The Fellbound Diary – 2013
David Williams reflects on his first TGO Challenge
TGOC Minus 2 Days: Apprehension
Two days before the 2013 Challenge and I was getting myself in a right state.
My mood had perceptibly shifted in the weeks leading up to the Challenge. After the brown envelope from Mr Manning had arrived telling me I had one of the coveted 300 places there had been months of excitement – planning, sorting routes and general anticipation. Despite this, I had always thought that mine was not the ideal personality for the spirit or reality of the Challenge.
In part, I was conscious of the social side of the Challenge, which appeared to be an essential element. Indeed, without this, what would be the point of the event, given that we could all just go off and do such a walk on our own, couldn’t we? I am not naturally outgoing. I tend to do my walking alone, more by circumstance than choice, but I knew from reputation that an essential element of the Challenge was the social side.
More importantly, I am one of life’s worriers. A big time worrier. I get anxious about many things. And as the Challenge came closer, I became more and more apprehensive, not helped by my naïve, long held expectation that the weather must be better this year than it had been for recent Challenges, an expectation that was rapidly disappearing in the final two weeks of the lead up.
I knew I wasn’t superbly fit and that my training could have been more intensive. I had never backpacked for more than 4 days before. I had very little experience of Scotland, despite extensive hill walking and mountain experience elsewhere. I reckoned that decent weather would significantly enhance my chances of a successful crossing. Yet the weather had been dire, and the forecasts were poor. Tweets were flying around about the possible need for winter gear, heavier sleeping bags and the like. I was agonising about what to take, what could go wrong and generally working myself up into a state.
I was worried about river crossings if it was to be very wet and with all the snow melt. I wondered if I could take the general discomfort of being wet for days on end and also how a very tall, middle aged bloke like me could cope with crawling in and out of a tiny, sodden tent. I wondered about whether I had the right kit, about whether I was physically able to take the long days, about whether my calf would be ok, knackered since two back operations had left me with nerve damage down my left leg. And I was concerned about my nemesis, my phobia of cattle. But I had wanted to do this Challenge for so long. So many people knew I were attempting it. I was most scared of dropping out. Especially early on in the event.
Thus, my apprehension can be summarised as the fear of the unknown and the fear of failure – my two biggest concerns.
So the day before I set out to Mallaig I calmed my nerves with a trip down to my favourite town in the whole wide world, Keswick, just half an hour away from my cottage, and looked to my well loved hills and, despite knowing that their familiarity would contrast with what was to come, I did what real athletes and sportsmen do. I tried to “visualise victory”.
I imagined the feeling that I would experience on a beach on the east coast of Scotland in just over two weeks. I also told myself that thousands of others had successfully made the crossing, that I was far younger than many of them, that they had faced successfully all the things I was getting worked up about and had just got on with it. I told myself that I was generally being ridiculous. I’m not certain it worked, but the tea and cake in Booths were good, so I set off back home, finished loading my rucksack and had a pretty sleepless night as a prelude to the coming journey.
TGOC Minus 1 Day: Do I Really Look that Stupid?
In my mind the Challenge started on the day of my train journey to Mallaig. This is the day when it all became real.
I was vaguely amused by the Virgin Rail poster I saw on the platform as I waited for my train on Penrith station. It said “Do not carry more luggage onto the train than you can comfortably carry”. It raised a wry smile from me as I hefted my pack in to the carriage. A good motto for planning for the Challenge.
Glasgow Queen Street: I had never met a real Challenger before. All the ones I knew were cyber space acquaintances, fellow tweeters or bloggers who revealed their characters and views in 140 character bite size chunks. I headed in to the bar and found Messrs Lambert, Walker and Sloman drinking tea. They kindly welcomed my intrusion so I wasn’t Billy No Mates. I follow Alan and Andrew on Twitter. They were exactly as expected. That’s good. I didn’t know Phil, but he exuded quiet confidence and experience. The station filled with rucksacks, and old friends reunited. I stood on the fringes, glad to get into my reserved seat rather than crashing other people’s conversations.
The lovely Vicky Allen and her aunt Barbara were sitting behind me in the carriage. This was a good thing. A fellow Challenger kept coming to speak to me. He was experienced. He had done the crossing once before and was full of advice for me. My route sounded dodgy. I shouldn’t camp by that loch – the wind whistled down the valley at hurricane force and my tent wouldn’t survive. The ferry to Inverie only held 3 or 4 people and I wouldn’t get a place on it if I hadn’t booked. And best of all, he asked me whether I had waterproofs with me.
Well, even I didn’t think I looked that dim. As he left, Vicky simply whispered “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Ignore him”. I tried and I think the waterproofs comment helped. I have been climbing mountains for over 40 years now and I like to think that this, and the compulsory units in meteorology I did as part of my degree had given me a hint that Scotland could be a tad rainy.
Fort William: The two empty seats opposite me filled with Dutch father and son, Charles and David. David turned out to be this year’s youngest Challenger. What thoroughly nice chaps. I liked them immediately, but couldn’t get Chaz and Dave, the Cockney pub singing duet out of my mind, despite the fact that my new companions were the very opposite, and I had to resist the urge to say “gercha” at them. A week later David would show remarkable peace of mind on the evening when Charles, David, James Boulter and myself were viciously assaulted in an unprovoked attack by a duck in the Fife Arms in Braemar. That little episode will feature in a later chapter.
Mallaig: Checked in to my B and B. Great fish and chips. The haddock can’t have been dead more than a few hours. Walked down to the waterfront and looked out to the Western Isles. I couldn’t believe the magical beauty of the scene looking over towards Rhum, Eigg and the distant Cuillins. I had never been here before. I would have to come back.
