Reflections on the 2014 Challenge

A Challenging Start – the agony and the ecstasy yet more agony

The Social Side and the unsociable as well

The Halt and the Lame or how to keep your tootsies trotting

Back to the Future what next for this challenger?

Part 1

A Challenging Start

Alan Sloman & Andrew Walker hitched themselves to my wagon for my tenth challenge last year, and followed my route without too much bitching. Well actually they did bitch quite a lot after the third day of heading north rather than east, but we got along fine, as by then it was snowing hard and even I was bitching about the route! Having had the good fortune to win a place off the standby list with the sponsor’s competition, and with little time left to hone my own route, I was delighted when Alan & Andy returned the favour, and invited me to join them this year.

I really should have paid closer attention to their vetter’s notes. A few extracts:

• “if you haven’t previously gone up the Carnoch, be warned that the path is a horrid thing after wet conditions, a linear quagmire”
• “last year an Irish gentleman enjoyed a full immersion whilst crossing the river in search of better going”
• “the Abhainn Chosaidh has a reputation for being quite impossible in spate … I’ve discounted this route myself in the past for exactly that reason”
• “in mist it all becomes that bit harder and progress is slow”
• “Glen Geusachan is long, trackless and slow”

Given that the average vetter is a master of understatement, any one of these warnings would normally have had me making major adjustments to the route. But it wasn’t my route. I had concerns but quickly put them aside. After all, I would be walking with lotus eating sybarite, Alan Sloman and Andy “shot knees” Walker. I figured that they would have made sure that in reality we would enjoy level paths strewn with grass and daisies, and the official route was merely a cunning fiction designed to make the pair of degenerates look like rufty tufty outdoorsmen.

But no! It turned out that they really did intend to accomplish this dreadful stravaig, and had actually prepared themselves for it! Andy’s body had shed the weight of a full rucksack since last year – over 30 lbs – and he’d been out running nearly every day. His poorly knee had got better and he was thinking of cancelling a scheduled operation as a result. His new Spartan lifestyle even eschewed strong drink, so there was no chance of nobbling him with blinding hangovers. Alan was even worse. Trimmer than I’ve seen him in years, he had not only been training in Scotland and the Lakes, but had taken the extreme step of harvesting his family to have new, younger internal organs fitted. And so it was with dark foreboding that I joined them on the boat from Mallaig to Inverie.

It began promisingly enough at the Old Forge, with fine weather and fine ales. Regrettably it then all went rather downhill – with an awful lot of uphill thrown in. But first, the good bit – here are a couple of pics taken at the Old Forge, and the view across the bay.

A fine place to enjoy a pint or several and the food’s pretty good too, but all too soon my companions grew restless, and so we launched ourselves into the great beyond that is Knoydart. Now, I’m not going to bore you with everything that happened, except to say that the first two days delivered everything that our vetter had promised – in spades. Day one merely delivered slippery paths and a deep wade across the river in search of somewhere to camp, but on day two we struggled.

We struggled across a boot sucking quagmire, through a snaggly ravine and finally along, up and out of another, wholly impassable ravine, clinging on to rocks, trees and near vertical wet grass as the river, full of pointy rocks, boiled and snarled far below. Then back to a trudge through endless slurry – the only real entertainment being Andy falling into the river at Lochan nam Breac. The path crosses the inflow to the lochan, and is at first very shallow water with a sandy bottom. In fact there is a little beach in the middle of the crossing. However, just before the far bank the water flows a little more swiftly, and has scoured out a deep channel with soft sandy sides. Lulled into a false sense of security Andrew decided to casually stroll across with his shoes and socks held in one had – the hand he used to save himself as the the ground subsided under his feet and he hurtled into the water.

Al & I eventually recovered from our paroxyms of mirth, and carefully inched our way across without mishap. As Andy now had wet socks and shoes, we sat in the sun by the little beach whilst they dried off a bit. Time for a snack and a look at the map to see how far our labours had taken us. Not far enough! That evening we calculated that in the first eight hours of the day we accomplished just over four miles. I must admit that I did add to the delay by calling for a couple of halts before my immodium took effect – yes, just to add to the misery, I had the squits. I put this down to drinking half a bottle of sloe gin to lift my sagging spirits. The sloe of course is a close relative of the plum which, when dried, becomes the prune, so I guess I had been imbibing injudicious quantities of alcoholic prune juice. Ah well, you live and learn. I’ll stick to whisky in future.

