Days like these - a spectacular morning on Loch Hourn

I slept really well at our camp on Loch Hourn, waking early as the light grew stronger.  Stepping outside, this was my first view of the day - the majestic Ladhar Bheinn rearing into a flawless blue sky across the loch.  I've climbed Ladhar Bheinn twice, once from each side of the hill, and had remarkably good weather both times.  It's one of the Munro "superstars" in my opinion and anyone who climbed it on this day would have an unforgettable ascent.

The view in the other direction up Loch Hourn wasn't too shabby either!  The low early morning sunshine was silhouetting the tangle of ridges and spurs around Kinloch Hourn, a very different aspect of the same scene we'd watched the previous evening.

Rather than rush away we took our time to enjoy being in this utterly remote spot on such a great morning.  Everywhere we looked was stunning scenery and we found lots of interest all around, including some strange miniature fountains where the tide was pushing water and air up thorough the saltmarsh areas.

But it was Ladhar Bheinn which held our attention.  We had breakfast facing across the loch so that we could watch the light change on the cliffs at the head of Coire Dhorrcail (on the left of this image) and the gullies and faces at the head of Coire Odhair.

Eventually we decided to get underway and enjoy the view from the water.  We took down the tents and erased all evidence of our second fire; the tide had taken care of the remains of the first one!  We paddled out onto a mirror calm loch for a truly memorable morning's paddle.

It was now mid-morning and the warm sunshine had started to form clouds.  These didn't detract from the views at all, in fact the pattern of light and shade enhanced features and gave depth to the whole scene.  Douglas and I blazed away with our cameras and Donny filmed from "Guppy".  

The backdrop of Ladhar Bheinn was hard to beat, the kayaks tiny underneath the bulk of the mountain.  I took a tremendous amount of images and even now I can't decide which I prefer, so here's a few of them....Douglas' bright red P&H Volan providing a real splash of colour against deep shadows....

...a colour and light gradient as a passing cloud accentuated the warm sunshine against the shadow...

.......Lorna and Allan in a perfect reflection of the dramatic skyline of the summit ridges.....

....Donny motoring Guppy along below Druim a' Choire Odhair (ridge of the dun coloured Corrie)....

Already this was an outstanding day, and it was only mid-morning!  Days like these, they stay with you forever.

 

A glow at the end of a long day on Loch Ericht

Loch Ericht has been on my list of places to kayak for some time. A 23Km/14.5 mile long fresh water loch, it  is rarely wider than a kilometre wide and forms a long slash across the highlands.  It follows the general NE-SW orientation of highland faults and deep lochs and is flanked by mountains on either side for most of its length.   I've walked the hills above the loch and backpacked along one side on a long through-route, but not yet paddled on it.

Due to the orientation of the loch, it inevitably forms a wind-tunnel in the prevailing SW'ly winds.  Several tenuous plans to kayak here over a period of years had been abandoned when the wind just wasn't suitable.  But, as September turned to October a period of very light winds was forecast for the central Highlands which coincided with Allan and I being able to get away.....time for another adventure!

We drove to the village of Dalwhinnie at the north east end of the loch.  There's space for a couple of carefully parked cars near to the railway underpass.  A trolley is very useful here as it's a few hundred metres to the water and there's a barrier across the private estate road.  We were soon on the water and underway on an absolutely idyllic morning.

An hour or so  down the loch and we pulled in to a tiny beach for coffee and first luncheon.  With warm sunshine and light winds it felt like summer.  Only occasional whispers of wind disturbed the loch surface and we noted several rising fish.  Loch Ericht is known for its population of Ferox Trout , a form of Brown Trout (Salmo trutta) which are piscivourous - fish feeding - rather than benthivorous - invertebrate feeding -like Brown Trout.  Ferox trout grow to prodigious sizes; up to 30lbs (14Kg) is not unknown.  Their prey may be Arctic Charr or Brown Trout in Loch Ericht, and they may or may not be genetically different from Brown Trout populations in the same loch, a fascinating species of fish.

While we lazed in the sun we saw a Dipper working along the side of the loch towards us.  I associate Dippers with fast flowing rivers and burns; they're common on the River Don near to my home.  Here though, the bird was swimming along in shallow water before diving under to search for invertebrates in slightly deeper water.  It was completely oblivious to our presence until one of us moved; it then gave a splendid double-take before scolding us and flying straight across the loch.

The Ben Alder estate has some very fine buildings on it; this is one of the smallest, the gate lodge on the estate road along the north shore of the loch, which can be rented and sleeps 8 in some splendour.....

....but that's quite bijou compared to the rather magnificent Ben Alder Lodge!  The "big house" for the estate is really quite something and even has a nearby full-sized church.

