Neil's Cape Wrath Trail (Scotland)'s 2006
Thursday, April 13, 2006
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So what follows? |
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Good question and if truth be told I'm not exactly sure. I keep a journal for me but I have undoubtedly written this with a view to it being a resource to anybody who might be thinking about heading off from Fort William with the goal of reaching Cape Wrath. For that reason its not always the most scintillating read and can be a bit 'and then', 'and then' at times. I try to excuse this by convincing myself that that was necessary so the reader may be able to follow the route, might have some idea of the conditions along the way, might know where I found good camping, appreciate those parts of the route I found particularly rewarding and those less so. Make of it what you will, its all an honest representation of my trip but may not be what you find or experience. It’s offered with an open hand and please excuse me my more pretentious moments.
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Friday, April 14, 2006 |
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Destination: Allt Dubh (by Glas Bheinn) |
Today's Miles: 16.50 |
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I was up early to catch the train to Inverness and then the bus to Fort William. Arriving in town I didn't plan to hang around long and after completing a couple of last minute chores I was off on my way. Some unavoidable and unremarkable miles through town brought me to the Caledonian Canal where the tow path made for easy walking but, along with a heavy pack, it was hard on the old feet and so I stopped by the swing bridge at Moy to rest, apply some preventative plasters and eat the first Ginger Nut of my trip. I passed an excellent camp spot by the canal but it was still early so instead I continued on through some forest to the edge of Loch Lochy where I took the opportunity to rest by the banks of the loch and enjoy a rainbow to the north, snow capped mountains to the south and the peace and quiet all around me. On the move again the path to Achnacarry turned wet and muddy and even though I suspected wet feet would be unavoidable on this trip I couldn't help but try and pick my way through the worst of it. Achnacarry itself appeared to be Clan Cameron country with both a 'Cameron's Museum' and an impressive country house flying what I assumed to be the Cameron standard. As an introduction this had all been very nice but it was time to turn my attention to the northern skyline, heading off cross country to the first real climb of the trip up to Bealach Carn na h-Urchaire. I sussed out the tops of the hills that stood on either side of the bealach (Glas Bheinn and Bheinn Mheadhoin) and identified a river that I intended to follow up to the pass. The map showed a path but I’m fairly sceptical about the likelihood of the paths marked on the maps corresponding to actual paths on the ground and so I wasn’t too concerned when the path petered out soon after I started off up the hill. I continued happily, following the river, enjoying the early evening and getting lost. Not lost as in not having a clue where I was, it would have been simple enough to return to the loch, but lost as in not knowing where I was in sufficient detail to be sure that I would carry on in the right direction. I had decided not to take a GPS despite my limited navigational experience, instead deciding to place my faith in map and compass - I was beginning to start to question the wisdom of that particular decision. Time was wearing on and reluctantly I passed by a number of good campsites. I didn't want to stop until I knew where I was, as if I stopped now and woke tomorrow to find the tops in cloud then navigation could prove somewhat troublesome (always best to know where you are starting out from in such situations, or so I have found). I plodded on up the hillside sticking close to the stream that I had decided to follow but by now it was leading me further and further east when I really wanted to be heading more and more west. I took a bearing back to Beinn Bhan but when that didn’t tell me what I expected I chose to doubt my ‘technique’ and ignored it. Help was at hand though. Ascending further the stream died out and it was obvious that I’d been following the wrong stream all along. I contoured west and after a bit of a yomp I eventually came to another stream, this one with a clear path following it up the hillside. It was 8:00pm and I was happy (and relieved) to finally know where I was. I pitched up by the stream and rustled up a dinner of cheese tortillas - not because I was particularly hungry but more in the knowledge that it would lighten my load for the days ahead. It had been a tough day but a good one too. I had the sore feet, shoulders and hips that often go hand in hand with first days but on the other hand the skies had generally been blue and the temperatures generally pleasant. I wasn't thinking about much of that though as I settled down for the night. I was thinking about my navigational difficulties and about my ability (or lack of it) to make it all the way across 200 odd miles of the North West of Scotland. I had the feeling that I wouldn’t sleep too well and I was somewhat apprehensive about what might lie ahead. |
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Saturday, April 15, 2006 |
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Destination: Allt Giubhais (in Glen Loyne) |
Today's Miles: 12.00 |
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I slept well last night, waking only occasionally to hear the on/off patter of some light rain and to zip up my sleeping bag as temperatures fell from cool to cold. I was still quite a bit from the top of the climb and it was a bit of a struggle with my full pack. Leaving Glas Bhein behind I encountered the first of today’s deer before heading between snow capped Geal Charn and Meall Coire nan Saobhaidh. Over the top of the bealach, at a little over 2000ft, patches of snow clung to north facing hollows and I descended only a short distance before stopping to rest on my pack and admire the view ahead. The weather wasn’t particularly conducive to sitting around though as the early morning cloud had indeed caught up with me and unfortunately taken with it the day's early warmth. The ground was awash with water and it was a slow and, at times, tiresome walk down into the valley. Any attempt to find a dry(ish) route proved futile and I was soon left with a pair of decidedly soggy feet. Eventually though I reached the path that I was aiming for and stopped in the lee of a small wall to eat lunch. The path led down through some woods, where astonishingly it seemed even wetter than it had been on the hills. Crossing the bridge over the River Garry I came to a pleasant, near derelict, road and I enjoyed the stroll ,with no bog or puddles, just great views along the river and of the snow capped mountains rising from the greens and browns of the valley. Turning off the road I came to a sign warning me to: Again I took time to match the skyline ahead to the contours on the map and to clearly identify my route before I began the uneventful plod to the crest of the hill punctuated only by the occasional and rewarding look back along the Glen. As I come over the top Glen Loyne spread out before me with the loch to the right and the river stretching off west. From up here the river looked wide and with no bridge to be seen I wondered what the ford would be like. From what I could see there was next to no sign of mans' influence in the valley, just a faint scar above the northern shore of the loch that I presumed was the old road to Cluanie. The walk down to the river continued to be boggy underfoot and when it started to rain I fretted over what half flat, half sodden piece of marshland I might have to call home tonight. Before starting this trip I had pictured mile after mile of glorious, untouched, pasture like land that would be my home but the reality was starting to look somewhat different. The path arced down to the river where the ford despite being broad proved shallow but extremely cold. The rain had dissuaded me from switching over to the next map and I was, therefore, blissfully unaware that I was soon to overshoot my intended route. I couldn't have planned it better though, stumbling on an excellent camp spot (flat,soft and dry) about 200 yards from the loch. Setting up camp I soaked up the views - the brown and copper colours of the glen, the snow capped peaks forming the valley, the loch to the west. Despite the rain I was content behind my boulder munching my evening meal. Settling down for the night it was time for some more reflection. |
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Sunday, April 16, 2006 |
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Destination: Allt Coire Easaich (by Carnach) |
Today's Miles: 18.50 |
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Last night's museings on isolation had left me nervous about the rain, the lack of shelter and about just how important it will be to look after my gear. I spent last night either listening to the gentle patter of the rain or straining at its eery absence and although its still April it was cold which made me particularly happy that I had taken my 4 season sleeping bag. With all this going on I was delighted to wake to a dry, if overcast and misty day although my joy was tempered somewhat by having to put back on my wet socks and shoes. Stepping outside I got the chance to bask in the very isolation that was causing me such concern. The stark beauty of the glen, the sounds, the crisp air. It was the type of day you could describe as bleak but also as pretty. Pretty in the way that dreich, overcast, grey mornings can be - trust me. The views back down Glen Loyne were absolutely fabulous as I climbed the hillside to meet the track leading west towards the Cluanie Inn. I hadn’t eaten at camp, instead hoping to find a nice spot for breakfast not too far along the trail and reaching the track it seemed I had found that very spot. The wind was whipping up though and with no real shelter I didn’t tarry long once I had finished my pop tart, instead giving in to the inevitable and reluctantly hoisting my pack and turning my back to Glen Loyne. The track turned out to be a good ‘metalled’ affair, pleasing me no end as it made for easy and relaxing walking. Turning north around Creag Mhaim I laughed out loud. From here I could look east along Loch