TGO Challenge 2012 - Ruigh Aiteachain to Mar Lodge

It feels like only yesterday that l was writing Day 7. It wasn't. It was months ago!  Nevertheless, here is Day 8.

Waking up early in my usual 'get the day started before it's started' fashion, I crept about the bothy with great stealth.  In doing so I managed to wake up both Grant and Tim from their deep and snoring slumber.

I gathered my kit together, brushed the powdery whitewash from my quilt, and packed my bag. Outside, it was beginning to snow. Just lightly but the wind was coming down the glen. I, was travelling UP the glen.  As I filled my water bottle from the tiny burn above the bothy I surveyed the scene.  Ruigh Aiteachain's curtilage was strewn with temporary shelters and resembled some sort of refugee camp. Looking further into Glen Feshie there were more tents, some by the trail, others tucked in behind a pine or some grassy knoll. 30 plus, maybe?

Stepping down, I bumped into Stickman who was just beginning his morning routine.  We chatted for a moment and Lynsey joined us having surfaced from her tent so we chatted some more.

I had earmarked a spot just past White Bridge to aim for that evening, I could see the weather was a bit grim so I bade farewell to my friends and set off.

Upper Glen Feshie

Upper Glen Feshie

Upper Glen Feshie

I passed a few landslides as the path rose above the Glen floor and imagined myself passing just at the moment they occurred.  The sound deafening, and if too close, I would doubtless be drawn down with the shifting rocks and soil.  I would almost certainly not survive the ordeal.  Oddly, my pace (and heart rate) quickened as I passed each of the scenes of destruction where huge, mature pines had been relocated by a hundred metres or more.

Landslide!

Landslide!

Waterfall - obviously.

I walked alone for most of the first hour or so and the glen was piled with atmosphere, . The paths in the uppermost part of the glen were largely thick and wet black peat, which made the going quite tough.  The challenge to stay upright was, interesting.  During one of the moments I did have a companion, I slipped and slammed into the ground.  Thankfully the impact was softened by the heather and mosses and I escaped without physical injury.  My pride, however, was not totally unscathed.

I walked with these chaps for a short while, and my memory fails me as far as their names are concerned.  Folks, if you recognise yourself in these pictures, I'm sorry - please introduce yourself again in the comments.

Eidart Bridge

Eidart Bridge

Eidart Bridge and the innominate gentlemen

Jim Davidson, where the Glen begins to top out.

Right about where the River Feshie bends away to the south at the top of the glen the surroundings become much more like Pennine moorland - featureless at close quarters. It was here that I became strangely disorientated and lost confidence in my position.  Checking the map confirmed where I was and I set a bearing which pointed directly along the trail I was following at the time.  Nevertheless I didn't believe it was right and the irrational diminution of my confidence continued.  

I didn't like it, and felt very uneasy.

I stopped to scrutinise the facts offered by the landranger, compass, and the surrounding terrain. Everything added up, yet I was still unsure.  I pulled out my 'phone and fired up the mapping application. The GPS got a fix straight away and confirmed what I should have already known - I was right all along. To this day I still can't put my finger on what was going on in my head.

I reached White Bridge and dismissed it as a spot to camp. It was most uninviting, and I wasn't in the best frame of mind.  I already had my spot planned out in my head and kept plodding along.  As I reached my self-allocated pitch I still wasn't happy.  I made the decision to get as far as Mar Lodge.  I wanted company this evening.

As I descended the weather improved.  The Linn of Dee was just a few minutes walk now and memories of a holiday with Mrs M came bursting into my head. It was on that holiday that Linda and I had taken a walk up Lui Water to the Salmon ladder, I spent a good while taking film on my video camera that day, and found a huge Wood Ant hill and took a long time studying their movements around the colony.  As these memories forced their way to the front of my mind my mood changed and I became elated.  The sunshine began to poke it's way through the cloud and I practically skipped past the little signs that the Mar Lodge Estate had put up welcoming us TGO Challengers for refreshments.

Many of you will know Mar Lodge.  For those who do not, this place seems to fit in, where so many other huge shooting lodges do not when it comes to the Scottish Glens.  I am thinking of Coignafearn as an example, which juts out like a boil on a maiden's face on the Findhorn.  Mar Lodge is partially concealed by the trees at the bottom of the glen and for me, it works.  

The ballroom, Mar Lodge

Mar Lodge

I arrived at Mar Lodge and was directed to the Gun Room where all the lovely refreshments of Tea, Coffee, Soup, Rolls and the promise of a nice grassy pitch was offered.  I gladly accepted all of the above and went out to pitch my tent.

The Gun Room, Mar Lodge (Lynsey, Gayle, Mick, Jim D & others)

The Gun Room, Mar Lodge (Colin, behatted)

It was whilst I was waiting for my refreshments I was offered the chance to sleep in the ballroom at Mar Lodge, I had declined the offer initially, having pitched my tent, but was urged to take a look.

The Mar Lodge Ballroom

The Mar Lodge Ballroom

The Mar Lodge Ballroom

I accepted.

I also accepted a three course dinner (with a bottle of red), use of the shower facilities and more tea, which Mick Blackburn (of Mick and Gayle origin) willingly coordinated for us all.  For those of you who have yet to meet Mick and Gayle, you are missing out.  They are truly great, and warm people.  If if you are looking for a backpacking story, they'll not disappoint.  Lovely, lovely couple.  

We sat at our table in the kitchen by the Gun Room and dined like monarchs (albeit not quite in the same robes).

