It was the start of a long weekend break. It was maybe my third trip out this year. I was planning on heading up to Loch nan Cnapan as I hadn’t got there last year due to the bout of cellulitis in my leg. So I had packed for 3 days – which is pretty much my overnight kit, but with extra food and fuel.
I took my first break after crossing the Luibeg Burn at the ford that the NTS has been working on. They’ve done an amazing job. I didn’t, and misjudged the water depth. Time for a snack. I had been out of the buffeting wind along the valley, but moving back out on to the hill’s shoulder got the skloogs running back up my nose.
I had my camera out ready to take a photo of the jet fighter, who’s engine I could hear, only to realise that it was the wind in the glen beside the Bod. Whichever way I turned, the wind seemed to be in my face. If this was at ground level, I was already ruling out getting up to the open plateau – especially as the wind caught me unprepared twice and almost bowled me over.
I thought about heading south down Glen Dee, a route I’d taken last year with Dawn, but the wind would be in my face for a couple of hours. If I tabbed it back towards the shelter of Derry Lodge, I would probably keep going back to the car.
Arriving at Corrour Bothy, I had already decided to head back to Aberdeen. Knowing I had to cross the burn again, I dug out my oversocks and stored them in the backpack's belt pouch.
Crossing the Luibeg Burn again, I dug out the TrekMates Gore-Tex "Amphibian" waterproof over-socks and crossed holding my trail-shoes in the cord of my poles. I was surprised by the grip offered. Job done. Thanks for the suggestion, Dawn.
My goal had now become to get back to the car before 6.30, when the new series of “The News Quiz” would start. I made it with 5 minutes to spare. Sadly, turning on the car radio, I forgot that there was no Radio 4 reception until outside Braemar. Jings, it was the drone o’ the pipes on NECR as I got changed and then dove (almost uneventfully) back to Aberdeen. 15 1/2 miles. 0930-1825. 3 blisters. I'll do better next time.
All-round good egg, Geoff “LiteHiker” Gafford is soon off walking from the bottom bit left bit of the UK mainland to the top right bit. He’ll be keeping his blog up to date with his progress, but even before he goes, he has almost reached his sponsorship target of £2,000 for The Multiple Sclerosis Research And Relief Fund.
In the beginning … too cliqued, but the story has a beginning, not quite of Biblical proportions, but a beginning nonetheless. In the beginning, Big Kev was taking his son, “The Lad”, out for a trip to the Cairngorms. There was an open invitation to join them, so I pencilled it in my diary, and Dawn was going to travel up from London. Except for the plague that was brought upon both their houses. As I work for a far-seeing employer, I had already been inoculated against Cold, Flu, and the vengeful wrath of the Almighty.
And so it came to pass that I had a rapid turn-around after work on Friday night, and I was heading into the Chosen Land National Park. And lo, it was bloody brilliant!
Friday night.
With temperatures down to –4°c, it was going to be a cold one. I had the MWIS forecast and dressed accordingly. Also this month’s skymap was in my map-case. Leaving the car and walking through the woods, the cold mist clung to my face. No sounds except a distant water flow. No breath of wind except that which my lungs exhaled. The mist thickened with each breath and my gloves wiped away melting water droplets that clung to face.
Walking up the glen, I could smell woodsmoke from the bothy about 10 minutes before walking past it. No birds, no deer, no wind, no sounds bar the water in the glen and the occasional burn rushing down to join it. Clouds moved slowly in the sky, and a meteorite flashed by. Despite all the hi-tech modern kit, the inner-child still made a wish. About 90-minutes later, interrupted only by a “good evening” to a gentleman hiker walking his dog, I arrived at an empty ford (maplink). I had already decided to pitch where Mike and I had been earlier in the year. I stuck to that, even though I had the whole area to myself.
I cleared an area of debris, and pitched the tent. Then I cleared the debris from under the groundsheet. And once more before inflating my Insul sleep mat (the insulation will prove its worth tonight), and stripping down to baselayer, and climbing into sleeping bag (Cumulus Ultralight 350), and pulling my down jacket over my torso, and leaving my fleece-lined jacket over my lower body. I pulled on my warn cap and noted that the air inside the tent was much warmer than outside.
There was nothing interesting on the radio, so ate some peppered salami, drank some malt whisky and switched off the light and listened to Nature. I moved the Silva ADC device onto the groundsheet beside me. That would give me a shock in the morning.