Cluanie where sunlight battled to pierce the gloom, ahead to the snow cloaked ridge of Aonach Meadhoin and west along Glen Shiel. Truly an embarrassment of riches. I noticed the peace and quiet and although it had been like this for much of the last two days this was the first time that I had become so consciously aware of it. Of the near 'nothingness'. Around 9:30 I set off up An Caorann Mor for the 6 miles to Glen Affric and the Alltbeithe Youth Hostel. The valley made for easy navigation and I measured my progress against the changing profiles of Am Bathach and the even more impressive Ciste Dhubh. The well made track ended a couple of miles up the valley and from then on things became rather less agreeable as conditions underfoot grew increasingly sodden and slippery. Rounding Ciste Dhubh, the Allt Cam-ban came into view as it ran along Fionngleann and I stopped to consult the map. I looked up absentmindedly and was shocked to find myself confronted with another picture perfect view. Its amazing that, lost in thought or preoccupied by some minor triviality, you can overlook stuff like this. I felt guilty. Perhaps the shear variety of the surroundings is a little overwhelming and perhaps it is hard to take it all in. Not a case of familiarity breeding contempt but maybe the opposite where familiarity would allow a greater appreciation. The boggy walk had sapped some of my strength and enthusiasm and although it was still early I decided to investigate the Youth Hostel, toying with the idea of staying the night. It was another squelchy plod to the front door and the opportunity to get out of my wet shoes. It was a nice place but the novelty soon wore off and with no-one about and not knowing whether there was any room at the inn (it didn't say it was full but neither did it say it wasn't), I decided that I would just head on - perhaps to somewhere in the vicinity of Carnach. In Gleann Gniomhaidh I passed the first walkers I had seen since leaving the Caledonian Canal two days ago - a solo guy and a party consisting of father, son and dog. The father didn't much like the look of the sky and thought that the afternoon might take a turn for the worse. Given that I hadn't thought much of the morning this didn't exactly fill me with joy and as it turned out the guy knew exactly what he was talking about. Before long the wind had picked up, the temperature had nose dived and the rain, sleet and hail were driving into my face, thoroughly soaking my trousers and freezing my legs beneath. All of a sudden I became very aware of how exposed I was – no shelter, no respite and the dubious choice of two miles up the valley or two miles back down in the slim hope of finding shelter in a more north-south oriented glen. I wondered how long it might last, how long it takes to get hypothermia, just what hypothermia feels like anyway and whether I should have brought along the stove after all. For the moment I felt 'OK' and plodded on determinedly hoping that it would not last long. When I say there was no shelter that isn't strictly true, just that shelter is a relative concept and that any prospective 'shelter' seemed either fairly inadequate or awfully far away. I spotted a sizeable boulder about half a mile up the Glen and after a 10 minute quick march I was thankful to flop down behind it as it offered sufficient, if not total protection, from the worst of the wind and rain. I wasted no time getting warmed up and with only semi-operable fingers I changed into my waterproof trousers and added my down jacket as an additional layer below my waterproof jacket. I had packed this jacket as a 'better not go unprepared' type measure but doubting that I would really need it. I had thought it might be handy for sitting around camp late into the evening as the day's warmth ebbed away and it had been a reluctant concession to being adequately prepared. I don't know if I really needed it now but I had it and I used it and I was glad I had it. I scoffed a Mars Bar to generate a bit of internal warmth and all things considered I was now reasonably cosy, sat in the middle of nowhere with nothing much to do or to worry about, just waiting for a break in the weather. Things dried up eventually and I got going again, reaching Loch a Bhealaich and turning up Gleann Gaorsaic where concerns about a potentially torturous, boggy and pathless stretch thankfully proved unfounded. The scenery was great with a series of lochs joined by the river running below A Glas-bheinn and Meal Dubh. The valley was pathless but conditions underfoot were fine and way better than the slog to Alltbeithe. The only real obstacle was about half way up the valley when a stream that I needed to cross was more a raging torrent and I detoured to the valley floor to a spot where I could splash across with relative ease. It was wearing on and my thoughts turned towards finding a place to spend the night. Everything was pretty wet but at around six I came to a passable site up around 1200ft just before the Allt Coire Easaich began its steep descent into Strath Duilleach. All in all quite a day. Not always comfortable but a day full of incident, surrounded by beauty and of feeling alive. The sort of day that seems pretty good if you end it as I did - dry, warm and happy with only the weariness of the day's efforts and the sounds of a rushing stream for company. |
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Monday, April 17, 2006 |
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Destination: Bearnais Bothy |
Today's Miles: 19.50 |
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This trip is starting to become characterised by me finding things to worry about and last night proved no different. Although I reckon I've done OK so far its hard to know how much luck has played a part in that and I didn't want to go tempting fate. I'd planned to head across more open country today, including the only ford that my pre-reading indicated may be either tricky, difficult or simply inadvisable. Given how wet everything appears I wasn't particularly enthused by this prospect, especially if the ford proved impassable and required an unappealing, isolated and lengthy detour. As a result I had decided that if this mornings weather looked iffy I'd take a more defined and relatively less isolated route, heading west to Killilan, crossing the River Ling by bridge (rather than ford) and then heading up Glen Ling to who knows where. I looked out to dry but overcast and distinctly chilly conditions which was enough for me to opt for Plan B, a decision that was vindicated by a short, sharp and distinctly heavy hail storm that began while I was still in my tent. After putting on various layers of clothing I emerging to find a neat ring of hail circling the tent. The cold was biting, my toothpaste was semi-frozen and my fingers struggled to break camp and complete my packing. The path down to the valley floor was steep and a little treacherous due to the blustery wind and wet conditions underfoot. I tried my hiking pole and must say that I quite liked it, although I got the distinct impression that it made me to go faster, and was perhaps putting more, and not less, strain on my knees. The path descended beside a spectacular waterfall and eventually emerged from the mist to reveal the new view ahead. With the glens coming thick and fast you might imagine that they all start to look alike but that couldn't be further from the truth. Each has its own character, with a different backdrop of tops, passes and ridges, subtly different slopes and gullies. They have their own hardness and elegance. They unfold in different ways. They are unique. Reaching the valley floor I passed some ruins and crossed over a bridge before turning west along a good Landrover track where around 8:30 a heavy shower started. It passed quickly though and the brisk breeze ensured that I didn't stay wet for long. I'd picked this route as a less demanding option but it certainly turned out to be no poor relation in terms of scenery and perhaps the smooth conditions underfoot allowed me to relax and enjoy them all the more. There were a lot of animals along this stretch and I passed two large herds of impressively antlered deer, the second of these seemed decidedly less edgy that all those I had passed before and having initially distanced themselves they followed me and whenever I looked back they were watching from atop the last rise. Highland Cattle milled around on the path and although I know that cattle aren't by nature aggressive their size, weight and horns (especially their horns) do make me a little nervous. Lastly there were some sheep but I can honestly say that they caused me no concerns at all and I strode passed them in the most manly of ways. Killilan was a pretty hamlet of cream and maroon houses (a change from the predominantly white buildings I had seen so far) but offered no services, except a public phone box. Once again this emphasised the remoteness of the area. In a jam you might look at the map and think that some respite could be found here but bar knocking on someone's door and begging for assistance that isn't really the case. Again the words of the 'right of way sign' came to me - 'please ensure that you are adequately experienced and equipped to complete your journey without assistance'. It had been a great morning but the next part of the day was to prove better still, a real treat. The River Ling cuts deep into a gorge and as I followed it inland I was treated to some great views from my position high above the water. I could look down on the white water that bashed, battered and squeezed its way over and between the numerous obstacles in its path as well as across to the south bank where waterfalls leapt down into churning pools of froth. This went on for some distance but eventually the river bank began to flatten out and there were some nice spots to camp just before the crossing of the Allt Loch Innis Nan Seangan where initially I thought I'd have to ford the stream before noticing a small bridge hidden away a little upstream. From here the track was accompanied by a line of telegraph poles, not particularly noteworthy I know but whose novelty highlighted the relatively untouched nature of the area. I'd expected to come up and over the watershed and down to a plantation so I was surprised to find the trees near the top of the rise and for the forestry track to continue to climb - more evidence that my map reading had a long way to go. No complaints though as from up here I was treated to yet more great views, this time over Loch