We were shaken from our reverie by the sound of aero engines, and to our astonishment we were buzzed by what Al swore were Mitsubishi Zero fighters. What the forces of the Emperor were doing here, so far from the Pacific theatre, and seventy years late is a mystery, but I am sure that I heard a cry of “Banzai” as they banked over Ben Aden and faded from view as mysteriously as they had appeared.   

We set off once more. From time to time Al paused to extol the virtues of the surrounding scenery but, on noting the mutinous countenances of his comrades, wisely desisted from his attempts to paint this as a pastoral idyll.

There followed a steady squelching slog around Loch Quoich. We managed to cross the Abhainn Chosaidh without drowning, but it was peeing with rain as we tried to dry our legs and feet. Alan then took a tumble and wrenched the knee that he had already clobbered on the rocks in the ravine and began to hobble. It’s quite difficult to hobble when both feet are glued to the floor by six inch deep slime, but somehow he accomplished moderate forward progress.

On and on we went, finally finding a half decent pitch at, I guess, around nine. I was considering hanging myself at this point but, despite having a good pair of spare laces, there were no convenient trees. I couldn’t find my knife, so wrist slashing was not an option, but I made a mental note to find it in the morning in case I had to kill and eat my companions. After all, at this rate it could be weeks before we emerged from the wilderness; haggard Ben Gunn-like characters, desperate for victuals.

Then things got better.

On day three we arrived at the Tomdoun Hotel, now sadly closed and falling into disrepair. This was once one of the great Challenge watering holes, and I have many fond memories of nights spent there. In particular Miss W’s one and only Challenge in 1999. She is not a great whisky drinker, but she had embarked on a brave exploration of the top shelf and alighted upon a 1975 Port Ellen. “Oooooh this is GOOD!” she exclaimed. “Hey everyone – try this!”

The bar was packed with challengers who eagerly took up her invitation. The bottle was drained and the eye watering bill presented to her. She didn’t bat an eye. A brisk “Phil – credit card please” and my financial fate was sealed.

I hope the Tomdoun can be saved, but somehow I doubt it. We set up camp on the grass outside, soon joined by a chap called Andy and the 91 year old Jim Taylor (of whom more later). The table on the verandah was still there with its chairs, so we enjoyed one last supper at the old place and swapped stories of the great times that we had had there. And so to bed – a long (32k plus) day to Fort Augustus was needed tomorrow to get us back on track.

We’ll leave the walking stuff for now. It gets a bit boring later with just missing bridges, paths disappearing into impassable scrub and so-on. Plenty of other people will be writing about how on day number whatever they gazed across the great vistas of Glen Gaelicanagram and scrambled to a cloud fogged trig point that looked just the same as all the other cloud fogged trig points on their tick list. None of our trio are obsessive list tickers, thank the Lord (the number of hillgoers who are does make me wonder about the prevalence of OCD in the outdoor community).

We like a nice view though, and so we frequently go high – last year even donning pointy spiky things to cross frozen snowfields – but only when there is some sort of visual reward for the unseemly effort involved. Or social reward. Which brings me neatly to the outstanding features of our challenges – not the hills and rivers and glens (although we love them deeply) but the great people we meet and the great party opportunities along the way.

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Part 2

The Social Scene

Many prefer to commune with nature on their own, and I’ll agree that solitude has its place; on my solo crossings I have often made a deliberate plan to enjoy the first week walking alone in the huge empty landscapes that Scotland offers. The knowledge that these lands were not always as empty adds a poignancy to the experience, especially when one stumbles across unmarked ruins of long abandonded shielings and farmsteads. For some the Challenge offers a full two weeks of such solitude, and a real opportunity to turn off the computer in their head and reboot. A few even avoid the final dinner at the end, and simply sign out and go home. I can understand this, but it isn’t for me. At least, it isn’t for me for a full two weeks. The landscapes are very fine, and often awesome, but they are always there to be enjoyed at any time. It is sharing the experience, with all its ups and downs, with like-minded souls that adds so much more, and often forms unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is what makes walking across Scotland as a part of this event so special, and I think the majority of challengers would agree.

This year we met some outstanding folk, ranging in age from Jim Taylor (91 years old) to Toby Mullins and Vicky Sore (both 25). When we met Jim he had taken a tumble in a river on his way from Kinbreak Bothy to Tomdoun and lost his rucksack cover, but he had dried everything on a tree, fashioned a new rucksack cover from a bin liner and was back on schedule. Now that’s what being a challenger is about – meeting unexpected catastrophe and dealing with it. He has a very interesting back story which you can follow up via this link – More about Jim – thanks to another great chap, David Brown from Baltimore, USA. There were of course many old friends too, and conversations continued after a twelve month pause. How that works remains a mystery. I cannot remember what I was talking about five minutes ago, I often forget the name of the person I’m talking to, so how on earth can I pick up a conversation after twelve months?

