TGO Challenge 2012 - Coignafearn to Kincraig

You've all been very impatient.  Well done.

Here is day 6.

You'll be unsurprised to discover that I was out of my pit and walking early away down the Findhorn.  By the ruins, a pair of challengers - Richard was one of them, I am embarrassed to say that I have forgotten the other chap's name.  It had been a cold night and we shared a few experiences of the challenge so far, and bits about our home towns etc. before Richard (I think) gave me  pointer for the ascent up Allt a'Mhuilinn.

Allt a'Mhuilinn

Grouse eggs

The banks began to rise above me as I climbed, and with every step the clouds met me with more menace.  Snow sprinkled over me from the West, assisted by a steady and stiff breeze.  Between those wintry showers, the sun shone strongly, warming and drying me as I walked.  Sloshing through the tiny, and not so tiny burns was lovely as my feet quickly became refreshed with each drenching.

Winter?

The higher parts of the Monadhliath took me again, not quite as strongly as the day before.  Today was different.  They felt homely now.  I was comfortable with them, so comfortable.  It was a shame to descend to the Dulnain, I thought - but even the descent had it's charms.  Staying high above the Allt Spioradail the heather whipped my shins and from time to time I slipped on the grimy, wet, lightly eroded peaty soil.  I moved away from the steepening banks of the Spioradail - I'm risk averse, I am.

And then, the first bridge.

Bridge over the Spioradail - frightening?

 After crossing the bridge of questionable integrity, I headed straight from Dulnain Bothy.  It was deserted, and I sat a while leafing through the pages of the log.  I'll leave you to do the same (I focussed on reading the 'TGO' dates).

The second bridge of questionable integrity. 

The second bridge of questionable integrity, up close.

 It looked rough, and the water was neither deep, nor fast.  So as any wise, and risk averse man would do, I walked on the rotten planks of the bridge, for the thrill of it.  I'm occasionally perverse, like that.  I like wading and thrashing through bracken too, as some of you may know.

A track made for fast progress over the next set of hills, the far Eastern Monadhliath and it would lead me over to the Allt na Cornlaraiche and down into Kincraig.  I had a nice lawn to camp on, courtesy of a tip-off by David Wood and of the generosity of Val & Dave Machin.  Despite me having never met them, they were picking up some gas for me and had accepted parcel, too.  How nice is that!?

The fast progress was slowed as I began my descent by the gnarled and churned soils caused by an enormous earthmoving dumper-truck.  The driver was pleasant enough, but the destructive undertone of the situation rang through, loud and clear.  The wildness of these hills would soon be lost for the foreseeable future.  Google "wind turbine", "monadhliath", and "Alan Sloman" for more on this.   I won't dwell on this awful situation, but it IS WORTH PAYING ATTENTION TO - so go and read about it!

Stag Bothy - a comprehensive mountain shelter. 

I passed Stag Bothy which is a particularly elaborate mountain shelter, in a woodland setting.  It's only a few miles walk out of Kincraig so I couldn't help thinking that it would be little used.  I was hell-bent by now on getting to the Machin's place and getting pitched up and sorted out before heading for a beer.
I was fairly well worn out by the time I reached the road, and there was a mile or so of road before I was to reach their place.  I had had enough by then.

It was raining, and I arrived at the Machin's door in a rough state.  I think I looked better than I felt, but I know I wasn't the freshest fella that had graced them with their presence.  Val came to the door and welcomed me in, she and Dave had arrived back that day from Alan and Andrew's Cheese & Wine party with a bit of a headache, so I remember.  There was a pile of kit in their hall.  

Before I could ask where I was to pitch, Val said that I should stay in the house rather than in my tent.  Inside I was ready to hug her, my body screaming YES YES YES YES!!!!  I reservedly offered that I was more than happy to pitch the tent, but if she was sure?  I doub't I have ever been more grateful IN MY LIFE.  Total strangers, never ever met them before.  IT was good enough that they would get me a tin of gas, let alone camp on their lawn, but sleep in their house?  Bewilderingly generous.

My 'Kincraig' pitch

Val introduced me to Dave and we chatted about stuff, including but not limited to challenge tales.  I showered, and managed to get my kit washed too.  I headed down to the kitchen and Val suggested I go to the pub with Dave while she cooked us all some dinner.  "I hope vegetarian lasagne is OK?, we don't eat meat".  Was it!?  Of course it was flaming OK!   Dave was taking me to the pub for a beer and she was cooking me dinner.  I'd eat the bumper off a rusty car, if she had offered it!

