Baileguish to Newtonmore

Friday 4 October

Distance and ascent: 11km, 100m

Weather: overcast with one shower and a few other passing spots of rain.

My day started with a burst tea bag. This is not a good way to start a day! However, I managed to drink my brew without swallowing many of the tea leaves, and it wasn’t raining (contrary to the forecast), so there were positive things I could focus on. If looking for positives, I should perhaps gloss over how bad a night’s sleep I had, although I reckon it was better than the last trip, and that was better than the trip before.

Thanks to my overactive imagination, I was wide awake at 0330, so at 0430 I got up. At 0530 I picked up my pack and was off.

With hindsight, I should have made some mental notes yesterday afternoon in daylight, as the tiny trod that leads from Baileguish to the footbridge was difficult to locate by torchlight. Or maybe I should have just followed the track, which takes a longer route to the same place.

Once over the footbridge, I was into the forest and for the first five or ten minutes my imagination stayed on a tight rein. I was even brave enough to take a little path that cuts a corner off between two tracks. Then I got to a section where the trees were creaking and cracking in the wind, whereupon my mind wanted me to believe that every noise was a mad axe murderer about to jump out (because, clearly, the most expedient place for a mad axe murderer to hang out is in a forest in a sparsely populated area, where lone females probably only pass by before sunrise about once a year). I gave myself a good talking to … and checked how much longer I had to wait until sunrise.

Sunrise was at 0721, but I was able to turn my light off at 0640, by which time I was about 3km past where I had arranged to be picked up at 0800. Thanks to the wonders of modern communication methods, this wasn’t a problem – my watch has a live tracking function and the first time Ali checked my location, she correctly spotted that I was in the Co-op in Kingussie. (Apparently there was a discussion over dinner last night as to where I would be picked up this morning. Agreement was unanimous that I wouldn’t be at the agreed spot in Drumguish. Everyone reckoned I would be either at Ruthven Barracks or in Kingussie at 8am.)

I would have made it all the way to Newtonmore, had Ali picked me up on the return leg of her trip to Kingussie, as intended, but as I happened to be right next to a convenient pull-in on her outward leg, I was picked up a little short of the village. I didn’t object, given I’d only originally intended to walk just over 4km this morning.

Hopefully there will be another window of good weather whilst we’re here, as I’ve another couple of routes in my mind.

The only photo I took today. (There were two campervans in the sloping Ruthven Barracks car park (the roof of one snuck into this snap, as you see) undoubtedly both unaware that there's a lovely, more secluded, level spot a few hundred metres up the road.)

Drumguish to Baileguish (via Carn Dearg Mor - NN 82326 91178; 857m)

Thursday 3 October

Distance and ascent: 22.9km, 697m

Weather: Mainly sunny with good air clarity

As I crept downstairs at 0630 yesterday morning, I couldn’t help but notice the frost glistening away on the cars outside and the car thermometer said -0.5 when I cadged a lift with Ali, as she took her daughter to work.

Ali kindly went a few miles out of her way, dropping me at Drumguish at just gone 8am. That starting point was 4.3km from where I was to spend the night, but as you’ll see from the stats above, I took a somewhat longer route.

Glen Tromie and Glen Feshie are reasonable well-known, but in between them sits the lesser-visited Gleann Chomraig. The fact that there is no habitation in the glen, and that until a year or two ago it didn’t have a track, and thus involved a rough walk (and a bridgeless river crossing) probably contributes to its obscurity, compared with its two neighbours. So, to reach my summit for the day (which sits overlooking Glen Feshie), I opted to go along Gleann Chomraig, using the new track for as far as it went, then either picking up the path as marked on the map, or just heading across country.

Gleann Chomraig has been subject to a programme of planting native trees over the last few years. It’s still a bit of an empty bleakness at the moment, dotted with tiny trees, but in fifteen years I imagine it will be quite lovely.

Planting the glen is, it seems, a residential job.

At the point where the new track ended, there were two ATV tracks in front of me: one going S, following the line of the path marked on the map; the other heading east. S was the more direct line for my purposes, so I followed that one, which was fine, if boggy, until it petered out.

There then ensued a kilometre and a half of yomping through vegetation up to my knees, during which I contemplated my lack of ability to make the best decisions when faced with various route choices. This does, of course, suppose that my assumption as to the line taken by the other ATV track is correct, and also assumes that track didn’t also suddenly stop. Plus, it would certainly have been less direct, so I would have had to ponder ‘when is a longer route on easier terrain preferable to a shorter route on harder terrain’. I’ll never know which was the best route, but I was mightily glad when I stumbled upon another ATV track, which I did follow, even though it was far less direct than just continuing to yomp up the hillside.

