July 2012

Introduction

  This summer I had the unique opportunity to go walking with an elite very exclusive walking club, very select, totally exclusive, in fact it was that exclusive, there was only me in it! Much as I would have appreciated some company I harbor absolutely no hard feelings whatsoever towards my dear friends who share my affiliation with the Motherland. I fully acknowledge that getting four working family men together within a certain time frame is not going to happen per se. That being the case I reconciled myself to the fact that it was to be wilderness rambling only and no mountains, club rules must be adhered to, the thought of a repeat of the '24 hour headcase' blog was far too distasteful for me. The Munro bagging raids on the Cuillins and Glen Shiel ridges would have to wait their turn.

If you lay out the ordnance survey, land ranger, map no.25 on the table, you will notice something quite special about it, it is almost road free! That equates to twenty five square miles of absolute wilderness! This is about as good as it gets. I opted for a trek around the Loch Monar region, quite unusual for a loch of such size, around ten miles long and a mile wide, to be encapsulated in such an inordinate amount of untamed land. This would incur an overnight stop at Bendronaig Lodge, a bothy, some eight or nine miles off the road.

The only redeemable feature about the journey up was the opportunity to bask in some quality Shostakovich, I digested all of his fifteen symphonies in chronological order, about ten hours of back to back music! Now if I had been in the company of my friends I don't think I would have got two minutes into the first movement of the first symphony, if I was with my dear wife it would have been even less!

By about 2:00am I arrived at Strath Carron Hotel car park with the sole intention of getting a few hours of precious sleep, adrenalin can be very useful in long drives up to the Highlands but it's not very good as an aid to sleep. I was bristling with energy. The ergonomics of my car was not conducive to sleep either hence at about 4:00am I was scouting the area for a safe place to leave my car, which I finally found albeit about a mile and a half from the track. Not to worry I was on my way at 4:30, on my own, I consoled myself with the sudden realisation that at least I wouldn't be the 'whipping boy!'


Around the Loch Monar Wilderness

The hills behind the tiny hamlet of Achintee soon gained height and dropped again beside two lovely blue lochans enclosed by a string of green humps, it was here, after only about half an hour that I was truly 'in the zone', no roads, no cars, no houses, no people, the only sign of civilisation was a rusty old deer fence! It wasn't long before the sun's illustrious rays adorned the dominant colour of green, light like velvet soothed the land .The hills were that green and lush, you felt like you could stroke them! As one writer put it 'enchantment falls around me and I know I cannot leave'.

from Achintee to Bendronaig,,, a string of green humps

''enchantment falls around me and I know I cannot leave''

Black Water

It was quite a good long haul in, so I wasn't expecting to see 
the Bothy in five minutes but on reaching the highest point on the track, about 400 metres, I was amazed to see there in the distance, a white speck amidst a sea of green! This put a beaming smile on my face. One couldn't wish for a setting of more majestic proportion, the Bothy lies at the foot of Ben Dronaig and shares it's name, across the strath to the north the sprawling ridge of Lurgh Mhor and Beinn a choire Sheisgaich, guardians of Loch Monar. It felt like it was no longer a task to grind it out to the Bothy, just a wee strupack down to the valley floor and the river would hold my hand and guide me to the palace! On reaching the banks of the Black Water River I topped up my water bottles then had a nice sit down with the summer sun on my back, listening to the sound of the water chattering over the pebbles. Life was good.

On approaching the Bothy I chanced upon a very well preserved Shieling. I often ponder when I come across these remains, what life must have been like for Shepherds in those days. A Shieling was a temporary residence built by the Shepherd for himself and sometimes for his family during the summer months when the sheep were grazing common pasture in the hills so they could live there for a few weeks rather than going to the rave of dragging the sheep back to the enclosure perhaps on the coastline. Some shielings were constructed of turf which of course didn't stand the test of time but stone structures like this one, tended to persist, at least in part. Not bad for an 18th century relic!

well preserved summer Shieling

I just mentioned that the river held my hand, well it did for so long then it let go, I came across one of those beautiful little wire bridges, now I've crossed these bridges before, the best one ever has got to be in the Great Glen, now if the one in the Great Glen is a brand new Mercedes, this one is a clapped out Robin Reliant! It was three warped rusty strands of wire, at first glance I wasn't sure if it was even operational but it was, just. I thought I was a goner in the middle when I started to do some hair raising involuntary gymnastics but somehow managed to keep going to the other side where Madam Blackwater held out her hand, a hand that I very gladly accepted.

