The Great Outdoors Challenge 2005
Jean Turner’s account
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OF LEMMINGS AND GOCKOOS*
Theme Song for the first weekend of this year’s Challenge (with apologies to Rodgers & Hammerstein) – to be sung to the obvious tune.
The hills are alive with the sound of water,
With springs they have sprung for a thousand years,
The hills fill my boots with the squelch of water,
My face looks as if it’s awash with tears.
My toes want to swim as I splash through the burns and bogs and the wind’s sleety squall,
My head wants to know why I’d be so daft as to do this at all,
I think it’s because we all know there are times when the sun’s sure to shine,
And when that day dawns, then the heav’n of the hills will be mine!
I go to the hills when I have the option,
I know I will find what I’ve found before,
Despite soggy feet, creaking bones and blisters,
I’m alive once more.
* lemming: homo craggorum rogersmithensis
*gockoo: cuculus primalucis wakeupchallengerus
Day 1
Friday 6th May – Shiel Bridge to Allt Beithe
Wet though the first weekend was, it was also a lot of fun. Before even starting, I met the first of this year’s new friends: Shirley from Southport, on her first Challenge but infinitely more fit than I – she runs mountain marathons, triathlons and the like. My husband Allan, who had kindly driven through Thursday’s cloudbursts to walk the first half-day and “see me off”, took a picture of both of us. Aren’t we clean !!
We met our first group of other walkers and Challengers in the little shelter from the rain at Glenlichd House, before Allan turned back. One was a chatty chap called John, from Liverpool I think, who had done much rough walking in the Army and was wearing those camouflage-fatigues type clothes – but I never saw him again. Whither did you vanish, John? Peter and his son Craig, and their friend Brian, were also sheltering; we crossed and recrossed that wet afternoon, and all rolled into the Youth Hostel at Alltbeithe, having found one can no longer camp there.
Later that morning Allan and I rapidly retreated from the small track up to the Five Sisters ridge when it became clear where the weather was heading.
I was sad to hear later that both Peter and Craig had to pull out because of injury/illness; hard luck, but congratulations to Brian, a first-timer, for continuing alone.
Day 2
Saturday 7th May – Allt Beithe to River Loyne
With pleasure I discovered that my “FWA” coincided with Shirley’s route; despite my protestations that she should not hold herself up, she declared herself happy to walk with me, which lightened the mood of the weather. We were most impressed with the desire of Alec, the proprietor of Cluanie Inn, over late lunch, to help all walkers as much as possible.
Having been misguided by our interpretation of advice (not the advice itself) from other walkers at Cluanie, we found ourselves fording a decidedly daunting River Loyne, in spate, at about 8pm, and decided that we’d had enough and would camp, despite the downpour, on the riverbank, alongside a father-and-son team without whose shouts of encouragement we might never have had the nerve to cross.
I am ever-grateful – and to my shame, I can’t even remember their names. For the first time in anger, as it were, I pitched my new Hilleberg Akto (rehearsal in the garden did not compare). Although at a somewhat drunken angle – the tent, not me – it did the job wonderfully, and we all awoke to a hint of summer to come, and so far untroubled by Roger’s dawn Gockoo.
Day 3
Sunday 8th May – River Loyne – Invergarry
Tomdoun Hotel’s wild mushroom soup for lunch on Day 3 was out of this world. What was slightly disconcerting was the delightful Michael’s response to my tentative enquiry as to whether he had received my food parcel…”Oh, was it yours? I ate it!” Not only did he produce it, he also provided free detailed maps of Glengarry Forest, to supplement our OS that afternoon.
The parting of the ways for Shirley and me was in mid-forest, and I decided to get slightly ahead of myself, and spend the night and a late-start morning in the Invergarry Hostel in the excellent care of Claire and her Mum, cleaning and drying everything possible.