Their house was almost spanking new.  It had been personalised with Himalayan prayer flags, and the downstairs cloakroom was decorated with more TGO Challlenge posters and badges than you could shake a stick at.  Photos of one or the other Machin, or even both at the start, finish, or during some far flung hike, mountain marathon, race or event.  These guys are go-getters.  On self-powered travel and challenge, I've yet to knowingly meet a more 'involved' pair.

Decked out in pertex and cheap crocs I ducked through the door of the bar with Dave.  I insisted on buying the beer, despite Dave offering to buy me one.  We scanned the patrons at the Suie, no challengers were about.

After a pint or two of Tradewinds we dashed back in time for food and wine and more fantastic hospitality.  We chatted long into the evening (for me), before I could keep my eyes open no longer and I retired.  

I'll never forget that evening, and Val and Dave's hospitality.  They are truly embedded in the spirit of the 'challenge'.

The warmth and comfort of my spotless, ensuite room absorbed me before I had much time to do anything.  I quickly began a free-fall into the most lovely deep sleep.

TGO Challenge 2012 - Aultnagoire to Coignafearn

I woke in the morning to the sound of a magically played fiddle.  Alex Sutherland was stretching his bow arm.  The sound evoked all the things I think about the Highlands in a single, brief moment.

Filtered coffee, breakfast cereal, fruit.  A full English (yes, English) breakfast.  Fresh orange juice. I was fortified.  I dragged my heels a mite.  Got myself packed away between brief, light showers.  Bryan Waddington had suggested he was opting for a route change.  A bit of knee bother had him seeking a route with less UP.  He said he was thinking of "calling it in".  I gasped "you can't!".  I should have realised that he didn't mean he wanted to pack it in.  He phoned in his route change and set off.  Or maybe I set off first.  I can't remember.

I hit the road and was joined by the first off the MV Morag that day - Simon (Hutchinson - I think) and Iain Robinson were heading up the road and into the Monadhliath.  I walked with them for a while until my path whipped me into solitude again.  The sun was bright, strong.  I was blessed with the weather that day.

Loch Mhór

The LRT above Wester Abercalder

The road turned into lane, and the lane into a track and my route lay through the heather on the western flanks of the wild mountains and moors of the Monadhliath Mountains.  I kept checking my map, to be sure I was inserting myself at the right point.  The burnt sections of heath were the easiest going, and as a Common Lizard skipped through the vegetation beneath my feet I turned to look west.  The view floored me.

The distant, Western Highlands of Scotland.

All those snow-capped peaks and ridges were stretched out.  They filled the horizon.  Brilliant white, beneath a thin ribbon of darkened cloud and a huge tarpaulin of super-blue sky.  I was higher now, and I pivoted slowly casting my gaze south.  A Golden Eagle was cruising above the high moors.  To the north a lone, defunct turbine hung it's partially amputated head in shame.  I tried to ignore it, but it loitered in my peripheral vision.  The elephant in the room.  

The ribbon of darkened cloud grew wider.  Weather began to develop.  It was westerly, and thankfully so.  It arrived on my back, primarily as a determined group of gusts.  Strengthening, the flakes began to fall.  The warmth disappeared, instantly.  I layered up, and continued up, and through lovely, winding mini-glens.  Visibility came and went with the wannabe-blizzards.  

A wannabe-blizzard and the perfect mini-glen.

Burns crossed my path more regularly now.  I gave up tiptoeing on the rocks and stomped confidently through the flows of each.  I liked the way they cooled my feet.  I drank from every other burn.  I needn't have carried the litre of water I got at the Sutherland's croft.  Not knowing the Monadhliath I opted not to trust the map.  I won't worry so much the next time.  These hills are the perfect walking location.

The termination of the LRT beneath Carn na Saobhaidhe.
The track was vulgar, but useful.

The lovely Allt Odhar

The landrover track, which I presume was in place for the construction of more turbines helped me up to just beneath the summit of Carn na Saobhaidhe on the bealach where I took a bearing and selected to handrail using the tributary to the Allt Odhar.  This was fine, wet ground after a short period of heavy bog-hopping.  The lovely Allt became my tractor beam sucking me down toward the old bothy at Dalbeg.  A lone challenger was pitching his tent by the upper stretches of the Findhorn.  I was ready to stop, but I had a target to get as far up the Findhorn as I could before camping.  The weather was good, and I made for Coignafearn (old lodge).

First glimpses of the Findhorn valley

The new lodge of Coignafearn.  A mighty, and slightly oppressive building.

I struggled to cope with the loveliness of this glen.  It was there, for all to see and use, yet no-one, not even the wealthy freeholders of the Coignafearn structures seemed to be present.  It remained a place of solitude for some time until I happened upon two birdwatchers, looking for eagles and another lone backpacker.  Andy Howell was pitching his shelter by the bridge, south of the old lodge.  I stopped for a chat and decided to pitch nearby.  It was a good spot, and the company was welcome.

