Starting from Callander Phillip and I intended to walk north to Kingussie, a distance of over ninety miles. This meant crossing several ranges of hills but with a lot of road slogging in between. The interesting part, to my mind, was the last leg when we crossed the A9 and entered the western Cairngorms by the Pass of Gaick. When I looked at the tight packed contours and lochans on the O.S. map my pulse quickened with excitement. This was big country. As it was we never reached that far.
Common sense told us to travel as light as possible and replenish food in the towns we passed through. I insisted, however, that we be entirely self sufficient and carry as much food as we could. This trip would last at least six days so we amassed a massive bundle of groceries. As well as this I was now the proud possessor of a Blacks Mountain tent which weighed about as much as the planet Saturn. To use this as a summer hike tent was a mistake.
We set off from Callander quite late, at 6pm and walked on into the evening. When we pitched the tent in Glen Artney we found we were in midgy hollow. Both the evening and early morning were windless and we were eaten alive by midges. Philip, who seemed more allergic to them than me came out in a blizzard of red pimples.
 |
| Philip with midge bites |
reluctantly started the long trudge up Glen Lednock. We
had been up since 5am so the heavy loads and heat of the afternoon were taking their toll. Eventually we reached the dam
and decided, as there was still several hours of daylight left,
to finish the climb over the ridge. This should leave us with an easy morning next day. By the time we pitched camp on the reverse slope we were dog tired and couldn't be bothered to make a proper meal. Dehydrated soup and crisp breads were hardly enough to power us for the next hard day.
Up till now the weather had been warm and set fair but during the night the wind got up and it started to rain. we hoped it would soon pass over but instead it got worse. We should have moved on when our kit was still dry but lay in our bags waiting for it to pass. It didn't. We ended up mopping up pools of water and our sleeping bags were soaked. Eventually we accepted the inevitable and headed down to Ardeonaig in torrential rain. A passing motorist took pity and gave us a lift into Killin.
We were sitting looking dejected outside a bakers shop wondering how to get home when a van driver with a bread board on his head asked,
"Whaur ye goin lads? Do ye want a lift?"
"Aye, we're trying to get back to Kinghorn."
"Jump in. I've one more delivery to mak then it's richt hame tae Kirkcaldy."
Relief at getting such a lucky lift quickly changed to terror as we realised we were being driven by a madman. Every panel of the bread van rattled as he shouted over the noise of the engine
"Leave hame at five o' clock - deliver Beatties
bread roond Perthshire - up the glens - wee twisty roads ken."
Change gear, pull out, overtake, foot flat down
on the accelerator.
"Up Glen Lyon - hit hump back brig - heid hit roof - ye see yon rivets (pointing to the roof above his head) "Rivets ripped scalp - drove doon the glen - heid pishin bluid - couldnae see a thing - didnae care a fuck - back tae Kirkcaldy in record time."
He thought of himself as the Jim Clark of
bread van drivers and we arrived back in Kirkcaldy deafened, rattled, shaken, terrified
and still wet from our soaking. It was a great ride!
Back home I was quite dejected by this failure. The highlight of the expedition had been the drive back. Everything seemed so exhausting and difficult. It was certainly not fun. The first thing I did on a practical level was buy a flysheet for the tent. This then served me well in all conditions and in storms was often the only tent left standing.
I soon bounced back and planned another trip, but this time a short walk in and a high camp. I enlisted another three palls and a parent gave us a lift to Callendar then up the little road as far as Braeleny. We walked to the reservoir and took the track up Gleann a' Chroin. It was late afternoon on a fine August day and very hot.
We turned up the Eas lochan a' Chroin and the hard work began. Our packs were heavy and it took us ages to climb up to easier ground. With many rest stops the day had sped away and it was evening before we reached the Lochan a, Chroin. Here we were surprised to meet another two walkers who were heading over to Lochearnhead. The lochan seemed bigger and more open than I expected and we soon found a good camping spot with views south west to Beinn Each.
"Aye, we're trying to get back to Kinghorn."
"Jump in. I've one more delivery to mak then it's richt hame tae Kirkcaldy."
