Category: Scottish National Trail

Distance: 28km

I’m sitting in the Maol-Bhuide bothy, a heavenly white structure overlooking Loch Cruoshie tucked up in all my layers, in the sleeping bag and trying to decompress and think about the day.

Definitely the hardest day of this trail so far, and by a considerable margin.  But I’m here, and I made it, and I can reflect on what happened.

Firstly I tossed and turned all night thinking about risking the descent of the Falls of Glomach whilst the rain pelted and the wind howled.  I decided I couldn’t do.  I didn’t think I would be able to hold my nerves in these conditions which would mean a considerable risk of doing myself grave harm.

I had met a lovely chap, John, last night who has walked the length of England and now Scotland raising money for cancer and with a personal story to tell.  We had decided we would walk together and help each other get through the precarious drop. During the night, I resolved that I needed to tell him I couldn’t do it, and that I was going to try an alternative route.

It was a happy coincident that Dave had decided exactly the same thing during the night. Resolved, we set out to walk an alternative.  The alternative was by no means easy.  A steep ascent and an even steeper, longer descent.  Periods of sunshine interspersed with gusting rain, hail and wind strong enough to knock me over.  It wasn’t easy, but I never felt unsafe.  A good decision made.

Confounded by a raging river at the bottom of the descent, we hauled overland for a considerable distance in search of a bridge that would take us across the torrent.  Such relief to get back on the trail, cross the river and continue on our way.

Whilst I stopped to have a break, Dave headed off, eager to reach the warmth of the bothy.  My reverie was interrupted by a young fellow in a panic. After spending some time calming him, it became apparent that he had tried crossing the river and his phone had gotten wet and died. His tent had been destroyed in the night and he had been intending to leave the trail by using the alternate route we had just taken.  With no map guidance however, he was stuck.  We talked through the options (I thought he should come with me), but he was set on going back over the Falls.  With much concern, I asked him to use my Satellite phone to contact his parents and let them know the plan.  He was to sit, have something to eat, and get his mental fortitude back before attempting to climb.  And then we left each other.  I sincerely hope he is okay.  Another hailstorm passed through shortly after we left each other.

The second part of the walk proved just as difficult as the first.  This time, it was the water that was the issue.  Tiny creeks had turned into swiftly flowing rivers, and the track itself was inundated with water.  As someone who is relatively inexperienced with river crossings, this really tested both my nerves and decision making skills.  Some creeks I wouldn’t cross, instead going cross country around the long way to meet up with the track elsewhere.  

I was quietly pleased with myself and filled with gratitude to see the white mirage of the bothy come into view.  Imagine my disappointment and disbelief to realise that the river I needed to cross to get to it looked dangerous to me at the crossing point!  I searched upstream for an easier crossing.  Nothing.  I was retracing my steps to sit on the bank and either look downstream or wait for Dave to see me stranded when a figure popped up in front of me.  Another hiker had arrived whilst I was scouting! Without further ado we worked together to make the crossing, holding hands to make a raft to get across. Once across safely, we exchanged names.  Such is hiking.  I was very grateful for Ethan’s assistance, as he was mine.

So now I sit here, warm and toasty, contemplating my day.  I did it.  And I did it safely.  But I really hope there isn’t another day like this one to come…

This article was originally published on The Trek and can be found here

Distance: 14km

Spoiler alert – NOT the romantic drought!

There is rain. It is raining! Drizzling in flurries all night long. I emerge from the bothy into a white wilderness, trying to be enthusiastic about this change in fortunes. I mean, it had to happen, didn’t it?

Outside, it’s not too bad. Not cold, and the rain is misty rather than heavy. In a way the timing is perfect, as the water boosts all the many waterfalls along the trail. The track is easy to follow, rocky and not slippery, so really it is ideal.

The highlight of the day is Grannda Falls, an area in which multiple falls cascade down into a cauldron like environment, the track spiralling steeply around the outside edge. The wetness of the environment brings out the intense green of the ferns and grass. It really is spectacular.