Infamous wire bridge, rusty strands of wire!

nearly lost it on this one!

The emergence of this Bothy lived up to the expectation I observed upon the hill. The setting was like the fabric of dreams, a burn ran between the two buildings, the other building being an estate hut, as the burn meandered towards the hill, I'm sure Shakespeare would have drawn inspiration, 'three Alder trees aslant a brook' but no Queen of Denmark or Hamlet in sight. 

Alder trees aslant a brook

Bendronaig Lodge

The usual doubts ran through my mind would the Bothy be full, would it be empty, would it be locked! This was not an M.B.A Bothy so I didn't quite know what to expect. When I entered the premises It felt like I'd walked into a self catering cottage with the furniture removed! The whole dwelling was panelled out from floor to ceiling, there were three cosy rooms branching off from the main room all having their own fire! What really did speak volumes to me though was the pile of logs outside the front door and a packet of hacksaw blades hanging on the wall, how thoughtful is that! What an altruistic gesture on the part of the Attadale estate.

like a self catering cottage with furniture removed

The loneliest spot you could wish for

Met a young man, an oriental guy called Whang, a student from London who was walking from Lands End to John O'Groats in aid of a children's charity. Today he was having a well earned rest day. A remarkable achievement, he must have been almost on the last leg of this tremendous undertaking but I can't help but think when he's finished it he will be put off walking for life!

Whang on his rest day

It was now about 10:00am, I'd had a long walk in on the back of a 500 mile car journey, that being the case the agenda was, get myself established, have some lunch and have at least an hours snooze in a chair, the first two assignments were discharged dutifully but when it comes to having a nap on a perfect Highland summer day with adrenalin not on your side, it's not easy. I did try but could only endure about twenty seconds when the hills and wilderness land began to scream out "Mark, Mark come thither we need you and you need us" "okay I'm coming I'm coming!" 

one of the better bridges!

The first sheet of blue on my ramble was Loch Calavie a massive oblong loch with a feeder stream that clear and wiggly it was just like looking at an enlarged map. I noticed what appeared to be raindrops on the surface of the water but when it became apparent that I could feel no rain on my bald head  I realised that this was none other than that capricious old hungry fish, the Trout, the Loch must have been teeming with them but alas! No fishermen.

Loch Calavie

A string of other lochs helped me to keep my heading true, namely Lochan Geoblach, Lochan Techdaigh and the straggling Geodh Loch. One of the observations Whang made, by way of comparison was that Scottish hill tracks start off well then kind of, well just disappear instead of connecting you with your intended target. Reading not too far between the lines, we can see this vindicates the Motherland as getting as wilderness as you can get, in my opinion if the whole empty land is criss crossed with tracks here there and everywhere, it takes that wilderness feeling away, you kind of get the impression that someone has been here before. When the track to my intended target, Pait Lodge, ran out, I envisaged a sign that had read so many times before "you're on you're own now pal!"

The staggling Geodh Loch

As I approached Pait lodge, I thought to myself, this must be the most isolated dwelling in the whole of the British Isles! There it stood on the shores of Loch Monar, hugged almost entirely by the obligatory fir trees, the garden however did appear to be a bit English but I'm sure they can be forgiven for that, whoever they are! At Bendronaig Lodge, I was their nearest neighbour, ten miles away, that puts them at nearly twenty miles away from the nearest road! I was reluctant to take close up photographs as the patrons were milling around, there was also the essential all terrain vehicle on site. The gargantuan ten miles long Loch Monar gave me that back of beyond feeling, you can't see it from the road and you're unlikely to see it within the scope of a day's walking, due to it's splendid isolation. Backpacking territory par excellence.