na Callich and across to the rugged scenery beyond. The path led past Bendronaig Lodge, a isolated, quiet and rather beautiful spot with its two small buildings appearing insignificant in this wide open and wild place. The bridge north was decidedly rickety and missing a number of slats. There was only one thin strand of wire to use as a handrail and I crossed very gingerly. In fairness what remained seemed solid enough but if I had my time again I would just ford the river to avoid any potential mishaps. I then had a pleasant stroll along by Loch an Laoigh although crossing a couple of the streams required care and made me a little nervous about the ford of the Abhainn Bhearnais ahead. The ford was still a mile away across pathless peat hags so I took out my hiking pole to help test the firmness of the ground and to aid my hops, skips and jumps across the hags. The peat forms strange shapes as it erodes and I felt certain that after picking my way through long sections I'd eventually come to some impassable section but it never did happen. Although there was no path the navigation was straight forward as by now I was heading straight towards a solitary cottage nestled at the base of the hills ahead. I hoped it would be uninhabited. Perhaps it would offer some shelter. Maybe I could camp in its lee if the weather turned nasty. I forded the river without mishap and went to try the door. It was bolted but unlocked. I opened it and peeked inside to find the insignia of the Mountain Bothy Association. I took off my wet footwear, dried my feet, put on my slippers and entered. It was in my opinion exquisite. A one room, wood floored and wood panelled bothy, sparsely furnished with a small table and a chair. It was immaculate and would be a splendid place to spend a relaxing, peaceful and fretless night, ensuring that my gear would be dry the following morning. I was most grateful. The evening was dry and windy so I pitched my tent to dry it out while keeping an eye on some ominous looking clouds swirling about up above. Although it looked like it could turn nasty there were also some small patches of blue sky and I looked forward to the time when I would be thinking about patches of grey rather than patches of blue. I waited patiently and with my tent about 90% dry I decided that that was good enough, packing it up and heading for a wash in the stream. I sat by the table to eat, write some notes and study tomorrow's map. The original plan had been to go over Sgurr na Feartaig bringing me down to the crossing of the River Carron but when I went out to look at the ridge and its covering of snow I felt that it would probably be best to head straight over the bealach instead and to take a path down through the cliffs of Creag a Chaorainn. A few deer had been milling around outside but its just started to hail quite hard so they have departed and I am all the more grateful for the excellent wee bothy. |
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Tuesday, April 18, 2006 |
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Destination: Easan Dorcha Bothy |
Today's Miles: 13.50 |
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Last night was my warmest night so far but that may have had something to do with the combined effects of 4 stone walls, roof, t-shirt, mid-layer, pair of shorts, socks and a hat. Anyway, whatever the reason it was a great success and suitably recovered I stepped out to the single largest patch of blue sky I had seen since Saturday but it didn't last long as the clouds were rolling in and it wasn't long before a grey canopy hung across the valley. Things started off well as I headed up to Baobh-bhacan Dubha along a clear, if wet, path (where have I heard that before). However, as I gathered height I was soon in amongst the snow and this made the route somewhat tricky to follow as it either obscured the path or made it indistinguishable from the many streams that criss-crossed the land. Up at about 2000ft I wasn't surprised when the cloud closed in and although the immediate visibility was OK I could now no longer see the top of Sgurr na Feartaig. It was hard to ascertain how far along the path I had come and to be safe I took a bearing back down to the bothy knowing that if things got bad I could head back to the valley floor. I was looking for the first of some lochans shown on the map but by now I'd lost the path and couldn't see back into the valley. I continued on but with still no sign of the lochan it all started to feel a bit 'wrong'. I decided to turn back until I could see down to the loch and whilst doing this I stumbled across my original footprints. As I was still comfortable I was happy to wrap up and explore a bit more. I thought I could see the path that led up to the ridge of Sgurr na Feartaig and headed towards it planning to follow it until I was sure that that was what I had actually done and then retrace my steps in an effort to pick up the path that I actually wanted to find. I came to a sharp left and then surprisingly to the very lochan I had been trying to find all along. Bingo. The path led past a second lochan and to what I presumed was the path marked on my map - I say 'presume' as in these conditions it was about 4 inches deep in snow melt and looked more like a stream than a path - although it was unlikely to be a stream on this relatively flat part of the bealach. Continuing on I eventually emerged beneath the cloud, arriving at the top of the cliffs where I could see the 'snout' of Carn Mor and views of the brightly lit valley below. I lost the path again but wasn't worried so long as I didn't go too near to the cliffs or commit myself to a route down before I was sure that it was the right one. The descent turned out to be slippy but not particularly treacherous. There was one decidedly iffy bit though with a decent drop immediately followed by a tight and very necessary right hand turn, necessary to avoid the scree chute that seemingly disappeared into nothing straight ahead. I took it gingerly but negotiated it with just the slightest hint of a stumble. Snow lay in little gullies but once through these and onto the more gradual gradients below I was able to enjoy sensational views across to what I reckoned must be Beinn Liath Mhor. The sun was poking out and I could see a train heading along Glen Carron. A couple of days ago I had considered this train to be the first available 'escape' route, but I would not require the services of Scotrail after all and instead I set my sights a little further on up the trail. The descent was long but eventually I made it to the forest and the track that led east to a bridge across the river. For all the world it felt like I had begun to head south but my compass said east, the map said east and so onwards I went by now enjoying views of Sgurr Nan Ceannaichean and the ridge running to Moruisg. Across the Carron the walk wasn't particularly enjoyable as the road was busy with fast moving cars. I have no philosophical objection to road walking, in fact I quite enjoy it, but it does depend a lot on the road and I would happily have avoided this one. I wasn't on it long though (maybe 2 miles) and when I reached Achnashellach Railway Station I paused to eat lunch. It was a very basic railway station but it had a little more substance than a similar one I had the pleasure of resting at during my Appalachian Trail. My mind wandered back to that day in 2003 when I had munched my way through a ginger nut or two in that strangely similar but very different place. Continuing through the forest the sun was by now on my back as I stopped to top up my water just before passing through an unusual 'hobbit-esque' round gate and heading on up the path. Here I admired the changing faces of Carn Odhar, Teanga Fiadhaich and Fuar Tholl as I ascended the well maintained path. The length of the Beinn Liath Mhor ridge came into view and off in the distance the sun shone down on it. This was good, excellent even, but in no way did it prepared me for Coire Lair as it revealed itself in all its truly splendid glory. There was something very special about this place. It felt otherworldly, the sort of place where big, hairy gods might come down to shoot the breeze and pick meat from between their teeth (for it seems to me that those are the sort of gods that would inhabit such a place). Its seldom clear why places seem special, but for me, today, this was one of those places. Some day I'll come back but today this glimpse up into the coire would do just fine. If the walk up the coire itself held more joys then great but I didn't fancy the prospect of more snow on the pass at the far end and besides there really was no need. Instead I followed the path down Drochaid Coire Lair under the eastern flank of Beinn Liath Mhor where the changeable weather continued this time with a flurry of snow. I put up my brolly which sheltered me from the elements as I daydreamt my way on down the track. The map showed a building up ahead and I wondered if it might be another bothy. It was still quite early (3:30pm) but it would be a convenient distance from Kinlochewe (tomorrows planned stop). The snow had gone and the sun was out again as I approached what was little more than a garden shed, all-be-it a lovely little red garden shed, in a lovely location. Once again opening the door revealed the welcoming MBA insignia, bench and table. Yes this would do nicely. It was warm and so I sat in the doorway letting the warmth of the sun dry my bare feet. By 5:00pm although still bright the rain had returned (crazy weather) and so I retired inside where a couple of bizarre entries in the bothy register about Michelle Pfieffer and Robert De Niro made me chuckle. Another entry mentioned being in the middle of a film set and I began to wonder what was going on and whether I might find Kinlochewe under siege with film folk. Given my fragile mental condition and desperate need to wash both body and belongings this gave me something new to worry about (cannot have a worry free day, that wouldn't do at all). By now it was lashing with rain and I could see that the bothy wasn't what you might call 100% wind and watertight, but hey, what could I do? Another tough but enjoyable day. The generally improved weather had eased some of my worries and I was content, sat at the table, wrapped in my sleeping bag and enjoying some MBA magazines that had been left here. They were a good read and as the light faded I reached for my head torch so that I could finish them. |
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Wednesday, April 19, 2006 |