As I pitched, Alan Callow, Alistair and Eddy arrived - not necessarily in that order.  The light was perfect, if occasionally interrupted by snowy squalls.  A solitary Golden Eagle broke the skyline to our southeast, dashing into the glen before making way up a tree-filled re-entrant behind the lodge.  This was a moment to cherish.  

This is my favourite photo from the challenge.  My spot beside the Elrick Burn.

In Drumnadrochit I had the foresight to purchase two cans of Tennents Super (the superlighter's lager equivalent - four cans for the weight of two).  With my tent pitched, I cracked one open and soaked it up.  It took effect within moments and eased the edge from my stinging feet.  It was the first time I had noticed my feet hurting since day two on the road into Cannich.  Trainers really do add to the comfort, be them wet or dry.

I chatted with Al, Eddy and Alan - Andy Howell had ensconced himself in his tent proclaiming "I've got my shoes off, have applied my foot cream, and I am in my bag.  I ain't coming out for anyone." It was before 8pm!.  Alistair and I continued talking to the fabric of Andy's shelter for a short while before giving up and chatting until the cold air got the better of us.  We retired to our shelters by 8.30.  

A Findhorn Encampent

A Moment on the Elrick Burn

Look, it's waterproof.

I cooked up a great deal of my food, most of which was untouched.  I had bought and packed to excess.  Tomorrow I would get a re-supply of meals and a bar meal.  I scoffed two or three foil pouches of dried grub, and several oatcakes.  It was washed down with glugs of malt.  I was becoming warmer with every minute, despite plummeting temperatures.

Snr Waddington.  A veritable dude.  Look at him smile, like a pig in poo-poo!

Alan had retired by now so I was enjoying my stupor alone until I looked up and saw two beRonhill-ed legs standing strong, flanked by a pair of trekking poles.  Bryan Waddington.  I was delighted to see him.  He was doing great, despite running a little later than most.  It was 9.00 when he showed up.  We chin-wagged with gusto and as the light faded, and the mercury sunk we crawled back in our holes and slept.  Snow was falling in squalls once again, and through the night.  It was cold.  I was drunk, and coated with what felt like a ready-brek glow.  

TGO Challenge 2012 – Cannich to Drumnadrochit to Aultnagoire

Today's walking was straight-forward – after the blitz of winds that nature unleashed on the surrounding glen and mountains, I emerged from my tent early again. Packed up, not a peep from the other challengers, I was ready to go. I bade my pitch farewell.

Cannich to Drum' road

Koos Schevellis had recommended a route away from the road for me for at least part of the day. The Glenurquhart Forest Trail is a quaint diversion from an otherwise droll road walk. I was thankful that my alcohol intake had allowed me to remember the in and out points for the trail.

I remember the sun shining down, and forming a rainbow for me through the morning's clouds. I began singing, really loud. I had cracked day 4 on my first challenge. A day that I had dreaded not reaching. I feared that the gremlins would have set in and done their best to convince me to chuck in the towel – bad weather, blisters, injury, aches and pains, negative notions. None of these things

materialised. In fact I was in my element.

Rainbow over the Enrick

First was a few verses of Amazing Grace, at the top of my voice. Then my own words to the same tune. John Denver made an appearance for a couple of songs too – Sunshine on My Shoulders and (Caledonian) Rocky Mountain High began spewing from my lungs. Tears popped into the back of my eyes and made their way forth, trickling down my cheeks before dripping to the ground. Tears of joy, elation.

Always time for a brew...

I scoffed a lazy brunch of Family-size Mattesons' Smoked Sausage with Primula and Tortilas – four I think. Loch Meikle was basking below and the sun was still shining through the intermittent showers. The rain stayed off me for the most part of my stroll. It really only set about soaking me about 20 minutes outside of Drumnadrochit itself.

As I arrived in Drum', I took shelter under some trees just outside of some houses just by the Town sign. It poured, and poured. I waited no longer and strolled quickly now, into the Town centre.

When I got to the main street I was outwardly drenched, but my waterproofs had kept the worst of the water on the right side of the fabric. I dropped my pack outside the Fiddlers Café and went in for refreshment. Tea, for two with sugar – lots of it... ...plus a bottle of lucozade, followed by another pot of tea and then a fizzy lemon pop. I had already eaten, so didn't get any more food. I shared a conversation with a local artist – a southerner who was now domiciled in the Highlands, not far from Drum'.

