My prep for the biggest walk I've done in a long time: Packing while I had covid and didn't really have belief I'd be able to achieve it; chosing my route 2 days before and realising it was much longer than expected; packing my rucsac and getting drop off on the day of departure, using up the whole morning and then setting off in the heat of the day.
"Setting off in the heat of the day"! That's not something you expect to find yourself saying in Scotland.
It was a very Tepid Explorer and her dog that were abandoned in Glen Affric car park. For a start, Lena doesn't like to watch the van drive away. I was a poor companion substitute. Especially as the first thing I did was cram her in a toilet cubicle with me while I had a pee. The midges were already out r it seemed less cruel than leaving her outside.
Lena had a drink from the dog water bowls then we set off to walk the HT Glen Affric route in reverse. I was a little concerned: it's long and gruelling by bike so assumed walking it would be harder. It was so beautiful though. We had no timescale, no fixed agenda. Our priorities quickly narrowed to taking pics of the great weather, bird watching, and finding enough water. I took multiple excursions into the undergrowth to allow Lena the opportunity to paddle and drink in a stream.
We measured 30 minutes out (allowing for sniffing time) when we could ping the Spot and summons Tsk tomorrow to come and collect us, though secretly, I had my doubts we could achieve this hike in 2 days, given the late starting time on day 1 (12pm). I'd already packed enough calories for 2 nights on the hill -almost through luck rather than planning. We'd hunched out in a cafe before departure so I was, in effect, carrying an extra meal.
We passed the Affric Lodge where posh people fired guns and passed the beach where lucky teens were skinny dipping. I had my eye on the Munro prize amd wanted to make as much progress on Day 1 as possible to guarantee the success of my Day 2 agenda, though I sorely wished I had all the time, pre planning and food - in the world to have my own swim. Instead we sat on a boulder by the track and I ate while the dog lounged in a the damp remnants of a puddle. We momentarily had to scrabble our things together to allow the, "Trees for Life" tree planting people to rumble through with 4x4s and quad bikes.
Crossing the bridge at the activity centre was the last time we'd see the main river again but the hunt for water got easier as the mountains closed in and their streams frequently crossed the open path.
The number of people we saw dwindled with the day, the last pair being 2 women - one my age, the other looked like her mum and they both looked like seasoned hikers. They were interested about my camping arrangements for the dog and I said reassuring things about the bivi bag being big enough for two with one half of my brain saying, "that's bullshit, it's too small" but it's ok for one, fine night right?
We made our excuses and I crossed the bridge and promptly dropped down to the river to let the dog paddle - which she did a bit too deeply - and I took off my lower layers and sat in the water, legs fully submerged. Complete bliss. There was even enough water rushing to generate a local breeze to keep the midgets away long enough to get dressed. It was so warm that I air dried quickly.
It seemed to take forever to reach the high point of the hike: where the Glen almost flattens out and there only a gradual rise to the YHA. Dog water became more difficult to find as many of the streams ran dry leaving stagnant puddles. I tried to encourage her to drink my water but she'd stopped using the bowl I was carrying and I needed to let her drink something.
Eventually the river got close enough to the path for Lena to paddle in and there was enough breeze coming along the water's edge for me to be able to sit on a water-smoothed rock, take off my boots & brew up water for a dehydrated chilli meal which, at 6pm, was wholeheartedly devoured. The dog lay in the long grass, sighed, scratched at midges a few times then went to sleep. I watched meadow pipits flit about their business as I tucked into my dinner.
As the sun started to dwindle, the breeze died and the bitey beasties got us moving. My plan was to get as far into my planned route as possible at the end of day 1 then complete the route and hike out as far as possible on day 2 then get picked up at the carpark. If I needed the extra night out I was prepared.
We rushed past the YHA as quickly as possible. I didn't want to get stuck chatting. couldn't face any unsolicited advice, and didn't want to get tempted in by a comfy bed and end up missing out on one of the best high-mountain opportunities I'd had in months. Was it going to be better than my bike packing experiences? No, just different. But definitely one of the best hiking experiences I've ever had.