Bed. Ready, steady….
Day 1: Excitement
I rarely sleep beyond 4.00am these days so after the obligatory cups of tea whilst lying in bed I was out for an early morning wander around Mallaig. The weather was perfect. Sun, a few fluffy clouds and no more than a slight breath of wind. The harbour was still. The water flat calm. The gulls cried. There was a smell of saIt, seaweed and diesel oil, so evocative of fishing ports. It was serene. For the first time in weeks my nerves vanished. Just vanished. And also for the first time in weeks I sensed a different emotion. Excitement. I could feel a silly grin appearing on my face. Now just to digress from the Challenge tale for a moment, I must acknowledge the superfluous nature of the phrase “on my face” in the previous sentence, for where else can a grin appear but on the face?
Anyway, grinning like the Cheshire Cat I popped down to the Co-op and bought a sandwich for my lunch. Good move, as over the coming days I was to became profoundly bored with trail mix and cereal bars. Then back to the B and B. Full Scottish. Re-sort pack (again). Up to the West Highland Hotel to sign out at 9.10am, meaning my Challenge formally started with a sit down, as I then had to wait until Bruce Watts weighed anchor at 10.15pm.
As a whole big bunch of Challengers waited for Bruce’s boat it started to rain lightly and intermittently. Wanting not to risk having wet clothing earlier than necessary, I pulled on cag and overtrousers. These were to remain on until I was finally in my tent several hours later. I spotted a ULA Catalyst pack on another Challenger, and thus I met “Reuben’s Dad”, James Boulter, for the first time outside cyber space. I have a bad habit of “knowing” if I like someone instantly, and I did. Thoroughly nice guy. Also on the boat was another person known, until then, only through the medium of wireless and fibre optics (although us country dwellers should be so lucky to ever get fibre optics). This was Superdawg’s Dad, Mike Knipe, him of the driest sense of humour outside the Sahara. And our new Dutch friends, Chaz and Dave were there too.
45 minutes later we arrived at Inverie to the organised chaos of packs being removed from the hold (I am making this up as I go along, as the hold was just a blue tarpaulin on the deck) and passed up on to the bustling quayside. OK, this wasn’t Rotterdam but there was a bit of bustle. Whilst James and I faffed around taking photos and getting our Pacer Poles out, Mike Knipe and various other old hands headed off at a speed of knots. Not to walk, of course, but to get to the bar of the pub in Inverie before a queue built up. That was my last view of Mike on the Challenge.
I walked with James for the first 45 minutes or so until our routes diverged. I then headed off the LR track to get my first minor taste (I was only in it for 15 minutes) of Scottish bog as I cut across to Gleann Meadall and then started the gentle climb up to the col at the top of the Glen. I walked this section alone, although I was aware of Chaz and Dave someway behind me.
The rain came on properly and its intensity increased steadily. There were a group of Challengers resting at the Col when I arrived. I believe some had left their packs there and had just “popped up” a nearby hill. I had no intentions at any time on this Challenge of doing anything like that on my walk. I had one aspiration and one aspiration only. To get to the east coast. Hills could wait for another time and another crossing. Later in the Challenge, by the time I reached Braemar, this aspiration had actually turned into a specific, well thought out and simple strategy, which I shall elaborate on later for anyone sad enough still to be reading by then.
The path down to Sourlies was far easier than I had anticipated; less steep than the impression I had gained from previous Challengers. I walked across the bog and salt marshes, admiring a few grazing deer, with two others – I think it was Matt Little and Ian Somerville and the tide was low enough to allow us to walk round to the bothy on the beach and so avoid a final stiff pull up over the headland.
There is some lovely turf for camping on just before the bothy. I decided to avoid this and save later arrivals the horror of my snoring by going on just beyond the bothy to a smaller patch of turf near a stream. The Akto was up by 4.45pm. The rain hammered down. I hunkered down in the warmth of my tent and sleeping bag and brewed up. Dave and Chaz went passed (should that be past?) at 5.30pm planning to walk to a bothy beyond Glen Dessarry (I later heard they walked until 11.00pm).
After my first dehydrated meal of the walk I thought that was me for the day. Then I looked out of my tent. The stream was well up. The tide was in and the loch was high. Pools of water were developing all around my tent. I packed most of my stuff in case I had to bail out. The rain continued. At 8.00pm I was taking the tent down and moving to the turf the other side of the bothy which was on slightly higher ground. Ian’s Duomid had been near mine. He decided to risk staying put. I had half an hour by the fire in the bothy before bed back in the tent. Ian was moving his Duomid in the dark at 11.00pm as the rain kept falling….
Day 2: The Joys of the Challenge
I was awake by 5.00am, and lay in the tent, brewing up and eating my comfort breakfast of Ready Brek. I mix it with sugar and dried milk in a plastic food bag before leaving home and then add boiling water to the bag, giving a hot breakfast with no washing up and minimal use of gas.
The torrential rain of the previous day and night had stopped. Now it was simply showery. This makes such a difference to the ease and comfort of wild camping, what with the need for cat hole ablutions and packing stuff away. Deer were grazing on the shingle beach near the bothy as I sorted out my kit. A couple of bothy dwellers emerged and headed towards the ruins of Finiskaig. I set off on my day’s walk a few minutes behind them, the skies dark and menacing giving the area around the head of this sea loch a very desolate and heavy atmosphere.