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Destination: Kinlochewe |
Today's Miles: 8.00 |
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There was no rush this morning as I only intended a short walk to Kinlochewe but old habits die hard and I was still up and off before eight. I strolled along the Easan Dorcha before turning north past Coulin where I was accompanied initially by views of the snowy peaks that poked above the lower, darker slopes of Cnoc Daimh and then, looking north-west along Loch Coulin, by Beinn Eighe. It was wet and slippery as I headed round the edge of another forestry plantation and with my mind focusing on Kinlochewe and not on the job at hand, I floundered somewhat and I cursed a lot. This was not to be for nothing though as rounding Carn Dhomhnuill Mhic a' Ghobha I was rewarded with another 'Julie Andrews' moment and with the sun on my back and time on my hands I sat to snack and to soak in the fantastic views. From here I could look along Glen Torridon seeing both the impressive but, perhaps, slightly ugly Liathach and the prettier, more aesthetically pleasing Beinn Eighe. I took a long break and as I sat there a jet roared past turning behind the flank of Beinn Eighe. It may not be everybody's cup of tea but I don't mind the occasional jet, finding them a thrilling and logic defying sight and their movements somehow in sympathy with the land around them. It turned out to be a fairly miserable tramp into town, part of the plantation had been felled and I thought that I could pick my way down through it but it was a bad choice mainly due to deep mud churned up by the forestry machinery. Even beyond the plantation the track, that looked straight forward on the map, ended up being a bit of a drag, seemingly going on forever with no clear direction or purpose and, of course, it started to rain. Looking back I should probably have continued higher on the hill and taken a more northerly track directly down into Kinlochewe, but that's the beauty of hindsight I suppose. In town I found a notice pinned to the hotel door saying that due to the water being off the hotel would not open until 5:00pm. This scuppered my original plans so instead I wandered down to the public toilets for a rudimentary wash and to change into some cleanish clothes before heading to the cafe for something to eat. Settling down with my cheeseburger and hot chocolate I listened to the conversation of my fellow diners. It seemed that there was, indeed, some substance to the comments in last nights bothy register. Michelle Pfieffer didn't pop in for a tin of spam but the other customers were all, in some shape or form, involved with the film. There was a thatcher, a painter, a doctor and a couple of guys responsible for access to the various film locations all of which made for interesting conversation but increased my anxiety about the availability of accommodation. They said everything was pretty much booked up and I started to consider that, worst case, I might have to simply resupply and head out again, stinky as ever. I was mulling this over when a new arrival to the cafe offered me his accommodation brochure adding that he was staying the night at the hotel bunkhouse. When he had phoned that morning he had been told that he was the only person booked so far and when he said that the door was open and that he had just dumped his stuff inside I decided that provided there was still space then the bunkhouse would do me just fine. It looked good and as the water was now back on I took the liberty of a long shower. With a base established I could now get on with my town chores. Heading back across to the cafe/shop I had the opportunity to properly introduce myself to my benefactor (Patrick) and to thank him for the heads up on the bunkhouse. We headed back together and we had the first of many thoroughly enjoyable conversations. Patrick was retired, had led an interesting life and loved the hills of Scotland and Austria. He was a joy to listen to and I had to drag myself away to go post some mail and buy some food before the shop shut. It was all a bit crazy back at the shop/cafe with lots more film folk in eating and the proprietors had their hands full. I filled my basket and enjoyed eavesdropping on the apparent pandemonium surrounding the film. The choice of food wasn't great but I like to support the communities I go through, especially rural communities like these, and there was certainly enough Mars Bars, shortbread and various bits and bobs to top up what I already had in my food bag. I said to the proprietor that she could just get round to me when she got a moment and so she put my basket behind the counter and I went outside. Hanging around can be fun, especially if it involves sitting in the sunshine at the foot of Beinn Eighe. 45 minutes later she popped out to say that the coast was now clear and I went in to pay and to pick up my groceries. Back at the bunkhouse the hotel owners had returned and I was able to formalise arrangements for my night's stay. I continued chatting with Patrick before heading over to the bar for a pre-dinner drink and a bit of gossiping with some film related guests. We returned to the bar for another drink before Patrick suggested heading back to the bunkhouse to share the half bottle of Grouse he carried in case of emergencies. Time flew by and it was after 11 when we eventually called it a night (very late by my recent standards) and I headed off to bed grateful to Patrick for his excellent company, a welcome change after 6 days of almost total solitude. |
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Thursday, April 20, 2006 |
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Destination: Shenavall Bothy |
Today's Miles: 15.00 |
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I slept like a log after yesterday's 'late night' and had to force myself to get going. Trying to be as quiet as possible I shuffled through to the kitchen to avoid disturbing Patrick but was glad when he appeared before I was ready to go, giving us a final opportunity to chat and to allow me to thank him for his excellent company. Setting off towards the Heights of Kinlochewe I started to pass signs for "STAR LOC" that I assumed meant I was heading straight for the film set. Being my week for worrying I imagined being either turned back or significantly delayed, neither of which were particularly appealing options. At the start of the estate track I passed a caravan I supposed was 'security' but thankfully nothing was said and I carried on unmolested. It was a nice walk along by the river where I passed some of the film guys going about their business, one with a rather large chariot sort of thing in the back of his 4x4. As I approached some buildings I had the opportunity to admire the thatcher's work and, with a chuckle, to recalled his words that 'everything in a film is fake' as I became aware that only one side of the roof had actually been thatched and that some sort of smoke machine was rigged up to the chimney. The sun was out and I stripped down to my t-shirt before heading off up Gleann na Muice and away from all the filmmaking activity. It seems that the Letterewe Estate is attempting to do its bit to return at least part of Caledonia back to forest and I passed some tree planters about to start their day's work. There were signs explaining what was going on and pointing out that the presence of deer fences was only a temporary measure to allow the trees to gain a foothold. I'd noticed a few fences on this walk and they are never particularly pretty so hopefully, like these, they are only temporary but necessary evils. I crossed the river and as I climbed I could see Slioch (the spear) jutting up above the lower hills to my west, shining brightly as the sun reflected off its snowy top. Having the choice between two bealachs to smooth (if smooth is the right word) my journey north I chose Bealach Gorm over Bealach na Croise for no other reason than it was the nearer of the two and had been the choice of Cameron McNeish in the trip notes of his that I had read. Coming round Meallan Odhar the range I had to cross next lay ahead, a significant barrier to my progress with Bealach Gorm clearly visible between Beinn Bheag and Groban but still 3 kilometres or so away across the pathless valley. The crossing of the valley seemed hard work and half way across I stopped for lunch and to recharge my batteries. As I sat there another RAF jet zoomed past giving another display of its low level flying capabilities. I wondered how the land looked from up there and at that speed and how that contrasted with my own perspective. I forded the river and said goodbye to dry feet for the remainder of the days walk. From the river I had a 1000ft climb up to the bealach and the combination of exertion and sun resulted in me gulping greedily from my bottle of cool, crisp mountain water. I was weary from the cumulative effect of the last six days but the weariness left me feeling more in sympathy with my surroundings and I had good reason to be content in this fantastic place. I came to a standstill high upon the side of Beinn Bheag. Sitting staring out over Loch a' Bhraoin, sun on my back, water bottle at my feet, Mars Bar in my hand, breath deep and slow. With time on my hands I wanted for nothing. I don't know what it was? The land wasn't particularly grander but it did seem somehow 'bigger' or maybe I just felt distinctly insignificant. My only regret was that my presence scattered some deer that were roaming the hillside. I wished they knew I intended them no harm, or that I possessed the skill not to disturb them. However, they cannot know and I do not know how, so apologies and I guess years of experience have taught the deer well to be wary of man. The day was taking on its own rhythm and I intended to enjoy it to the full and sat a while yet. Looking north I admired the small cone of Meallan An Laoigh, the bulk of Sgurr Ban with its unusual sheets of exposed rock and the two distinct plateaus of Beinn a' Chlaidheimh. Eventually it was time to be on my way and I wandered down to the valley floor, looking back to Bealach na Croise before beginning the long, lazy and thoroughly wonderful stroll towards Strath Na Sealga. I really enjoyed this stretch past Loch an Nid, past the waterfall that cascaded past its outflow and alongside the Abhainn Loch an Nid, stopping for regular and unhurried breaks. There were lots of good campsites around and with the peacefulness and the warm sun they would have made excellent