TGO2012, the story

The logistics of getting to my start at Shiel Bridge had been an adventure in themselves. I felt like I had won a huge prize when I found a Megabus ticket from Manchester to Glasgow for just £1.00! Travel doesn't agree with me, so I gave myself a day to recover before the start on May 11th. This gave me a chance to explore this tiny place that previously I had just shot through in the car.

The night had been cold. Very cold. Coupled with my excitement, I had not slept well. As light dawned into my tent I was awake and shivering into my morning routine. Undoing the zip my heart sank: The snowline had dropped. Only a couple of hundred metres of clear slopes, and I was not equipped with crampons and ice axe. Memories that were all too fresh, of getting stranded in the blizzard at Easter, raged through my brain, and I knew that unless something miraculous happened in the next few hours I was going to have to start my Challenge by dropping my prime route and going with the foul weather alternative.

Eat. Force myself to eat, although nerves and excitement threatened to make me choke. Get the carbs on-board. With the cold I certainly would need the fuel.

Frozen hands packing gear, numb fingers aching and refusing to co-operate. Finally, everything was in my rucksak. How was I going to carry all that weight across the hills all the way from here at Shiel Bridge on the west coast of Scotland to the east coast? Humbled by the sight of the towering hills capped by snow, daunted by the enormity of my undertaking I went to the official starting point at the hotel to sign out. No great fanfare, no starting gun, just a list of names in the lobby: fill in the date and time and sign your name. Underwhelming.

Mindful of the snow, I headed up the valley from the campsite, hoping that as I got to the point where my route left the road the snow would have melted. No such luck. I resigned myself to safety, and a log road trudge for the first leg to Invergarry. Gradually I relaxed and began to enjoy the scenery. I shared a chat with some experienced Challengers. Over 30 crossings between them, they had also chosen the road route today. I felt better about my decision to keep out of the snow.

This was my first time on foot in this part of Scotland. Flying down the road on holiday in the car had not prepared me for the sheer scale of the hills, the beauty of old bridges, the sound of water running in a thousand streams. Water became the theme of the day, and I chose a wildcamp hunkered down low to shelter out of the wind in a fold of the shore of Loch Cluanie. Tired out, but more attuned to my undertaking I settled down, ate, and slept much better, listening to the sound of the burn by the tent burbling into the loch just a few metres away.

Saturday dawned bright. I rose early, determined to cover the miles on the road in better spirits today. As the sun rose in the valley I warmed up. For the first time I took off my Velez Adventure Light top, even pushing up the sleeves of my Merino base layer. It didn’t last long! Starting to climb at Bun Loyne I came back into the icy wind, and quickly had my layers back on. The day passed in a blur of road walking. It was impossible to set up a flowing stride, unless I walked on the road – and then traffic would come along and I would be back on the verge, having to watch out for every footfall lest I tread unwarily into a hole. My frustration mounted each time I had to detour off the verge to avoid a recently excavated drainage ditch. Some of them were several feet wide, all running across the verge away from the road. Undoubtedly the local council had done a good job for the drivers who needed as dry a road as possible, but walking in these conditions was tiresome. The only relief was at a viewpoint high above Loch Loyne, where some artistic inspiration had divided the ‘cairn’ reported on the map into a myriad of delightful mini-spires overlooking the view.

Finally I got to the campsite at Faichemaird Farm. Lovely campsite – but at the end of a long, footslogging day it nearly killed me having to climb to reception at the top of a hill overlooking the site! The relief of a hot shower was paled by talking on the phone to home, and finding that the previously bad weather forecast for tomorrow now sounded even worse.

The next day was the 13^th May. Not an auspicious date, especially with that weather forecast. Rain had set in overnight, with gusty wind roaring around the site. Somewhat apprehensively I packed up and made my way down Loch Oich, pausing for a magnificent bowl of bacon and lentil soup at the Thistle café at Aberchalder, just before my turn-off across country. Immediately behind the café the first obstacle on the footpath was an eight-foot high stile over a deer fence. Laden with my pack, my heart was in my mouth as I clung tight in the wind, trying to maintain my balance. Heart racing, I got back to the ground. Surely nothing else could be this bad?

The path rose prettily through woodland dotted with clumps of primroses. I forgot about the wind and rain, enjoying my surroundings, being stopped in my tracks by the roadway disappearing under a raging stream.