I caught the two walkers in front up after 30 minutes or so, when they were stopped for some reason. It was Colin Crawford, an extremely experienced Challenger from Glasgow, and his first time Challenger companion from Edinburgh, John Boyce. I wasn’t certain of Challenge etiquette now. I fancied some walking companions in the oppressive atmosphere of this grey early morning. Whilst the general direction was clear, the path was indeterminate and wet and boggy, and walking with others would be a distraction and help prevent nagging worries developing. They were clearly faster walkers than me, but with a bit of extra effort I kept up and tagged along and this didn’t seem a problem for them, although I suspect Colin at least could have walked much faster if he had not had me there. But both were delightfully kind, helpful and friendly.
We followed the path, such as it was, along by the Finiskaig River and up to Lochain a Mhaim. The rain was coming down again now. We missed the ford shown on the map and after some minor scrambling and boulder hopping came to the outflow from the Lochain, where we crossed the stream. This was my first proper fording of a river in over 30 years and it was thankfully a very simple one. My trail shoes now came into their own. Trouser legs rolled up and straight across. No faffing with boots or crocs.
Then it was on and up to the watershed. This was further than I had anticipated. Although I think I read maps pretty well, I was not used to navigating with a 1:50000 map, having used 1:25000 for so many decades. You seem to cover ground very slowly on a 1:50k map! We headed down towards Glen Dessarry and the Allt Coire nan Uth.
This stream wasn’t wide but it was in a steep little valley and there was a lot of white water in it. Alone I would have hesitated and faffed. Was it safe to cross? I would have been going back and forwards for ages to pick a spot to ford. It was good to have Colin’s reassuring presence here as he guided me across, then John, then a few seconds later returned to help two walkers coming up the valley who were also somewhat hesitant.
Glendessary opened in front of us. There was a hint of sunlight and lighter skies. We were joined by Matt Little as we stopped for some lunch. And then it was solo walking for me again. The others headed towards Kinbreack Bothy; I down to Loch Arkaig, for mine was planned as a low level crossing.
A few km along the road at Caonich I found a small, semi-wild camp spot almost on the loch shore and was joined by two fellow Challengers, John from Northampton and Frederick from the Loire Valley. The sun was out now. Suddenly, Frederick was tearing his Trail Star down muttering “Teeks, teeks, hundreds of teeks”. He hung his shelter from a tree. It was covered in a myriad of tiny black spots and he spent the next hour or more with a tissue, meticulously killing them one by one, explaining that one of his friends had had Lyme’s Disease. He then re-erected the Trail Star on the shingle beach of the Loch.
John and I watched bemused and amused. John had not come across ticks before. I had, often on the dog and once, after walking through a lot of bracken on Gowbarrow Fell, on me. I explained to John that ticks liked nothing better than to head for the warmth of the groin area before latching on, and from then on he giggled hysterically between bouts of furious, precautionary scratching of his nether regions. But we could see no ticks on our own shelters and surely Frederick’s behaviour was OTT? Well, as it happened the answer is no. 24 hours later and both John and I would be sitting in our respective B and Bs removing numbers of ticks from ourselves.
Nasty little blighters, ticks. I would have them all strung up I would, if I had my way.
It had been a good day. The walking had been enjoyable; I had found a decent camp spot. The weather appeared to have changed for the better; and the reassuring, calm presence of Colin and John at the river crossings had been a real confidence booster….
Day 3: Real Heroes
After my route had been submitted and approved by my vetters I had decided that a long road plod by Loch Arkaig had not been the best idea. But with a B and B booked at Spean Bridge for night 3 I decided not to try changing my plans. As it happens I had a perfectly enjoyable day, albeit not one with any great excitement or challenge.
I walked parts of the way with John Woolston and Harry from Newcastle and John from Midhurst. Having people to chat to helped the miles pass reasonably easily. It was a long plod, but the road by the loch was quiet in the early(ish) morning and, as everywhere in the north of Scotland, there were good views to be had. The view I most wanted, though, was a tea shop.
I had consoled myself when thinking about this leg of the journey that as I was walking along roads for much of the day I would be able to stop on occasions for refreshments. I was particularly looking forward to a coffee and slice of carrot cake. My route was to take me through Achnacarry. The map showed a museum there. That meant there had to be a tea shop didn’t it? Of course it didn’t.
But soon after that we would hit Gairlochy. All those boaters on the Caledonian Canal would need a café wouldn’t they? Apparently not. And there would be one of those mobile refreshment trailers parked up for the tourists at the Commando Memorial, perhaps even selling bacon butties. No there wouldn’t be. There was, of course, a selection of tea shops in Spean Bridge (if a single tea shop can be said to be a selection) but I was there by then wasn’t I, so what was the point?
The pleasantest section of the walk was the short off road stretch around the foot of Loch Lochy on the Great Glen Way. The most memorable part of the day, however, was the Commando Memorial at Spean Bridge which I found quite moving. The thoughts of what these generations of brave men had done put our little walk and a bit of rain and sleet into perspective.
That evening I spent an hour drying gear and sorting a supply parcel in the B and B. I hung the soaking Akto over the shower to dry out, and gave the enormous slug that I later found in there a piece of my mind. I didn’t so much mind that he had left a sticky trail all across the flysheet; but I was pretty miffed that I had lugged his big fat body all the way from Loch Arkaig. Every gramme counts, doesn’t it? So I punished him by chucking him out of the window. Please do not report me to the RSPCA for this wanton act of cruelty.
I later ate at the Old Station at Spean Bridge. Not cheap, but lamb in red wine washed down with Guinness, followed by Bread and Butter Pudding is rather tastier than your average freeze dried muck, n’est ce pas?
Days 4 and 5: Nadir
A wise old hand with a beard who had successfully completed many TGO Challenges had told me before the event that a real danger point was the morning of Day 3 as tiredness would be setting in. His sage advice was “have a lie in in your tent then make yourself another bacon butty before setting off”. As it happens I had felt great on the morning of Day 3.