My only multi- day hike with my last dog ended in a disastrous wet night on Snowdon and a trip back to the car the next day. We looked through the windows as we passed. Weathered middle aged men with beards drank tea + poured over maps and books. There was the clatter of aluminum dishes in a sink. We scurried by. At least they'd be open tomorrow if we needed them.
We climbed the steep slope behind the YHA then skirted across the hillside into the next gully. My watch had buzzed 2 hrs to sunset over an hour ago, I needed to gain as much height as possible to find breeze and some flat ground for pitching. The beallach would be perfect - it was warm enough for a high bivi - but we were unlikely to make that.
There was a lower area of flattish ground I had spotted on the map and plenty of flat-topped moraines visible from the track below. My watch tells me the time of the next sunrise/set event. I checked it to see what time sundown was but after some time peering at it without my glasses on I concluded it said 6:15-am! The sun had already set. There was no orange glow, just a gentle darkening of the skies with high cloud cover but at least a warm night was more or less guaranteed.
I loaded up with more water at the river crossing, in preparation for the night ahead. As the colourful landscape turned to greyscale, the lookout for flat ground commenced. There was quite a lot of bog around but also it had been really dry recently and dry bog can make an excellent mattress. I'd pitched my hooped bivi and blown up my camp mat before I noticed that the stomping of my boots was causing any available moisture to rise to the surface. As usual the dog had dismissed my efforts, frowned, found the best spot and excavated herself a perfect pitch on a mound of moss and bracken right next to my bag. She had a point, it was the only truly dry spot on the hillside. I lay my pack on it and set about pitching half my tarp over it. At least I could keep my kit out of the bivi bag and keep the dew moisture off it. The shelter that came up with was truly weak and pathetic so after about an hour I gave my tired brain a rest, concluding I was achieving nothing more than giving myself a late night.
Just as I was about to go to bed I had the almighty brainwave that I should use the other half of the tarp as a groundsheet for my bivi bag to reduce the likelihood of the bog soaking through to my mat and skin in the night.
All that was left was to persuade the dog to leave her perfect pitch and come to join me in my sweaty plastic bag. I momentarily tried leaving her alone but there were too many what-if scenarios in my head and the midges would have pissed her off eventually. She joined me, somewhat reluctantly, and made herself as broad as possible right where I wanted to put my shoulders. Eventually it was easier for me to arrange myself around her, moving towards the midge net so that I could actually breathe.
I cursed myself for not bringing the tent. We could have been so much more comfortable. As I strained the seams of the bi vi between my sleeping position, the dog's arse and the solid rock preventing us from sliding away, I resolved never to use the bivi for the two of us again unless the dog has her own accommodation.
The dog steadfastly rolled into a ball, so much so I was convinced she couldn't be getting any oxygen. Even I was struggling in the humid air with my face pressed up to the midge net. Most of my clothes were off and the sleeping bag was in there somewhere on a just-in-case basis. I attempted to move the dog's snout towards fresh air but she just shoved it in my armpit.
At midnight she desperately wanted to go out. I did not so I fed her long lead out of the door and observed from a horizontal position as she troughed-out on moorland grasses then honked up twice. Great. Icky dog. However, she trundled back to bed and we slept for a further 5 hours with only one more vomit excursion in the night.
Poor bean. I hoped it was a short- lived thing resulting from attempting to eat toads - her latest fascination - or just sleeping without any oxygen.
I'd had around 4 hrs sleep when the pre-sunrise alarm sounded. so getting up didn't appeal. I did get up at 6.30 because I wanted some time on the hill to myself before the inevitable surge of YHA residents arrived. I didn't feel like being judged on the camp pitch that I was so disappointed with.
It was too midgey out so I quickly packed my rucsac with the things I wanted for the day and left my sleep kit behind in the bivi. I took my Tarp as emergency cover and decided I could tolerate the weight of my brew kit for the luxury of breakfast and coffee in a breezy location.. It was, in retrospect, a heavy pack for the glorious conditions but there were little annoyances/could have left behind like 2 batteries to charge Tech Plus cables + Spare map + thick gloves on a summer's day!