My photos taken from Carn Dearg Mor don’t even start to do justice to the vista as seen by the naked eye, looking down on Glen Feshie and across to the Munros beyond:

The day was almost perfect for that ridge walk (about 4km long), with my only complaint being the cold wind. It wasn’t quite bad enough for me to dig my Buffalo mitts back out, making do instead with my fingerless gloves.

With no shelter to be had up on the ridge (no rocks, no dips in the landscape, no trees), I didn’t stop for lunch until I gained the forest track that was going to take me the final 4km to my night-stop.

I saw these signs as I looked back on exiting the area of forestry works. There hadn’t been a single sign on my way in. I also hadn’t been warned not to climb on timber stacks.

It was five past two when I reached the end of my day. That was rather earlier than I would have liked, and I did give contemplation to continuing on to walk the final 15km back to Newtonmore, arriving there in time for tea. However, that would have defeated the primary purpose of the trip, which was to spend the night out. So, I brewed a pint of tea and sat on a convenient log for a couple of hours in the sunshine, before putting the tent up:

There was a whole expanse of lawn, but being so close to a track and a building, my overactive imagination pictured a vehicle pulling in during the night and not spotting my tent in their parking spot, so I crammed myself between the logs and some tussocks.

I was joined part way through that time by a cyclist who had ridden in from Braemar and was on his way to Kingussie, but he only stayed for fifteen minutes or so before continuing on.

With sunset at quarter to seven, I was tucked up in the tent nice and early, hoping for a good night’s sleep.

Taking the long way around to get 4km away!

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

Aborted Lakeland Backpack

Start/End Point: Coniston 

Distance and ascent: 29.9km, 1400m

Weather: Sunny intervals and warm rather than hot.

Another week, another backpacking trip. I’d originally been minded to go out for 2 nights, but if we were going to be in Coniston on Lakeland 100 weekend then I didn’t want to miss all of the goings-on, so I opted for another one-nighter, with the intention of being back in Coniston by the time the first L100 runner crossed the finish line on Saturday afternoon.

I’d also originally intended to try out various different bits of kit on this trip, but having contemplated the options, I stuck with what I’d taken last time, with the exception of the backpack itself. This time I went for the heaviest of my (small) collection: an Osprey Exos. It has been my pack of choice for the last thirteen years, so, I fully expected to find it the most comfortable with the best array of pockets.

With a plan settled (the first 30km of the Lakeland 100 route on Friday, before taking a detour up Mosedale (the near-Wasdale one) to camp, then a backtrack to Wasdale Head to cut over to Langdale to pick up the last 20k of the L100 route), we travelled up to Torver on Thursday, thence to Coniston on Friday morning. It was just before 11am when I set out.

The pull up from Coniston Village to the Walna Scar car park hasn’t got any less steep than it was last year, and I’m sure someone snuck some extra ascent into the rest of the Walna Scar Road (WSR). This wasn’t helped by a temporary loss of ability to read the map, so I thought I was almost at the top 15 minutes prematurely.

WSR wasn’t as busy as one might expect on a Friday in school holidays, and after I crested the top I saw not a single person to speak to until … well, let’s not have a spoiler*.

I’d not before followed the route down into Seathwaite nor the next 3km towards Hardknott Forest, and the last time I did the next section to Boot it was something silly like -4 degrees and frozen solid. Mick had warned me what a bogfest it would be, so I was surprised at how much good path there was. In fact, the bog didn’t start much before the place I’d met Mick when he was recceing the route and I’d walked out from Boot to meet him last spring.

 

It was certainly wet in places!

Taking time and care (which the L100 runners, coming through in around 6 hours’ time, wouldn’t have time for) it was possible to keep my feet mainly dry.

Out the other side of the forest, where it was also rather squelchy for the end of July, I managed to get a message out to Mick to let him know my location and that I was having a change of plan. At some point early in the outing I’d tweaked something on the left of my lower back (I’m being vague because I remember thinking ‘oooh, that’s sore’ but have no recollection what I did or exactly where I was when I did it), and whilst it wasn’t too painful to walk, it didn’t want to bend or twist. As it wasn’t easing off, it seemed somewhat imprudent to continue such that I would end the day on the opposite side of the Lake District, possibly wake in an even worse state on the morrow, and have no easy way of getting back to my start point. So, I would cut the route short, camping somewhere near the top of the River Esk, and go via Esk Hause in the morning to rejoin my route.  