Day 4 was different. This surprised me as I was in a B and B, and had enjoyed a great dinner the night before. But on Day 4 the weather was decidedly yukky. Heavy, prolonged squally showers of rain and sleet. The night had seen a dumping of snow to relatively low levels on the hills. I was due to walk from Spean Bridge up to Loch Ossian and find somewhere to wild camp by the hostel. And I didn’t feel like I wanted to be doing that. I really didn’t. I was awake by 4.00am fretting. By 5.00am I was googling train times home from Spean Bridge. I had had enough.
I was worrying about the walk and the conditions. I was worrying about finding a decent camp spot. I was worrying about how windy it would be for my tent. What if there was even more snow? I didn’t have any spikes or ice axe. I wasn’t doing the tops but there was a fair bit of snow about, or so it seemed and who was to say that more wouldn’t come down. It was cold enough. Scotland in May. I don’t complain but this simply relates how I felt on the day.
I was still well aware of the train times at breakfast, but by then I had decided that I couldn’t simply give in after all the mental investment I had made in this over the previous 6 months. Other Challengers would be doing far harder stuff without complaint. But I would do my foul weather alternative (FWA), an even lower level route to my main one.
It basically followed the Spean Valley to Loch Laggan and beyond. This would take at least 2 days and would mean I would miss my planned legs to Loch Ossian, Loch Pattack and Dalwhinnie. Even now, after this decision I was checking times of trains from Tulloch Station. This was near my FWA and would be another place I could dip out and go home. My reasoning was that at least I would have completed 4 days rather than 3. In the B and B was a guide to the East Highland Way, which I had never heard of. I tried to memorise bits, as parts of this coincided with my FWA and other parts seemed a better route.
I popped down to the village to the Post Office and bumped into John Woolston and Chaz and Dave. John tried to encourage me to do my original route – he was going as far as Corrour Lodge. But he had a place booked in the hostel and I was camping up there. I had made up my mind. FWA or home. So I set off following the lower level valley route. I became more comfortable in myself as I walked. I hadn’t given up (yet) and I was making progress east. And that’s all that mattered in my mind by this time. I had never planned any heroics. Just get across.
The weather was squally. Really strong gusts when the rain came. As the day wore on the the rain turned to bouts of sleet and hail. By mid to late afternoon I had gone several km beyond my original FWA planned stopping point and reached Luible, near Moy Lodge where there looked to be some possible camping spots. As I scouted for one I was hit by the worst squall of the day. The wind was really strong. I would have estimated it was gusting to over 50 mph. I was struggling to stand at times. It came with sleet and hail, driving horizontally and cutting into the exposed skin on my face.
There was no way I could start to put a tent up. Nor did I think the tent would take it. I thought about sheltering until it passed. But I was also conscious that this squall could be repeated again and again – they had been coming all day and had got progressively worse. I wasn’t certain what to do for the best. So I started to walk along by the main road towards Laggan with no fixed plan. Perhaps I would find somewhere more sheltered to stop further along the road.
The extreme weather continued. The occasional car went passed. I didn’t want to camp in this. I stuck my thumb out. I would hitch along the valley and find a B and B. Then, out of the elements, I could reassess. I was consoled by the fact that at least I had stayed down low.
I then became the recipient of the sorts of generosity lots of local people show to Challengers. I was picked up by an elderly gentleman driving to Edinburgh. He used to climb in his younger days. He took me to “Wolf Trax” mountain biking centre along the valley. The people there then started to ring B and Bs. They found a room for me at The Rumblies in Laggan. Relief flooded through me knowing I would have a roof over me that night. One of the staff there was about to set off home. She lived in Laggan and would take me to the B and B. The sun was out again now, of course.
The Rumblies was warm and welcoming. Fiona the landlady told me that of course it was ok for me to make up my dehydrated food in my room, as the hotel in the village was closed that evening. No, a taxi back up the valley tomorrow would be very expensive; she would drive me back up to the point I had hitched from after breakfast so I could continue the Challenge. That point was now well off my FWA.
I decided I could get to Newtonmore in a long day so phoned a B and B there too. By now my mind was simply telling me to make progress east. Not quite the spirit of the Challenge. Surely this weather pattern would stop soon and we would get a spell of more settled weather? Even Scotland must have spells of settled weather. But the next day was all sorted. What might sound a small feat to others, especially those crossing high level routes, had been a major one for me. I wasn’t giving up. I had almost bottled out but I hadn’t done so.
The weather had calmed considerably by the next day. I breakfasted watching a riot of small birds of so many species on the bird feeders outside the dining room. The sun was peeping through the clouds. Fiona drove me up to Moy Lodge. It was far further than I remembered from the previous day. I walked through the “Glenbogle” estate of that twee Monarch of the Glen TV series.
I made a short detour to the tea shop that I had got in my head from the drive the day before was situated at Aberarder Lodge. It didn’t exist. The sandy beaches at the end of Loch Laggan looked superb in the strengthening sunshine. I later found a wonderful spot to lunch in the sun and felt more cheerful than I had done for 48 hours.
I was back at Wild Trax by mid-afternoon. The mobile tea shop was closed. Story of my Challenge. I plodded on. Too much road walking but I was going east(ish). I went through Laggan, where my day had begun, after 5 hours of walking. And then on to Newtonmore. It had been a real slog and a grind. I was dog tired. But I was now ahead of my original route plan. The following day would see me get back on to that by just a very short recovery walk to Kingussie.
Two not very good days but the prospects were now looking up.
Day 6: Stunning Wild Camp
The sixth day of my Challenge was very short and simple. Good to have a rest after my long walk of the previous day.