It could have been a heavier pack. I toyed with the idea of taking everything in case I decided to call it a day on the first ridge and descent via 2 munroes I'd already done before - cutting the trudge" home" to the car park down from 18 to 15 (but much hillier) kms. At least if I left my kit behind I'd force myself to complete the planned route and go back for my stuff.
Despite loathing my pitch I already had an hour of my 10 hour day in the bag and I soon decided there was no way I would have been successful at route-finding the tenuous path through the bogs below the beallach as I repeatedly dug out the Garmin to keep myself roughly en route in daylight. The beallach was everything I'd dreamed of though. It really was a shame we hadn't set out earlier yesterday and made it there for dinner.
I curled up on a flat rock and made my stove a makeshift shelter from boots, rucsac and my map case and burned far too much fuel heating water against the power of a midge-busting breeze. It was worth it though, the coffee and porridge brought renewed life. The only worry was the dog refusing her breakfast - or water and the lack of fuel left in my stove canister at the end. Cold rice pudding for tomorrow then! Our first challenge on (my) full belly was to cross the corrie below An Sodhail to reach the ridge out to Cam Na Darmnh and Meall a Dharmaigh. It wasn't quite the Tiramasu of Foinnaven on the HT but it wasn't easy going. We had to navigate a few peaty drop-offs and I wasn't quite ready to take the rucsac off so I slithered around a little off-kilter, finding the path again here and there before it disappeared into another rocky bluff. Lena frequently found it for me as presumably at some point another dog - or maybe deer - had used it before.
The exit route up a stream bed couldn't be lost and we were faced with another perfect rest stop where I consumed 11:45 lunch and persuaded Lena to eat a few biscuits and drink water. Her digestive system was coming back to life &she had more energy. Frustratingly this meant that after every little rocky scramble she would randomly want to travel 90degrees to the path.
My first Munro in 5-or-so years proved to be a battle of wills.
I persevered over a rocky bluff then insisted we avoid the next lump by passing it on the left-the opposite direction to the one the dog wanted to take. On the other side I dropped to my knees on what I thought was the summit, only to find I'd just walked past it. Oh well, this bit was an out-and-back. I'd get it on the return trip.
We dropped down, climbed back up to the Meahl. Sure enough, the views from here were incredible. Torridon, Skye, Fisherfield, Glen Shiel! We didn't stop for long though. The breeze was getting up and I didn't know what the forecast held, except that things were set to deteriorate much later and into tomorrow. I also knew that one of the rocky pinnacles was described as "difficult" in high winds. I'd also dropped my monocular at my early lunch break and wanted it back - not that I'd seen anyone else all day that might pick it up.
Where were all those wizened old men? Maybe they knew the forecast and the bad weather was due earlier. Should I bail? Well I couldn't - my bivibag was still sitting in a bog waiting for me - with quite a bit of other bits inside that I'd really like back. We got our missed Munro on the way back (and found the monocular).
The dog quite impressed me with her boulder-hopping skills though we agreed that scaling a 4ft tall pinnacle with a sloped cross section wasn't worth it to claim the extra 20cm height for the true "top" so we touched it instead and carried on back to the beallach above the boggy Corrie.
I realised the cause of the dogs navigational distraction - a 30-headstrong deer heard .5 km away and 200 vertical metres down in the Corrie below. We watched them for a while then agreed retracing our steps through the bog for an early finish was not an attractive prospect.
The dog likes to sniff the breeze and all the scent was coming our way. The deer on the other hand, had no idea we were there. This all made me think about my bivi bag and as the wind buffeted our feet around when we walked, I resorted to carrying my walking pole horizontally so it didn't trip me up. I wondered if the bivi bag would even be there when I returned. I'd pegged it out but I've never left a pitch on a hill for the day - it didn't even occur to me to plan for changing conditions.