I awoke twice in the night with a cold nose, so turned the cap around by 90° so that an earflap covered my nose.
Morning
With no fuss, it was morning. It was also –4.9°c and not quite 8am. Opening the zip on my sleeping bag, the cold quickly drove me to suit up – we’d see how good the Furtech trousers would be today!
Yes, there is an Akto in this photo
Filling the Camelbak from the stream, I found that the drink nozzle was frozen. This is the insulated version too. We had had problems with the crew-in gas canisters before, but was pleased to see that the Blackfly 4 worked well. However, I didn’t put it on a stone, and was using the Honey Stove separately, so it fell over as the frost in the ground melted. Twice.
Breakfast
Display reads –4.3°c
Leaving no trace
Any embers were doused with water, and scattered into the stream.
As I knew that there would be soot, I had carried in a ziplock bag to prevent it from making a mess of my kit.
Duly wrapped inside the pot-cozy, whilst the Honey Stove was back in its pouch.
I’ll do something about the fire starting kit, cutting the Maya sticks into shorter lengths, taking the small blue container of vaseline, pack enough cotton wool balls, and store it all in a lightweight, waterproof container, along with a knife that will fit there.
Everything was packed away and the ground checked for any tell-tale signs of my passing.
Hiking out
Low cloud gave glimpses of the mountains beyond. About 6 people had ventured past, and I would see two more before reaching the car.
South towards the Linn of Dee.
Looking back north up the glen.
Like some gate-keeper, this tree always freaks me.
A final parting shot from a great night out – a small party of deer were lurking near the car park.
Thank you, Nature. Shame out the cap, and the buff cravat.
Extras: SnowClaw (just in case), Alpkit Filo jacket, Extremities cap (apparently it is called a “Took” hat). Smartwool liner socks worn under thick Ultimax socks.
Things to do: cut Maya sticks in half. Replace batteries in headtorch. Protect Camelbak from cold overnight (by the way, my Silva measured –24°c in my freezer on Sunday). Water had frozen on the filter of the Aquagear, so that needs watching too. Look into a separate camera for video clips – maybe my old Sony stills camera.
New gear that made the grade and will be with me again: Furtech trousers, Lowe Alpine briefs (xl-w-noir), Honey Stove, Blackfly 4 (using a stable base).
New gear that didn’t make the grade: PossumDown Gloves – toasty, but left tickly fibres on my rough manly face. I also couldn’t operate camera whilst wearing them. My normal Mountain Hardwear “powerstretch” liner gloves will be staying with me.
Wet and wild in the Cairngorms – and the weather wasn’t great either.
Saturday morning. Rain. Low cloud. Bacon on the frying pan in the tent next door.
The story starts at the end of September with a message across on the Outdoors Bloggers Forum: Hi Duncan, I am actually travelling up Monday night. Arriving Tuesday morning Aviemore. Getting over to the east side for the following weekend is no problem. Give me a day and location and I can be there. Dawn.
So, Friday night finds me rushing home from work and packing my Osprey Atmos pack (I have one comfortable pack for overnights and multi-days). I set the kit out on the bed, and remember Dawn’s resupply pack from the fridge. The hour it takes me also allows for the rush-hour traffic to die down, and I set off westwards after 6pm. A straight drive along Royal Deeside, and past the shops in Braemar, parking at the Linn of Dee. (maplink) A quick tab up Glen Lui gets me to Derry Lodge about 9.30pm. I do part of the journey with the headtorch switched off and sometimes with the red LED on. I sneak past Bob Scott’s bothy by diffused sky-light as I find it heightens my senses more and I find I can smell the woodsmoke from the hut down in the glen. I decide that, when I get home, I’ll swap out my Alpkit headtorch (with its many colours) for the mono-coloured 4-LED lens Petzl as I prefer to have a wider field of vision. With thoughts on lights, I round the corner past the lodge and see a red light in the near distance. After a short manoeuvring around the river (and then back across the bridge as I’d moved in a straight line but the river has a bend in it), “good evening Dawn”, and “Is that you Duncan?” I clear a pitch and Dawn offers me water for a brew. We chat, then kip, soon after the rain falls on our tents.
