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.