We never exchanged names but she questioned me about my travels so far and showed a spectator's enthusiasm for the challenge. She left me then, to make phone calls home, to Challenge Control, and to Gordon Menzies, the skipper of the MV Morag mo Chridhe. I was due to cross on his boat to Inverfairigaig later that day.

The weather had improved for a while so I dove outside and took a stroll. I didn't spot any other challengers as it was still early so I took up residence on the floor outside the telephone box by the local store. Off came my shoes and socks and I lent back on my rucksack in the sunshine and closed my eyes.

Drum, and the phone box

Davids - Pickles and Wishart arrived and stirred me to my feet. I welcomed them and we chatted for a while spotting new challengers arriving as we chatted. A former challenger arrived and quizzed us on current challengers, scouring Dave Wishart's list for recognisable names.

Too many challengers to remember showed up, including my new pal Tony Bennett who I later learned would pull out from his challenge at Drumnadrochit. It would be a shame not to bump into him again. I had been told that Mick & Gayle (read their blog here) had asked after me so I hoped to see them before crossing the loch. Dave, Dave and I set off for one last cuppa and lo, there they were. Mick and Gayle, the intrepid and perpetually walking couple were sat refuelling in one of the tea-rooms. I have to admit to being a little starstruck. This odd feeling quickly subsided as we chatted and became friends. I think it was here that I caught up with Louise Evans again, this time with John Jocys but I can't remember exactly.

After more convivial exchanges and a resupply at the local store Dave, Dave and I hopped onto Morag (and motored out across the most famous Loch in the world – Loch Ness. As we left the western shore, I saw a landmark leave me behind. Day 4 and Drumnadrochit – done.

I was sat at the back of the boat, and promptly the other challengers started looking back at me. No, they were looking past me. I pivoted and looked behind just as 3 mallards came in to land – on Morag herself!

Shap McDonnell took a shine to the drake so I took a quick snap for his album. You'll agree it is a quacker.

L to R - ANON, Mick, Andy(?), Piedro, Biaggio aboard MV Morag mo Chridhe

L to R - David (Wishart), Alan (?), Keith, Mick, Gayle, Gordon also aboard.

Shap McDonnell & David W

David Pickles

L to R - Jemima, Daffy, Shap.  Look at that smile - lovely man, that Daffy.

Urquhart Castle - centre frame

Jemima and Daffy, again.

Drumnadrochit away from sight now, a milestone passed.

The bouldered, rocky pier at Inverfairigaig welcomed us to Loch Ness's eastern shore and the steep and unrelenting road walk up to Aultnagoire lay before us. Some would walk on, past the croft. I would not. I had booked to camp in the grounds and take a dinner and breakfast with the Sutherlands. As I was soon to discover, I wasn't to be alone. It was here I met more folk who would become friends. It was here that I met with wonderful hospitality. Tea and Cake in seemingly unlimited supply was thrust upon us as we passed through the door.

Mick, Alan, David P, Andy - Mick, Gayle, Shap, Byron behind - I think

The trickle of challengers became a stream once Morag had returned. Those whom I can remember are:

• Sandy and Carol – a lovelier couple it would be difficult to meet
• Bryan Waddington – a fellow first-timer
• John Jocys – a challenge regular (later to provide much entertainment)
• Louise Evans – a challenge trembler (and a lovely, lovely individual)
• Mike, Alan & Andy – a band of three very likeable Scots
• Denis Pidgeon – another challenge regular, with tennents in hand
• Shap McDonnell – a hiking man with the best smile I have seen
• David Pickles – diamond bobby off Dartmoor
• David Wishart – chatty, friendly and funny comrade from the North-east (of England)
• Byron (insert surname here)
• Keith (insert surname here)
• Andy Howell – I didn't get the change to speak to Andy here, but later I would
• Biaggio Pellegrini and his pal Piedro
• Koos Schellevis - all friendly in that very Dutch kind of way
• Mick and Gayle – expert producers of fine, dehydrated fayre and purveyors of great walking wisdom
• FINALLY - The Sutherlands – our hosts
  • Mrs Janet
  • Mr Alex
  • Miss X (I'm a little ashamed to have forgotten the Sutherlands' daughter's name – she was lovely).

There were more, I know it. I just cannot remember everyone.

We ate our fill, and although the conversation wasn't lively it was interesting and friendly. More and more food was offered and we even managed to squirrel some over to Bryan. He was so well behaved sat in the corner of the dining room. He deserved something!

My notes of this evening are so scant I am a bit annoyed – my memories are faded too. I know I had a nice evening. I chatted, but exactly to whom, and precisely about what I can't recall. The midges arrived, not in great number, but they arrived. I retired to my tent dreaming of breakfast and the Monadhliath.