Our next Munro towered above us-the tallest in the chain. I read through the notes in the book on my phone screen. It turns out we'd already done the hard scrambling that was "only risky on a windy day" and sure enough, a clear pathlet led us through the boulder field with relative ease and again, the dog moved at a measured and responsible pace and picked herself some good lines.
I was unreasonably gleeful to discover this one had a proper summit cairn although due to the freak weather, it was angled directly into the warm wind. We took a seat outside the circle of stacked stones on a couple of perfect flat rocks. Mine even had a backrest! It was around 4:30pm. I ate the last of the food that I wasn't saving for dinner, breakfast or day 3 snacks and added the Kintail ridges, Ben Nevis and Aanoch Eagach and, too many mountains I couldn't name, to the scenery. I could not believe I was so lucky. I saw my first other humans a few hundred metres away on the next summit. That must be what the people from the YHA were up to. They set off towards us just as soon as I had finished eating and was ready to leave so I did. There was no point in ruining my record of not speaking to anyone (but the dog) all day. The people were both double-poling heavily and I wanted to avoid that.
I thought they might catch us up as my knee started to ache and the dog wasn't faring much better. She started to use me as a gravity break and took every opportunity to sniff in all directions on the flat, grassy sections. At every obstacle I declared "We don't have to climb that??" And then we didn't anymore.* We were back at our breakfast spot and ready to start the trudge down.
In my enthusiasm to check my bivi was still there, I forgot to keep an eye out for the lense cap I dropped. If that's my mountain sacrifice for the trip I'll take it.
I wasn't really looking forwards to getting back to my bivi pitch but I did want to know that all was well. Rock-hopping down the streambed with a lazy dog was bad enough. How would I manage with the extra weight of the rucsac? My left knee was starting to twinge and lock with every step. I remembered the technique of putting the dog behind and she seemed content - for once - to follow my knees so that made things much easier - besides, we now knew the route down.
I couldn't believe how low our pitch was - or how much climbing we'd done before breakfast on the beallach. As we crested the lip of the Corrie I was both overjoyed and disappointed to see my tiny bivi bag clinging to the bog far below. Now I'd have carry the feking thing home. I pondered what to do with it when I got there. It would be dinner time and quite frankly we were both ready to call it quits and have a lie down.
My thoughts passed the time on the descent: finding a nice, breezy spot by the stream to sit, filter more water for overnight and eat the last of my packed "lunch" as dinner.A squashed beef and mustard sandwich, crisps and my last apple.There were no people noises, only flies. The other hikers had clearly climbed their peak then headed down a different way. The dog scoffed her meal willingly - finally - but I was careful not to overfeed her, in case that was my earlier mistake (it's usually not possible).
Our spot by the stream was really pleasant and I considered just dragging the whole bivi pitch over but, despite my earlier concerns about everything blowing away, the breeze wasn't sustainable and already dying off with the fading evening light.
We stumbled across the bog. Lena resumed her position atop the dry mossy mound and I lay down inside on the mat and rested my head for a moment before realising I was probably only making the damn thing wet again before packing it up as it had dried out nicely during the day. I deflated and packed away my bed and packed the bivi onto the bottom of my pack. I felt thoroughly justified in making use of the YHA now that I had made this commitment to descend into the valley. I'd need the Hostel to get away from the midges and, possibly, the impending rain clouds.
Reaching the deer gates that protect the forestry plantations and small YHA gardens from marauding deer herds, I felt like we'd made it. Only the hike-out to go. I knew I had enough food to survive on. The only question was whether I could face eating more walnuts and dried apricots. The dog had more real full meals left than I did.
Of more concern was the impending rain cloud which sauntered down the valley towards us. I had been willing it to stay-put but its progression was relentless. It was a wall of rain and more concerning was the warm wind traveling towards it - the perfect mixture for an electric storm and all I had with me was a neurotic dog and a tin shed for shelter on a high mountain pass.