Next morning over the aforementioned bacon rolls and a brew, we discuss the options for the weekend. The weather is poor, the temperature had dropped to 2°c on the drive in, but was 5°c in the ‘gorm. There was snow on the peaks. My thoughts of heading to Loch nan Cnapan were shelved and a low-level day settled on. Dawn would see what Saturday brought before deciding whether to continue her hiking trip, or bail out with me on Sunday. Packing up wet tents in a break in the drizzle, we see a few people on the trail, but no other tents. The forecast of snow on the peaks, rain and high winds may have had something to do with that.
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Looking back to where we had camped the night before gives some idea of the weather conditions. The waterproofs were on from the start, and conditions merely determined whether the hood was up or down. We had both walked the track enough times, and go to Luibeg Bridge without incident. Though it is strange that the good path was down to the ford (“in this weather? no chance”) rather than the bridge. We stop for a break and wave to the three ‘oriental’ gents who walk by.
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The way up Luibeg disappears into the mist and snow as the shoulders of the second-highest peak in the UK (Ben MacDui) are faintly visible. We think of the folk from OutdoorsMagic who are having a “windy meet” in the region, and hope they are having fun.
Over the muddy path we slide and squelch. Moving towards the better path, but the rain is now cold and heavy and constant. We meet the three gents again at the foot of the path up Carn a’ Mhaim. They politely point to the stream running down the slope and ask us if we knew “if that was the path to the summit?” We confirmed that it was, and said it looked like it would be a snow-covered walk in the low cloud above. Something that we wouldn’t try. The main chap still looked confident, but his two colleagues were not. We left them discussing the matter.
Afterwards I mentioned that I had made the assumption that just because I wouldn’t have attempted it, these people from a different land shouldn’t either. Maybe they were trained in the Chinese military, or from a mountainous part of the world, and even their old granny walked worse to get to market. As you may have gathered, I feel guilty quite easily.
There are no photographs of the westward trek from the Luibeg to the Lairig Ghru as the rain was too heavy. Only when we started to turn south (“move down another two steps, now turn left, that’s you on the path now”). My Paramo Cascada trousers were sodden, and my Scarpa boots were squelching on the outside and inside. Dawn noted that they had failed on her in conditions like this too, and she had had an argument with a chap in the Covent Garden shop over the claims of waterproofedness. I reckon that I’ll get some Nikwax on them and decide whether or not to trust them for the West Highland Way in October.
Looking back north gives us some stunning views. Nature is great and I don’t think either of us felt down-heartened by the weather. I stop myself humming “Somewhere over the rainbow”, as it isn’t manly enough and switch to “Walking on sunshine” – hmm, I think I need to listen to less pop music and dust off some old edgier tracks.
The Bod really dominated the area, and the sun eventually managed to bless it before we finished walking the glen.
I am too much of a gentleman to mention the two falls that Dawn had in the glen. On a path. At ground level. I guess many of us have done similar things. I know I have. Well, I haven’t fallen, over, but I have stumbled and caught myself. So that is almost the same.
And, yes, this is the same day as the earlier photographs. Still Saturday, nearing 4pm, and we meet two pairs of hikers out for a day’s walk.
Stopping at White Bridge (maplink), we discuss options and settle on pitching at a spot I know near the Linn of Dee, and walking out next day.
As the sun sets on Saturday, Dawn gets out her “Bush Buddy” wood-burning stove and is making pitta-bread cheesy melts and I get my meths stove out for a brew. A pair of stags are sounding off for a fight, even though they are separated by the torrent of the River Dee. I had not seen any deer since leaving the car yesterday evening, and was still asleep when early-bird hikers were up and about watching a herd not too far from the tents.
We had walked 18km (11 miles), and my super-dooper Paramo trousers had dried out soon after the driving heavy rain had stopped.
Sunday morning. We slowly break camp. The deer noises of the night before are gone. The Silva ADC Wind (bought earlier in the year in a sale from RawOutdoors) recorded that the lowest temperature in the night had been 1.1°c. I was glad of my down jacket, and had pulled it over the down sleeping bag and slept in a layer of merino wool clothes.
A short walk to the car, and we arrive soon after at Braemar for breakfast in the “Hungry Highlander” (where the ducks stare at us menacingly) and a trip to the gear shop (Braemar Mountain Sports) which is left empty-handed.
Dawn’s take on the trip can be found over at: dawn-outdoors.blogspot.com. I will read it later, as I preferred not to read it before writing my trip report…which has been delayed by events – mainly the week passing so quickly.
Getting on with my life and thinking about things.