Relief at getting such a lucky lift quickly changed to terror as we realised we were being driven by a madman. Every panel of the bread van rattled as he shouted over the noise of the engine
"Leave hame at five o' clock - deliver Beatties
 |
| Glen Lednock dam. Our path took us over the horizon ridge. |
Change gear, pull out, overtake, foot flat down
on the accelerator.
"Up Glen Lyon - hit hump back brig - heid hit roof - ye see yon rivets (pointing to the roof above his head) "Rivets ripped scalp - drove doon the glen - heid pishin bluid - couldnae see a thing - didnae care a fuck - back tae Kirkcaldy in record time."
He thought of himself as the Jim Clark of
bread van drivers and we arrived back in Kirkcaldy deafened, rattled, shaken, terrified
and still wet from our soaking. It was a great ride!
Back home I was quite dejected by this failure. The highlight of the expedition had been the drive back. Everything seemed so exhausting and difficult. It was certainly not fun. The first thing I did on a practical level was buy a flysheet for the tent. This then served me well in all conditions and in storms was often the only tent left standing.
 |
| Beinn Each, Stuc a' Chroin and Ben Vorlich from the David Stirling, SAS memorial, near Doune. |
We turned up the Eas lochan a' Chroin and the hard work began. Our packs were heavy and it took us ages to climb up to easier ground. With many rest stops the day had sped away and it was evening before we reached the Lochan a, Chroin. Here we were surprised to meet another two walkers who were heading over to Lochearnhead. The lochan seemed bigger and more open than I expected and we soon found a good camping spot with views south west to Beinn Each.
 |
| Lochan a' Chroin with Beinn Each in the background |
With the tents pitched and a meal cooked we were able to enjoy what was left of the evening. We retreated to Grahams tent and drank some beer, read books and listened to the radio. This little transistor was a most un - Spartan innovation but I enjoyed it.
I woke up after a good nights sleep feeling almost human but the weather was lousy. Thick mist meant we couldn't see across the lochan. A perpetual drizzle was punctuated by torrential showers. We hung around for as long as we could then decided to have a go at Stuc a' Chroin. As we started scrambling up the steep slope the weather improved a little with the cloud base lifting above the summit. We were camped at about two and a half thousand feet so it didn't take us long to get there. A plan to carry on to Ben Vorlich was abandoned as I'd left the map and compass in the tent. Instead, we turned west and followed the line of an old iron fence that took as back along a ridge then cut back down to the lochan.
The next morning we were woken by a blazing sun but before we emerged from our sleeping bags the heavens opened with a torrential down pour. The noise was intense and I thought the weight of water would split the flysheet. Fortunately it stopped as suddenly as it started then settled into a fine day.
The moisture laden atmosphere of the Scottish hills often plays tricks with distances. So it was with Beinn Each, which was closer than we thought. We used the morning to walk along the rocky and contorted ridge. Unfortunately we had to pass through a great cloud of flies and stench from the putrefying cadaver of a dead sheep, crackling with maggots. Not put of by this, we lay on the summit and dined on sardines, chocolate and oranges. This was a curious mixture but all we could carry in our pockets. Great storm clouds built up to the north west and we watched apprehensively as they dumped sheets of rain on Lochearnhead but fortunately none came closer than Glen Ample.
Back at camp the sun came out again. Two naked figures streaked across to the lochan carrying Graham's air bed.
"Come back you bastards!" he shouted. "That's not fair, I've got to sleep on that." They ignored him and swam out to the middle of the loch pushing the airbed in front of them.
"Why don't you join them?"
"No!"
He retreated to his tent in a black huff. I thought I'd go for a dip too so stripped off and carefully entered the water. I'd expected it to be bitterly cold but the sun had warmed it up so that it was bearably pleasant. After a swim I lay for a bit in the sun. High on the shoulder of Stuc a' Chroin I could just make out the tiny figure of a shepherd working his dogs. The pale flock flowed gracefully across the hillside. I could hear, but not make out, his calls which sounded entirely expletives. The only other sound was the occasional drone of insects, but there was a pleasant light breeze and no sign of midges. This was more like it.