Past Ben Alder Lodge the view from the loch on the north side opens out briefly to give a great view to Ben Alder and Bheinn Bheoil (on the left) and Sgor Iutharn on the right, with its superb Lancet Edge seen head-on.  On the two occasions I've climbed these hills I've had great winter conditions, hard packed snow high up; they give superlative mountain days.

Across the loch the steep flank of the Corbett Stob an Aonaich Mhoir (peak of the big ridge) plunges directly into the loch, so steeply that there's hardly a shoreline.  There was a great image here somewhere but I failed to get the composition as I'd have liked.

Just past Ben Alder Lodge we'd experienced a very strong headwind; so pressing that we'd got off the water to see if it would subside as we weren't making much headway.  Winds were generally light so this was probably a local effect with some funneling and perhaps a bit of a thermal effect.  Once it dropped we got back on the water - the last few kilometres were a bit of a slog!

Eventually though we tuned a corner into a bay containing our destination for the night, Ben Alder Cottage.  A bothy maintained by the Mountain Bothies Association, it was a welcome sight.  I hadn't stayed here for several years but had good memories of a dry and comfortable place - particularly given I'd arrived in a heavy snowstorm which was followed by a thaw and a roaring flood.

The MBA plaque on a door in remote country is one of the most welcome sights there is, especially when tired!

We got ourselves installed and unpacked.  A party of mountain bikers and a solo walker were camped outside but joined us in the bothy to share some of the spartan comfort of the place.  There is an old story about this bothy being haunted by the ghost of a former resident, a gamekeeper called McCook who hanged himself behind the door.  Great tale as it is, McCook died in his own bed in Newtonmore in 1933 and the tales are, well, just that - the true story is  told on Trevor Hipkin's blog here .

Well after the sun set the glow in the western sky was gorgeous, silhouetting the hills in cold steel-blue and graduating the sky from gold to pink to palest blue - a great sunset.

Back indoors we created our own glow with a fire in the bothy's stove.  We'd brought logs and offcuts of whisky barrel staves in our boats, much to the delight of the mountain bikers who'd travelled in light.  A dinner of venison casserole followed by stewed apples with clotted cream and accompanied by a dram soon gave an inner glow to match that of the fire.  It had been a long day of paddling and the next day would be an even bigger one....we weren't up late.

The way back from Carn Bhac

Climbing onto the broad ridge which leads up to Carn Bhac (cairn of the peat banks) a wide view opens up to the Perthshire hills, with Beinn a'Ghlo prominent.

The first top reached is called Geal Charn - the white cairn - and although it didn't appear so under lowering cloud, the quartzite rock here appears very pale under most conditions.

From Geal Charn there's a gun-barrel view down the remarkably straight trench of Glen Tilt, one of the great through routes of the Highlands, and part of the path from Blair Atholl to Braemar.

It's easy going and pleasant walking from Geal Charn to the main summit of Carn Bhac, which is the highest point of the dome of scree in this image.

At the summit cairn the view towards the main Cairngorms ws rapidly disappearing under cloud and what looked suspiciously like falling snow.  As the wind was in the north this lot would be heading my way, so I didn't hang around too long.

My way back from Carn Bhac was via the usual route of ascent.  This has little to commend it other than being a logical route if you want to include the nearby Munro of Beinn Iutharn Mhor (which is, in my view, better climbed separately anyway).  In descent this "normal" route is a long drag of wet moor and peat bog - I came this way the first time I climbed Carn Bhac but the "back" route I'd used is a much more pleasant way up.  This is looking back at the hill from about half way down.

Eventually the route meets an estate track along a stony ridge with good views into the head of Glen Ey, a pleasant glen for a low level walk with a ruined shooting lodge in the upper reaches.

Arriving back at Inverey, a late blink of warm sunlight lit up the nearby hillsides - but it didn't last as the rain was starting just as I reached the car.  Carn Bhac isn't the most popular of Munros, perhaps because it's stuck a bit in the background, and perhaps a little because of the normal route of ascent.  It does have splendid isolation though, and some great views if you're lucky enough to have a clear day.  My route was 22 kilometres with about 650m/2130ft of ascent; the route is all on OS Landranger sheet 43 (Braemar and Blair Atholl). 

At the back of Carn Bhac

Carn Bhac (rocky hill of the peat banks) is one of the less visited of the Munros, requiring a fairly long walk.  The usual route is to combine the hill with another Munro, Beinn Iutharn Mhor, from Inverey on Deeside.  With a full day in early September to spare, I decided on a walk from Inverey which would take me to Carn Bhac by a round-the-back sort of route.

The track heading south from the war memorial in Inverey passes a couple of fine traditional buildings, one a shooting lodge.  One of the estate garrons - sturdy, strong hill ponies often used to bring deer carcasses down from the hill - eyed me up speculatively but obviously decided I didn't look like I had a spare apple since it soon went back to grazing.