There are gatherings at the various natural bottlenecks such as Braemar and Tarfside (where the local Masonic Lodge opens its doors to become the “Masons’ Arms” for an evening, providing much needed beverages for the parched challenger). Lochcallater Lodge has become legendary for evenings of entertainment, song, verse – and far, far worse. However, for the true connoisseur of outdoor gentility and suave sophistication, the Cheese and Wine parties initiated by bon viveur, Alan Sloman, represent the acme of the social scene – and this year’s was excellent, certainly equalling the 2013 event in Coire Bran, and perhaps even outdoing the Waters of Eunich in 2010, when we tried to drown Al & Shirl. In all, some fifteen intrepid party people turned up and we had a splendid time.

Transporting food, wine, ice buckets, cocktail shakers, table cloths, napkins and scantily clad waitresses has always presented something of a logistical challenge, and what has made the recent events so great has been the support given by Val & Dave Machin from Kincraig. This duo valiantly lug a groaning smorgasbord of the finest comestibles and bottles of wine to our venues, and even more valiantly lug all the rubbish out afterwards. Truly outstanding! This year I was pleased to see that Jean Turner had cunningly persuaded a friend to act as her personal porter (her lure being a tempting nearby Corbett that was on his list) and he carried in 1.5 litres of wine and some exceptionally fine cheeses. Good man. Clever woman 😉 See note below.

Unfortunately, not all participants are what my French pals would call “sympa”. A few have a somewhat puritanical, hair shirt take on life, which is fair enough – one man’s meat and all that – and I’m happy to leave them to follow their strait and narrow path to whatever reward awaits them. However, in recent years I have noticed an increasing desire by a small but vociferous faction to impose their purist views on everyone else; a sort of outdoors Taliban who really don’t like the idea of people having the odd evening of fun and frivolity.

Consider this somewhat disingenuous post on the Challenge Message Board regarding our Cheese & Wine:

“shame I was there day after had to see all mess..cheese slices strewn in heather and left over biscuits grapes…not forgetting the stone circle left on grass…don’t worry I cleaned up and replaced stones to river bed …“

It just drips with sanctimonious disapproval doesn’t it? And more than a touch of the primary school sneak “Please Miss, look, Miss, those naughty boys have dropped some grapes, Miss.” And the piety is comically misplaced. Never mind that we removed no stones, this smug outdoors vigilante can’t pass a conclusion without jumping to it. Oo-oh no, he delights in letting everyone know how he set about the pointless task of returning stones to the river bed that had not been removed in the first place.

It is possible that we lost a few grapes or crumbs in the tussocky grass, but I certainly didn’t see any. If there was a genuine issue, the obvious thing would have been to have contacted the event co-ordinator and made a formal complaint. However, I suspect that his real motive was to show contempt for degenerates and (most important) to publicly parade his own virtue and righteousness … so instead he chose to post a snarky comment on a public forum.

Luckily I had photographed the site just before we left and was able to give the lie to his colourful report.

OK, I am laughing at it now, but what if I had not taken photographs? Then it wouldn’t be quite so funny. We would have been pilloried and branded as vandals (which was no doubt the intention) and possibly excluded in future. This is just the sort of thing that can easily be picked up by a bored journo and expanded into a damaging “exposé” – and all because of some chump’s vanity.

Ho hum. I guess that out of some 300 participants there’s bound to be one. At least the other 299 are all splendid chaps and chapesses! The Cheese & Wine tradition continues and next year the usual invitation will be issued to all. I think, though, that we will revert to our previous policy of choosing fairly remote and inaccessible locations so that only those made of the “right stuff” are likely to visit the area. Most of the socialites are experienced outdoorsmen & women who have often arrived at the venue by difficult and arduous routes, not merely trogging along the track. That should shake off the Augustus Carps of this world.

The C&W is planned, but one of the great features of my Challenges has been the unplanned evening of happy chat and story telling. This sometimes happens at an unexpectedly popular wild camp site, but usually in a bothy. Bothies. I’ve had some superb bothy nights,both on and off the Challenge. On one occasion, as the fire burned low and fuel had run out, two lads arrived with rucksacks stuffed full of wood & coal (and a few beers). They were astonished to find the bothy full in the middle of the week, but given a couple of drams they re-stoked the fire and the evening continued into the small hours. The night outside was ‘bible black’ with stars shining like diamonds in the frosty night. Indoors the fire burned bright, lighting eager faces swapping tales and making new friends. It remains one of my most cherished memories.