I simply went from Newtonmore to Kingussie. I walked part of this short distance with Simon Hutchinson and Iain Robertson, who I “knew” through Twitter. They, too, were on a lowish level route but were piling on the miles. On arrival I was back on my proper route and on schedule, and felt good and ready for the rest of the Challenge. The weather was better than fair, with just one light shower whilst I walked, and it was great to see James Boulter again in Kingussie, hobbling somewhat on his damaged ankle, but determined to carry on, after an additional rest day on the following day.
We had a good meal in the Tipsy Laird that evening, along with Graham (Crowder?) and his wife. Given the short day I will not bother to write anymore, but my superb wild camp that evening in pine woods just near an old bothy, not far from Newtonmore is worth a photo or two. I am pleased with the picture of the wild camp as it shows clearly some of the ultralightweight gear I was carrying, and some of the latest quick drying clothing from one of our specialist British manufacturers.
Day 7: Two Rucksacks Walking
Having waited for the Kingussie Post Office to open at 9.00am to send a few bits and pieces home, I set off on the first of what were to be two fabulozy days on the Challenge. Possibly the best two. Weather, walk, scenery, fitness and company all combined in a happy coincidence of happiness. Leaving the village you soon come to the ruins of the Ruthven Barracks. At this point, just in front of me, were two rucksacks walking. I joke not. There were two massive rucksacks walking slowly along the road all by themselves.
Clearly Challenger rucksacks, they appeared unaccompanied by their Challenger owners as they slowly made their way up the slight incline towards Tromie Bridge. I assumed they had wandered off when the door of a B and B had been carelessly left open. I hoped they were micro-chipped so they could be returned to their owners when picked up by the stray rucksack catcher from the Council.
At this point I stopped to put on my waterproofs (I always carry waterproofs whilst walking across Scotland because I am very experienced in the carrying of waterproofs in places which have a climate where water regularly falls from the sky. If you wonder what I am now taking, you may want to refer back to TGOC Day Minus 1:Do I really look that stupid?). As it happened this was the last rain, such as it was, until Saturday lunchtime, and it was now only Thursday so this was the start of Scotland’s driest spell since records began.
I caught the rucksacks up. “Heading up Glen Feshie?”, called I, to the leading rucksack. “Yes we are, but don’t follow us as we will be walking slowly” called the leading rucksack in a female voice. It seemed bizarre that a rucksack could talk, but even stranger, it had an American accent. And this was my introduction to the legendary Phyllis and Lou from Maryland in the US of A. Both octogenarians, they were on their umpteenth Challenge. Both are tiny so they were completely dwarfed by their packs. Their gutsiness is in inverse proportion to their height. And both of them oozed loveliness and positivity. Our paths were to cross a number of times over the next two days.
Over the next hour or so I met and walked for short distances with a number of other great Challengers. Matt Little again, a really good guy; Bob Cartwright and his two companions, Bob wearing the most expensive black bin liner in the history of bin liners, which was doubling as a wind shirt. I gave Bob some feedback about his company “Backpacking Light”. This was along the lines of “brilliant customer service, wish the range was greater because I could then buy all my stuff from you” and also Richard (sorry I didn’t get his second name), who I walked with for much of the morning.
And so it was through a lovely forest or two in the sun, and then into Glen Feshie which was just perfect. Lunch by a delightful stream of the babbling brook variety. A brief stop at the bothy. Held a conversation there, at cross purposes, with Chris Leach, which almost led to me making a bad decision. I explained to him that I planned to camp further up the Glen, and would head for Mar Lodge on the following day. “Why not stop here?” he asked. “Because then I would have to walk 32 or 33 tomorrow and that’s further than I would like” I replied. “Nah”, says he “it’s only just over 19 from here”. We argued slightly about this, with Chris insisting his vetter had said it was 19. My route plan clearly showed 30 plus.
I was tempted as the bothy looked rather good. Then I cottoned on what the issue was. Chris was talking imperial; I was talking metric. 19 miles is just over 30km. Glad I stuck to my guns. It was good to do a few more km today to even out the distances over the two days.
I was even gladder as I walked up the lovely glen for a few more km as I came to a brilliant camp spot near the river. It was only 3.00pm ish and I had planned to go slightly further, but the sun was out, and a brew beckoned, so the Akto was up and I had a lazy few hours drinking tea, cooking, eating Snickers ie Marathons, chatting to passing Challengers, and doing the numerous similarly important tasks that you can tackle when your pace of life is just perfect.
Two rucksacks hoved into view, Phyllis and Lou again, heading for the old pony hut some way further up the glen. Graham and Marian arrived to camp and so did Karen and Lawrence from Holland.
And it was all just brilliant.
Day 8: Just Lovin’ It
Awoke early and had to put my down jacket on in my sleeping bag after what was the coldest night so far. The water in my Platy had started to freeze. The weather was fair again, and I wandered around, not too long after dawn, admiring the Glen and the river and the hills whilst drinking tea. I can’t do much in the morning until I have a couple of mugs of tea inside me. Another tent had arrived after I had gone to bed, and its occupants were already packing up and heading off for an early start. It was David and Margaret Brocklehurst who I had not met before. I realise that “lovely” has been an overused word on my Challenge write-ups so far, but David and Margaret are another lovely couple of Challengers.
By 7.40am I was packed and walking up the good path come Land Rover track towards the top of the Glen. It was here I met David and Margaret properly for they had stopped by a stream for a second breakfast. I was about to ford the stream when David called me to a spot where it was possible to boulder hop and keep my feet dry. This was kind of him. As it happens it was a bit of a waste of time as within half and hour they were soaked anyway as the path was quite boggy in places once the LR track had petered out, and the stream just before the old pony hut had to be forded anyway.
