This past autumn I embarked upon a week-long ride through the Scottish Highlands. The best-laid plans do not always work out...
Friday 30th SeptemberPacked the Pug and bags onto and into the Landy, then set off in the late afternoon for Glasgow, beset by dense traffic. Finally got in at around 2am...
Saturday 1st OctoberMy booking was for the 08:21 from Glasgow Queen Street to Taynuilt. I had a booking for the Pug as well, and had to start by removing the saddlebag and barbag in order to suspend the Pug by its rear wheel in the cycle compartment – there is space for six bikes, but the hooks were not made with fat wheels in mind, so it took some experimenting to find one that worked reasonably well. The train was almost full, so it was then a challenge to find space in the racks for my saddlebag and bar bag.
The train departed promptly, into a grey morning with occasional drizzle, drying slowly. The West Highland Line traverses beautiful scenery, and I began to relax into the journey. The train divides at Crianlarich, with two coaches heading up to Fort William; the other two are bound for all stops to Oban.
It was at 10:30 that I experienced an awful sinking feeling as – out of the blue – the realisation dawned that I had completely forgotten to bring my backpack, which contained sleeping bag, sleeping mat, sleeping bag liner and first aid kit... the backpack would still be hanging on a hook in my garage, and had never even made it into the Landy. I had been so sure of having packed everything that I had been careless when transferring it to the Landy, and never having cycled with a rucksack before, its absence had not crossed my mind... Awful!
Some quick thinking and enquiries by Fiona established that there is an excellent outdoor shop in Oban which would have the quality of equipment that I would need, so instead of disembarking at Taynuilt I continued twelve miles to Oban. Time to flex the credit card...
Outside Edge in Oban did indeed have an excellent selection, and the staff were a little bemused when I rattled off exactly what I wanted; after fifteen minutes I emerged with a lighweight MSR fell-runner's backpack, a RAB down 2-3 season sleeping bag, a Thermarest ProLite sleeping mat, a silk liner, a mountain first-aid kit and a Montane featherlight gilet. Expensive, but this was not the time to skimp on the gear.
I had missed the train back to Taynuilt, so, unsettled, set off to cycle the twelve miles, which started with an ignominious push up the steep A85 out of town. Soon I was, however, making good progress, berating myself for my absent-mindedness and getting irritated by the traffic. I reached Taynuilt after just over an hour, as the rain set in, and I retreated to the Robin's Nest tea room for soup and a sandwich and a pot of tea. I was way off schedule but planned to get to the Glen Kinglass watershed.
Refreshed and calmed, I was aware that I was feeling the cold, but put it down to not having been out and about on the West Coast for some time.
At 15:00 I set off to find the footbridge over the River Awe, and was dismayed that the road leading to it was in fact a very waterlogged farm track, leading to the top of a field. The bridge was visible through the trees at the other end of the field; a vehicle track across the field led through twenty feet of flooding. As the surface was firm I decided to pedal through, which turned out to be a good tactic as the water came over the bottom bracket, and by cycling I got wet but not drenched!
The bridge is a curious affair, appearing to have been a DIY project; the footway itself is only a foot wide at the bottom, opening out upwards, so pushing the Pug was delicate. At the far end a flight of steps descended into another waterlogged field, with no path; the Pug's fat tyres really come into their own in these conditions, as I could cycle across the sodden grass without sinking in, as I sought the exit, which turned out to be a kissing gate. A friendly angler helped me lift the Pug over the fence, and after a short push I reached the Inverawe Visitor Centre, another good place for a cup of tea.
From the Visitor Centre a very steep tarmac road climbs up through the forest to the junction with the track to Glen Kinglass. I was reduced to pushing again, my legs burning; I had not done sufficient preparation for this trip, so was not expecting it to be easy, was nonetheless becoming a little disconsolate at my slow progress.
The unimproved track to Glen Kinglass was surprisingly rough and undulated with every crease in the terrain; the steeper sections are roughly tarmaced to prevent washouts. Gradients are short and choppy, sometimes as steep as 1 in 3: I spent much time pushing, so had time to admire the views across Loch Etive. As I reached Glen Noe, the first of two to be crossed, I realised I had lost my phone, and back-tracked a mile to find it, thankfully lying in the middle of a steep and fast descent. I did not see anybody at Glennoe or at Inverliver, nor at the house at the mouth of Glen Kinglass, Ardmaddy, but shortly after came across an estate Land Rover whose driver assured me that all the water from all the local streams was safe to drink.
I had been struggling with the exertion and gulping down water, and was very impressed by the Nuun electrolytic tablets I was using: no sugar or stickiness.