Onwards and it’s down, across a number of rivers on little bridges and a straightforward track into the town of Morvich.

The rain holds off just enough to set the tent up in a reasonably dry manner. With a shower and a can of Spaghetti Bolognese heated to boiling and in my belly, it’s been a lovely afternoon to catch up on a few adminstrative tasks for the upcoming days.

On my mind is what is renowned as being one of the most hair-raising parts of the walk – the Descent of Glomach Falls, which I am set to do tomorrow. I’m going to have to sleep on this one. I like you rain, but couldn’t you have held off for just a couple more days?

This article was first published on The Trek and can be found here

Distance: 37km

I really enjoyed the Eagle Barge last night. Picture an eclectic bar with currency of all varieties hanging off the ceiling, home drawn pictures on the wall and a huge map with pins stuck into it from all over the world. I take great pride in pressing a pin into the tiny part of the world I call home.

As it’s a windy night, everybody is crammed into the small bar area and it is a group conversation. There are dogs running round, and I even end up with a dog lying on the bar in front of me, soaking up the attention I very willingly provide it. A very lovely evening.

The walk today was not a highlight. In fact, it wasn’t until late in the day that the best part of it wasn’t the route I was re-doing from the camp site back to the track! The morning consisted of forestry walking, lots of bare, open spaces where the trees have been taken and little remains.

I also encounter my first very boggy, “off-road” type area following a barely there trail alongside Loch Garry. Honestly, it was a bit of a slog, so much so that I wished I had taken the alternative road walking route described in the trail guide. Essentially, a lot of work for not much viewing reward.

I arrived at Paulary , the end of the stage at about 5.00pm. I didn’t like what I saw. A potential camping spot, but right by a reasonably busy road. No shade and a tiny trickle of water. I decided I had another couple of hours left in me. It was a perfect evening, and I’d rather sleep on top of the mountain than right by the road.

So it was that at 5.30 I pushed on up and over the Mam na Seilg pass.  It was the best decision I could have made as I thoroughly enjoyed the physical exertion late in the day.  On the other side, I was rewarded by an amazing view.  A moody, mystical valley with sheer walls, mountains on all sides and a creek running through the middle.  Perfect for setting up a tent. With a cheer, I continued down to the valley floor eager to spend the night in this wondrous landscape.

This article was originally published on The Trek and can be found here

I wake this morning feeling fairly sluggish. It takes a long shower and an extra coffee to arouse my motivation. I stayed in a lodge last night which was funnily enough, also being re-carpeted outside my room. I’ve stayed in many lodges before, and I’ve never had to strip the bed and take the linen to the bar area for processing previously. I’ll let it pass. The bed was super comfortable.

I wonder if I’m feeling a little sluggish because I’m back on the canals today. Probably. And that my plans aren’t completely solidified for the next few days. I’ve found it hard to get information, and I keep second guessing my choices. At some point my decisions are going to have to stick.

The canals this morning are surprisingly lovely. The Caledonia Canal is a lot more wild looking than I was expecting, running parallel to the River Oish. There are a number of boats on the water, and I enjoy watching them navigating through all the loch gates. Often I catch them whilst they are waiting for passage, and we all yell out a little cheer when we see each other again.

“Did you know you have a very elegant walk. It is very beautiful to look at”

Why thank you random hiker stranger passing in the other direction. I’ll take a bit of flattery anytime over the nude. He’s obviously never seen me scurrying along in the rain!

I reach a decision point. Continue on, or go off track a couple of kilometres to a designated “camping area” near Loch Lochy. I decide to go off track. It looks quite sparse where I’m supposed to be going, and there is still hours of sunshine remaining. I might as well set up somewhere I know I’m allowed to be and enjoy it.

So here I sit. My reward is a picnic table overlooking the water. It’s a hive of activity and there is a barge about 100m away that is going to open up for drinks in about 10 minutes time. A win for me I reckon! (I’ll complain about having to backtrack tomorrow!)

