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This was my second stint with Jimmy as he wends his way ever northward. The plan was to leave my car in Aviemore, take the train back to Blair Atholl, and walk together through Glen Tilt, then Glen Dee, and finally the Lairig Ghru, back to Aviemore. I raced out of the house at 3:30pm, after sitting through a meeting that had shown signs of wrapping up early, at 3:00, but then lingered on annoyingly as first one, then another of my colleagues kept spouting inane comments and asking pointless questions. To be fair, I’m certain that the fact I was chomping at the bit made them seem much more inane and pointless than they actually were. At any rate, I was off the phone and out the door in a shot, and fidgeted nervously as I sat TWICE through the 4-minute, 4-way traffic controlled local roundabout on my way to the M8, and then crawled my way through the after-school and early-commute traffic that congested the city centre. I probably still had plenty of time (and there was a later train), but I wasn’t quite sure of the parking situation, or exactly how far I’d then need to walk to the train station. But it all worked out fine (breathe girl, breathe), and I arrived at the station in plenty of time only to find that the train was running about 30 minutes late. At which point I started worrying about whether I’d get to Blair Atholl in time to get dinner. But again, it all worked out fine; I alit from the train to find Jimmy only one pint ahead of me. We both ordered massive burgers, knowing that not only would we need plenty of fuel for the next day’s effort, but also that the only food on offer after the day’s walk would be whatever we’d decided to carry.
It was well after 10, maybe even close to 11 by the time we returned to the campsite, but it was still light. Jimmy’d already set up and booked a pitch for me, so he helped me get sorted, and we were both off to (attempt) sleep soon afterward.
our little tent city in the gloaming
Thurs 15 June 2017
Blair Atholl to Corrour Bothy
12hrs / 41.5 km / 1223mWe were both awake early, decamped under grey cloudy skies, and were on our way by 7:30am. I’d not slept very well; then again, I hadn’t really expected to. It had rained on and off through the night and early morning. We made our way into the lower reaches of Glen Tilt, and before we’d gone very far (I don’t think we’d made it as far as Marble Lodge—5 miles), I tripped over an innocuous rock (pebble), and sprawled forward, grazing a knee, bruising an elbow, and seriously injuring my pride. We decided it was a good place to take a break (“next time, maybe you’ll listen when I say I want to stop!”), and as we sat there waiting for my composure, the rain came on in earnest, and we took the opportunity to dig out and don waterproofs. They’d be on and off throughout the day.
lovely Glen Tilt
I’d previously been through Glen Tilt as far as Forest Lodge (~8mi)—probably at least 7-8 years ago; well before I was taking on hills. I’ve always thought that it’s a very pretty glen, and I tried to focus on its impressive river, tumbling over rocks and through narrow ravines, and enjoy the surrounds in all their spring/summer green glory to distract myself from how much my shoulders were starting to hurt. It was actually a good thing when the wide established farm track turned into more of a footpath—concentrating on foot placement temporarily shoved thinking about achy shoulders onto the back burner.
We had a lengthy break at Tarf Falls, where there’s a lovely Victorian iron bridge, and a wide flat spot just begging to be camped at. I dipped my burning tootsies in the very cold river. We’d no doubt have lingered even longer than we did, but were chased off by the rain once again.
Falls of Tarf
Jimmy’s original itinerary called for staying the night at Bynack Lodge. Throughout the day, we’d had many discussions about continuing on to White Bridge, or even all the way to Corrour. It was only a couple of miles between Bynack Lodge and White Bridge, but then it was another 5-6 miles from White Bridge to Corrour. Once we left White Bridge, we’d be pretty much committed to going all the way to the bothy, given that neither one of us could recall that there’d been any suitable camping sites in the boggy and uneven ground that lies between.
We stopped again when we reached Bynack Lodge, and sheltered again from the rain. It was still early—around 3–3:30-ish, I think, and I don’t think we even talked about carrying on to White Bridge. Just before we reached the derelict building with the red tin roof that we’d passed on the bikes last summer on our way to Geldie Lodge, we had to cross Geldie Burn, a rather wide and substantial flow on its own, quite near its confluence with Bynack Burn. Luckily, the water level was quite low, and mostly dry and exposed stepping stones carried me across with no problem; I hadn’t even hesitated. Jimmy stayed on the bank watching until I was safely across before starting across himself. Turns out the cheeky sod had turned on his GoPro and was filming my progress—hoping, no doubt, that I’d take a(nother) tumble, into the water this time, and he’d have captured it all.