TGO Challenge 2012 - Culligran to Cannich

So, where was I?  That's right.  I was in a wonderful deep slumber at just before midnight after a great day's glen walking through Strathfarrar.  The bastard tick-hosts lovely sheep were quietly baa-ing in the glen - I presume this, because I was in a wonderful deep slumber.  Then I am gently woken by THE VIOLENT SHAKING OF MY TENT.

Torchlights beaming through the fabric from two directions and people seeming desperate to get into my tent.  I was petrified. "POLICE, DON'T PANIC!!" It was a bit bloody late for that.

I was unbespectacled (that's my word and I am sticking to it) at the time, so furiously struggling and stammering I fought blind in my tent looking for my glasses.  In any normal situation my heart would not be leaping out of my chest, and I would simply roll to one side, pick up my specs and slip them on my face.  I managed to restore my vision, and now had to open three zips, with adrenaline corrupting my every movement, it took a while.  Throughout my battle with YKK (not KY, I promise) the invaders keepers of the peace continued to reassure me not to panic, and began explaining their mission.  I calmed slightly, and the zips began to cooperate.  Onesuch = open.   "Forgive me, but I am a bit startled" I offered.  Twosuch = Open.  "Where's the door?"  Says PC No.1.  "It's here" I replied, helpfully.  Threesuch = open.

I was then confronted by PC No. 1 & PC No. 2.  Both of whom began to tell me their mission - it was a quiet day in Highland policing - simultaneously.  "We're looking for a missing person.  A woman, aged 53, from Inverie.  She's doing a challenge."  They stopped their mission statement, allowing a reply "What?  The TGO Challenge?" My turn for questions.  "Yes" they became excited.  "Where did she start?  "What's her name?" I continued the interrogation.  "Strathcarron, we don't know her name" PC No.1 responds to my techniques. "We've got problems with the radio, we haven't got all of the information.  She was supposed to arrive at the Struy Inn before nightfall, but hasn't made it". He's spilling the beans now, I've got him where I want him.

"OK, she started at Strathcarron, is a lady, aged 53 from Inverie.  I started there too.  There's only one lady starting solo that fits the bill, and I think I know who it is you are looking for.  I can't be 100% sure about it but I definitely haven't seen her."  I put the evidence together, and have a hunch.  "She's come the same way as me, more or less". My guess is that she started late, or became waylaid.  She's done the challenge before, so running late is not really a cause for concern.  "I'm sure she is OK - other challengers will have been with her at times today and she must have camped up the glen.  We all have camping kit."  I had this case nailed.

PC's No.1 & No.2 begin to agree and by now are sure that a drive up the Glen will find her safe and well, having a brew or snoozing.  I guessed too, that Challenge Control would not have alerted the authorities just yet.  "I hope whoever called you guys isn't too worried, she'll be right as rain".  The rozzers beat a retreat to their car, waving their searchlights about before hopping into their get-away vehicle and driving up the glen.

They passed by again, down the glen a couple of hours later, still casting their lights about.  I know this because I slept very lightly thereafter, I am still not sure why.

When I had finally, properly woken at 4am, I lazily began packing my gear after emptying my bowels in Mr Ostentatious's lovely glen.  I was on the road to Cannich, via Struy by 6am.  The bad weather that had been forecast (torrential rain, gusts to 115mph etc) had convinced me to alter my plans to camp up on Eskdale Moor in favour of a camping spot at Cannich.  It was "Stormy Sunday" or whatever the rest of the TGOC community chose to call it.  

For me, a lazy, dryish still walk along the road to Cannich was interrupted only once.  At Struy, not far from the Inn, I watched as a couple got into their 4x4 in the distance.  They came up the road towards me.  Two yellow kayaks were packed neatly on the roof bars.  As it drew nearer, the vehicle slowed.  I readied myself with a smile.  I am nice like that.  Before the vehicle came to a halt, the passenger window was dropped, and out popped a head "Carl?".   HUH?  What?  I'm in the middle of a tiny little village, nay hamlet in the Highlands, to whence I ne'er have been before.  I strange vehicle pulls up and the passenger knows my name.  "Was it you that the police woke up at midnight last night?"  The missing walker, who shall remain nameless in my posts, was no longer missing. "Yes" I smiled wider.  "I am so sorry, they were looking for me" said the runaway.  "No problem, I am glad you are safe.  Were you on the drag?" "Yes" was the reply.

"Thought so.  As long as you are OK".  The challenger passed on some info of the route she had ahead of her before closing the window.  The 4x4 pulled away.  

The road from Struy to Cannich

A font/well (DRY) by the road from Struy to Cannich

The sign, welcoming me to Cannich, on the road from Struy to Cannich.

