attractive to engineering
types. Who can argue with a big red horn?.
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This image, badly shows that my Gamin maps run out and that there is nothing East of us other than the Hebrides
|
Finally,
we went to the visitor centre for a pee and more coffee before heading home on
the bikes. I saw another sea otter, though unfortunately TSK missed
it. It slinked into the water before he could come back. We went up
to Acharacle for provisions and cake to get us home then back at the campsite
went in search of an ice cream to accompany our only laundry session of the trip.
On Friday
it was mountain day. I packed more food this time and both map and Garmin.
The old path had been replaced by new but thankfully I noticed the key turning
point and instead of following the new quad-bike tracks off across the hillside
and beyond, remembered to turn alongside a deer fence and cross the stream to
access the higher ground. I say “tracks”, more like, “crushed down ruts
through the bog and heather”.
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I snap a photo before I lose TSK in the incoming weather
|
We
continued with our wet and sodden feet – no need to seek out a stream for a
swim this time. It was satisfying enough to hit rocky terrain so we could
stop wading. We ate some food before the weather truly turned then
started to take bearings as the cloud lowered and we carried on up.
The plan
to follow the stream to a lochan was formed then done away with as the lochan
was not forthcoming. We had missed a fork in the river and followed the
eastern branch. We headed North West as best we could. I dispensed
with low-tech and switched the Garmin on to get the day over with more
quickly. I didn’t fancy roaming about in the murk in waterproof trousers
any longer than I had to… and TSK had just shorts and leggings.
We found
what was the top – no higher ground around - and the technology concurred. We
pretty much headed straight down. To be honest, we needed to look at
something – anything – other than grey.
We found
the old path to the lochan and got ourselves back on the original stream we had
hiked up. We’d already scanned a couple of lunch rocks which we made use
of before re-swimming through the bog and heather to safety of the descent
trail in all its rocky glory. We even managed a bit of a run, after all
the trudging it seemed so fast. Mainly we walked all the flat and climbs
though. It had been a really tough morning.
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Happy to have found the summit, keen to go and find some dry
|
Back at
the campsite for lunch more or less, we enjoyed some really good food in the
evening.
Saturday
was still forecast to be a bit off, with things improving the day after.
For all that I wanted to move on on Saturday, our bodies were not going to
allow decommissioning the tent and moving all that stuff so we resolved to take
a rest day which may include some swimming. It was dull and so was my
mood in the morning. I was having one of those days where I didn’t want
to do anything but was on holiday so I felt pressurised to do something.
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A claggy and frustrating off-day
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Andrew
wanted to see Tioram castle and go for a swim. I knew I had seen Tioram
castle and didn’t want to drive (but I couldn’t remember Tioram castle and not
driving would mean doing nothing now, wouldn’t it).
So we
drove to Tioram castle. All I took from it was how jealous I was of the
kayakers, skirting around on the beautiful clear water – water that I wanted to
swim in but just couldn’t be bothered.
We went
to Kentra Bay and suddenly I was in the mood for a swim. I remember the
singing sands being great but couldn’t remember them exactly. It was a
long time since I had been. We parked the car and packed the bags for
walking in but stupidly I took the dry bag – not my rucsac so had to haul the
damn thing on my shoulder for ages – probably 1.5 hours.
After
umpteen false summits along the track which I didn’t remember at all, we finally
found the path down to the beach. It was sandy and promising
looking. Of course, it started to rain as soon as we arrived but, since
we had the place to ourselves, I immediately unpacked the dry bag of my wet
things, took all my clothes off and put them in the dry bag and then ran around
in circles on the beach in the rain. It was brilliant except I wasn’t
wearing a bra so my boobs hurt.
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A rain drop on a 180 degree view of our private beach
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Finally,
I got dressed into swimming clothes (and then noticed the yacht moored
offshore).
Andrew
had a little paddle as the sea was still very cold. I set out in my
wetsuit. After skirting around the rocky patch, the sea at Singing Sands
is perfectly clear and there’s no rocks or seaweed at all. It is a
tropical heaven in Scotland.
I could’ve swum for miles – temperature
permitting – but also I kept going so slow because I was completely mesmerised
by it all. Pure heaven. Pure bliss. As I got out, I quickly recalled that it had
been the sight of my only otter sighting so far. No otters today.