The next day, everyone went their separate ways. Some solo, some in pairs, but all connected now by one night – even if they never met again. And that is what I love about the social side of the Challenge. You can have three or four days of solitude, and then, out of the blue, an evening of warmth and friendship that stays with you forever.

Note: Jean has since contacted me to let me know that her friend scampered up his Corbett without the wine and cheese and she in fact carried the whole lot herself! A gentleman of course …

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Part 3

The halt and the lame

One thing that struck me this year was the relatively high number of withdrawals. I have a suspicion that all too often people are forced to drop out of the Challenge because of foot problems, principally blisters. This always strikes me as a great shame, especially when many hours have been spent planning and fine tuning their route. They are fit, often run up mountains and all that sort of stuff, and yet after three or four days on the challenge end up hobbling like old men, wincing with every step. So here’s my recipe for happy feet.

I’m not entirely sure why I’ve been spared, but in all my Challenges (and indeed in all my walks, long and short) I have never had a blister. Not one. Not even a teeny weeny one. I am very careful to look after my feet though. My advice is no guarantee of a blister free life, but there just might be a snippet of information here that will make sure that your feet don’t spoil your walk. I hope so.

Here is a quote from the NHS website on the causes of blisters on feet:

“Friction blisters are common in people who are very active, such as sports players and those in the military. They are usually caused by poor-fitting shoes. A blister can develop if the skin is rubbed for a long period or if there is intense rubbing over shorter periods. Friction blisters often occur on the feet and hands, which can rub against shoes and handheld equipment, such as tools or sports equipment. Blisters also form more easily on moist skin and are more likely to occur in warm conditions.”

Now, let us look at the main points:

• Poorly fitting footwear
• Moist skin
• Warm conditions (and this also means hot feet in our case)

To which I’ll add:

• Gritty shoes and socks
• Prevention is better than cure

Some 15 years ago that my old friend and walking mentor, Alan Sloman advised me to always keep my feet as dry as possible and as cool as possible – even if that meant stopping every couple of hours to remove boots & socks for a thorough airing before putting on deliciously cold dry socks and setting off again. You might lose an hours walking time over the day, but at least you’ll be fully fit for the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that … etc. This is the essential point – what might be tolerable for a week-end may not be for fourteen days of continuous trekking in tough conditions. So let’s address the points in order.

Fitting.

It is absolutely vital that your boots or shoes fit properly, with no appreciable heel lift and no sliding about in the shoe. There should be a bit of wriggle room for the toes on the toebox, and space of a good finger’s width between your toe and the end of the shoe. That will avoid the pain of toes hitting the end of the shoe on steep descents and the loss of toenails.

If you can’t achieve a comfortable secure fit, it could be a good idea to have a look at Superfeet. For 15 years I used the green ones (professionally trimmed to ensure that the bend is in the right place – in my case the plastic chassis was trimmed as well as the insole itself). Superfeet did two main things for me. Firstly the heel is held securely and the fatty pad under the heel is contained, giving a natural shock absorber. Secondly, with the heel secured and held more securely in the heel cup of the shoe/boot, the arch support combines to keep the foot in place and any forward sliding is largely prevented. Lastly the foot remains correctly aligned, which reduces fatigue and any tendency to over strain ligaments on rough ground. They are not soft – in fact they are quite hard and rigid which seems counter intuitive for comfort – but after a while they take on the impression of your foot under the ball and toes and last for years.

So to recap – get a good fit. If you can’t, throw away the floppy insoles that come with the boots and get Superfeet in their place. If possible go to somewhere like George Fishers (but not at the weekend) and have a chat with one of their fitters. It’s time and money well spent. Fortunately I have recently found that Salomons fit me perfectly without any recourse to additional insoles or orthotics, so try a few different brands too.

Moisture.

Damp feet means soft skin means much more susceptibility to any rubbing and soreness leading to blistering. I use boots with a Goretex lining and wear gaiters in wet rough ground. I keep the water out, but that isn’t really enough, as feet (yes, even my delicate tootsies) sweat. And contained in a shoe, even a lightweight running shoe, moisture cannot easily dissipate as it would from the naked skin. So we have a choice – go barefoot or remove the moisture in another way. And that way is the sock system.