I should have stopped to put my camera away and pull out my waterproofs but instead we marched on, conscious that we might miss some imaginary 7pm check-in at the YHA. Cruelly, we were 200m from the hostel when the pattering started. I ran as fast as I could with a heavy pack and the dog followed willingly under some kind of illusion that it would help. We didn't really understand that the hostel door was not open but once that was established we had to turn tail and run back around the building to the only bit which had a vague porch. It was a dreadful shelter facing straight into the wind. The dog got the only dry corner as she cowered into it. I put my back to the wind and struggled into my coat and waterproof trousers.
I cursed I'd bought my lightweight cycling ones, only good enough for pulling on over a pair of Sidi's-so I had to take my boots off first and pulled the trousers up over my skirt - what a mess.
With everyone - including my Camera - in a waterproof state we completed a more controlled circuit of the buildings, still finding all doors locked. I banged loudly on doors and windows s called out, "anybody there?", hoping at least to raise a caretaker warden or kindly resident, and blag a night. There was no answer.
I returned us to our temporary shelter and persuaded the dog to lie down and stay while I started to plan the best bivi deployment. Oh god, not this again, another bad nights sleep.
A building offered my best option for shelter and some remote hope we'd be discovered and rescued at a later hour. All edges of the building were smooth. There were no pins or brackets or drain pipes anywhere useful. The low benches were not much inspiration for comfortable exit and entry to my tarp. Solar panels provided a useful sloping cover and a frame structure but seemed to be erected in a bog- and possibly a bog which formed the sewage treatment system for the site.
At last, I reached the outside toilet. On first inspection it seemed locked but the lock hasp wasn't attached to an eyelet, it just hung there. The slider was in place just to keep the door shut in the wind. I pinched at it with my wet fingers and after the third attempt persuaded the damn thing to open. I ran back around the building to grab my backpack and dog. She entered gladly and curled up on the lino.
The pack went under the sink and I shut the door and sat on the throne. The room was around 1. 5 m square and was about to become our home for the night. I emptied my bladder into the ensuite facilities and took off every item of damp, hot clothing - everything then. The toilet room was boiling! I knew I was late on my HRT patch but this room was its own personal heat wave.
Over the next 3 hours I did the following things: moved my dog poo stash outside; used my VBL as a floor cover; had a full-body wipe-down in the sink; worried about getting locked in; slept; rested with my knees up; decided which route to walk out to save myself 2km; rested with my feet up; worried about missing out on a room if anyone showed up; inflated my mat; slept sitting upright to stretch my legs out; attempted to use my sit mat as a neck brace for sleeping upright; worried about dying in my sleep from sewer gas asphyxiation from the drainage system; propped the door open to let some air in and shut it again quickly when the midges started attacking; watched the spiders at the window; took Ibuprofen.
By 9pm, it got so stuffy in the outhouse, I decided to make one last assault on the front entrance. I had too many worries in my head - mainly missing out. I tore a leaf out of my waterproof notebook and scribbled "Walker and tired dog holed-up in the toilet. Please come and find us if you come to unlock" I signed it "A&L". It wasn't difficult to persuade the dog to stay in the bathroom. It was still raining and midgey outside and we already know she doesn't need much oxygen. I, on the other hand, relished the fresh air on my lungs and enjoyed cooling my skin in the rain. Any thoughts of moving outside were quashed by stumbling through the ankle-deep puddles that had run off the roof... and then the midges got going.
Sleeping curled up in a 1. 6m square dunny or curled around the dog in an 8ft wet plastic bag? The dunny won out.
I finally focused on the notice in the window of the YHA "Closure Dates" the last one was 4-7 September. I squinted at my watch in the darkness. Feck it was 7th. The residents last night must have been a working party. I left my note anyway - just in case- and went back to our "camp". I'd removed the dog's harness and coat to a spot under the sink and she moved over to them to get her off the hard, flat lino surface. This allowed me to turn into the corner and get my head away from the toilet waste pipe and lie on the true diagonal which meant I could feel "curled up" rather than "crammed in".