Back home, Cammy was keen to initiate us into abseiling and rock climbing. There was a high, crenelated wall we called the battlements just outside the Scout hall so we practiced descent on that. Fortunately, this was not with the old clothes line as used on Ben Vorlich but with a new, nylon climbing rope. Getting started on the descent was always nerve wracking. It takes a lot of confidence to lean over a void on a rope to the point you can start to walk down the wall. He showed us how to do it in classic fashion, with the rope wound round the body and also with a sling and screw gate karabiner.Both of these methods use the body for friction and was hard on the shoulders and clothing. We also scrambled along the foreshore to Carlin Head where he showed us how to belay and practiced rock climbing on the low crags.
I woke up after a good nights sleep feeling almost human but the weather was lousy. Thick mist meant we couldn't see across the lochan. A perpetual drizzle was punctuated by torrential showers. We hung around for as long as we could then decided to have a go at Stuc a' Chroin. As we started scrambling up the steep slope the weather improved a little with the cloud base lifting above the summit. We were camped at about two and a half thousand feet so it didn't take us long to get there. A plan to carry on to Ben Vorlich was abandoned as I'd left the map and compass in the tent. Instead, we turned west and followed the line of an old iron fence that took as back along a ridge then cut back down to the lochan.
The next morning we were woken by a blazing sun but before we emerged from our sleeping bags the heavens opened with a torrential down pour. The noise was intense and I thought the weight of water would split the flysheet. Fortunately it stopped as suddenly as it started then settled into a fine day.
The moisture laden atmosphere of the Scottish hills often plays tricks with distances. So it was with Beinn Each, which was closer than we thought. We used the morning to walk along the rocky and contorted ridge. Unfortunately we had to pass through a great cloud of flies and stench from the putrefying cadaver of a dead sheep, crackling with maggots. Not put of by this, we lay on the summit and dined on sardines, chocolate and oranges. This was a curious mixture but all we could carry in our pockets. Great storm clouds built up to the north west and we watched apprehensively as they dumped sheets of rain on Lochearnhead but fortunately none came closer than Glen Ample.
 |
| On the summit of Ben Each with Stuc a' Chroin in the background |
 |
| Stuc a' Chroin from the busy summit of Beinn Each, October 2016 |
"Come back you bastards!" he shouted. "That's not fair, I've got to sleep on that." They ignored him and swam out to the middle of the loch pushing the airbed in front of them.
"Why don't you join them?"
"No!"
He retreated to his tent in a black huff. I thought I'd go for a dip too so stripped off and carefully entered the water. I'd expected it to be bitterly cold but the sun had warmed it up so that it was bearably pleasant. After a swim I lay for a bit in the sun. High on the shoulder of Stuc a' Chroin I could just make out the tiny figure of a shepherd working his dogs. The pale flock flowed gracefully across the hillside. I could hear, but not make out, his calls which sounded entirely expletives. The only other sound was the occasional drone of insects, but there was a pleasant light breeze and no sign of midges. This was more like it.
Back home, Cammy was keen to initiate us into abseiling and rock climbing. There was a high, crenelated wall we called the battlements just outside the Scout hall so we practiced descent on that. Fortunately, this was not with the old clothes line as used on Ben Vorlich but with a new, nylon climbing rope. Getting started on the descent was always nerve wracking. It takes a lot of confidence to lean over a void on a rope to the point you can start to walk down the wall. He showed us how to do it in classic fashion, with the rope wound round the body and also with a sling and screw gate karabiner.Both of these methods use the body for friction and was hard on the shoulders and clothing. We also scrambled along the foreshore to Carlin Head where he showed us how to belay and practiced rock climbing on the low crags.
.
 |
| Cammy abseiling off the battlement. This feature was demolished a few years later. |
 |
| Myself, Cammy and Josh striking a pose on Carlin Head |
This was all good fun on a boring Sunday afternoon. It usually ended with us swaggering into the Rosslands café for a hot coffee and playing the jukebox. The Dave Clark Five's raucous 'Bits and Pieces' was a favourite as we'd stamp the springy wooden floor in unison with our big boots till the cups and saucers bounced on the tables and Mrs Mac would run out from behind the counter and scream at us.
No comments:
Post a Comment