This article was originally published on The Trek and can be found here

There are two kinds of camping sites. Those that try your resolve, and those that nourish you. The Blackburn Bothy was definitely the nourishing kind.

I woke this morning to the sun benignly streaming into my tent, gently waking me from a deep sleep. I’m feeling good, both mentally and physically. Fit, strong, resilient.

It’s a very short walk into town this morning. I’m heading into the famed Loch Ness. Stuff of legend, fable and fantasy. It’s a quick hike over the hills before I spot Fort Augustus and the Loch in the distance. I can see the town, a crumbling old castle, and surprisingly a very modern pink one, all offset by the winking blue of the loch itself.

I arrive in time to have a lovely long lunch in the sunshine, catching up on writing and planning the next few days. I’ve been going back and forth in my mind about whether to continue on the Scottish National Trail, or take a small detour along the Affric Kintail trail. In the end, I decide to stick to the route I am following. Either way, I’ll experience the last last couple of days of the Affric Kintail and the described long forestry walks of the first couple of days were enough to put me off it. We’ll see if I regret that decision later.

After lunch, I take the time to watch yachts being lifted and up and down a series of gates and visit the famed place itself. The loch is surprisingly large, giving off a vast, inexorable feeling. It is cold, despite the sunshine, with the wind whipping through the air and causing ripples on the dark waters.

Later, I sit at the bar and chat to another fellow. He tells me the story of his relatives, who are officially recorded as being one of only 30 potential sightings of Morag – a second (and possibly related) monster that lives in the deepest lake in Scotland (Loch Morar – 310m deep). There is absolutely no trace of mirth in his tone as he tells me this. He is dead serious.

I’m not sure if I believe the story quite as much as his Scottish soul does, but I do love it. His relatives had to hit Morag with an oar apparently, or they may have met their demise in the deep…..What an image.

This article was originally published on The Trek which can be found here

Distance: 29km

I didn’t sleep very well.  That weird thing where I’m not quite sure I should be where I am, expecting a knock on the tent door all night and a polite request to leave.  It doesn’t happen and I see no one, but I still don’t sleep well.

A mixed day of fortunes on the walk today.  I emerged from my campsite and straight onto the Spey Reservoir, looking oh so scenic on this sunny morning.  I spot movement up ahead, and am thrilled to see three red deer grazing down on the foreshore.  They let me enjoy looking at them for a while, seemingly content if I keep my distance. All three boast a pair of very impressive antlers, though not yet full grown.

Onwards and it’s a long, long roadwalk.  Straight lines for miles with a limited palette on either side. Walk, walk, walk.  It’s not particularly pleasureable, but at least I’m gettting somewhere quickly.

Eventually, I get to the gravel track which will lead me over the Corrieyairack pass.  It’s a strange sort of place.  It feels remote, but front and centre are a line of very modern looking electricity towers guiding the way.  It’s a long, but relatively easy climb.  I notice that a bunch of wild moorland flowers are starting to emerge. Tiny red and pink carnivorous plants compete with giant stardrops, their yellow arms ringed with fringing black hairs.  There are blankets of yellow and white daisies, their heads bending gracefully in the strong wind blowing at the top of the pass.

On top all is quiet, no bird call.  All I can hear is my breath, and the faint buzzing of electricity as it travels along the wires. Eventually, I hear a bike bell or two as well.

I arrive at he Blackburn bothy by 4.30pm.  This bothy is not as salubrious as some of the previous ones I have seen, which is a shame, as for now, I’m the only one here.  Unlike the other bothys, this one has no bed racks but it does have a clean floor, desk and chair and thick walls which keep out the blustery wind.  I’m still trying to decide whether to sleep on the floor or not…the wind is making it hard to choose.  If somebody comes, I’ll definitely set up my tent.  If not, well, it’ll give me somethig to think about this afternoon won’t it?

Of course I set my tent up.  It’s my place of comfort.  Why would I sleep on the hard floor? With that completed, there is only one other thing to do.  Dance.