I wasn’t convinced that I was physically capable of making it all the way to the bothy; I was exhausted, and my shoulders *really* hurt. I’d have happily pitched my tent in the grass-roofed shed that’s on the flat ground at White Bridge. But then we knew that we’d have just as far to go the following day; that is, that we’d have made it only about halfway, and also knew that the second half of the walk, through the Lairig Ghru, was going to be much rougher than the mostly-track route we’d covered today. It would be to our benefit to “front-load” the first day, ensuring an easier second day. So we decided, one of us more reluctantly than the other, to carry on. There were assurances that we’d take our time (it was still only around 5pm, maybe), and stop as often as necessary. It was a looooong and fairly miserable last stretch to our destination. The path often disappeared into the bog; the final 2 km or so was particularly torturous, requiring many very big steps and detours. Even once the bothy finally came into sight, it still seemed to take forever to actually reach it (7:30pm). I was no longer in the mood.
finally! "home" for the night
There was only one tent, occupied by one man, in the vicinity of the bothy. There was no one inside the building itself, but I wanted to “sleep” in my tent. As far as we knew, the weather wasn’t forecast to be too terrible overnight, so Jimmy agreed, and we found a flattish, though still hard and rocky, area in front of the building that was big enough to accommodate both tents.
It was a rough night. It rained, it blew, and I didn’t sleep. I’m now convinced that my tent (from LLBean) was built for warm, breezy Maine summer nights rather than cold, rainy, howling Cairngorm ones. It did stay dry, I have to give it that. But I spent all night fearing that the outer fly sheet was going to be ripped to shreds (at best), or end up in Aviemore (at worst), well before the two of us did.
Fri 16 June
Corrour Bothy to Aviemore
7 hrs / 21.6km / 382mWe were up and away by around 7am, I think, perhaps slightly later. We had to backtrack a bit, to get over the river and back onto the main path through the pass. Before long, we’d reached the point where Paul and I had descended off Carn a’Mhaim a couple of years ago, not far from Tailor’s Burn. As I walked, I realized that the only sections of our entire route that I’d not done previously, albeit piecemeal, were between Forest Lodge and the derelict building with the red tin roof that we’d passed on the bikes last summer on our way to Geldie Lodge (gosh, it’d make my life a lot easier if that building had a name!), and the bottom section of the Lairig Ghru between Corrour and where I’d descended Carn a’Mhaim.
looking back onto the Devil's Point
Jimmy at the Pools of Dee
I was, of course, (NOW) very happy for the extra distance we’d done the day before. Walking through the Lairig Ghru wasn’t nearly as lengthy or difficult as I’d remembered. I guess that’s the difference between doing it at the end of a long day versus doing it while (sorta) fresh at the beginning of a new day. I was surprised to learn that we ascended fewer than 400m during the day. Then again, I’d been *very* surprised at the amount of ascent (1223m) we’d done the day before, too.
I enjoyed today’s walk, but my feet were very sore. I always manage to find sumpin’ to complain about, don’t I? And, of course, before too long, my shoulders were once again feeling the strain of the extra weight. I’m still not convinced that I’m cut out for this wild camping stuff; I know I’ve not really done that much of it, but I do struggle when carrying more weight than usual. But Jimmy admitted, too, that even after all these weeks, his shoulders still hurt by the end of the day. Maybe it’s something you don’t ever really get used to, and the quicker you learn how to ignore the pain (and shut up about it), the happier you’ll be.
high point (ish) of the Lairig Ghru
I’d had Braeriach in my sights for this weekend, but HA. Originally, I thought I’d take it on on the Sat, while Jimmy had a rest day. HA. We’d also talked about both just “nipping up it” on our way through the Lairig Ghru. HA. There was just no way.
one look back -- toward Lurcher's Crag, I think
We limped into Aviemore early afternoon; around 2pm and stopped in the first pub we passed (The Bridge Inn). That tall cold Heinekin was…well…it was pretty damned yummy. Soon thereafter, we checked into the hostel, got cleaned up (bliss!), went to the Cairngorm Hotel for dinner, then back to the hostel. It wasn’t a late night, and despite sharing a dorm room with three other women, I had a pretty good sleep.
Sat 17 June, Sun 18 June Jimmy had a scheduled rest day on Saturday, and I wasn’t much up to walking up anything, so we drove up to Inverness and went to Culloden.
the government army and the Jacobite army come to terms. Not "give no quarter" here!
We returned to the hostel mid-afternoonish and just hung around for the next few hours. Not walking on Saturday really helped me to gain some ground on the current book club selection, Anne Bronte’s
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, which is proving nearly as exhausting as walking through Glen Tilt, Glen Dee, *and* the Lairig Ghru. I still may not finish it in time.
After a spag bol dinner, we walked down to the MacDui pub for a few beers. It was quite loud, and seemed to be THE spot for hen and stag parties. The hostel was full (six in my small room), and overheated, and I didn’t sleep nearly as well as the night before.
Sunday morning, after a substantial breakfast of sausage sandwiches, I waved Jimmy on his way, and drove home.