Cursing quietly under my breath but determined to keep my shoes dry I changed into my sandals, rolled up my trousers and remembering all the safety advice about how to cross a stream in full spate made my way across. Shocked by the pain from the cold water I sat on the far bank, trying to dry my feet and legs in the rain, wondering what else was ahead. I didn’t have long to wait. The track climbed steadily, as I kept an eye on my compass, which I had set on a bearing for Blackburn Bothy on the old Military Road. Rising across the hillside the track deteriorated, and bog took over. I can do bog. I walk in the Pennines. Bog hopping I am good at. Raging burns I don’t like. The next one looked fearsome. Tentatively I tested it with my poles and couldn’t feel the bottom. Adrenalin hit my system. Wild weather, unfamiliar location, boggy terrain, river that was dangerous. It took a few deep breaths, but my mind gradually cleared, and I knew what to do. Walk upstream. At some point the water would be crossable. Slogging uphill across rain-drenched bog I came up on a herd of deer, seeing one shake itself with great sprays of water flying off in all directions, before they realised I was there and took flight away from me. Gradually the slope of the hillside eased off, and I realised I was nearing the top. Still following the burn I eventually found a point where I could jump across.

By now I was a long way from my original traverse across the hillside to Blackburn Bothy. My objective was general Wade’s Military Road. I knew that if I kept heading east I would eventually get to this, so with one eye on the compass I plodded on. The weather was terrible: icy rain and buffeting winds. I was longing for shelter, somewhere to stop and eat my lunch, but the terrain was open, exposed and completely sodden. I couldn’t stop and sit, so I munched dried fruit and kept going. Eventually I saw the powerline that is marked on the map roughly paralleling the old roadway. My heart lifted. Not far now! Dropping down hill and round a fold in the ground came upon a stretch of roadway that had been recently renovated, with a new bridge. I was disquieted by how much water was passing under the bridge, tumultuous waters piling up and pooling above the parapet, threatening to engulf the roadway and vast gushings out from underneath the span eating away at the bank on the lower side. I pondered taking a photo, but the conditions were so bad I couldn’t keep standing still long enough, let alone handle my camera. Crossing the bridge and moving on a few yards it suddenly dawned on me that this wasn’t a repair to the old roadway. Someone was building something new. Bemused, battered by the storm I got out my GPS and realised I was still some way away from General Wade’s route. Searching hillsides in the murk I spotted the powerline that ran alongside the route I wanted again. Feeling defeated, after all the effort I had put in to get to where I was now, I took a bearing again and stepped off the new roadway – and jumped straight back on it. Quagmire! Earthmoving disturbance plus massive rainfall had reduced the naturally boggy ground at the side of the roadway to slurry. I was trapped! Hungry, tired, battered by the wind and rain I panicked for a while. Nothing had prepared me for being trapped in this way. What to do?

STOP! Eat. Think. I knew where I was. I knew where I was trying to get to. I was on a stone roadway. It had to go somewhere. Work out where it was going and see what was there. I trudged on, climbing slowly, until I could see what was going on. A MASSIVE new roadway and the old military road were running roughly parallel. (I later found out that the roadway was part of the construction of the new Beauly-Denny mega-powerline) They were so close together. How to get from one to the other? First I had to follow the roadway as it contoured away around a side-valley. Almost running now I trotted along. Getting to the ‘jumping off point’ between the two I realised this traverse would be impossible, as another torrent tore across the hillside. The new roadway wound on upwards parallel to the old route. Logic said it had to be going somewhere, and in this terrain, they were both trapped in the same valley. At some point I MUST be able to get from one to the other. 

By now I was beginning to get seriously concerned, because my fabulous Paramo wet-weather gear was beginning to fail. First my trousers (at the thigh) followed later by my right sleeve and then shoulder were being pounded so hard by the wind that rain was being driven through. I was getting wetter and wetter. The wind was giving me a real battering and no-where gave any shelter at all. I lost track of distance, crabbing into the wind and keeping my eye on the powerline that I know rose above the old Military Road. 

Suddenly the new roadway stopped. The cut made by diggers just stopped and I clambered out from the man-made tumble onto virgin hillside. I saw rocks looming in the murk and headed towards them, lying in the lea to seek a little shelter from the wind as I stuffed food into my mouth. As I ate I realised that I was lying in running water, as the whole hillside was awash. My clothes were so wet by now that I didn’t care, but the shelter afforded by the rocks was minimal, and I was chilling quickly. I had to stay moving to stay warm. I dragged myself to my feet and pushed myself upwards, striving to get to the powerlines. NEVER had I felt so glad as I recognised the real old road! I couldn’t stop. 

Soaked to the knickers by now, in pounding rain and wind that kept knocking me over I fought my way up to the summit of the pass. Old snow lay on the ground, slick in the rain. I thanked my lucky stars that it was rain falling on me, not snow. Brain numb I realised I had come to the crest. Suddenly I was hit by a surge of excitement that spurred me on as I realised that at last I was going down hill. Before I knew it I was running, pressed on by the wind. Mindful of the dangers I realised that if I continued I would probably fall, so I slowed my speed, confident now that I would eventually find some shelter. Then, a river. Too wide to jump. Flowing fast. Sandals? Why bother? I was already soaked completely. Tentatively I waded through, glad once again to have my poles. Over and over again I waded through torrents coming down the valley. One crossing turned out to be across a wooden bridge inches deep under the surface of a stream.

