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.
.jpg)
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 13th
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!