For the first time on the trip I get my headphones out.  It’s time.  Under their non-judgemental gaze, and with their arms wrapped around me, the mountains hug me to them whilst I dance and scream and sing out emotions of all sorts.  I let it all out like no one is watching, because those beautiful mountains are the only ones who are.

This article was originally published on The Trek which can be found here

It was a late start out of the hotel this morning after enjoying a scrumptious breakfast of scrambled eggs, pastries and tea.

This morning was like the opposite of yesterdays walking. Big, bold landscapes with an incredibly remote feel. Just what I love. I get into what I would describe as a “hiker trance”. Nothing going on except for the sound of footsteps on gravel, poles clicking, birds calling, wind gently whistling through the trees, water lapping in the lake. Nothing going on in my head at all except for a profound sense of enjoyment and peace. It is wonderful.

I pass by a loch, huge mountain on the opposite side, boulders tumbling off the sides like rain. I wander a wide valley, greenest of peaks on all sides. A gently flowing river twists and turns in the middle. I sit and have some lunch at a river fork, a ruin and an old bothy looking minute in this enhanced landscape.

I go up and over a mountain pass and meet a friendly fellow with a couple of dogs out for a walk. Further on, he passes me again, walking in my direction this time, but a lot more quickly than I am. We chat again about what it is like to run a sheep farm in the current dry climate.

I traverse through a woodland and reach a small town. Here he is again! This time coming out of a house. And in his outstretched hand, a beer for me to take on my way. He tells me it will be something to remember him by. I ask his name. It is Ewan. I say “Thank you Ewan. I will definitely remember this.” He wishes me luck for the rest of my journey. Once again I realise how kind most people are.

The second half of the day is very different to the first half. Road walking, on what turns out to be quite a busy road. I start looking for camp spots, but everything looks too exposed for my liking. I continue on, down past a reservoir wall and on a punt decide to look up a 4WD track running off the road.

It looks like it might work. Not enclosed, can’t see a house, off the road, reasonably flattish, slightly out of the wind, which has really picked up. I decide to stay.

It’s not the most awesome camping spot I’ve had. But the beer makes it seem something special.

This article was originally published on The Trek and can be found here

A wonderful day of walking through mixed terrain and challenges.

It was the coldest night yet last night, requiring me to pull a thermal top and socks out of my bag. Today though, sunshine greets me again with a wide smile. I smile back.

Whilst everybody on the TGO is walking east, I’m headed west. I follow along old car tracks, the familiar rocky creek always by my side.

After lunch, it’s a bit of a climb on a single path. The track notes tell me it should be very boggy. No bog. Sad for the environment, good for me I suppose. The track takes me to one of the highlights of the trip so far…a beautiful secret waterfall that seems to spring out of a desert type landscape. There is a little suspension bridge over the falls, and down below, crystal clear water sliding over sandstone rocks. It looks just like a tropical oasis with its deep, blue green pools and tree lined banks. It is lovely to sit in the sun and enjoy the flow of this water.

Afterwards, I am happy to see a forest of trees. An easy woodland path takes me onto another water table and back to another gurgling creek. I come across a river crossing which I can’t actually cross without getting my feet wet! Unusually so it seems, it’s the first of the trip. Shoes off, cross, sit in the sun, dry. It works out well.

I reach the Ruigh Aiteachain bothy, a very plush affair which boasts both upstairs and downstairs bedrooms, famous artworks and a fully stocked kitchen and fire set up. I had half decided to push on when I got talking to a teacher out the front. He told me a group of Duke of Edinburgh students were staying the night. That decided me. After my last long distance hiking experience in which I spent several days with the students, no thanks.

I decide to push on another 5-6km and get myself a little closer for the walk in to town tomorrow. I end up near a bridge with the same cool, clear water running underneath. It’s windy, but I’ll stay. Tent up, I huddle inside and enjoy a few hours reading my book serenaded by the occasional splash and squeal when somebody decides to jump from the bridge into the icy waters below. There are some brave souls here in Scotland.

This article was originally published on The Trek which can be found here