spots to call it a day. I'm a big fan of evening walking though, as the day takes on new qualities and when busy trails (busier than this one) become noticeably quieter. So far the weather (or rather the threat of it) had encouraged me to adopt a 'safety first' approach settling on the first reasonable campsite I could find around 5pm and so tonight I planned to take full advantage of the benign conditions and the opportunity for an evening stroll. Turning down Strath na Sealga Beinn Dearg Mor and An Teallach now dominated the view and as I covered the last mile or so I became increasingly accustomed to their presence. By previous standards the bothy was a bit grotty and for a moment I regretted not having camped earlier but that would have denied me the evening stroll and maybe its not so much a reflection on the bothy itself but that on a day like today I am less in need of the bothies 'simple, wind and waterproof shelter'. It had a number of rooms and felt strange after the previous nights spent in one room constructions. It had an eerie but not unpleasant feel that seemed appropriate given the stillness and peace of the place. I got settled in and looked out to see about a dozen deer grazing just yards from 'my' front door before heading out as the sun sank lower to look out over the loch and across to Beinn Dearg Mor and Beinn Dearg Bheag, eventually returning to the echoing emptiness of the bothy. A poem was pinned to the wall lamenting the passing of the forests and reading it the rhythm of the words further slowed my already deep and even breaths. The emptiness felt tangible, a privilege. |
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Friday, April 21, 2006 |
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Destination: Knockdamph Bothy |
Today's Miles: 21.50 |
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I have slowly been coming to terms with the scale of this particular undertaking. Not the 'absolute' demands, more the gap between what might be required and what I have to offer. Small margins can have major consequences out here and as a result I have already scaled back some of my plans as well as paying more heed to the resources that might be available to me. There was no point in bothering about that now though, the day was only just beginning and I was delighted to start it in much the same vein as yesterday. The trail away from Shenavall headed about 1000ft up and round the southern flank of An Teallach and as I plodded on I paused occasionally to look back to the west as the morning began to take hold. I passed two wild goats going about their business and then stopped for breakfast in another perfect spot. I was in no hurry to spoil the moment and it was some time before I eventually moved on admiring the constantly changing views of the corries and ridges of An Teallach. I hadn't gone much further when another break seemed in order (so much for the big day ahead), this time looking along a crag stretching down towards the Abhainn Loch an Nid and enjoying the the sun's increasing warmth. I took about two hours to cover a little over a mile and a half but they were two great hours. I was happy that I had started early, that I ate breakfast on the hillside and that I hadn't allowed the spectre of a potentially big day spoil these moments. A good track led down to Corrie Hallie passing through trees and amongst sheep where I saw the first lamb of the trip. A quick word with a guy heading off for a day's walk and then it was up up up again. Just 600ft or so but it came as a bit of a surprise. At this point my route headed east until crossing over the River Oykel at Oykel Bridge and the predominantly east-west alignment of the previous valleys had me imagining a relatively untaxing low level walk, most probably along a valley floor. Closer inspection of the map showed otherwise, however, the north-west aspect of Little Loch Broom & Loch Broom would indeed require an up, an over, a down and an up again. Oh well, at least it was turning out nice. Continuing in what I believed to be the general direction I found a clear Landrover track that I followed as I picked my way up the hillside, pausing again to look back west, this time to admire the views of An Teallach. The track passed a nice waterfall and with a big slab of rock to sit on I removed my shoes, filled up my water bottle and zoned out. The Landrover track continued up the west side of the stream but another clear track also crossed at this point and for no better reason than it seemed right I crossed over. The track continued for some way before becoming more indistinct and eventually petering out into a number of vague but more and more unlikely 'tracks'. Not the first time since leaving Fort William that I was left to wonder whether I had been following a walkers track, an animal track or merely a minor water course. I was pretty sure that I had gone wrong and was no longer on the marked path. The land was less distinctive than it had been previously but I reckoned I understood the general lie of it, with the Allt a' Chairn to my right, Meall a' Chairn to my left and various hilltops ahead, one of which I presumed was Meall Dubh. I was keen to regain the path as it would lead me down the steep incline into Strath More but the most prominent features on the map were lochans and they are not always the easiest thing to find on the land. I detoured up to some higher ground in the hope of locating them but to no avail and I simply continued on in the hope that things might fall into place later on. Although I felt I needed to leave the Allt a' Chairn behind I was aware that I never really committed myself to actually doing it. On top of this I was now passing some confusing cliffs/outcrops that did not appear to be marked on my map. I was still OK but I always feel a little unnerved when I don't know 'exactly' where I am on the map. Coming to a stream that ran north-south I guessed that it was one of those that ran out of the lochans and decided to follow it north. Losing commitment as the stream narrowed and cut across a hillock to the west I headed instead up the next rise where at last I stumbled upon the comforting sight of Loch an Tiompain and where I could see the path skirting its northern shore. Reassured I stopped by the banks of the lochan for lunch and for my last views back to An Teallach. The steep descent to Croftown proved a bit of a drag and once across the River Broom all that lost elevation had to be regained as I climbed back to 1,500ft, this time on good forestry plantation tracks, and with fine views east to Beinn Dearg. This led on to another pathless stretch but it wasn't navigationally challenging, skirting east-north-east round a small hill until the River Douchary came into view. The lack of a path and suitable landmarks did though contribute to me overestimating my progress and as a consequence it wasn't a totally relaxing stretch. I picked my way down through the peat (my right knee had begun to hurt) towards the river and took another break to enjoy the views up into the bowl of Cadha Dearg. I seriously contemplating camping in the valley as there where lots of good spots and some fantastic scenery but instead I decided to continue on to the bothy (or somewhere close to it) and with regret I shuffled off, leaving this particular spot behind. I followed the river downhill as it cut deep into a gorge with numerous waterfalls cascading down its steep stone walls. The river became harder to skirt and I set off cross country again and, will he never learn, started to over-estimate my progress. It was a bit squelchy but I was swinging along nicely with Cnoc Damh and the track along the loch clearly visible. I still had some way to go though when I came to an abrupt standstill as I reached the steep sides of Allt nan Caorach as it flowed down to join the Douchary. It looked fairly 'impassable' (or maybe inadvisable) at this point and as the map showed the path crossing much further downstream I headed off to look for an easier crossing. Nothing obvious came along but then I found a clear although steep path down to a really lovely spot by the river at the bottom of an impressive waterfall. However, there was no obvious path out and I wondered if this path merely allowed access to the waterfall. I started to look around, more in hope than with any sort of plan, and in the end I just decided to cross the river and go up the 'steeper than I would have liked' valley wall opposite. I wasn't too sure of my footing and was relieved to get to the top without mishap but also disappointed to be no nearer getting my bearings. I was starting to get a little disoriented and by this stage I couldn't guarantee that I would be able to reliably retrace my steps. I continued up and after a quick and purposeful march to the next crest I was relieved to find Loch an Daimh beyond. A damp plod remained to reach the good track ahead and eventually with time wearing on, and the light beginning to fade, the chimney stacks of the bothy came into view. In the end it had felt like a big day but it was important to stop and reflect, to remember how special the early morning walk had been, to remember the stark empty and welcoming beauty of Upper Glen Douchary, and to recognise my fortune, putting my feet up in these peaceful surroundings, alone with my thoughts and my tuna tortillas. |
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Saturday, April 22, 2006 |
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Destination: Loch Carn Nan Conbhairean |
Today's Miles: 20.50 |