That’s Phyllis under the big pack approaching the bridge
I lost the path at this point but the way up to the bridge at the waterfall was clear, not least because I could soon see up ahead the walking rucksacks of Phyllis and Lou and I passed them near the bridge. They hadn’t reached the pony hut on the previous evening when tiredness had set in so they had a longer day to complete today – and they were thinking in terms of getting to Braemar, a few km beyond my target of Mar Lodge.
I felt huge admiration and respect for them as I headed off towards the watershed between the Feshie and the Geldie, with magnificent views all around. The walking was easy and delightful, with magnificent scenery in all directions. Despite a stiff breeze it was also warm enough to take off my micro-fleece and walk in merino shirt alone for the first time – quite a change from a few days earlier.
I will not bang on too much about the rest of the walk. It was great, although the stretch from the Geldie Ford to Linn of Dee via White Bridge was far further than on the map. Certainly it was. Without a shadow of a doubt. Clearly my map was wrong. The OS cartographers had cut out a few km from this section of the walk. I may write to them and demand a refund.
By the Linn of Dee I was flagging and resorting to another Snickers (bloody stupid name and why did they turn a singular into a plural) for energy when along strolled Ian Sommerville, who is exceptionally nice and exceptionally clever, what with him being a real life professor at an ancient Scottish University, and the company made the last couple of miles to Mar Lodge fly by. We arrived at 4.15pm to be met by other Challengers with free tea and coffee in the Gun Room.
My first experience of Mar Lodge. What can I say? Stunning yet bizarre. Half a dozen Challengers camped on the splendid lawn by the Ball Room, whilst others used the bunkhouse and apartments. Gate crashed the Ball Room to see the ceiling when some Americans were being shown around. Marvelled at the Duke of Fife’s seemingly unlimited ability to massacre deer. Had dinner in a grand room with 20 or so other Challengers. Venison casserole and apple crumble for a tenner. Yum yum. Was supplied with free booze by Ian and AN Other because I hadn’t understood the alcohol ordering system (or so I claimed). And that was the second of two fabulozy days. Little did I realise that in less than 48 hours the strange incident with the duck in the Fife Arms would occur.
Days 9 and 10: Braemar, Booze and Crazed Ducks
Mar Lodge also offers Challengers a help yourself continental breakfast for a fiver. Great value, especially when you get up early, eat whilst everybody else sleeps, pack your tent up then go and have another breakfast whilst almost everybody else except Dave the Devon policeman still sleeps. Not that I would stoop so low as to eat a second breakfast and pretend it was my first. Certainly not. Oh no, that would be just greed that would.
The walk into Braemar is short and sweet. I walked with Alan Kay from Ilkley (I don’t think he was bah tat), who had come down from camping at a very windy White Bridge that morning. We met a married couple of Challengers on the way. The lady was sitting down on the verge tending blisters. Her husband chivalrously helped her on with her pack. “Crikey this is light” he said as he picked it up. I asked her how she managed to have such a small load. “Simple” she replied “I do all the packing. I pack his sack as well as mine.” I assume after that revelation they will both be consulting family law solicitors.
Braemar: My first visit. As I arrived it started to rain. Later it heaved down. Absolutely heaved. Cats and dogs and lions and tigers. My B and B, Callater Lodge on the Glen Shee Road, let me in at 12.30pm, long before the official 4.00pm opening time. Thanks hosts. Spent the afternoon drinking tea, eating and drinking Guinness, but not necessarily in that order. Actually it was in that order.
As those heavens really opened I was thankful that I had finished early for the day, and that I wasn’t staying on the camp site. Not well’ard me, you see. The town was filled with Challengers and I met others only known previously through the blogosphere, including Martin Rye and Philip Werner, both with their wealth of knowledge on matters backpack. I also met more loveliness in the forms of Norma and John Keohane who were staying at the same B and B. Well Norma is lovely, whilst John is not. John is just funny. That’s funny ha ha not funny weird, although he may be weird too, I can’t judge, although I can have suspicions.
And of course there were a whole bunch of other Challenge legends around including Messrs Lambert, Walker and Sloman with great stories of derring do to tell. Alan, in particular, enthralled the audience as the photo below shows. I think I may have taken this on the Sunday morning, but I am not sure whether he was on the same anecdote from the Saturday at this time or whether he had moved on to another one.
It was a disappointing evening in the Moorfield. I thought there would be communal Challenge entertainment. There wasn’t. I was put on a table for one to eat (I mean to eat dinner, not to eat the table), just like Billy All On His Own Because He Is So Pathetic He Has No Mates. I wasn’t having that, so I physically man handled another solo Challenger who was dining alone, Tony Pugh, and twisted his arm behind his back until he submitted and agreed to sit with me. “Just pretend we are together”, I hissed, “and make out that I am the sort of guy that people would like to spend the evening with. If you don’t you’re dead meat”.
Sunday was a planned rest day and was a considerably better day, both socially (sorry that is not a criticism of Tony Pugh who was good company) and weatherwise. James Boulter stormed in to town despite his bad ankle. Hurrah! Chaz and Dave arrived too. More cheers. I was feeling fit, and not really in need of anymore rest after the short Saturday, so in the fabulous afternoon sunshine I walked up Creag Choinnich (538m above seal level), the small but perfectly formed hill behind the town, admiring the beautiful pines on the lower slopes, disturbing a small herd of deer higher up, and enjoying the great views of the village, and the Dee Valley and surrounding mountains from the top.
James and I had a good meal in the Old Bakery in the evening before heading into the Fife Arms. We took our Guinnesses and joined Chaz and Dave at a small window table. They were eating pizza.
