Early snow and a song

A bit brisk today. Out with the TNF Hedgehogs, overtrousers and fleece-lined jacket… and off to work.

Sadly the first snows have left one local fatality and a spate of accidents… so here’s a ‘transportation song’.

It’s good for the garden

Another FxCamera snap from "ymst"'s Android app and my HTC Desire. Text added in post'.

‘king Summer

As the clouds opened and the rain came straight down, the day was brightened by a double rainbow (leprechaun-nav?) lighting the way home from work. As I rounded the corner, I quickly moved out of the way of Mr & Mrs Drunken Chav, as he screamed at her “It’s supposed to be ‘king Summer!”. My guffaw was stifled in case I got beaten up.

Shot through built-in app on HTC Desire (Android).

Holiday weather

Mini tornado wreaks havoc on isle (BBC News).

The power was out last night after the lightening storm, and the older kids missed Stornoway’s mini-tornado by 15 minutes. They used words like “cool” when seeing the video clip.

TGOc 09 - Braemar

I went out on Friday night to meet Darren at the designated rendezvous point near the Linn of Dee. If he wasn’t there, we would meet up on Saturday morning.

After a wet drive, with localised flooding and some tree debris to be avoided, I arrived at the Linn of Dee. I left his resupply box (and some extra goodies) in the car, and had a short walk to the clump of trees we had agreed on. There was no-one there. Considering the weather, and that for him the west-east walk would be into the wind, this was not a surprise.  The movement that I had noticed further along the track was a small group of stags.

Dropping off the road, I moved amongst the trees in case Darren’s tarp was concealed from view, and then chose a sheltered pitch and put up the tent.

In the morning, the weather had not changed much, still wet, but the wind had died down. I pulled on Paramo trousers,  showerproof Montane jacket and treated boonie hat.

Some slugs had to be cleared off the tent and boots, and other kit checked for the slimy wee things.

As I started to pack and think about breakfast, I noticed a couple of walkers heading east. One “helloooo’d” me across the glen, and I waved back. They carried on walking, and so it couldn’t have been Darren.

A few minutes later, I was greeted by the sight of a pair of man-tights (leggings) at the tent door.

We chatted and headed off to the Linn of Dee. He had crossed the Geldie that morning. The holler had come from Vince, first-time Challenger, but who had walked in other countries.

Seeing a red squirrel by the bridge, and an advert for free brew for Challengers and tempting accommodation price at Mar Lodge (good one, NTS). I headed back to the car, leaving Darren to walk into Braemar,where I would meet him en route for a snack break.

Outside Inverey, I gave a ‘helloooo’ to Vince and introduced myself. The scout group camped near the Linn had treated him to breakfast. It is great when visitors to our country are treated like this.

I made a quick trip into Braemar for a thermos, and then caught up with Darren after boiling up some water at the roadside. We were joined by Andy, who I’d met last year. As the cakes were shared out, I got a friendly ribbing from a passing Babyfather John Manning about my weight – guilty as charged.

Returning to Braemar, I met Shirley “Peewiglet” (and was rewarded with a hug) and Andy Howell (handshake). After Darren arrived, we waved at Bob and Rose, then lunched - and Vince came in as we finished; then joined by an other Challenger. The two of us then went to the Fife Arms for a healthy drink and I get another hug from Peewiglet, and a few words with John Manning and Bob “no bones broken” Cartwright.

After making sure Darren has his resupply box, and extras (including a required phone charger), I leave the Challengers to their trail-tales, renewed friendships and then to walk across the rest of Scotland’s width.

Lull

Lull, originally uploaded by dimacleod.

Before the next storm

How do you spell “exceptionally”?

I had to laugh at one of the recent comments about the weekend’s OMM event that ran into a media storm.

Prof Ashton [joint director of public health for the county council and Cumbria Primary Care Trust] said: “Considering all the weather warnings that were given should they now carry legal weight and should there be any legal liability for those ignoring advice given?” [grough]

Excellent. Let’s turn this around.

I see weather warnings being given that amount to nothing. So, if I don’t go into work because of the weather warnings, and the weather comes to nothing, will my work have a claim against the Government for loss of work?

Will insurance companies refuse to pay out if the weather forecast was severe? Well, people did ignore the advice. All these lorries blown over by the winds each winter.

Link to the Met Office to see if you have a legal duty not to travel to work.

Hopefully pubs and clubs selling alcohol will have a similar duty of care.

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The title comes from a cartoon I remember seeing in a construction magazine in the 1990’s. Two builders are sat on top of a house roof, rainwater is lapping around their wellies, one is filling out a claims form, and asks his mate “how do you spell “exceptionally?””. It refers to the claim of exceptionally inclement weather.

Wet and Wild in the CGNP

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.

Cloudbursting

I was never a Kate Bush fan, but this song came to mind when I was writing about last Sunday's trip out and realised I had lots of photos of clouds left over. Like on the trip to Lewis to see the folks, I seem to become fixated by the weather when it is important to the day's plans.

The photos are just taken with the point-and-click Canon Ixus 950 IS, and the only filters were the 'scenes' I played around with on the camera. The "Underwater" one does weird things with the light.