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I ended up being thankful that I didn't camp in the wide open spaces of Glen Douchary after all. During the night the wind had picked up and I was woken by the banging of the bothy door. I wriggled out of my sleeping bag, headed down the narrow staircase and stuck my head outside to find a fine but inhospitably blustery night. I jammed the door shut with a chair from a downstairs room thinking rain, hail, snow, sun, gales, what next? All I could do was laugh, head back to bed and await whatever the morning may bring. It was still blustery and cold when I set off on the flat stroll down to Glen Einig where the ford of Abhainn Poiblidh ensured another wet day for my by now rather sorry looking feet. I just kept moving, not stopping until Duag Bridge (and then only briefly) before continuing around another forestry plantation. I found the route that I had planned blocked by a sign warning of felling operations but was able to rejoin my intended route after a short detour. Then I found myself unsure of where to go next. For a change I wasn't lost but simply a fool. The route included about 2 kilometres that was on a map I wasn't carrying. When I had looked at this 'missing' section in a bookshop the navigation had seemed straight forward and I had decided that I could happily live without it, saving both the expense and the weight. Now, though, as I came to a fork in the road I didn't have a clue which branch to take. I tried left then changed my mind and instead headed right, up towards Amat Farm. It still didn't look right and when a lady from the farm approached asking if I was lost I had to admit that indeed I was. She pointed me off in the right direction and once on track the navigation was indeed simple, walking down to the River Oykel, pausing for a quick chat with an angler and then stopping for lunch on the far side of the river. I say that navigation was simple but I did manage to take another wrong turn down the side of the Oykel but when the path came to an abrupt halt I quickly doubled back onto the 'correct' route which I managed to follow without further incident. A short shower chased me along to a farm proudly proclaiming its Gascon cattle and it wasn't long before I met the beasts themselves. About half way through them I suffered a serious brown corduroy moment as one of the cows took fright and I thought that it was heading my way. Once I calmed down I realised that it had in fact set off in completely the opposite direction and I laughed a nervous and somewhat hollow laugh while attempting to restore my composure. Walking on I became intrigued by some white plastic tape that lined the left-hand side of the track. I thought perhaps it was to mark the track in heavy snow but when I came to a gate with more tape blocking my path and saw that the tape was connected to a sizeable battery I re-evaluated before ducking very low and very carefully under it, having no particular desire to either prove, or disprove, my suspicions. Continuing along the river I passed a small fishermans' hut and variously numbered beats as I made my way towards Loch Ailsh. Walking around the loch I had a brief chance to acquaint myself with what lay ahead as I identified the distinctive shapes of Sgonnan Mor, Black Rock and Sail An Ruathair in the foreground and could see higher snow capped mountains off in the distance. This opportunity didn't last for long though as the view was quickly obscured by some low cloud moving in from the west, bringing with it an increase in the wind, a drop in temperature and the inevitably first spots of rain. I was a little wary of going on as the next section involved arguably the most isolated terrain of the whole trip. I decided to check out the woods just beyond Benmore Lodge and found the perfect, and I mean perfect, campsite in a glade of flat soft grass. Rather than camping here (it was only 3:30) I reasoned that it would be the ideal spot to fall back to if that should prove necessary. I also reckoned that: I took a lot of care with my navigation and even though the path was clear I was constantly checking my position, taking bearings, noting landmarks and trying to commit key details to memory. At Loch Sail an Ruathair I explored a little to see if there were any dry and relatively sheltered campsites. It was less sheltered than I'd hoped but camping wasn't completely out of the question. The weather was getting worse but the path was still clear so I decided to continue on to Loch Carn nan Conbhairean. Within sight of the loch I slowed a bit in the slim hope that the rain might stop before I arrived. This was definitely the limit of my aspirations for the day and I intended to overnight here if at all possible. It was decision time. It wasn't nice but neither was it bad enough to justify turning back, so up at around 1000ft, in drizzle and gusting wind I decided I had better just get on with it and set up camp for the night. A quick recce showed a decent (not perfect) spot by the outflow of the loch and I started to do the necessary. It really was quite blustery and no sooner had I put the tent up than one of the pegs came pinging out. I quickly shoved it back in and decided that I had better just get inside to help anchor myself to the mountainside. Around 5:20 both me and my gear were under cover. I felt far from confident as the tent was bowed and bent by the battering wind. I decided not to unpack for the moment (except for my thermorest) as I had the distinct feeling that this camp might not be as permanent as originally hoped and that it may have to be hastily abandoned if the elements decided to really bare their teeth. The evening developed into something of a vigil as I constantly monitored the behaviour of my tent, listened to the wind and rain, and noted the very slow passage of time. I reckoned 7:00pm was about my cutoff for getting off the hill, much later and I'd just have to tough it out until first light (around 5:00am). The wind didn't let up (I think that it may have been being funnelled along the stream I was pitched beside) but slowly I started to believe that my tent would survive the onslaught and that just maybe I'd make it through the night after all. Around 7:20 I finally unpacked my gear, climbed into my sleeping bag (a show of confidence well above my true expectations) and set about more introspection and worry. I didn't feel like eating and I wasn't going to be doing too much sleeping. Around 9:00pm the rain stopped, cheering me up no end as now if I suffered a structural integrity failure everything would not immediately get soaked. Around 10:20, 5 hours after I had dived into my tent I decided I would try to get some sleep. I didn't. |
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Sunday, April 23, 2006 |
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Destination: Unapool (at Ronnie's) |
Today's Miles: 14.00 |
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I've been close to quitting this trip a number of times, questioning my ability to complete it safely and whether it was worth the required effort. Each time I have reassessed, rationalised and continued, sometimes for no other reason than it was easier to go on than to turn back. This morning was the latest of those make or break moments. If the weather was iffy I wasn't going to risk going further into the mountains and would instead head for home, although 'heading for home' would involve a two day walk, first back to overnight again at Knockdamph and then on to Ullapool for a hotel and the bus back to Inverness. Even quitting this trip isn't easy. I stepped out to cast my inexperienced eye to the morning's sky perhaps secretly hoping for a crappy day, a straight forward decision and the risk free route back to civilisation. Although cloudy it was beginning to show signs of brightness, the wind although noticeable had moderated and for the moment it was dry. Once again it seemed easier, if not completely comfortable, to continue on. My jacket had dried as it hung in the porch overnight but my waterproof trousers were still soaked through and it wasn't exactly pleasant to pull them on again although I was confident that the wind would dry them out quickly enough during the morning. Once again I was being super careful with my navigation despite following a fairly obvious Landrover track - a "stalkers" track. In my ignorance I'd imagined these tracks to have been grooved into the hillside by the repeated daily trek of one man and his dog. I now realised how ridiculous this is as to get the deer off the hillside, over many miles of rough ground, the stalkers would of course use Landrovers, and even then they might still face a laborious effort to get the deer back to the vehicle. The upshot of all this is that many of the tracks on the maps are actually more distinct than I had imagined, although they can still become hard or impossible to discern in soft boggy ground. I continued towards Loch Bealach a Mhadaidh where the track ended and where I needed to cover a mile or so of trackless country before picking up another marked path further to the north. The scenery here was as wild as anything on the trip so far, not as pretty maybe but completely untamed and dotted with large boulders giving it a somewhat 'untidy' and uncared for look. To my left the cliffs and crags were high and imposing and I was more than a little keen to successfully locate the next path and to be guided on a tried and tested route through these obstacles. I had studied the map last night (not much else to do) and decided that it would be important to know where I was at all times, and for this reason I choose to head directly down to the shore of Gorm Loch Mor. I had been concerned that this might prove steep or impassable but it was fine and I would recommend it. Ahead I could make out three hillocks identifiable from the map and once I reached the top of the first I stopped for a snack confident that I knew where I was. The sky was blue and despite it not being particularly warm this was a pleasant enough spot although I wouldn't be completely relaxed until I was on the 'next' path which must, by now, be nearby. Again the obvious navigational clues were lochans but with the hillocks, humps and bumps forming the landscape the smaller lochans were not particularly easy to locate. At moments like this a GPS would definitely have given me added confidence, not to navigate by, I'm dubious about their use in such surroundings, but just to get an accurate fix on my position. After headed to the next hillock and finding an anticpated lochan nestled in behind I started getting a little confusing when the next rise didn't reveal the other lochan that I had been expecting. I decided to head in closer under the cliffs of Beinn Uidhe and came to a distinctively shaped lochan with a clear path creeping past its southern tip. There was still some work to be done though as the path soon became indistinct and when I followed some cairns the route went down when I wanted it to be going up. I was pretty sure that I had once again gone wrong. This path crossed the tributaries of the Abhainn an Loch Bhig near to the river but the map showed the path crossing 300m or so up the hillside. After some fraught retracing of steps, a found path, a lost path and the path refound I eventually got back on track. I was becoming weary as the cumulative effects of yesterday evening, last night and today's hike started to grind me down. It was probably more mental than physical, although the lack of sleep last night