Terry Leyland, and Alan (surname TBC)

Jim Davidson, and Willem Fox, the smashing chap in the middle's name escapes me - help anyone?  Please.

Mick, Gayle, My seat, Chris, and a lovely lady whose name also escapes me.  This is getting embarrassing 

After dinner, we chatted, and finished our beers, wines, etc by the fire in the Gun Room. Dozens of folk passed through that evening and I retired to the Ballroom where sleeping bags we laid out battalion fashion on the floors.  This took me by surprise as my kit was the only stuff laid out when I had left it.

I lay there, stuffed, drunk and satisfied.  Thinking of what had passed, what was to come, and before long I was fast asleep.  

Just 5 miles tomorrow - into Braemar.

TGO Challenge 2012- Kincraig to Ruigh Aiteachain (Glen Feshie)

Like she (Louise) says, I am 'on a roll'.

So, here we have Day 7.

Waking up was not hard to do given that I had had a fantastic night's sleep.  I peeled back the covers of my snug bed and practically leapt to the window for a weather forecast.  It was grim.  The sky was white and cold, and light scattering of snow covered the lawns.
Val had suggested that Ruigh Aiteachain might be busy so I had it in my mind that I might have to push on up the glen to find a spot to pitch.  It might even be wise to make for White Bridge which seemed a long way.  I decided to take stock once reaching the bothy.

But! I had been offered BREAKFAST!

So why would I be rushing to get out into the weather? 

A selection of cereals, toast, fruit, yoghurt, well you name it. Fresh coffee or tea, fruit juice.  You get the picture. I dove in.  We chatted more as a cheeky Willow Warbler piped away outside the French doors.  We covered topics a plenty and mostly my contribution was utter gratefulness, and most deserved it was.

After packing and repacking my bag several times, delaying the harsh reality of the task that lay ahead, I pushed myself through the door and out into the world.  It was cold and wet and a keen wind was blowing from the North-east.  There was a bit of wet on the wind too.  Any complacency instantly diminished to nothing as I made my way lazily through the roads toward Feshiebridge where I stopped at the little store for some supplies. I was delaying again.

Things had improved weather-wise and as I emerged in to the lower reaches of Glen Feshie so did my surroundings.  The lichen-covered bark of the many trees that line the lane into the glen held me for a while.  I took a few photos before moving on. 

I took a lichen to this lichen.

I practically bounced up the glen and en route I bumped into another challenger, Martin Angel.  He too was a first timer so we shared our tales of preparation and of how we came to be on TGOC in the first place.  I noticed that Martin was sporting an enormous stick (please don't read this aloud, that last observation won't come across in the same way).  He had lost his poles or had left them behind and had enlisted the help of his enormous stick in the early part of his challenge but since buying some replacement poles for a tenner, he couldn't bare to leave his stick behind.  Who was I to argue?

Martin had earmarked a small structure in the glen as his first brew stop.  I chose to plod on up the glen and meet him again at Ruigh Aiteachain.  I bounced through the firmer bits and slipped through the softer bits passing and being passed as I wended my way to my bothy.  I had decided to stop inside if there was space.

As I neared R.A. I felt an overwhelming presence of someone following me.  I turned and almost screamed.  A pony, nay, two or more had crept up on me without my realising and the largest was practically breathing down my neck.  I stretched my hand out, fingers pointing downward and nuzzled my knuckles against the soft and velvety skin between it's nostrils for a tiny moment before walking on with my new friend in tow for a couple of hundred yards or so.  As l entered the trees that hid the bothy from view my pal issued a long-faced stare before turning back to the grazing area where we first met.

Glen Feshie Ponies

Ruigh Aitecheachachainaechain Bothy

My commandeered platform (which I did not use)

I wasn't sure whether this was a good sign, or not.

The 'Front Room'

The Back(side) Room

Tent 'Hamlet'

Ruigh Aiteachain empty as I arrived, as I recall.  Or maybe just one or two were inside.  I unravelled my quilt onto one of the bunks and set about making a brew.  A lot of challengers came into the bothy. Some stayed, others moved on.  I tried to keep note of all who stopped, if only briefly. 

They were:

Martin Angel
Gordon Green
Frederic (and his festering feet)
Gordon Scott
Bill Howden
Stevie O'Hara (the fire starter)
Lynsey Pooler (who looked like she had been hugging a peat hag - I found out later that was exactly what had happened)
Ken & Nina
Eric & another person (sorry)
Russ Mannion & Herman
Sandy & Carol
Malcolm
Croydon & Morpeth
John
Tim
Emma Warbrick (Who had us in stitches when she poked her head through the door and said "This looks nice, I'll come back in when I have taken my trousers off")
Kate
Stan
Ian
Grant (with a huge bag of logs atop his pack)
Tony
Rosie & Richard (I've written 'The Honey Monsters' in my notebook, gawd only knows why - please elaborate if you know the story because I can't remember)
Chris

So there we have it. The fire roared, the boots amassed a huge gathering by the fire and many a tale was shared.  I made some pals that fine evening.

Feshie Fireside Footwear Fetish

Stevie O'Hara and Sandy

Martin Angel, Gordon Green, and my now good pal,  Lynsey Pooler.

View from the water spout

Whisky was shared and feet were dressed. Meals were cooked and fingers burnt.  I promised myself an early start in the morning but the fact I had elected to stay inside made for a late night. I didn't care.  I wanted at least one bothy night on my crossing and this was it.  I even had a little bit of home with me, my wife lit up my life from afar.

PartyLite Tealights, courtesy of the wonderful and lovely Mrs M

I would not have missed it for the world.

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.