Across a patch of level ground another track can be seen angling up the edge of a pine plantation.  This was the path I intended to take, but had walked out on the main path to visit a pleasant spot.

A small rapid on the Ey Burn drops into rich brown pools of peaty water, edged with gently sloping slabs - a picnic spot for a future visit.

I crossed the burn to pick up the track to the west of the Ey Burn (you can also get to this point by walking along the road from Inverey and crossing a small bridge then taking the track leading south).  Ahead, the track climbs steadily up a small valley holding the tiny burn of the Allt Cristie. The angle of climb seems perfect for that steady rhythm of walking which gradually ticks off height gain with little effort.

The track emerges onto a slightly boggy bealach (col) with a nice view back down the glen.  A distant speck resolved itself into a Golden Eagle working along the steep slope, but too far away for a photograph.

To the south, a broad undulating ridge of wind-clipped heather gives easy walking with a real feeling of space and super views.  The jaws of the great pass of the Lairig Ghru were sunlit, but roofed in with summit clouds.

To the north a series of ridgelines marched away in alternating light and shade, one of the features of these great spaces in the sky is the breadth of ground for such plays of light.

At the end of the broad ridge, a view opens up to Carn Bhac, my objective for the walk.  From this angle the hill appears as a breaking wave of scree.  A low intervening ridge was scabbed with the peat banks from which the hill takes its name.  In the whole time I'd been out I'd seen just one other person; it's grand and lonely country at the back of Carn Bhac.

A "mamba" Munro and the simple joy of a path

I slept deeply and long at the Tarf Hotel, waking 8am, an unusually late hour for me. A combination of tiredness after a long day and the deep silence of these empty miles on a calm night, plus the absence of the usual bothy mice rustling about were all factors.  I felt refreshed but a bit slow when I got up, and it was after 9am when I set out into a morning with a lid on it.  Cloud levels were down to just above the bothy, the air was still and had that heaviness which often characterises the month of August in the Highlands.  A look back at Feith Uaine; splendid isolation and a haven in truly wild country.

I followed the Tarf Water downstream for a short distance before striking off up a side stream.  A little way up the hill I passed a ruined shieling, evidence that this hasn't always been an empty landscape.  Shielings were summer dwellings used in the traditional transhumance of people and beasts to higher pasture in the summer months.  Sited in the crook of a burn (stream) on relatively level ground, its interesting that the surrounding ground is an area of grass among square miles of heather and moss - I wonder whether the site was chosen for this characteristic, or if the ground was cleared of heather to provide better grazing for the cattle?

Continuing uphill on increasingly rough and difficult terrain brought me to a huge area of peat hags and wet ground.  scattered through the peat hags were the bleached roots and stumps of a long-gone pine forest which once covered the land.  A combination of a cooling climate and felling for timber destroyed these forests - allowing the build up of peat which has left vast areas of empty country.

Soon after this image was taken I walked up into the cloudbase and visibility was reduced to less than 50 metres.  I continued to follow a tiny burn uphill until I reached a bealach (col) between the Munros of Carn an Fhidleir and An Sgarsoch - and also on the Perthshire/Aberdeenshire boundary.  I now had a decision to make.  My next destination was a path which reaches high up the Geldie Burn and lay 3 kilometres to the north of the bealach.  I could either continue a traverse across steep, rough, wet and pathless terrain in low visibility to locate this path, or go over the summit of An Sgarsoch.  The latter route would add a kilometre in distance and 300 metres/1000ft of climbing but would make for easier walking and navigation, despite the additional climb.  After a little deliberation I chose the route over An Sgarsoch and began the steep climb up a broad ridge of grass and moss.

The challenge of accurate map and compass navigation in poor visibility is something I enjoy to a certain extent.  Although carrying a GPS receiver in my kit I resisted using it and was pleased to arrive right at the summit cairn.  An Sgarsoch (the place of sharp rocks) is 1006m/3300ft and one of the more remote Munros.  The last time I climbed this hill I recorded in my journal having a good view, but no such luck this time; the inside of one cloud looks pretty similar to the inside of another!

Unusually for a Munro there's very little in the way of paths on the hill so my navigation still had to be accurate.  I elected to head due north to reach the bump of Sgarsoch Beag (little place of sharp rocks) from where I'd be able to head straight for the path.  This descent proved to be not straightforward as the ground falls away at unexpected angles.  Just as I was tempted to check my position by GPS the ground started to rise and I found the summit of Sgarsoch Beag.

I came out of the cloud just above the path and dropped wearily down to it.  I'd had over four hours of pathless and rough ground, much of that time in poor visibility.  The simple pleasure of being able to relax and walk on a path felt really good, despite the long miles still to go with a full backpacking load.