probably didn't help and I was happy when I arrived at Loch na Gainmhich with views of Quinag beyond. The banks above the loch were sodden and slippery making this section hard work and then I arrived above, instead of at, the road. It had hairpinned down and now lay well below the cliff I was standing on top off. I set off on the necessary detour and it was 3:30 when I finally plonked myself down by the roadside to rest, to study the map and to formulate a plan. I was whacked. I decided to head for Kylesku, hoping that the hotel shown on the map still existed and that it would have a room for the night. It was a four mile road walk to Kylesku and on the way I passed some more accommodation. The first was not yet open for the season, the second had no vacancies but a third seemed to be displaying a vacancies sign. I turned down the road as a guy came out of another house that I was passing. I stopped to pass the time of day and when I mentioned I was looking to find somewhere to stay he said that he did B&B and that I could stay here if I was interested. Perfect. Ronnie (my host) offered a cup of tea but when he asked if I might prefer to join him in a dram the tea was quickly forgotten. I found myself sitting in front of the coal fire, pack abandoned outside, muddy trousers rolled up, slippers on feet, whisky in hand, football on the TV and with stunning views of Loch Glendhu, Beinn Aird da Loch and Loch Glencoul bathed in the early evening sunlight. Things were most definitely looking up. Ronnie's home seemed idyllic but he spoke of other nights when the gales came and the wind howls and it feels like the whole place might tumble down around your ears. With the warm glow of whisky and a knowing nod I said 'Yes, I can imagine' (all too well and all too recently). Ronnie had put the water on so that I could have a bath and when I headed off for a long soak I was surprised to find a somewhat sunburnt face looking back at me from the bathroom mirror. The day had been tough but it had also been nice. I had planned to eat out of my bag tonight as the walk to the hotel for grub didn't appeal but coming out of the bathroom Ronnie offered to rustle up some pork chops and once again I gratefully accepted. As we ate (and drank) I had the opportunity to get an insight into the countryside and the wildlife as Ronnie had worked as a gamekeeper and was also a keen fisherman. He described in a little more detail what its like to live in a remote community - coal from Brora, meat from Grantown, shopping trips, power cuts. It was a splendid evening and my previous woes were long forgotten as I finished my last dram and headed off to bed. |
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Monday, April 24, 2006 |
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Destination: Rhiconich Hotel |
Today's Miles: 21.50 |
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It may have been the weariness but then again it may have been the whisky that was responsible for my spectacularly solid and completely uninterrupted nights sleep. I wandered through for breakfast at 7:45 to find Ronnie ready with the sausage, bacon, tea and toast. He did me proud and I was definately ready for another day of this journey. I limped along as my knee was hurting quite badly and as I winced, cursed and gritted my teeth I wondered whether there might yet be a premature end to this trip. Crossing the Kylesku bridge I stopped at the car park to investigate a memorial. It was a war memorial, recognising both the submariners who trained here and the discretion of the local community at a time when 'careless talk could cost lives'. I opted for the track round the loch as it looked to be a good flat track and might be a little kinder on my knee. I turned at Kylestrome, inhaled lungfulls of salty sea air and enjoyed the views back across the small 'bay' to Quinag beyond. My knee started to free up as the track climbed beside the Maldie Burn, a steep and attractive stream with numerous waterfalls, and it was feeling fine by the time I had reached Loch an Leathiad Bhuain. The whole of this stretch was really nice with a wild, empty and baron feel and was wonderfully peaceful. It was also cold and windy and unfortunately not very conducive to anything other than short breaks. On another day I might have wrapped up warm (and maybe still should have) but today I just plodded on, catching the occasional whiff of my recently shampooed hair. Reaching Bealach nam Fiann I stopped to admire Ben Stack and Arkle before beginning the steep and slightly painful walk down towards Lochmore Lodge. I found a quiet, grassy and wonderfully spongy spot in the forest to stop for a snack, to relax and to enjoy the feeling of weariness. I continued passed the lodge and onto the single track road that I intended to follow to Laxford Bridge. There were options to go off road round Ben Stack and then along River Laxford but with my dodgy knee, my dry feet and the chance to make easy miles I reckoned the road would do just fine. It was a good option. It was quiet (maybe 10 cars an hour all travelling slowly and considerately) and beyond Achfary (with its black and white phone box and its white horse) I was treated to fantastic views of Arkle, perhaps my favourite mountain of the whole trip. Passed Lochstack Lodge the path along the river looked a marginally better option but I had no regrets. I stopped for a snack in a small patch of trees looking back to Ben Stack. By now the road was taking its toll on my feet as I continued to make progress towards my goal of Rhiconich and, hopefully, a night at the hotel (I know, I'm going soft). Beyond Laxford Bridge the road became 'two-way' and as a consequence the traffic whizzed past and the walking was less enjoyable. It was the middle of the afternoon and I was fading fast and in need of a break. This was I supposed as good a spot as any and so I climbed over the roadside barrier, slumped down onto my pack and reached for my water bottle. Gulping down a couple of mouthfuls I looked up and was treated to yet another of the wonderful surprises this trip has rewarded me with as the ridge of Foinaven was right in front of me between the outcrops and crags that formed the bowl of Loch na Caillich. All the encouragement I needed to linger a little longer and a great pick me up. I passed an interesting information board that explained the effects of glaciation on the landscape, particularly the way the ice had picked up huge boulders, carrying them many miles before melting and leaving them where they now rest, often in the most unlikely of places perched on the high ridges. Turning towards the head to Loch Inchard the hotel came into view. It looked quite impressive and a decent size so I was hopefully that I would have no problem getting a room. I wandered up to find that once again this early in the year the owners were away and that I would not be able to get a room until 5:00pm. The ghillie was spending the day doing some odd jobs and he said that a room wouldn't be a problem and led me inside to the lounge where I settled down to relax reading some RSPB magazines. He seemed a little surprised when I said that waiting another hour would be no problem but one thing that this type of trip teaches you is that having time on your hands isn't a burden or a missed opportunity but a treat and a privilege. Indeed it was with some reluctance that I finally left the magazines behind to check in and get settled into the 'Ben Stack' room. A shower, change of clothes, cup of hot chocolate and some mindless vegetation in front of the TV (Neighbours) and all was pretty much well in my particular corner of the world. Indeed, things even got better as I headed to the bar to read my book, sup on a pint and munch through some steak pie. As I ate I got another insight into the realities of rural living when another diner unfortunately became ill. Listening to the manager having to spell Rhiconich to the 999 operator made me wonder how long it would take the ambulance to arrive but no sooner had I started to ponder this than it was at the door (apparently there is one stationed at Kinlochbervie which had been passing Rhiconich as it returned from another a call). They made the gentleman in question comfortable before going to refuel for the two and a half hour journey to the hospital in Inverness. None of this was particularly conducive to a party atmosphere and so I headed back upstairs to watch more TV (University Challenge) and to do a little more planning. The end was getting close and perhaps another 2 or 3 days would see me done. After all my doubts it was strange to think that I might finish this thing after all. |
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Tuesday, April 25, 2006 |
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Destination: Kearvaig Bothy |
Today's Miles: 20.50 |
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I was up early but just bummed around waiting for 8 o'clock when breakfast was to be served. Its one of the reasons I can't get excited about B&B or hotel accommodation on a trip like this. Their routine deprives you of some of the best parts of the day, both in the morning and the evening. I wasn't going far today though so it wasn't much of a hardship to hang around, especially as breakfast turned out to be a splendid affair of, amongst other things, fruit juice, frosties, haggis and mushrooms. It also came with good company as I chatted to the hotel's only other guest. He was up working at one of the local fish farms and we talked about his work, my trip and about camping, my experiences of the last few days and his at last years British Moto GP. Eventually at 9:30 I was on my way up Loch Inchard. It felt good to be near the coast and to experience yet more variety. Kinlochbervie was a bit of a surprise to me. I'd grown up in a fishing town and was aware of Kinlochbervie's fishing associations and had expected something bigger and with a little more bustle. At best it seemed a loose collection of streets and services (school, harbour, ambulance/fire station). Walking through town I was offered a lift to the trailhead for Sandwood Bay and felt a bit uncharitable and uncomfortable declining this kind offer, explaining that I had walked from Fort William and that accepting would unfotunately feel like cheating. Turning off the road at Blairmore I headed back into the 'wilds'. The trail was pretty good and it wasn't long before I was looking down at the sands, dunes and breaking waves of Sandwood Bay. I had heard about Sandwood Bay long before this trip