I reached Cannich campsite to a very warm welcome from the owner, who's name I cannot remember, at around 10am.  My walking was done for the day, and I was a little footsore from the road.  I was urged to bring my pack inside the warm café and I plugged my phone in for a bit of a power boost.  I ordered a pot of tea, and then another, followed by a large, big, huge breakfast.  It was then that the rain began.  10:20h.

It continued to rain, and challengers continued to arrive in reasonable number.  Dave Wishart, Dave Pickles, Shap McDonnell, Bryan Waddington, Koos (from Holland), Colin (?), Byron, I know there were more than this, but my memory and notes fail me here.  I loitered and chatted to many folk, notably Bryan W - who I was not due to meet until possibly Tarfside for a beer - and was delighted to see him.  He was too, and we shared a manly hug as though we'd been pals for years.  In reality, we had never met before.  Bryan is a top chap and you should all get over to www.secretmountain.co.uk for his hikes and related natter, and I think www.bryanwaddington.co.uk for his really nice images.  He takes a good picture does our Bryan.

So, the day passed with much socialising and I took a stroll to the Slaters Arms for a beer on me tod.  Dave Wishart joined me just as Man City won the league in a tense, last minute finish - I think (not really a footie follower, me).  Challengers - Peter & Ursula - came into the pub (it was still tipping it down, by the way) and asked if we wanted to join them at their table when they ate.  I was going to eat something soon, so I obliged, and Dave opted for the wander back to the campsite, via the other pub/hotel whose name escapes me.

A smashing couple are Peter and Ursula and I shared the tale of two coppers with them as we ate.  Koos joined us too, having met P & U some challenges previously.  Koos had a fine alternative to my road walk into Drumnadrochit, so I stored it in my beer soaked memory bank, hoping that I could retrieve the detail in the morning.  

I looked outside, and at around 20:15h after more or less ten hours of constant heavy rain, the skies began to brighten.  My coat and I had dried completely in the few hours I had spent at the pub.  I left my company to their conversations and reminiscences and slipped outside for the stroll home to my tent.  

On the return, the huge puddles were being disturbed by a strengthening wind.  I'd ensconced myself in my tent by 9pm and hoped my pitch in the trees didn't spell out the end for me.  

Cosy in here.

Looks like a nice spot.  

One or two challengers arrived.

Being in bed by 9pm I knew I would be setting off early in the morning.  I popped in my earplugs and wallowed smugly at my altered route.  The storm-force winds continued to strengthen above the campsite, but the camping ground itself, remained well sheltered.  I drifted off to sleep - on cloud 9.

TGO Challenge 2012 - Allt Riabhachain to Culligran

Having woken to a fine(ish) day with sunshine and clouds, and having agreed with Tony that we would aim for a 0800h depart from our spot, I made the effort to get my gear packed up.  I glanced over my shoulder every now and again to checking for the morning flight of those Eagles.  I guess they were having a lay in.



Tony was on form and ready well before me, so I made apologetic comments for my tardiness and Tony began walking around to the bealach as per our new anti-snow route.  Eddie and his son, Alistair were making their way up the Allt Riabhachain and had reached me by the time I was ready to get moving.  We swapped route details for the day and we were all heading in the same direction so began tearing up the bogs enroute to the bealach. 

Eddie is a MASSIVE fan of bog-trotting.  Alistair is completely honest when describing the day's route to his dad.  He never understates the terrain, nor distance, nor the amount of bog-trotting involved - never, ever!  Eddie was very pleased his son had talked him into walking across Scotland.

In spite of the bog-trotting, I found that the going was actually quite good.  We each picked our way - via the line of least resistance - around to the bealach.  We crossed footsteps with Tony again who pointed out that the Sun was smack, bang over our target. Alistair and Eddie sloped off for a breather in the sunshine, whilst Tony and I hunted out and located the track into Glen Strathfarrar.  It was a good one.


For more info on Glen Strathfarrar, have a click here.


Huge, ancient glacial scars laid out the history of the Glen, drumlins all about - natural spoil-heaps from another climate-change event in Earth's past.  Glen Strathfarrar is splendid.  Spoiled a little by the power station and its associated water controls, but still adequately splendid.  A good road underfoot, steep and most gorgeous (in the literal sense) in many places.  Tiger Beetles scuttled.  The loveliness of the day was becoming a little too much to bear, so we lingered at one of the many concrete structures and I popped off my shoes to dry my socks for a while. 

Tony, in Glen Strathfarrar - glacial scars above and to the left of shot.