What happened next was all over in about 15 seconds, so the precise sequence of events is unclear. But as we discussed our Challenge heroics a brown streak of feathers flashed through the air between the four of us. It was a low flying duck, moving at what seemed the speed of an RAF Jet Fighter. It splatted into the window, bounced and landed slap in the middle of our table. It reared up on its webbed feet and flapped its wings violently and at speed.
I grabbed my Guinness and leant backwards. James grabbed his Guinness and leant backwards. Chaz kept on eating. Dave the young Dutchman calmly leant forwards, reached out, took the duck by its neck and held it at arms length away from the table. The duck flapped. Dave didn’t. The barman walked over, took the duck by the neck and said “sorry about that guys”, and carried the duck to the front door and chucked it out into the street as if it was a drunk on a rough Saturday night.
We looked down. The table was covered in – how can I put this delicately? – the biggest pile of bright green duck shit you ever did see. I checked my Guinness. The head was still perfectly cream. James did the same. His was also OK. To me, Chaz and Dave’s pizzas now looked dead dodgy. Were those anchovies, green peppers or something far less edible? The barman reappeared. “I’ll get you some fresh meals” fellas he said. “No need, these will be fine” said Chaz, taking a mouthful. Dutchmen are just so cool.
This incident had a fortunate spin off. We all sought out another table and hence ended up making more new acquaintances, the wonderful Vicky and Toby from Leeds, both with lots of interesting tales to tell, and not all Challenge related. I shan’t repeat them as that would be telling tales….
Day 11: Pet Shop Boy
My route across Scotland was always intended to be relatively low level and straightforward. But sitting in the Fife Arms in Braemar on the Sunday evening I had realised that all along I had had a very straightforward strategy for the Challenge. It had been in my sub-conscious, but sitting with James, Chaz, Dave, Vicky and Toby it suddenly hit me what I was up to.
It was not very original. This strategy had first been articulated in 1993 by one of the most sophisticated and talented set of rock musicians that the 20th Century ever produced i.e. the legends that were, indeed still are, the Pet Shop Boys. These two kings of backpacking (well queens of camping about anyway) articulated by way of words and music what I had been doing and would continue doing. With one vital exception. They were 180 degrees out in their thinking. You may recall their melodic crooning of these lyrics:
“Together, we will go our way
“Together we will leave someday…
“Together we will make our plans
“Go West, life is peaceful there
“Go West, in the open air
“Go West, where the skies are blue
“Go West, this is what we’re gonna do
“Go West”.
And that was it. Except I was going east to where the skies would be blue. In as straight a line as possible. The only diversion from east would be if a hill got in the way. Then I would go round it. Other than that it was Go East. In a straight line. Shortest distance between two points and all that. Go around any hills. Stop when waves hit toes.
And so on Day 11 of my walk I headed east. Well I did after a minor altercation with a man who was “serving”, and I use that term loosely in this context, behind the Post Office counter in the Co-op in Braemar. If Scotland has an award for the rudest shop assistant in the country then this man ought to be entered. He would romp to victory. Indeed, I suspect he would win the award for the rudest man in Scotland without too much effort, if such a competition were ever to be run. The altercation would have been far worse but it was a nice morning and I didn’t want to spoil it.
So east it was to Ballater via Balmoral. After a short stretch on the road, the way to Balmoral was a joy. The sun was out much of the time as I walked through the Caledonian pine forests beyond the Invercauld Bridge, passed large herds of red deer near Garbh Allt Shiel, and on to the castle.
And you have to hand it to Her Maj. She lets tourists wander on the lawn, and the tea shop was actually open and serving. I was so impressed I bought a post card showing Prince Charles in full highland regalia and wondered at the mind of the man who will one day be our King.
It was then along minor roads towards Ballater. It seemed further than it actually was. I cut off through woods and crossed the Dee by a rickety suspension bridge at Polhollick. Soon after, a road sign told me Ballater was 1 mile away. I left the road again in favour of a path by the Dee. And let me tell you I walked for another 45 minutes from there by the river and the Golf Course to get to the camp site, so it was either the slowest or the longest mile in history.
Not a bad camp site. A fabulous evening in the good company of lots of Challengers including Graham, Colin Crawford and John Wright in the Alexandra Hotel which served up a cracking meal.
Day 12: Pigging Out
A long but easy day, but with the hardship of lots of refreshment stops. It involved 35km between the public camp sites at Ballater and Feughside, with a bit of a detour to sample the shopping delights of Aboyne. The latter were somewhat limited, incidentally. The Metro Centre it is not. Thankfully. The 35km was made all the more bearable by three refreshment stops, happily situated pubs and tea shops located equidistantly (no such word?) along my route at almost exactly the quarter way, half way and three quarter way points.
So off it was along the Deeside Way, which was well suited to my strategy as outlined in a previous post. It went east. And it followed the line of a former railway. Thankfully, trains are not good at going up hills so the gradients encountered were of the 1 in 150 variety which makes for very easy walking. I had a shock at Dinnet as the nice waitress at the hotel there thought that they had run out of tea cakes to go with my morning coffee. She explained that Challengers the previous day had scoffed the lot. As I knew who was on this route the day before I was contemplating tracking them down and tearing their livers out with my teeth, which seemed to be to be a measured response to the desperate situation I found myself in.
Fortunately, the waitress then found there was one left and I polished it off in a posh lounge with a cappuccino whilst watching the cleaners hoover the carpet. Well one has to get one’s entertainment somehow. I thus felt especially guilty when I stood up to leave and saw that half of Scotland’s detritus (good word) had come off the Raptors on to the carpet around where had been. I did go and apologise to them, so I think that the Challenge suffered no embarrassment.