I followed the River Kinglass up the valley for just over a mile, searching for a suitable campsite as the light began to fade; just as I was beginning to think I'd have to settle for a patch of bracken I spied a little-used turnoff, which led fifty yards to a small patch of short, soft grass beside the river: exactly what I needed! I set up the tent in the gloaming and in the increasing but gentle rain, and settled down to my first night's wild camping in over two decades, to the accompaniment of roaring stags in the surrounding hills. I was out of phone signal coverage and thus truly alone; I had forgotten just how "busy" camping is, getting everything done in the shelter of the outer tent, and soon it was eight o'clock and my bedtime had definitely been reached.
Sunday 2nd OctoberAfter a remarkably comfortable night I awoke to heavy rain at six in the morning, and made a cup of tea; then, feeling very tired, I persuaded myself that as it was Sunday I should lie in... before I knew it, it was ten, and the rain had all but ceased. The outer tent was heavy with condensation, and I packed up quickly while at the same time making up hot porridge to set me up for the day. Packing the bike was surprisingly quick, and by eleven I was on my way. The low cloud was slowly rising to reveal the high mountains left and right.
The estate road twists and winds its way eastwards, and I had to walk the steep sections, unnerved at the lack of strength in my legs. I met a vehicle, a Range Rover descending from the Lodge, but was barely acknowledged by its occupants. My legs were soon aching, and I coud hardly gulp water down fast enough; I was sweating profusely, as I had the previous day.
Glen Kinglass Lodge is beautifully set amongst thundering waterfalls. At this point the land rover track ends and the rough pony track begins, leading over rivers and bare rock and peat hags, steeply upwards towards the watershed, some three-and-a-half miles ahead. I could cycle the flatter parts, the Pug's wide tyres making easy of loose rocks and soft sand, meaning I could cycle through most of the small streams crossing the path; I pushed up the steeper and rockier sections.
I had been heading for a footbridge a couple of miles above the lodge, but first saw a new vehicular bridge, then a SRoW sign pointing to it and simply proclaiming "Bridge". I guessed that I should follow the sign, and the new track leading to the new bridge; the bridge gives onto a peaty bogland interspersed with slabs of granite, and no pathway was obvious to the skeleton of the old bridge, now visible about half a mile away. I followed footsteps of previous walkers, essentially heading straight for the old bridge across the bogland, heaving the Pug across sods of grass and sedge, and using it to steady me as I hopped from one to the other. Wearying work, but after twenty minutes I reached the ruinous old bridge, and ten minutes after that I regained the pony track – clearly it is used by ATVs these days, which simply ford the rivers rather than use the bridges.
The path grew steeper at that point for the last three-quarters of a mile to the watershed, and I struggled, pushing the Pug up the slope and crossing a number of further streams. It began to dawn on me that my slow movements and lack of strength were not simply down to a lack of fitness: I was feeling a little feverish. There was not much option, so I downed two painkillers and pressed ahead, slowly. I did not much appreciate the grandeur of the surroundings.
The watershed is featureless; I was heading for a building shown on the map beside Loch Dochard, just east of the highest point. The track on this side was better, clearly used by vehicles, and drainage had been dug upwards of it – to little avail. The building turned out to be a black corrugated-iron shed, where I was able to brew a mug of tea and force myself to eat lunch; I was not hungry despite my exertions. The wind was increasing in strength from the West, and the light rain had let up.
I began the descent along the Abhainn Shira towards Loch Tulla, enjoying the good land rover track, but very soon came to a SRoW footbridge leading away to the left; the road would ford the Shira, and I did not fancy trying that: it was well over two feet deep, some twenty feet wide, and flowing fast. I decided therefore to cross the robust but swaying footbridge and follow the footpath, as marked on the map: across a quarter of a mile of bogland to a steep stile across a deer fence and into forest, where a further half mile of very boggy "path" led to the land rover track again. Crossing the bog and stile was slow, and I was clear that I was not feeling well by then. Sunlight sparkled off the wet ground.
Having attained the road again I followed it up to Clashgour, pushing past that remote farm to the road summit – and then the descent through the forest and along the river was glorious, the sun came out, and I thoroughly enjoyed the open, drier country along the Abhainn Shira. I returned to mobile phone coverage here too.
Forest Lodge is a forbidding place, accentuated by the many signs prohibiting parking; here the West Highland Way starts to climb the Black Mount, and this is where my route would have led me. It was about four-thirty, and I decided that it would be foolish in my condition to head into the hills in the late afternoon, so I followed the public road the other way for a mile and a half, to the Inveroran Hotel. The sun was out, the wind was firm, and I decided to camp at the wild camping site at the bridge west of the hotel, an idyllic spot.
The wind dried my tent and gear in minutes, and I pitched near the river again; by eight I was asleep again.