I got out
to get dressed and the sun was shining. If we had any more food with us
(lunchtime had passed) I would have stayed a while and gone back in the water and made the most of it this time. I was kicking myself. We had to
walk back to the car still energised. If only we’d taken our bikes… the
list goes on. I need to remember how much I love swimming in clear and
beautiful water.
After our
(seemingly much shorter) hike back to the car, we hit the café again for a
lunch (at 3pm this time) and hearty coffee to rewarm. A shower awaited at
the campsite. I went back to sulking because we’d run out of things to do
in the area but had to travel on a good weather day the next day.
Indeed
Sunday dawned clear and we packed up quickly and drove upwards through Fort
William and into the Great Glen.
We
visited a number of campsites along the way, in search of a gem that we
hadn’t seen before on many a visit.
We drove
through three campsites which managed to look both expensive and unkempt all at
the same time. They looked like residents campsites and we scurried
away. Our second-to-last hope being Invergarry.
Invvergarry
was a haven.
A farm
campsite on a steep hillside where little camping nooks had been chiselled and
shorn into the slope to accommodate more tents than the open field at the
bottom of the hill suggested. Let's skip over the old-aged Geordies with their
TV on loud in their trailer tent and focus on the pitch that we moved our
entire camp to, just to get away from them. (Let's just say that I do not want to be woken up at 7am on my holiday by the BBC Breakfast theme tune or hear Eastenders whilst I am eating my dinner).
At
Invergarry the good weather finally returned so we sat outside, licking our
wounds really - mending a puncture, yoga, preparing meals in the open air.
TSK's wheel was not only punctured but thin-walled on the rim so we waved
goodbye to going any farther North and accepted a day of blatting back to Fort
William in the car to do bike shopping.
One shiny
new wheel later and I set out for a run around our local lake. TSK joined
me so got to appreciate all the navigational wobbles that go with my running
followed by a good hour of running, sodden footed across quad bike tracks in
the heather, accompanied by the gentle swoosh of wind turbines which, to be
honest, weren't turning that much. The lake didn't look too tempting for a
swim, too brown and peaty. Eventually TSK left me to run on while he took the
map to find his own way down.
My
experience of the return journey stuck with how interesting this and that
looked but I didn't investigate because I didn't want to leave the path and 10k
felt far enough for a rest day thanks very much. TSK on the other hand, took
the map and went off to have a look at what that was. His own particularly
strong way of recovering.
This all
left me back at the tent worrying that I had lost him, running 2 more miles to
offer him company then coming back to put the tea on just in time for him to arrive back, happy and muddy.
Our
sunniest day at Invergarry was a ride to Foyers on the East side of Loch Ness.
Originally starting out as a ride to Inverness and then around Loch Ness, it
got shorter as we realised how hilly the road was and how tired we were. Our
first diversion from the main road along the Caledonian Canal was a big mistake
of unrelenting crushed stone surface. It wasn't that crushed and on road bikes
was uncomfortable and skittish. 4 miles of bone shaking gave way to lunch in
Fort Augustus with all the tourists.
Then
peace again along the quiet side of Loch Ness. We climbed one big hill for over
an hour, I am convinced. By the time we reached the top, we couldn't even see
Loch Ness. The descent looked fun but all those little rises gave for poor fun
factor with a head wind also applied. I stopped half way down to put on a coat
and watch a tree harvester making short shift of trees in the forest like a
giant yellow girl picking daisies in a forest-sized meadow.
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| The Rolling Descent |
After we
battled our way down the rolling hillside we turned onto more pleasant B roads
for Foyers. Sure there were some sharp climbs but they were short and forested
and enjoyable. The café couldn't come soon enough and was the most beautiful
lodge in the middle of a field with a view of mountains, a farm and community
of highland coo who were having a paddle. Almost everyone sat outside in the
sun.
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Face off at the cafe in Foyers
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We felt
good as one does after cake so continued North, both looking to find the best
way out of the valley back to our A road home.
TSK
suggested a route. I countered it with the next, which seemed to take us a
little further North, thereby extending our lovely day out slightly and it
seemed to avoid climbing straight over the big hill.
In fact,
the way it tackled the big hill was a series of 8 switchbacks, inching over the
steep face of the valley. We found our little Alpe.