Fantastic volcanic rocks high up the Glen

Lovely, lovely Glen Strathfarrar

 The father and son (enter Cat Stevens earworm) team arrived and I broke out the chocolate for a bit of bring and share.  I had plenty - 500g to be precise, fine Lindt and Sprungli tableted stuff - assorted flavours, of course.

Further down the Glen we would meet Eddie and Alistair again, by a closed bridge.  Tony and I took a glance, and the sign more than hinted that crossing might be ill-advised.  We chose to ford, and each picked a spot to wade.  Knee-deep was as bad as it got, and quite powerful was the force of the Farrar at this point.  Still, it was preferable to a 15 foot plunge through splintering timber.  

A sideburn.  ;-)

Tony was heading into Cannich via the Allt Innis na Lárach - a Scottish Hill track which looked infinitely more attractive on the ground than on the map.  It was barely lunchtime and I was already at my intended stop for that evening.  I felt fine, not at all tired, and hit the road again pausing often to suck up the views.  I wondered if I would make a spot I had clocked on the map further down the Glen by Culligran wood.  It would mean a bigger day than planned - but looked like it might be a great pitch.  

The spot I chose, and lived to regret, for so many reasons - and none to do with the grumpy looking weather.

The bothy just up the Glen from my new overnight halt was locked and therefore ruled out.  I found my spot: flat, clean(ish), dry, slightly exposed.  No sheep, but there were signs of grazing.  There was water close-by (in the form of the River Farrar) and a good supply of twigs and organic matter to burn in my little wood-stove.  The weather was still fine.  I pitched, and began collecting water & wood.  I was within sight of the Glen track, but as this was no more than a well-metalled land rover track I had decided it was OK.  I would find out about that soon enough.


Very soon, in fact.


A Peugeot weekend-type vehicle came along the track, heading out of the Glen.  I was walking toward it at the time.  It stopped.  The passenger window wound down.  "Are you camping there?"  


Given that my tent was pitched, and I was walking away from it to get water and fuel, I resisted the urge to be sarcastic.  I didn't fancy tarnishing the reputation of the Challenge on my second day.  "Yes" I replied.  Silence, and then "Are you moving on tomorrow?".  "Yes" I added - I knew what was coming.  "You see, there's no camping in the Glen".  "Oh" I said, pitifully.  "Where have you come from?".  I explained my route, and the crossing I was making.  "This is my land, you see?"  said the man.  "Best part of 20 miles by 5 miles of Glen and I can't use 6 bastard feet of it" was my desired response.  What came out of my mouth was more like "I am quite happy to move on, if you prefer".  
"Well you have chosen a very exposed spot, haven't you?".  The driver then spoke "the forecast is terrible for this evening.  Rain and winds".  I had a good pitch, plenty of guying, and the Moment was tight as you like. "The tent will take it" I hoped.  "Would you prefer it if I moved on, or maybe moved the tent into the trees?".  Silence, again.  "You won't have seen the signs if you've come in from Strathcarron".  My turn for silence - what fucking signs?  This was getting tiresome.  One more chance, I thought.  "I am more than happy to move on".  I wasn't.  The last thing I wanted though, was ill-feeling and grumpiness.  "No, no" he paused thoughtfully "if you are happy, then I am happy".  I smiled "Thank you" and promptly aborted my errand.  I swore aloud - many, very nasty swear-words as the knobber laird buggered orf down the Glen.  


Later I managed to get enough signal for the next few day's weather forecast, and it looked a bit iffy.  50-80mph windspeeds gusting above 100mph and a lot of rain.  The Eskdale Triangle was out for tomorrow's camp - decided.


A meal and a sip or two of malt followed by the systematic (and mildly panicked) removal of just under a dozen embedded ticks from my person - plus a couple of dozen more from my groundsheet and sleeping mat had me zipping in tightly for the night.  Quickly I dropped off into a lovely, warm, deep and contented sleep.  


What happened next I was planning for, but it will have to wait for the next post.

TGO Challenge 2012 - Strathcarron to Allt Riabhachain

So here it is, the culmination of nearly two years of hopeful impatience, planning, fretting, whittling and blogging.  I finally, actually, really set off on my first coast to coast crossing of Scotland on the RAB TGO Challenge.  This is my report....


Day 1 - Strathcarron Hotel to Allt Riabhachain (above Pait Lodge) 0900h start


I had a worried, and nervously tense breakfast at the hotel.  Despite the nice people I leapfrogged along the first ascents, I really wanted to start alone.  With that in mind, I really ought not have picked Strathcarron as more than thirty challengers were due to set off from there and most of those were to do so on the Friday morning.  I need not have worried as I pushed a little bit harder than I originally intended to get a bit of distance between me and the small groups before settling into my normal pace.  I had forgotten to set a start beacon with Viewranger, and had lost signal by the time I remembered.