and had expected it to be one of the more isolated places I'd visit so I was surprised to see maybe 20 other people dotted around the bay. Its a biggish bay so 20 people didn't make it crowded, it just didn't make it seem very isolated either. I wandered down amongst the sand dunes emerging for a leisurely stroll along the beach, pausing to admire the stack at the southern end of the bay and to watch the waves crashing in towards the shore. The sky was blue, the water clear, the air salty and a light sea breeze made the sand dance around my feet. I got the sand between my toes when I removed my shoes to cross the outlet of Sandwood Loch but a snack stop had to be quickly aborted as the increasing breeze made the wind blown sand too much of a nuisance. I cannot explain why but there is definately something magical about this place. Originally I had thought that I might camp here but it was still early and so I decided to head on to the north coast to spend my last night at Kearvaig. There wasn't much of this trek left, just a careful and pathless plod north. I'd expected to spend this stretch close to the cliffs but that wasn't really practical and I headed inland to avoid the wider, deeper and faster flowing sections of the various streams I had to cross. The land wasn't particularly high but did demand a number of ups and downs, the ups always requiring considerably more effort than their unintimidating 'statistics' might have suggested. As I came over Bealach Cnoc ha h-Uidhe I saw an impressive headland and assumed it was just another of the headlands on the west coast. It was some time later that I spotted the track running west to east across it and the dawning that this was in fact Cape Wrath. The wind had been strong all day and now it started to rain. I had toyed with going to the lighthouse first and then on to the bothy but with the weather turning miserable I decided the lighthouse could wait until tomorrow. My map was folded so that I couldn't see how far it was to the bothy and despite the gusting wind and lashing rain I decided that I would have to refold it as best I could in the conditions. This was a bit of a chore and I was left with a rather crumpled, somewhat ripped and slightly soggy map, all be it with the required information now clearly visible. The bothy was about 2 miles away along a good road that had presumably been built to service the lighthouse. On the way I passed an unusual black and white hut but the mystery was solved when it turned out to belong to the Ministry of Defence (M.O.D.). A large chunk of land up here is an MOD bombing range, not exactly harmonious with a wilderness experience but I guess its about as out of the way a place as they could find. Turning down the track to the bothy the rain stopped, the sun appeared and the warmth returned. I could see the bothy sitting above a lovely beach with more boiling, spurting, surging and crashing waves. This trip has been hard at times but the unfailing way that moments like these come along is a little unnerving. If you were inclined you might believe that someone or something was looking out for you, and that although they couldn't physically carry your burdens then perhaps they wielded just enough influence to make them a little more tolerable. I dumped my gear inside and headed down to the beach where I sat for well over an hour eating the last of my snacks and sipping contentedly from my water bottle. Listening, watching, thinking. Back at the bothy I read the register in silence and as the light started to fade I headed upstairs to bed. |
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Wednesday, April 26, 2006 |
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Destination: Cape Wrath (then back to Kinlochbervie) |
Today's Miles: 20.00 |
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Wednesday 16 April The light from the skylight was turning from black to grey and so I decided to get up. From inside it didn't sound too pleasant but once outside it turned out to be just the crashing of the waves. As it wasn't raining, hailing or snowing, and although it was only 5:30, I set off along the track. Behind me the orange glow of the sun was crepping over the hills. I passed the point I reached yesterday before bailing out to the bothy. I felt a sense of relief covering the final mile to the cape. The track turned north around Dunan Mor. There was the lighthouse, it got closer and then I was there - journey's end. The rain started and I laughed. A couple of sheep nearby looked on in the way that sheep do and I hunkered down behind a wall to eat breakfast. It wasn't quite the idyllic moment that I'd envisaged. No particular sense of contentment. No wistful staring across endless miles of ocean (west to Newfoundland, north to Siberia). No turning the last pages of my book 'Lighthousekeeping' by Jeanette Winterson with my back against the lighthouse. No having to drag myself away. It was simply time to go. I took a slightly different route back to Kinlochbervie, mainly to avoid the awkward stream crossings I'd forced on myself yesterday, but also with a view to bailing out to either Kearvaig or Strathchailleach if the weather turned nasty. I had the company of a heard of deer as I climbed up Cnoc a Ghiubhais and my presence sent them scurrying up the ridge, leaving them silhouetted against the sky. Heading towards Strathchailleach I got confused. Checking my direction I was amazed to find that I was heading south. Where had I gone wrong? How had I managed to get 'turned around'? I headed west (towards the coast) but now my compass said that I was going east. I was confused, what was going on? Finally it clicked. After 12 days of going north I was actually going south. South although novel was OK, I had turned at the lighthouse, I was heading back. The sun found a way through the clouds as I arrived back at Sandwood Bay and I had it all to myself until finally when leaving I met a couple coming over the hill. I probably passed about 20 more people heading towards the bay before I finally reached the road. I arrived at the hotel at 1:50 and had just enough time to order lunch before nipping up stairs to dump my stuff, dive into the shower and get changed before returning to the bar to toast the Scottish Highlands with of all things a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale. |
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Summing It All Up
So that's that then. Just the small matter of making it home which involved 3 busses and a train and turned out to be both fun and a rude awaking. In some parts of Scotland the postman provides a sort of bus service - the aptly named postbus and I clambered aboard at Kinlochewe for the journey to Lairg. I was the only passenger and soon got speaking to the 'postie', getting to hear some of the local gossip while travelling back along some of the route I had walked on my journey north. It was a lot of fun as we had a good laugh and I was kind of sad to leave (another individual whose presence had brightened up my day). All busses were timed to connect pretty smoothly and I was soon in Inverness where the irritations of day to day life and of other people started to creep up on me. It amazing how easy life is out on the trail, how you don't have to deal with other peoples ignorance or selfishness and how much 'better' life is without all this folderol. On the train back to Aberdeen I had some time to reflect on the last two weeks and to mull over how my hopes for this trip had actually turned out: I did manage to stay free from a set schedule but then again I also imposed more constraints on myself than I would ideally have liked. I suppose the reality would suggest a freedom but I seldom felt completely free I did find a considerable amount of contentment on this trip but I don't think that I was often 'at peace', there were moments, but by and large I'd describe the trip as stressful. I imposed most of this stress on myself - stress from undertaking the trip solo, across country I had never previously visited, requiring a level of navigational reliance that I didn't know I possessed and by deliberately eschewing many of the options that might have reduced this stress. I guess you reap what you sow. I did get a fantastic look at Scotland and had a fantastic experience. I truly would never have believed it could be so wonderful. I did manage to find some pretty special places to sit, to eat and to camp. More than I could have hoped for but perhaps less than actually exist - if that makes sense - I guess what I'm trying to say is that perhaps not being at peace meant that I did not fully grasp the opportunities. I did, by and large, get the independence I look for. Generally minimising resupply and the crutch of home comforts for long stretches. That said I did take advantage of those comforts that came along later on the trip. If they hadn't been there then I don't think I would have missed them but without a doubt the night at Ronnie's helped and the Riconich Hotel allowed me to relax and to treat things as a bit more of a 'holiday'. I did get plenty of practice with navigation. Got 'lost' three times but managed to work things out. I'm still a long way from expert but perhaps I'm nudging my way towards proficient. Its satisfying. I think I did manage to come home with some answers (or maybe appreciations) and certainly with more questions (or is that thoughts) Looking back I was lucky with the weather. It can be pretty unforgiving out there and although it was definately a big part of my trip (the source of much of my stress) it never really bullied me or battered me into submission. I wouldn't have minded a bit more sun and a lot less changeableness but by and large I stayed dry and I have little to complain about. I did reach Cape Wrath. I'm glad I did, not so that I can say I did but by going from Fort William to Cape Wrath I had the opportunity for such a wonderful (if stressful) adventure and to have the memories of everything in between (the trip would have no meaning without these pleasures). Closing thoughts - this is just how it felt for me. Look on the Cape Wrath Trail website and some other gentlemen describe it differently. I agree with them too. I think that if you are underprepared or plan to make it tough or if conditions turn really nasty this would be a severe challenge. At the other end of the spectrum it may appear very do-able. I guess the reality (and my reality) is as ever somewhere in between. The memories grow fonder every day.
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