I use Bridgedale thin liners to wick moisture away from the skin and into wool-rich walking socks. Eventually of course, unless the weather is dry cool and breezy, the outer socks become damp. Then STOP! Take off the shoes and outer socks and let them dry off a bit. Your feet will love you for it and the boots and socks will feel so COLD when you put them on again. Good as a foot spa – honest!

There is a school of thought that unlined trail shoes are fine; lightweight and much to be preferred. The water goes in when you splash through streams and wet ground, but is pumped out as you walk and your socks soon dry as you walk on drier ground. Certainly on the eastern side of the Highlands I’ll accept this, and maybe sometimes in the west. However, 2014 saw a lot of rain. The weather was warmer than usual, and rain and snowmelt combined to make underfoot conditions unusually wet. I couldn’t see anyone’s shoes drying out in the first three days unless they were sticking with tracks and roads. A case for waterproof socks and liners? I can’t comment as I wouldn’t have worn trail shoes in those conditions – I might have worn boots to begin and had a pair of shoes posted to say Ft Augustus and swapped there. There’s an idea for the future, maybe.

But my conclusion is – keep dry, use wicking liners, take boot breaks regularly.

Heat.

This is partly covered by the previous advice to take boot breaks to dry the feet, but these are wonderfully cooling as well. Feet get bigger as the day goes on. Your weight tends to make the bones spread apart, making the foot longer and slightly wider. This of course is why you should always try on new footwear in the afternoon rather than the morning. Heat exacerbates this as the tissues swell making the footwear tighter, and together with damp and a bit of friction there is a fair chance that blisters will occur very soon. Hot feet – cool them! A cold stream is favourite, whilst your socks cool and dry on your walking poles. Then dry off thoroughly.

Grit.

This has never been a problem for me as I wear boots, but friends who have been seduced by the ‘fast and light’ movement and gone to lightweight mesh shoes have reported problems. Ford a stream in your shoes and walk on and the water just pumps out, right? Right, but the fine sand and grit doesn’t. It stays right in the shoe and in the socks, converting your fluffy merino into fine emery paper. Great for exfoliation, but you really don’t want the skin on your feet worn thin and red. It will become very sensitive. At the Sheiling of Mark we met a couple of Dutch chaps, and were astonished by the bright cleanliness of their shoes after eleven days walking. It transpired that they washed them thoroughly every night, along with their socks, to remove all traces of dirt and grit. Neither of them had a blister.

Prevention

… is better than cure is clearly the lesson here, and if you do feel that something isn’t quite right, then use an appropriate dressing BEFORE you get a blister – like Andy has in the picture on the right. I think the tape he’s used is called Mefix tape

Well, I hope that wasn’t too boring and helps someone get more pleasure than pain from their backpacking. It’s basic stuff, but often the desire to “press on” overcomes the common sense “look after your feet”. After all, it’s better to be an hour or so later than planned and able to walk the next day than to pitch up early and crippled.

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Part 4

Looking to the Future

So what next?

I have the chance to “attach” myself to Alan on his 20th next year, and thus a “free pass” to the event (folk on their tenth, 20th or 30th are automatically selected and they and their walking partners do not have to go into the draw for places). Much to my surprise, Alan remarked that the next Challenge, his 20th, might also be his last, at least for a while. Coincidentally, I had been thinking the same.

Why? I can’t speak for Al, but I’ll try to do so for myself. The answer, paradoxically, is exactly what makes the Challenge such a wonderful experience – the fact that it is a continuous two week trek across Scotland. This means that the next day always has a destination, ground to be covered either by your planned route or a foul weather alternative. That has become a problem for me. There are some parts of the highlands that I really want to walk, and regularly feature in my Challenge routes, but every time I have been forced to take the foul weather alternative to keep on schedule. Frustratingly, the next day the fickle weather has often been perfect! So I intend to spend a little time filling in the gaps, and if the weather is bad one day, I’ll simply wait it out and try the next day … or the day after that. Then, once I’ve filled in the gaps, I’ll feel ready to plan new routes over new ground, which after all, is what it’s all about – setting yourself new challenges and seeing places that you would never otherwise go to.