I was shivering now. It was getting late. Sudden elation: I spotted trees - I knew the bothy couldn’t be too far. The roadway down the valley had turned into a river running inches deep. I sploshed on, adrenaline burning in my system. Gasping, I finally made it into the Bothy. Surely someone else would be here? Silence. On my own. Shaking I fumbled to get off my pack, leaving vast puddles on the floor. About to strip off my wet clothes I suddenly remembered I needed water, and headed out again to collect water from by the bridge. As I stood on the edge of the stream the water was rising. In the few minutes it took to fill my water bottles the stream rose to engulf my precarious foothold. I have never seen water rising so fast.

Back inside. Strip off wet clothes. Try to get dry. Shaking I put on the precious contents of my drybag, got out my stove and boiled water. Food Drink. Fill my platypus with warm water to make a hotwater bottle. Hang wet clothes to drip overnight. Sleeping bag. Aching with the aftermath I gradually eased back to some state of normality, listening to the weather howling around outside. Sleep came eventually.

Dawn brought with it the certain knowledge that I had to get going again. Breakfast. Wet clothes on. Dry ones back in the precious drybags. The storm had blown over, the snowline dropped again (thank goodness I got down before rain turned to snow) and rain had become intermittent showers as I headed on down the valley to Laggan Bridge, passing very bedraggled cows and further evidence of the storm from the previous day.

 

Arriving at Lagan Bridge, I quickly found the famous Laggan Stores, featured in the TV series ‘Monarch of the Glen’. I explored the famous emporium. It was better stocked than many city stores, a real Aladdin’s cave. I felt shellshocked at the return to normality. Pitching on the grass by the shop I stocked up with goodies and spent the rest of the evening eating and snoozing. 

Later I was joined by another Challenger who had come all the way from Fort Augustus, crossing the pass in four hours, where it had taken me all day! What a difference the weather makes.

The next day can best be described as a  ‘trundle’ through Dalwhinnie, where a lovely lunch was had in the Toll House Grill meeting other Challengers. After lunch I continued the trundle, accompanied by snow showers rattling along the valley, taking the cycle route up the pass of Drumochter, wildcamping just over the summit in a pleasant little spot out of the wind. I was greatly amused to watch a helicopter carrying huge white bags of stone to the route of a pathway up a hillside opposite, dropping them at regular intervals up the hillside. Tired out again I ate quickly then fell asleep.

The morning saw my tent dry for the first time since arriving at Shiel Bridge. This was because as snow showers crashed through the wind quickly blew the snow away! Better than soggy though. Picturesque mountain scenery mellowed as I approached Blair Atholl, with a civilised campsite, the luxury of a shower and dinner with other Challengers in a local hotel.

Rain returned for my trip along Glen Tilt, with me rarely able to take down the hood of my jacket, not that there was much scenery to be seen, as all the tops were obscured by murk. It was pretty down in the valley itself, especially in the lower wooded areas, but not the best trip through the Glen that I have had.

With the amount of rain falling throughout the day the rivers were up. All day long I knew I was heading for the major crossing of the Geldie Burn before I could camp for the night. I planned to stop by the ruined bothy just over the crossing, or to head down to White Bridge which I knew was a popular gathering point for Challengers. I continued climbing up Glen Tilt thinking about the rivers I had crossed on Sunday on the Corrieyairack Pass before getting to Melgarve Bothy. My concern mounted as the weather continued to deteriorate.

Crossing the Geldie Burn was a major undertaking as it was running deep, fast, wide and cold. Chilled from crossing and stung by the windchill on the far bank I pressed on far beyond my intended possible campsites, as everyone was getting out of the wind, finally ending up where I knew there was shelter in the Linn of Dee. The car park there provided not only shelter but a toilet too! Luxury.

The next morning saw watery sunshine and showers as I packed up early from the car park and headed down to Braemar via Mar Lodge. The welcome afforded to Challengers at Mar Lodge is brilliant! Tea, scones, butties, and most importantly a roaring log fire under a great copper canopy in the middle of the gun room. I took a well earned time-out here, chatting with other Challengers, some of whom were going to stop the night here. It was a feat of will-power to get back on my feet and finish off the few miles into Braemar. Knowing the youth hostel is up the hill from the village centre I called in the shops before booking in, knowing I would only want to eat and sleep once I had arrived!

The treat of a rest day passed all too quickly, and before I knew it I was eating breakfast, watching squirrels playing on the feeder outside the Hostel’s kitchen window and finalising my packing before getting back on the way again. Although weather forecasts were hopeful of better weather for the second half of my journey, the bad conditions I had experienced so far had taken their toll and I felt very tired still, despite a day off. I decided to take my gentler alternative route out to the coast, through Ballater and ending at Stonehaven.