Then it was on to Aboyne. Why does that name sound like it should be in Ireland? Aboyne looks jolly posh. It is also very long and the shops are about one million miles further on than the shortest turn for Feughside, but hey ho, I needed more cake and another drink so I sought them out. I then got chatted up by an over friendly cyclist as I was leaving the village, who wanted to know all my movements (not of the Andrew Walker variety, I should add), where I was spending the night and so on. I started to worry I was in the company of some mad axe murderer, so I gave him a very severe look until he went on his way.
The next refreshment stop was at the Potarch Hotel which is very nice indeed and situated next to the Dee and a lovely village green which, I believe, has been used as an upmarket wild camping spot by Challengers. I went up to the bar to order afternoon tea, but sat down with a pint of Guinness and a bag of crisps. This shows that despite a week and a half of walking I had still had my mental faculties and had not completely lost my mind.
The bonus on leaving was to find that a new section of the Deeside Way had been completed, which reduced the expected road walking by a couple of miles, although the new track was just a few yards from the road. And finally I reached Feughside. The Inn there has closed but it was still a jolly nice place to stop for the night and that is just what I did.
Days 13 and 14: Sacrificial Virgins
I have deliberately made the heading for this blog salacious. The last time I used the word ‘virgin’ in the title of one of my blog posts I got a record number of hits. Smut sells apparently. If you are wondering what I was writing about last time, it was in my post of 24 August 2012. Another post of mine, incidentally, that also got a large number of hits, was one in which I made a mildly jocular reference to missile testing in North Korea. The statistics thingy on blogger informed me that many of those additional hits were from China. Paranoid? Moi?
From Feughside I could have made the coast in one long day. Instead I split it into two short walks. Having heard that the tracks in the Fetteresso Forest were being pretty much mucked about by large amounts of heavy machinery, building another useless windfarm, I had decided to skirt around the edge and head for Lochton, where there was a B and B called Lochton House. This, to my mind, was an amazing coincidence, what with it being located at a place called Lochton. I had phoned ahead and was told it was fully booked, but when she found out I was on the Challenge, the landlady, Anne, kindly said she would find some space for me to crash on the floor in a spare room or let me camp in the garden.
It didn’t matter it was a short day. I would fill it by buying a newspaper at Strachan on the way to Lochton and then read it slowly over coffee and cake in the café there. As it turned out, no I wouldn’t. There isn’t a shop in Strachan to buy a newspaper, or to buy anything else for that matter. Nor is there a café. So I ambled slowly along the lanes, with the weather almost reverting to that of a week earlier, strong blustery squalls and showers of rain, sleet and hail.
For the first time on the walk I actually bothered to stop to brew up. This was in Knock Wood, and I then diverted a short way to see an ancient stone circle shown on the OS Map. It wasn’t exactly Stonehenge or Avebury, but I am sure that such showy Stoneage vulgarity was over doing it if all you needed to do was to sacrifice a few virgins.
And then it was on to Lochton, and a nice cup of tea with Anne, a pitch in the garden, and the keys to the house as Anne was off out for the evening. This was to allow me to make use of the facilities, including a shower and sit inside if I wished. And in the morning I got the full Scottish breakfast and then Anne tried to say I only need pay a fiver for all this – breakfast, camping, shower, sitting room and loo, which was way under the odds. Another of the very kind people I met over the fortnight.
The following day I set off along what is called the ‘Slug Road’ towards Stonehaven. Why? Not why did I set off to Stonehaven, as that should be obvious to anyone cleverer than a slug. Why is that road so named? The first few miles were horrible as it was very busy and it was tipping it down. It is telling to watch and consider driver behaviour towards pedestrians when there isn’t a pavement. I estimate about half don’t slow down at all, and about a quarter don’t even move out. A simple, polite action which might add at most 10 or 15 seconds to their journey, yet potentially prevent a serious accident and even avoid killing someone, seems to be beyond some of the morons who are allowed behind the wheels of cars, vans and lorries.
I pondered on the name of this busy road and, of course, I was ridiculously pleased when I eventually saw a real slug in the road. Once I could cut off onto minor roads the walk improved tremendously, despite the driving showers of hail and rain. Then the sea came into view, and then Stonehaven, and then Graham, the only other Challenger I had seen since leaving Feughside. Graham and I walked down to Stonehaven together. It was really good to have company for this last stretch of the walk, and we were both a little taken aback by being stopped on the outskirts of the town by an elderly gentleman who simply wanted to know if we were Challengers and then congratulate us on getting across. How nice. It added to the feeling we had done something special.
So we arrived on the beach. The sun had just come out and we smiled a lot and took photographs and that was it really. I’m not certain what I felt. Pleased to have made it across and not given up. Certainly. Sad it was over? I’m not sure. Glad it was over? I don’t think so, but I’m not sure of that either. The normal mixture I suppose many experience. I’m not even certain I know now, three or more weeks later.
And then it was the train to Montrose and the dinner at the Park Hotel and the pleasure in seeing what felt like long lost friends, none of whom I had ever met just a fortnight earlier, and then it really was sad thinking that I would not often, if at all, see these people again. Unless, of course, my name comes out of the hat next year……
Now, where are those maps? My route is going to be so much better second time around. It will be more challenging. I will be fitter. There will be less apprehension and more anticipation. Less road walking. A bit more bog. A hill or two. Or even three. Callater Lodge and Tarfside. And even the occasional deviation from 180 degrees east. And whatever the weather the sun will shine. As another, far more experienced Challenger is fond of saying, “it’s all in the mind”.
This history is adapted from the original series of blogposts published by David on his “Fellbound” blog – well worth following. You can view the original posts, and the comments HERE