But things change, and now I have begun to question whether Scotland will remain my favourite destination. Some of the best backpacking landscapes are being well and truly trashed by the industrialisation of the Highlands – especially the Monadhliath Mountains, where vast wind farms, hydro schemes and their associated pylons, haul roads and service tracks have eradicated the remote beauty that once prevailed. Just look at the picture below. This was once open moorland – now a near motorway has been driven through it, with new tracks branching off in all directions to small dams, capturing every last drop of water to redirect it to the Glen Doe reservoir. Soon this network will be expanded to serve new wind farms. We saw two or three test masts, erected to gather wind speed data; portents of the sacrifice of the landscape on the altar of green zealotry. More is to follow, as Fergus Ewing is keen to let us know.

He, of course, sees no irony in his office combining Energy and Tourism, and will point to public opinion polls that endorse and support the growth of the wind industry. Let’s face it, if the people that they poll are mainly urban dwellers (which they inevitably will be) who never venture into the raw countryside (and most don’t) then in my view any “opinion” based on their ignorance has no validity whatsoever. They might as well have polled the citizens of Timbuktu.

The case against windfarms in Scotland and the despoilation of wild land is mainly presented in magazines and blogs created by, for, and almost exclusively read by, the converted. Speaking to people who already agree is gratifying (we all like people to agree with us) but ultimately futile. And the case is being made from entirely the wrong perspective. Wind Farms are “ugly”. So what? Most people will never see them. “They spoil my enjoyment of the hills”. Well go and walk somewhere else then. You see, these arguments are presented from the hillgoers’ point of view. They are meaningless to the punter in Pollokshields. And why should we expect otherwise?

“Your electric will cost twice as much, pal” – now there’s a point that may have some resonance for the urban Scot. One of the things that helped me succeed as a salesman was my innate sense of what really motivated my customers, which was often diametrically opposed to what they said mattered to them.

I can’t change any of this, and I guess the SNP would say that what the Scots do in their own backyard is their business, but seeing the Scottish hills bound in a web of high voltage cables and heavy duty roads, skewered by couple of thousand turbines – well, speaking as a tourist, that’s a sight I’d rather pass on, thanks very much Mr Ewing.

Roger Smith has written an excellent piece in latest (July 2014) TGO titled “The Destruction of Stronelairg” in which he says that the Monadhliath has been assaulted and battered by industrialisation to the point that it may never recover. This is the final paragraph:

Whereas up to now as a route vetter for the Challenge, I always encouraged Challengers to explore the Monadhliath and discover its unique qualities, in future my advice is more likely to be to avoid the area. This is a tragedy which was perfectly avoidable and the whole sorry saga leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.

A damning verdict indeed.

The map below (courtesy of Alan Sloman’s blog) shows what is in store for this part of the Monadhliath. This will truly be a magnificent landscape trashed to produce an unreliable source of electricity in the most expensive way possible. And the same greener than green right-on types who support this costly eco-vandalism also have the nerve to bang on about ‘fuel poverty’ and how it’s all the energy companies’ fault. Pass the sick bag, Alice.

As you can see from the map, our wonderful, remote camp site Cheese & Wine venue will be obliterated – by something far more destructive than a few grapes.

What’s been done cannot now be easily undone, not in our lifetimes anyway, and yet I sense a turning of the tide. A number of wind farms have not produced the returns that their investors envisaged, even with generous subsidy, and subsidies look likely to diminish as new technologies arrive, and fuel derived from fracking etc. eases costs of conventional generation and the risks to supply. It may be that the great gold rush for on-shore wind power is coming to a close, and the next couple of years will see the high water mark for new development. I hope so. Wind has a part to pay in the energy mix, of course, but Scotland has seized the green baton with a manic fervour so deep that more damage is being done to the environment than a slight temperature change (which in any event will not be mitigated one jot by Ewing’s windmills).

So with luck it is possible that, although despoiled and diminished, there will still be enough left to enjoy. Let’s hope so. I really do love these less frequented parts of the highlands. Away from the tramp of the Munroists and the Corbett baggers lie some truly exquisite, seemingly undiscovered landscapes, some remote, some just a few miles away from the tourist hot spots – and no, I won’t tell you where they are, and I certainly won’t let on to Fergus Ewing!

Right now we have next year to look forward to – and as it will be Al’s 20th we have to make it an absolute belter. Plans will be made for parties and celebrations (don’t drop any grapes, please) along a route carefully crafted to avoid Fergus’s follies. It will however take in Scotland’s finest top shelves and I should point out that it is traditional for participants to buy Challenge Legends (like wot I am) a dram. Obviously on his 20th, Al will become a double Legend, so he will, of course, expect doubles.

Here’s to Challenge 2015. Let the joy begin. It already has here – I’m sipping a delightful pre-prandial Dalwhinnie.

Slainte!