Day 4
Monday 9th May – Invergarry to Blackburn of Corrieyairack
Having eventually ambled out along the cycle path to Bridge of Oich, I paused to don waterproofs (again – was it ever going to stop?) and was overtaken by Doug and Howard, who, with the patience of saints, were excellent company for the rest of that day. Cross-countrying to Blackburn of Corrieyairack bothy was much more pleasant, and doubtless more efficient for me, because it was shared. We joined Max and Trine from Denmark, and many other Challengers camped around the bothy, while later arrivals slept indoors. It was intriguing to find the tent’s thin coating of condensation had by morning become a thin sheet of ice. Max and Trine went one better: they had a massive icicle hanging from the tent! Unfortunately they had whipped it off before I got my camera out, but even in several pieces, it’s impressive!
In these temperatures, I was gratified by the amazing efficiency of this year’s investment, a Rab Quantum 400 (short length) down sleeping bag at well under 1Kg. This and the Akto helped me keep my starting pack-weight at about 12.5Kg, which was a vast improvement on last year. Another major contributor was the discovery that many hotels in isolated areas will accept food parcels, and I am more than grateful to them for never having needed to carry more than 3-4 days’ food, and never having to add distance to find a shop – I never saw one from Kintail to Edzell!
Day 5
Tuesday 10th May – Blackburn of Corrieyairack to Laggan
Tuesday dawned quite pleasant, although too chilly to hang around at the top of the Corrieyairack pass: I switched on my mobile, had a good signal, found about 10 texts, and decided they would all have to await a warmer environment. Wow, those soldiers who built that 18th century road, with no modern machinery, deserve posthumous medals all round. A slight problem with the left knee had become a painful click by the time all those bouldery bits of descent had done their worst, but it wasn’t too bad on the flat.
I was overtaken at incredible speed, close to Melgarve, by a Challenger with a very military bearing and military voice (if that exists), the conversation lasting only sufficiently long for him to overtake me within earshot without slackening speed: the poor man had only a week’s holiday. After he had passed, his face seemed vaguely familiar…to my surprise, I found him waiting at Melgarve, and before socialising briefly with other Challengers there, he tackled me on the same point. It transpired our paths had crossed for a time in the Outer Hebrides about eight years ago, when the Army still had a large presence there. He promised that next year, after retirement, he will take his time to do the Challenge, and socialise more….remember, Patrick??
A charming young man in a “hobo” hat, a computer/IT expert, slowly caught up with me on the long road walk to Laggan Bridge, and when I assured him he must not wait, asked if he might walk with me for a bit, for company, which was delightful for me; I guess for him even an old lady was preferable to solitude on miles of tarmac! He went ahead shortly before Laggan, and was fortunate to find a cancellation for a room in Monadhliath Hotel. Howard and Doug were very kindly keeping me a nice flat space for my wee tent there, and informed me when I arrived that there was a glass of wine with my name on it waiting in the bar, courtesy of the above young man. After pitching my tent, I enjoyed the wine hugely, but, perhaps because it landed on an empty stomach, when the donor returned to the bar all showered, clean and changed, I asked this apparent newcomer if he, too, was a Challenger…oh, the shame! To add to my embarrassment, I now can’t even recall his name: blame that on the fast drinking, too, but if you are out there, please forgive me and I hope you had a good trip to the Far East.
Day 6
Wednesday 11th May – Laggan to Allt Bhran
Mike and young Owen set off slightly ahead of me from the camp at the Monadhliath on morning 6, in the same direction. They took the opposite two sides of a quadrilateral to me, and were puzzled to come upon me sitting on a rock eating lunch, ahead of them! We walked on together, over a rough bit of cross-country to upper Glen Tromie and up the Allt Bhran, where I had intended to camp that night anyway and was happy to find Max and Trine and a Caithness Challenger called Francis already installed. The other two marched determinedly on towards Glen Feshie, despite Mikes Achilles’ tendon injury which was really quite worrying, especially when he aggravated it by twisting his foot in a hole in late afternoon.
How pleasant to camp in sunshine – the weather was definitely on the up, and encouraged an early start for all.