The royal estates at Balmoral contain some of the most beautiful woodland I have ever visited. The sun shone all day and at last I began to feel the joy that walking usually brings to me. Throughout the day I walked along with various different groups of challengers. There was a sizeable contingent of us on the campsite that night. Talking with some of them I realised that I could avaid some road walking the next day by picking up a cycle route built on an old railway line, following it to Aboyne and then getting back on my original route. Setting off early in the morning I was delighted to find a bakery open in Ballater, stocking up on bread buns and a Dundee cake to supplement my usual rations. The cycle route was lovely. With the bonus of walking by an aerodrome and watching many take-offs of tow-plane/glider pairs. Unfortunately my feet began to suffer badly in the heat. Blisters were forming and I had to take my pen-knife to my shoes, removing some of the tension bands to allow my poor swollen feet more room. Pain killers kept me moving, but by 3.30 I had had enough. Crossing the river Dee at Aboyne I dropped down on the bank below the parapet, brewed up ate, then slept for more than an hour. Waking somewhat refreshed I pressed on, very footsore, finally pitching camp (in someone’s garden as I couldn’t find anything suitable near the roadside) near Marywell that night.

The countryside had changed in character here, the wild mountains behind me, and this morning began with rolling farmland as far as the eye could see. This was a day of excitements: getting to the last map that I would be using was hugely exhilarating. I might not be able to see the sea, but I could open my map and see it at the far edge of the page! The next joy came on seeing my first road sign for ‘Stonehaven’. Jubilation! Then I noticed what was right beside the road sign. It was a flood depth marker. I was glad to be here on a sunny day, and wondered what conditions had been like during the previous week when I had experienced such wild weather?

The Fetteresso Forest has a bad reputation in Challenger circles, with dire warnings about how easy it is to get lost. Conscious of previous problems I had experienced in other forests I approached this vast woodland with some trepidation, seeing the coniferous spread over hills into the distance. Carefully I kept myself alert using map and compass, double checking now and again with my GPS. Despite the pain from my feet I enjoyed climbing up the trail – and loved stopping for a break at the incongruous ‘TWO SHEDS’ It was obviously a workman’s hut, set in the midst of a patch of cleared forest. I was delighted by a seat carved (by chainsaw?) from the stump of a tree, and located by a rusty barbeque and a picnic table on their ‘balcony’.

I had two possible sites in mind for pitching in mind that night, but when I reached the first glen decided to go no further. Meeting another Challenger just a few minutes before arriving we decided it was perfect. A stream for water, grassy level patches and not too many flies. I decided to cross the stream before pitching – too distrustful of streams by now, wondering what would happen to it is there was a thunderstorm. Another Challenger turned up about half an hour later. I was so tired I could not eat my meal, so went to sleep, vowing to have supper if I woke later. I did: semolina pudding and jam by moonlight. Different!

Waking very early the next morning I realised I should make it to the sea today. I got up quickly, ate, stuck camp, packed and was off before 6am. Taking a photo as I left the secluded glen the sun was just about to reach the other tents as I left them behind. Later on, camped in Montrose, I met up with the other two from the wildcamp site. They also got up early, but and were very disappointed to have found me gone long before they had surfaced!

Leaving the forest behind I emerged once again into farm country, passing by more horses than I think I have ever seen on one day. The air was hot, strongly scented with broom and gorse. I knew there was one more set of hills to cross before the sea. On and on I toiled in the heat. Would this hill never end? False summit after false summit taunted me. Where was the sea hiding? 

Finally I rounded a corner, and there in the distance, shrouded in mist was the unmistakable outline that I was seeking. I dropped down on the road verge and phoned home, too overcome to do anything else for a few minutes. Having built myself up for so long, it was just too much for me!

The last lap became an odd shuffle, pushing blisters on, counting the paces that marked kilometre upon kilometre until I hit the boundary for Stonehaven. I had run out of water, too rushed to get to the coast to stop and fill my container again, so seeing a first shop by a petrol station was a great relief. Water, Red Bull, fruit, tomatoes, cheese, bread. Sitting down outside the shop I drank the Red Bull and ate a banana before the last creaking push.

There is something weird about how the mind behaves when you get to that last stage, when your body is screaming out in pain to stop and get your weight off your feet. Every step is a torment, every kilometre seems to stretch interminably as you head for the beach. There is huge anti-climax on arriving there, knowing you can at last put your feet in the water, take the obligatory photos and STOP, before making a mad scramble to catch the bus for Montrose to sign out at Challenge Control.

Would I do it again. Yes. Of course. But only when my feet get better!