Somewhere in the hills above Strathcarron

I bounced along, a little uncertain of the exact placement on my thin blue line, but the compass had me going East South-east and there was a track, so I could care less.  The larger terrain around me was exactly as the map in my mind recalled, and the wilderness began to suck me in.  A Raven flew over head, kronking - a start claxon maybe?


The Lochs - nan Chreada and an Fheóir gave me a gigantic sense of presence in what seemed a tiny world of oceans, islands and peninsula.  I could have spent hours up there, within just a square mile of landscape - one day I fancy doing just that.  I peered down into the deep, water carved valley of Eas Ban as it swept up to meet me and this confirmed my position, and by just after 11am I had been visited by the first Cuckoo of the trip.  In hot pursuit, a Meadow Pipit - intent on seeing off the parasitic monster bird following its unceremonious plopping of it's oversized egg in the little one's nest.


Bendronaig Lodge, or rather Lodges - a First-class (locked) shooting lodge plus its smaller, Steerage-class (unlocked) sibling - offered my first taste of shelter.  The Steerage option was fine, if typically dirty.  I positioned my (wet) self in the unusually bright 'kitchen' area where I made a snack and a couple of brews.  I hadn't really noticed it was raining, but my drippyness brought me to my senses, as did the bedraggled appearance of my followers.  A while had passed before I was joined by any of my co-starters.  Maybe I was rushing things, but I was happy.

Bendronaig Lodge, above and left of centre

Eddy, and his son, Alistair were the first to arrive and set up their fayre in one of the side rooms.  Others came in, among them were Mike, Alan & Andy - three Scots, Colin - a solo Scot, David, Heather and Sue - a terrific Challenge trio who I had met the day before at Inverness.  Tony Bennett got a brew going in the main room, nearest to me.  Conversation was scant, and a little forced.  David A took a few photos, as I recall.


The flushing bothy toilet proved too much of a pull for one of the trio so off she popped for a bucket of water before diving in, so to speak.  We closed our ears and later she emerged smiling and giggling, but only after exit from the WC was permitted by the lifting of the loo seat.  With the seat in the down position, exit was impossible.


Gradually and at a similar rate to their arrival, the comrades left the bothy and I  too eschewed myself from the Lodge into the weather.  Loch Calavie passed me by and many kinds of weather made busy as I trampled along the path by it's side - a diver was snorkelling in the shallows.


I lost the path-cum-land rover track somewhere above An Gead Loch on the way to Pait Lodge.  The path appeared clear on mapping and aerial photograph alike.  In reality it was not.  In spite of this, the going was good but it was a lot slower.  I felt a might self-conscious, as most of the folk behind were now above me.  I assumed they were on the path and could clearly see my off-piste bog-trotting antics.  Oh, well.


The visibility was excellent, and the weather improving, so navigation to my goal was not a problem.  I set about my plan to find a spot to camp by the shores of Loch Monar, out of sight of the lodge itself and to it's North north-west.  I felt a tad lonely, and pined for a little company.  I headed directly to the lodge avoiding the barking canines and circumnavigated the lodge rather than heading through the grounds.  Those of you that have been in the area will know the state of the ground to the immediate North of the lodge.  It is rough, and at the end of the day, the myriad peat hags were a sting in the tail of what, for me, had been a long and really great day in the depths of the North-western Highlands.

Rainbow, and improving weather over Loch Monar

The sun broke through for the final throes of the day and I splodged myself down on a rock just above the lodge.  Here I waited to be joined by another challenger, or group thereof.  I was grateful when I saw Tony Bennett coming around the lodge looking dog-tired, just as I felt.  We rested briefly here, and both agreed that a tramp up the Allt Riabhachain would be most wise in terms of finding a good spot to make camp.  We were right.  A fine, if slightly moist spot was located without too much fuss, and as we became established two Golden Eagles performed for us above Meallan Bhuidhe.


I took a few photos of my first camp of the challenge.  I should probably point out that I used a mobile phone as my camera.  I left the memory card for my compact camera at home in Suffolk, so the camera itself was dead weight for the next hundred miles until I lost it somewhere between Feshie and Braemar.

My house is to the left, and Tony's to the right

Meallan Buidhe - snowcapped, behind our camp

The Allt Riabhachain

Tony and I discussed our route for the next day, and I decided to adjust my intended route (over Meallan Buidhe) to go around to the beallach between it, and Meallan Odhar.  I was glad to have Tony nearby for my first TGO camp.  I was a touch homesick, and his company was most welcome.