Day 7
Thursday 12th May – Allt Bhran to Allt Sheicheachan bothy
It seemed that everyone I had seen recently was heading for Glen Feshie when, next morning, I branched off south over the Minigaig pass, an ancient drove road. What a magnificent walk on a sunny day! The north end of the track was hard to find, but once I reached the heights, not only was the path easily visible, but some kind soul(s) had marked it with small cairns at intervals. (Cameron McNeish, you didn’t read that.) Not only were these actually quite beautiful, being built of the gleaming white marble-like rock that lies everywhere up there (geologists, what is it?), but in mist or snow they might be lifesavers, and I would personally sue anyone who removed them… Those drovers of old must have been hardy, sleeping up here in all weathers wrapped only in a plaid. Did they cuddle up to their dogs or cattle to keep warm, do you think?
One definite Corbett (912m) and one that probably wasn’t but had two Corbett-height tops with a big stone cairn between (no writing – what is it?) tempted me to deposit my pack and have a quick run up each – isn’t it amazing how fleet-footed one feels on removing that semi-permanent appendage? But such sun-induced extravagance meant insufficient time and energy later to take me to Old Blair; rather surprisingly, I found myself alone in Allt Sheicheachan bothy. Now, you know how imaginings can turn into keep-you-awake nightmares in the dark? Having climbed up and snuggled down in the windowless loft (ladder access only from the windowless byre, with separate outer door), I suddenly worried that another walker might fail to notice my pack in the living area, and bolt the doors on the outside…
Every creak in the night had me bolt upright calling out “I’m up here!” just in case..
Day 8
Friday 13th May – Allt Scheichachan bothy to Glen Loch
Thus Day 8, in addition to being another Foul Knee Day, was a decidedly-underslept day, and all Challengers know how that feels. Anyway, that’s my excuse for chickening-out of Beinn a’Ghlo, although the black clouds over it did not justify a Foul Weather Alternative, and another challenger headed up that way. The consolation was the discovery of the most exquisite stalker’s path running for miles along the slopes of the hills opposite, before dropping to an idyllic campsite in Glen Loch.
I was brewing my first brew in the evening sunshine, with the world to myself, when with astonishment I heard voices… hallucination?? No, two more challengers coming down the same track. Brian and Jim were really pushing it, because Jim had been unwell for the first few days and they had lost time. They had covered that day almost what I had done in two!
Day 9 & Day 10
Saturday 14th & Sunday 15th May – Glen Loch to Tolmount
To my shame, on the cross-country to Glenshee next day, in my attempt to top another Corbett I led them astray, rendering the day probably harder than it would have been. However, Jim soldiered on, morale much boosted by his wife’s visit to join him in Spittal of Glenshee Hotel. Having ascertained the previous day that this establishment had a room and was not too expensive, I had decided after six nights’ camping to have another de-ponging night. My spouse was also brave enough to come up and join me that Saturday night at my invitation, leaving it late enough for me to shower first! Mind you, when one of our sons came too, the hotel was suddenly not quite so inexpensive – but I’m sure the half-day up Creag Leacach next morning did them both a world of good, as well as providing me with good company and a luxury picnic lunch. (Tell it not in Gath, but the picture betrays that young Murdo and I swapped packs for a bit: not a hanging offence, I trust, Roger? You wouldn’t have had me damage a young man’s ego, I’m sure.)
After they turned back, I proceeded from Creag Leacach over Glas Maol and Cairn of Claise. Instead of going on north to Lochcallater Lodge, I turned east over Tom Buidhe (beautiful path, not on the map), opting for vetter Peter Goddard’s suggestion that I camp high, between Tolmount and Crow Craigies, the more easily to summit more Munros next day. This despite John Donohoe’s telephone advice that a cold front from the north was approaching….Doh!! At least I had camped by a tributary burn which would lead me down to White Water and Glen Clova.
Day 11
Monday 16th May – Tolmount to Clova Inn
And I was glad of it, although I shall definitely adopt the high-camping practice again. Which day have we reached? It never seems to matter much up there, but it must be Day 11. The wind and snow rattled the tent (which coped admirably), and after brightening up with daybreak, the tent interior suddenly darkened again, coated with curtains of snow!