Monday 3rd OctoberI awoke reasonably early, having slept well, and was undecided as to what to do. It was a dry but very windy morning, and dark clouds were building in the West; the forecast was for heavy rain later in the day. As I packed up my gear, my muscles aching, it became clear that I would not have the strength to cross the Black Mount and then Rannoch Moor in these conditions today, and so I decided that discretion woud be the better part of valour. I headed further along the public road to Bridge of Orchy, just a few miles away, where I waited an hour and a half in weakening sunshine for a train to Corrour.
The wee train takes just forty minutes to cross the moor past Rannoch Station to Corrour; by the time I alighted the weather had turned completely: low cloud scudded across the moor, heavy showers blew nearly horizontally, and the temperature had dropped several degrees.
My plan had vaguely been to head West from here, as I had not dared count on the station café being open... but it was, and I took this as a clear sign. I went inside the Station House Restaurant, and decided on the spot to call it a rest day, stay the night, and proceed the following day. The rain beat on the window panes as I drank tea and enjoyed a cooked lunch, the visibility frequently dropped to nothing, and I knew I had made the right call. I thawed out, dried out, and the slightly unnerved feeling which had accompanied me thus far slowly evaporated. I enjoyed a day in this tiny community of four staff, five walkers who dropped in at various times, and a couple of estate workers, and slept very well that night in one of the five rooms available at the station.
Tuesday 4th OctoberThe gale-force winds had blown all night and showed no sign of relenting in the morning, but being from the West, they would be behind me. After an excellent cooked breakfast I rather reluctantly took leave of this haven of warm tranquility in the middle of the wild moor which was roaring with frenzied wind. I wobbled from the shelter of the building onto the road, and the wind took over, propelling me to over twenty miles an hour; I passed to the North of Loch Ossian, whisked along by the wind. I saw two waterspouts form briefly from the chaotic whitecaps on the loch; I saw seven geese flying in formation into the wind, slowly but surely losing ground.
The very good estate road north of the Loch leads into forests, and in no time I had passed the Corrour Shooting Lodge sheltered at the eastern end of the loch, and re-entered the openness of Strath Ossian, stretching out north-eastwards toward Loch Laggan. The wind helped me almost all the way, and I enjoyed the grand if desolate scenery. Occasional bellows of stags occasionally interrupted the steady roar of the wind. Passing Strathossian House I had to push the Pug for half a mile as the road turned briefly into the wind.
A few miles later the road enters forest plantation and the wind subsided, but I also had gravity on my side, and maintained good speed all the way down to Luiblea in Glen Spean, which I reached before noon.
At this point I could choose between following the sheltered forest track along Loch Laggan or the original route up to and along Lochan na-h-Earba. I decided to do the latter, and followed an old, well-engineered road up to the split loch. The scenery was breath-taking, as was the wind, which was still to my back and which was whipping up whitecaps on the loch. Although I stopped several times to top up my water bottles, there was no shelter at all to stop for lunch, so I pressed on past the loch and into more woodland. Near Ardverikie my route turned south to follow an estate road up Glen Pattack to the eponymous loch. The road was clearly an old and well-engineered estate road, complete with retaining walls and old iron railings at the point where it passes through a narrow gorge; the further up the road, the less well-used it became, but it remained eminently rideable all the way to the bridge across the River Pattack, a mile south of the loch: at that point the old road became a waterlogged ruin, and it was a wet and tedious push across the watershed to the pompous stone pillars which mark the border of the Ben Alder Estate at Loch Pattack; soon after the estate boundary the road improves dramatically.
I had originally planned to camp at the side of Loch Ericht, on an unused stretch of the estate road. Once I got there, at about three in the afternoon in warm sunshine, however, I discovered that the spur is used by the estate for storage of building materials, and is moreover in sight of one of the many buildings surrounding the lodge... as it was only four miles to Dalwhinnie, and bearing in mind that I (as I was finally admitting to myself) was not well, I decided to cycle on and then take the train back to Glasgow.
I arrived at the level crossing at Dalwhinne just as the train to Glasgow was departing – and the next was four hours away! I calculated that if I cycled down to Kingussie, seventeen miles away, I'd be able to catch a train in just two hours, so in a dry and pleasant late afternoon I set off along what turns out to be a generally excellent Sustrans route to Kingussie. I arrived well in time to catch the 17:49 to Glasgow via Perth.
End of TripDespite hoping to return to the final stages of the trip later in the week, after a couple of days of recuperation and deep sleep I realised that I would be foolish to head back into the hills unless properly fit – so I shall return to the remainder of the route later, most probably in the spring.
The full set of pictures is at
http://www.richardtrevor.com/gallery/.