Satisfied that either my note would be found or I would not be disturbed, I promptly slept soundly from midnight to 5:30am. when my alarm went off. I didn't want to get woken by an angry warden on toilet - cleaning duty. I packed up, moved all food to accessible pockets and filtered a suitable quantity of cold water into my last dedicated food pouch - a rice pudding desert which I'd saved for this exact purpose. I put it in the kangaroo pouch of my waterproof to "cook".
The dog was less excited about leaving. She liked her mountain kennel, fancied more sleeps and it was cold out. I put her in her jumper for the first time since February and added a rain coat just in case. That was deemed acceptable, if not quite exciting and she got moving quite quickly though I had to be careful she didn't plough headlong into puddles wearing her fleece.
We got going at 6:15 am. The sun was appearing from behind a headland wearing a cloud as a grass skirt. A temperature inversion hung a silky blanket of steam along the river bed ahead and dewey spider webs twinkled everywhere like a sea of ping pong paddles wafting in the breeze. And oh that breeze! keeping the midge bites cool.
We pioneered into the sunset, captivated by it, trying and failing to capture it. Eventually it materialised into another too-hot day. The dog's coats came off first. I waited until we reached our footpath turn off when we finally found a big, smooth slab by rock with an al-fresco breeze where I could eat cold, slightly crispy, rice pud (surprisingly acceptable) and remove my waterproof layers. The path to the North shore of the Glen was infinitely better on the dogs paws and she thrived in the smells left by small creatures and the lodge hunters (judging by the scent highways on Quad bike tracks).
On the one hand I was targeting being back before 12. On the other hand, the wildlife kept providing me reasons to stop and stare. I also had my first human conversations in 2 days (while the dog made canine friends) and Lena contributed to the shoot by driving some grouse out of the woods, chattering into the morning sun.
I stayed in my trousers as long as possible to keep the midges off but eventually, I was expiring from the heat and my specsavers 2-4-1 sunglasses weren't cutting it. I switched to the Skort, found my sunglasses and promptly descended into the shelter of the forest. Still, it was so hot, even that needed me to chill out and the sunglasses controlled the blinding effects of dappling sunlight. I let myself believe I could complete the last 3km in 30 minutes and sent Andrew a spot message to come and pick me up.
At the gates to the Lodge we were diverted onto the scuzzies path around the perimeter fence, allowed only to look in on the expensive cars lined up outside, the groundsman on his quad bike going to fuel up the two power boats on the loch with petrol. Portly red faced men dressed in tweed trousers, caps and check brushed cotton shirts strutted about like lords. Lena and I descended through the trees to the approach track on the other side of the property. At least we had it to ourselves as Lena trotted along at the extent of her lead and we weren't bothered by a single vehicle.
The broad rocky track continued along the final loch but I knew it wasn't far. My body was ready to shut down. I'd been idling for a while. I now put my back into things. I tightened the straps of my pack. uncomfortably so but we became one and it seemed easier to haul. I pressed my painful blisters down into their perpetrators - the heels of my boots - because they wouldn't need to continue for much longer. I crammed sugary gelatinous sweets in my mouth to "keep me going" till lunch.
I ignored all tempting turnoffs to the beautiful (but slightly steeper) woodland riverside paths and smiled to myself as I suddenly recognised a bivi spot from one of my HT reccies where I'd been sensible, brought a tent and burned out the midges with a smoke coil.
Then we were at the carpark and the Mercu was there and, although Tsk had taken himself off for a walk, he had parked in one of the few very slightly breezy spots in the whole parking lot. Both Lena and I collapsed into respective heaps and waited: waited for a man to appear bearing food gifts. Our wish was granted.
*A later check of the Garmin revealed that we really should have climbed one more! An Socach was not summited as it lay off beyond the beallach before the descent from the mountain. We could have got it if we'd been quicker but as it is, we'd have been soaked and making it down to the the Youth Hostel in darkness so it looks like I need to go back another time.