A brief chat with Mick got cut off when the signal wandered off, and I then had another rethink. Surely, I thought, the most sensible thing to do would be to just turn around, retrace my steps, and find somewhere to camp at the top of the WSR. Then, if I was suffering in the morning, I would only have 5km downhill to get me back to Coniston.

As I started the retracing I did a few calculations. It had taken me 4 hours to do the first 16km (including breaks and faffs). If I could get back in the same timescale then I could attend the evening talk in the L100 marquee. Which would I prefer: to spend the night out or to enjoy the L100 weekend? I decided on the latter, so put a bit of a pace on and took a shortcut around Seathwaite (it took me through some lovely old woodland and involved stepping stones with a wire to hold on to).

Stepping stones with wire handrail 

By the time I got to the point where the WSR becomes an unsurfaced road, my back wasn’t bothering me at all, making me think I should have continued my outward route per plan. Then I stopped to filter some water. Yep, it still *really* didn’t like bending or twisting. A night in a tent would have been painful.

As I ascended back to Walna Scar, I had an eye on the clock, hoping that I would make it off the WSR before the 600+ runners came stampeding at me. As I crested the pass (which was the first opportunity I had to let Mick know to expect me back), I realised that if I really put a pace on I could make it back in time to see the L100 start.  

I made it with 12 minutes to spare and even beat Mick to the pavement outside the petrol station, which was our chosen viewing point.

Looking at the positives, I had a nice 30k outing with a full pack and plenty of ascent, and still had enough energy to walk over to the main event field and stand in a marquee for an hour after inhaling a suitable amount of food and drink.

As for the back, it was still sore this morning (Saturday), then suddenly it was okay again (i.e. no major pain on bending). Let’s hope whatever I did to it isn’t going to become a recurrent problem!

As for the Osprey Exos backpack – I think it was less comfortable than the OMM, and it felt heavier than the extra weight of the pack itself (and everything inside was the same as last week). It may be a while before my next trip, but I’ll have to do some more experiments with those two packs.  

 (*After leaving Walna Scar on the outward leg, the next people I saw close enough to talk to were at Walna Scar on my way back.)

Mynydd-y-Briw (SJ 174 260; 341m)

Thursday 18 July

Start point: Llangedwyn

Distance and ascent: 5km, 220m

Weather: warm with some sunshine

 

I couldn’t see a pleasing way to include this top within the backpacking trip of the previous two days, but it was easily gettable on the drive home. Had we been in Erica-the-Campervan it could have been as quick and easy as they come, requiring just 0.5km each way on a mast access track. However, we were in Bertie-the-Motorhome, who isn't so fond of tiny lanes, so Mick dropped me in Llangedwyn.

That gave me a longer distance to cover, but entirely on road and track, so you’d think that it was an uneventful outing. So it would have been, if I hadn’t opted to take the track that runs W of, and parallel to, the road on the outward leg.

There’s a bungalow that sits along that track, and as I got there I saw a sizeable black dog. The dog barked, but made no move towards me, so no problem … until it’s mate, an equally large but light coloured one, came running at me. It stopped uncomfortably close up and proceeded to snarl and lunge in between its barks. I talked to it nicely, but every time I twitched a muscle it lunged again and clearly wasn’t going to let me move from the spot. Oh, to have my poles with me (not to hit it; I find that holding the pointy ends towards a dog discourages them from coming too close)!

Eventually (by which I mean 'three minutes later', but it felt much longer), the owner came out to see what the commotion was about, and thus released me. I entered not into communication with her, but made my escape, soon pursued again by the dog, but by then I was the other side of a gate. It then pursued me up the boundary, on the other side of the fence.

The mast access track is steep, but short, and even through there is no public right of way to the summit, beyond the masts (actually, there’s no RoW up the mast access track either), there’s such a formal stile over the fence that one has to deduce that access is tolerated. On that basis I spent longer on the summit than I would, had I felt unwelcome. The views were excellent (except when looking back at the mast).

Unsurprisingly, I opted to use the entirety of the mast access track to return to the road, rather than taking the bridleway past the bungalow, and I jogged back down to Bertie.