Carn Liath and Culardoch - to endure or enjoy?

[old danensian]

It’s been almost a fortnight since this trip and I’m still in two minds about how to write it up. Sometimes I know, even before taking my first step, what my angle is going to be. Often it becomes apparent as the day progresses, following an encounter, an experience, or an observation. And then there are days when the seed of an idea germinates while driving home, a handful of moments distilled in the memory, connections with previous outings, or the pained ‘why on earth did I do that’ while unfolding cramped limbs from the car.

A streak of snow fringes a distant Beinn a Bhuird - setting off from Keiloch

On one of the hottest days of the year so far, I envisaged being obsessed by heatstroke and dehydration, but no, the weight of water carried saw that off. I thought I might be cursing the decision to do a simple, but lengthy, out and back, yet I never found myself seeking the circular option or diversion. Would the feet be burning? Would I bemoan not taking my bike?
Was any sense of satisfaction the result of achievement (two new Corbetts visited), stunning views (it was too hazy to enjoy anything but the nearest skyline), or not bailing out from the longest walk I’ve done it quite a while?

Did I really enjoy it, or did I merely endure it?

I expected the car park at Keiloch to be rammed when I arrived at 1.00pm. There had been little point in making an early start from Glasgow other than to get a convenient parking place. It was a risk worth taking. I was pleasantly surprised, therefore, to find plenty of space, especially so I could park in the shade of trees that would prevent too much heat building up later in the day. Bike racks bristled from the back of most cars parked there so I expected to be passed regularly by swooping cyclists during the day.

As it was, I received a desultory wave from an estate worker as he drove past in his pick-up just before Invercauld House, and then briefly exchanged pleasantries with a lone walker a few minutes later as the path rose through the woodland. And they were my only contacts with humanity for the whole day, until two weary cyclists coasted into the car park as I was about to leave in the early evening – and they looked too tired to communicate anyway.

Going through 'the gate'

Strolling up an easy gradient through the woodland for five or six kilometres meant that height was gained gradually, and the surroundings could be enjoyed. The dappled light hinted at what was to come when emerging onto the open hillside, but for now thoughts of the potential damage it could do could be pushed to one side. This most probably caused the only minor navigational hiccup of the day when I missed a left fork and continued following a clearer path to the right.

Not sure how I feel about these path-side homilies - too much like the saccharin framed messages in hallways, on chimney breasts and above bedheads for me - sorry

When the bowl of Glen Feardar opened up on the correct track, the prospect ahead could have been dispiriting. The pale ochre path was clearly etched in the landscape, winding its way into the distance. I thought there’d be no further navigational challenge, nor would there be any surprise vistas opening up. That’s a long way I thought. I stifled my inner voice from saying that it was a long way back as well.

No need for navigation - the track snakes between Carn Liath and Culardoch

At this stage, I made up my mind to follow the track for as long as possible, then simply bear west for Carn Liath at what seemed to be the quickest and most direct route to the top. Returning to the track, the same could then be done heading east and making a b-line for Culardoch, before rejoining the track to head home.

By now, the sun and the heat were becoming intense. Yet relief lurked by the wooden bridge that crossed the Allt Cul. A single tree cast its shade by the water’s edge. Looking ahead across the slopes of Carn Liath and Culardoch, I knew I’d have to wait until passing here on my return before enjoying any more shade.

A cool oasis and pit stop before any hard work starts

With my cap drenched in the stream, and copious amounts of water swallowed, it was shortly going to be time to strike out across a mercifully dry stretch of pathless moorland.

An uninspiring - but gratefully dry - stride across to Carn Liath - with scorched evidence of how tinder-dry everything was

Forewarned by guidebooks that the top of Carn Liath is a bit of an unprecise science, I spent half an hour or more strolling between the various cairns, hummocks and craglets. My GPS recorded the same height at three of them but suggested that another was, by a couple of metres, their senior. There was no point in coming all this way and failing by technicality, misjudgement, or just plain laziness. Belt, braces and a spare pair of trousers made sure all bases were covered.

The summit of Carn Liath ...

... or it could be this ...

... or it might even be this

Back at the track, it was another kilometre or so before the obvious route to Culardoch appeared on the right at a sharp bend. Fifteen minutes later, there was no confusion on this summit. An archetypal rounded hump presented itself, complete with trig point and a single jumble of stones that might sometimes form a cairn.

The western shoulder of Culardoch - just follow the track - and then the path

A distinct summit on Culardoch

Approaching the top I realised that conditions had changed. The heat and strength of the late afternoon sun were no longer prickling my skin and no shadow accompanied me to the top. Looking back, westwards, across Ben Avon and Beinn a Bhuird, the sky had darkened. The mood and atmosphere felt threatening. Was a sudden thunderstorm about to well up and take me by surprise? Great, the furthest I could possibly be from the car and was I about to pay for the risk of not brining waterproofs? There was no point in rushing. It had taken me four hours to get here, so I wasn’t going to make a quick dash to any kind of shelter.

Fortunately, the sky brightened as quickly as it had darkened. The threat passed and I started the wander back. Strangely, I didn’t feel daunted by the prospect of a lengthy trudge. I wasn’t weary, my feet weren’t sore (yet) and felt I was finally getting close to what might pass as being hill-fit again.

Curious research project below Culardoch - clumps of heather - some shielded, others open to the elements - with weather station recoding the conditions - I wonder what they are finding out?

The long and winding road back to Keiloch

My thoughts turned to more prosaic concerns. I’d noticed that the chippie in Braemar was closed for what looked like a thorough refurbishment, and I already suspected that any table neighbours in the Fife Arms wouldn’t appreciate my sweaty presence. So, I simply concentrated on getting a Magnum from the Co-op before sorting out any other options.

After 8.00pm, with the only other option in Braemar absolutely heaving, I got my Magnum.

£2.40!

‘You can get a box of three for only £2.50 at a Nisa store,’ I told the girl at the checkout.

Her indifferent shrug was an unspoken message that I should try and find one locally or just pay for it.

That’s why I always have a pot of some sort of noodles in my camping box for such eventualities.

And finally an enjoyable rest and meal beside the Clunie Water

And, I have to say, I enjoyed it just as much as I’d enjoyed the day.

[Graeme D]

I used to regulary do routes on and around these hills on DofE trips back in the day. Some were enjoyed, more often than not they were endured due to some quirk of circumstance!

[matt_outandabout]

The study: https://www.programme3.ac.uk/heritage/heritage37uplandCulardoch.php