The path leads to the ruing of Geldie Lodge, another former shooting lodge in a remote spot.  In contrast to the atmosphere of Bynack Lodge, I've always found this place to be an austere setting.  Just below the lodge there's a crossing of the Geldie which leads to the start of a track heading back towards Linn of Dee.

It would have been tempting to have thought the route to be just about finished, but it's 12 kilometres from Geldie Lodge to Linn of Dee, a long way when already tired.  My usual routine on the hill with day kit is to take a short rest every couple of hours or when exploring something interesting; if carrying backpacking kit it's usually a short rest each hour.  My pace dropped on this route back and I found myself having to dig deep.  On the last stretch from White Bridge to Linn of Dee I was resting every ten minutes - I've rarely been so utterly done at the end of a two day route.

This trip into "mamba" country had been a real pleasure, apart from at the start and end I saw not another person in 55 kilometres of walking.  If solitude is your thing - you'll usually find it at the headwaters of the Tarf and Geldie.

Destination "mamba"

Late August in Scotland.  The hills are covered with the purple shades of heather, the sun shines on long days and all things seem possible.  Or......the midges are at their worst, the weather is muggy and oppressive and a heavy green and grey cloak covers the hills.  Towards the end of the month it seemed that there would be a bit of all of these things.  I'd initially planned a sea kayak trip but realised that forecast light winds and overcast conditions along the coasts would mean midge purgatory.

So, I looked for a backpacking trip which would give the opportunity of at least one night in a bothy, giving respite from the biting hordes.  The journey I settled on would take me into some of the most remote country Scotland has to offer - I'd need to be completely self sufficient in shelter and food so that if I didn't make the planned route I could still camp and be relatively comfortable.

Linn of Dee is the starting point for many long walks; to the north you can head off on some of the best known treks in the country; through the Cairngorms from Deeside to Speyside via the Lairig Ghru or the Lairig an Laoigh; or onto the great plateaux of the eastern Cairngorms and over to Donside perhaps.

Heading west, the choice is hardly less enticing - the routes shown on the Scottish Rights of Way Society sign indicate an alternative start to reach the Lairig Ghru and two great through-routes towards the west.

Anyone heading off on these journeys will enter true wild country, and though there are either tracks or defined paths the whole way, the challenges of distance and weather can test the strongest walkers.  Then there are the rivers - the routes to the west require crossings of water which can be running hard and fast; and there are no bridges over two of the most significant rivers.

My plan was to take the first part of the route from Linn of Dee to Blair Atholl, then head into the trackless country west of Glen Tilt to visit one of the most remote of bothies.  This view shows just the first few miles of my route, up the River Dee to the hills beyond.

The first significant river crossing at least has a bridge - White Bridge crosses the Dee and is a meeting point of tracks and paths (though it's not white!).

The view up the valley of the infant River Dee is one of glimpsed giants.  To the left, Beinn Bhrotain at 1108m/3635ft with the flank of the Devil's Point and Cairn Toul beyond -big hills for big days.

After such a dry summer I was confident of finding the water in the next river, the Geldie Burn, low - but I can't ever recall seeing it so low.  The Geldie is termed a "burn" (stream), but make no mistake, this is usually a river and it runs hard and deep in wet weather or during snowmelt; it's often impossible to cross safely and there are no bridges over it.  I've several times arrived here and found it birling along with an ominous rumbling sound of boulders being rolled along its bed - a crossing to treat with caution in normal conditions.

From here on I was entering "mamba" country.  Not referring to venomous snakes, thank goodness, the word is an acronym possibly coined by servicemen sent from southern England to serve in the Highlands and Islands during the Second World War.  "Mamba" stands for Miles and Miles of B*gger All !

Beyond the Geldie a substantial ruin stands in a patch of green sward, a bright spot among the heather.  This is (or was) Bynack Lodge, a ruined 19th century shooting lodge from the days of the great estates.  Perhaps it's the green setting or the trees surrounding the ruin, mainly pines and sycamores, which make this such a pleasant spot; I've always found this ruin a place of peace and have camped here several times.

The ruin has been stabilised by Mar Lodge estate and you can see some of the brickwork used to support the mortared rubble original wall.  There are actually a few ruins here, one building was a game larder with a subterranean meat store, there was a separate building which may have accommodated the staff, traces of kennels, a stable and even a walled garden.

One slightly surreal but enjoyable experience I had here was watching the balcony scene from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" being performed using the window sill in the left of this image as the balcony - and that can't have happened too many times!

After a final glance through the arched wall aperture back down the Bynack Burn towards Geldie I hoisted my rucksack and headed onwards; there was still a long way to go today, much of it "mamba".