To add to
the intrigue, the road got narrower, the grass started to appear in the middle
of the road and the trees overhead hung lover and lower. We persevered because
neither of us wanted to go back down to do the other road as well. Just as
it started to feel like a desperate off-road track through a sheep field with a
farm yard at the end, the farm road appeared again and the surface improved
just in time for the long descent to the main road.
A big,
sweeping, open, freshly tarmacced surface took us back, at speed, to the long
rolling hillside we had descended earlier. The road surface a side effect of the wind turbines
development just outside the Cairngorms national park. Suddenly my legs
felt good in the tail wind and we road raced back to the top of our journey for
the second time.
The
morning's climb was pure bliss on the way down, with all those freshly
tarmacced bends and this time we hovered in Fort Augustus only to pick up
desert and emergency bonk cake for the ride home before avoiding the Canal path
and riding down the road instead where we were treated to seeing the cruise
ship pass through the swing bridge (what else to do but eat the cake you just
picked up).
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Picnic bench and a boat garden
|
Afterwards
we were treated to a display from Scotland's emergency services when an
incident somewhere in the highlands had scrambled every emergency vehicle on
offer from Ambulance to Fire Services HAZMAT truck and, by the time we arrived
at the campsite, the rescue helicopter. This duly landed in the shinty field to
take a poorly but thankfully not visibly injured man to hospital somewhere.
Excitement
of the day offset by the pleasure of arriving back at our haven but the
displeasure of discovering my first tick of the holiday chomping on my
forehead.
Our last
day of Scotland was reserved for mountains. Specifically Meall Na Teanga and
Sron a Choire Garbh.
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| On Meall Na Teanga, proving that Treps are happiest on Mountains |
I like a
mountain where having a bike takes a good 7 miles off the day. Parking at
Laggan Lock we cycled 3.5 miles along forest trails to the path. This time on a
decent surface. We locked the bikes to a tree then hiked up to the saddle,
passing no-one other than a mountain bike in the long grass and a tent pitched
down by the stream.
We
dressed like runners but after a week or two of beating ourselves up, walked
most of it, even stashing our weighty rubbish of banana skins in the heather
for collection on the way down.
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TSK, getting into this fellrunning thing
|
The view
from the top of Meall was worth the effort. Overlooking Ben Nevis with its
sizeable compliment of snow and with a 360 view from the top. We lingered for
some time before running back to the saddle and zig zagging across the moorside
fell to Sron a Choire Garbh where we could look down on lochs and the campsite and tempting
pathways that led into the depths of Moydart. There was no Lord of the Rings
feeling though. It just looked like the Shire on acid.
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360 off the top of Sron a Choire Garbh
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With cold
legs we descended back to the saddle. I felt like I had more left and should be
on a longer day but it was about a good day out, no epics. We ate chocolate and
drank coffee on a floating pub then returned to the tipi to contemplate the
weather strategy for our remaining 4 holiday days.
It was
set to resort to gales and torrential rain on Friday but Thursdays forecast was
clear and bright but we would be too knackered to do anything else. The
forecast for England was 2 days behind so we made the controversial decision to
screw Scottish weather and head for the Lakes to climb Blencathra.
Controversial
you say? Driving through Glencoe in fine weather was seriously
distressing me. Unable to live in the moment I wanted to go and run up
every hill - despite being exhausted from the day before. We stopped in
Tyndrum and contemplated renting a pod and braving the weather for one more
mountain day on Saturday in the pissing rain but the lure of a clear lakes day
drew us onward.
Once through Glasgow and into the Pentland hills I spent my
time sitting in the passenger seat checking the weather for Scotland.
SURELY if the Lake District is going to be fine, then Durisdeer or
Dumfries is going to be clear but no! There was an invisible weather line
that extended right across the Scottish border.
We
arrived in Keswick and went shopping for some waterproof trousers as I had
decided I wanted an upgrade. We bought good food and set up our camp and
went to the pub to eat fine food, drink a beer, play scrabble and enjoyed the
sunshine.
On
Saturday the day dawned clear and we set off up Blencathra again, wearing an
illegal amount of running clothing for the quantity of
speedy-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other we were actually doing. It was a
stripped down walk. Fine.
As
promised, from the top of Blencathra we could see the forceful showers sweeping
across the Scottish foothills. We experienced the occasional spot of rain
and as evening drew in, winds, not gales buffetted the site about a bit.
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| The Tipi is actually in this photo |
We walked
down to the other pub to try some different beer and toasted the end of a
rather fine holiday.