An hour’s wait until 6am showed no suggestion of improvement, as the mists rolled down from the summits around, and fresh snow showed at the edge of the flysheet.
A quick decision and a quick pack-up, and by 7am I was heading cautiously (haste being the only real risk factor in this situation) down the burn, to join Jock’s Road just above the quaint, almost invisible bothy marked “Davy’s Bourragh”. Not far below that, at about 8a.m., a lone Challenger was striking camp. He later admitted to wondering whence this wild female had appeared from the hills that early. Ah well, at least nobody burns witches any more.
That end of Jock’s Road is unpleasantly rocky in descent; at least it was that day, for the old knees. And perhaps I had dressed too hurriedly for I also acquired two brand new and very painful blisters.
Paul, the surprised Challenger from earlier, caught up as I changed my boots for sandals at the roadhead in Glen Clova, and kept me company along the road and over lunch at the Clova Inn.
The temptation to join him in that afternoon’s continuation east was strong, but my feet were loudlydemanding a break if they were to be expected to finish. I booked into the bunkhouse, then made the inspired guess that a nice old-fashioned hotel like this might have a room with a BATH…and they had!
Wild extravagance, but renaissance for the feet. I spent half the afternoon in one, and had another before bed, and another in the morning: the Challengers whom I joined in the bar (including the quartet of Balerno Boys last seen at Alltbeithe) apparently dubbed me the “three-baths-lady”. I’m sure I’ve been called worse.
Day 12
Tuesday 17th May – Clova Inn to Water of Saughs
This stolen half-day had another benefit. On day 12, Maggie Hems was departing for Shieling of Saughs and beyond, at the same time as I, and we clambered up to Loch Brandy and The Goet together. In the intermittent blizzardy showers, I tried not to think of Paul disappearing uphill in the sunshine the previous afternoon! Maggie was great company, and we reassured each other when visibility failed (helped, I admit, by GPS, since all the rounded hills look so similar up there). Between showers, in the pale sun, she remarked at one point how beautiful it was to be walking along the roof of the visible world like this – which summed it up perfectly. To add to the pleasure, Dave and Gavin, whom she had already met and who presented themselves as “hard men”, in fact had such soft hearts they were waiting for us at Sheiling of Saughs with a brew-up!
Such generous fellow-feeling sums up the spirit of the Challenge for me. Last year, I took an interesting but rather odd route from Plockton to Fraserburgh; my vetter (Ian Shiel, whom I still haven’t met – sorry to hear you were unwell this year, will you be there next year??) was absolutely correct when he said I wouldn’t meet many other Challengers, although ten-timers Chris and Graham were friendly and kind to a newcomer. So Challenge 2005 was a revelation and great joy.
Maggie, Dave, Gavin and I all camped by Water of Saughs before the tarmac started, and Sheila from Dornie joined us later. I felt awed by her level of experience: she is a Mountain Rescue Team member. A glorious evening and morning were appropriate frame for a final wild camp.
Day 13
Wednesday 18th May – Water of Saughs to Edzell
Penultimate day – and a final hill-path cut off a long loop of tarmac before our ways parted, when I headed for Edzell, they for Brechin. Hereafter was all tarmac, but very quiet, pretty roads; ‘way up that glen there is a tiny, picturesque but obviously active primary school, at Lethnot, surrounded by gorse and broom, bluebells and campion and butterflies…lucky kids.
Towards the end I was tempted to leave my pack by the road, walk up and pay the senior citizen bargain rate to look around Edzell castle; but remembering this was no longer remote Highlands or Islands, I decided against (or that’s my excuse – my feet were sore!) Anyway, from a viewpoint farther back I had taken an atmospheric picture – which didn’t appear on my camera at all. Doh again. Never take along a new camera unless you have time for homework beforehand.
Edzell was buzzing with Challengers (I couldn’t be so unkind as to say it was crawling with them…that would be too close to personal home). I failed in my resolve to go straight to my B&B, being lured by the siren call of the tearoom with about 20 large packs parked outside, and the delightful Tim and Kate from Southport at the first table inside. Both are in their 70th year and on their seventh Challenge. I am so glad I did not miss them, and I hope we shall meet again. Dragging myself off eventually for a clean-up, I was slightly more presentable for joining Shirley (as arranged) and the Boys from Balerno (pleasant surprise) in the Panmure Arms for a meal and (probably unwise) wine.
With them was Barbara, whom it was a great pleasure to get to know. She is another experienced stalwart of the Challenge, whose knowledge of the local countryside enabled the seven of us to avoid much tarmac on the final day, even between Edzell and Montrose – thank you, Barbara.
Day 14
Thursday 19th May – Edzell to St Cyrus
But her knowledge of the previous proprietors of the hotel in Marykirk proved sadly outdated by a change of ownership; horrid details of this encounter are in Shirley’s diary. Shortly before, in pouring rain, we had passed a huge sign pronouncing that we were “welcome to Aberdeenshire”. But even my protests to staff that I had been born in Aberdeen and brought up in Portsoy, and they had made me ashamed to be local, cut no ice with this establishment – not even to the extent of allowing just one lady to use the loo. Yet they were, I think, sporting a Scottish Tourist Board badge: I shall be making enquiries in the appropriate quarter.
There were two silver linings to this cloud. One was, as described by Shirley, lunch-in-a-cowshed. The other was the inestimable Rosie, lady of the house in Whyte House, on the main street, who not only gladly allowed use of her loo, but enquired about the Challenge and declared she would enjoy providing hot drinks and snacks for Challengers in the appropriate week next year. When I have confirmed with her that she really means this, I shall post her details on the website. Those heading for St.Cyrus or thereby next year, take note!
At the end of the last lap, the weather finally had mercy, and in watery sunshine we stripped off (the ladies, I hasten to protest in case of slanderous lies in the air, to a more modest level than the gents) and had a complete but very brief dip in the North Sea, before climbing back up that long path (you are unkind, Roger) to the bus stop. The relieved faces can all be seen in Shirley’s report. If anyone had told me then that I would be stripping willows, Highland Schottische-ing, eightsome-reeling and the like that night until the small hours, I’d have thought they were mad – but it’s true, and I was mad instead. What a swell party that was (to misquote Cole Porter). (I didn’t really try to sing, did I? I seem to remember our Irish friend set us off with Cockles and Mussels…) However did I make it to that morning bus to Perth?
After a parody song at the start – how about a bit of (almost) real poem for the Montrose dinner? (With apologies to William Wordsworth, naturally):
“I wandered, lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
Then in Montrose I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils”
…otherwise known as Challenge Compleaters – courtesy of Berghaus, suppliers of dazzling glorious golden T-shirts. It’s a lovely gesture, but with one problem. It makes it even harder to find and identify all those now-nicely-cleaned-up new friends one made en route. I even failed, momentarily, to recognise Howard (but that was the wine, and the light shining into my eyes – honest, Howard). I certainly did not have a chance to satisfy my curiosity about details of his route from Newtonmore to Fraserburgh, and would still like to hear. I was seated next to Shirley, Barbara and the Boys from Balerno, but I caught only a glimpse of Paul before losing him in the sea of yellow, only waved to Max and Trine and Maggie, said a brief hello to Brian and Jim, and never saw Dave and Gavin, Mike and Owen, Francis (who I think finished earlier) or the others mentioned above. I have contact details for a few, including Tim and Kate, but not for many, and I’d love to hear from any of them. I also managed only a brief word with my fellow-Fifers from Dunfermline, who were presented with their 10th-crossing award – congratulations and I must try all the J.Robbs in the ‘phone book one day.
And it was both pleasure and privilege (when announcing the arrival of Lemming No.275) at last to come face to face with Roger and Patricia and the redoubtable JD, and later with my highly-respected vetter, Peter Goddard, and our esteemed editor Cameron McNeish – none of whom I can ever thank sufficiently for the wonderful, life-changing experience that is the Challenge.
© Jean Turner 2005