Loch Monar, Pait Lodge

I wasn't entirely happy about walking back the same way, I headed up the hill a fair way to avoid undulating, you just don,t need that when you're beginning to feel tired, having said that because I wasn't climbing any peaks I felt I could walk all day before I reached my limit. It was heartening as the path contoured round at one point, to see way in the distance, my Bothy, sitting plaintively above a lonely lochan.

 When I reached the point on the track where I was due north of the Bothy, I thought to myself this track meanders needlessly all over the place, I could just head due south and be in the Bothy in three quarters of an hour, it was maybe two miles away, whereas sticking to the track would take me as long as three hours. That's it I'm going for it!

 As usual short cuts end up being long cuts. I thought we were supposed to learn from our mistakes, never mind now. There were a lot of things I couldn't see from up on the track, more undulating, boggy sections, peat hags and wonder of wonders, two rivers! The first one was no real difficulty, the feeder for Loch Calavie but the second one Ahlt an Loin Fhloda was in spate causing me to make an all round four mile detour! Finally after about three hours of hard graft I had the Bothy in my sights but all the tiredness held in store over the last two days was demanding to be met. I was about to hit the wall!

Ironically there were redeemable aspects to all of this, this incident afforded me the opportunity to see the Pait Forest and it's environs, which otherwise I wouldn't have seen, a photographers paradise that had me continually reaching for my camera. It felt like I was doing justice to the glorious window of opportunity of a Highland summer evening, one of life's oblique eccentricities, even the midges were kind!

Uiste Dubh

It was heartening to see Whang as the welcoming party. I waved to him and I think he could tell that I had about had it, he was no doubt anxious to see me as I had exceeded the  estimated time of return, only problem was, as I got closer I realised that it wasn't Whang! Never mind, this very friendly man would be a welcome addition to any Bothy crew. "I'd better let Whang know I'm back" I said "there's no-one else here" came the reply "there should be " I replied quite confidently. As I was just about to push open the Bothy door I gave a double take to the sign on the wall, 'Maol Bhuide', I was at the wrong Bothy!!!!!!!!

The wrong Bothy!

I didn't even know 'Maol Bhuide' was a Bothy, in the hysteria that followed I thought I'd somehow walked to Bearneas Bothy, which is about four miles north west of the track and the other side of the 'Lurgh Mhor' ridge! I thought, how the blazes have I managed that? Then I remembered the adage 'with old Ingo, all things are possible!' It wasn't until I'd oriented my brain, retrieved the map that I thought I no longer needed, that I realised exactly what I'd done. "You've got the wrong Bothy mate" came a voice, I think trying not to laugh. This was Mark from Aberdeen who was up on his own exploring the Loch Mullardoch area. Mark very kindly consoled me with a cup of coffee but I couldn't help but notice what a fine Bothy this was, again all panelled out and thoughtfully designed. On reviewing Land Ranger 25 I think it could be a contender, along with Ben Alder Cottage, for the remotest Bothy.

As the eagle flies, Bendronaig Lodge was only about four miles away, only problem was, there was a mountain and a river in the way! To contour the hill instead of climbing over it I was looking at about seven miles! I really missed the lads at this juncture because I know from our track record, we would have all done the same thing. I can hear us now, a heated debate, maybe one dissenting voice or even a screaming jet whistling down the valley but we can 'see it' so off we go. I hold my hands up and say 'Whipping Boy, give me the 'Golden Crampon' but if we'd all done it, it would just be one of those, 'don't tell Tezza' moments!

I knew only too well it was going to be an interminable pull back to the Bothy, caught half way between pride and fear it was time to hold my head up, keep calm, just keep putting one foot in front of the other. On a couple of occasions I just had to take time out, not because I was caught in extremis but because I was overpowered by the beauty of the setting. On the banks of Loch Cruoshie, wisps of smoke from Maol Bhuide peacefully drifting into a carefree sky and on the shores of Loch Calavie it was so silent, no cars, no planes, no people, no birds, no wind rustling through the heather, just a deafening silence. Beautiful just.

On the banks of Loch Cruoshie

looking back at Mhaol Bhuidhe

as the sun set I just had to sit down and take it all in

I approached the real bothy as the sun set over sweet cherry
blossom skies and that lingering twilight began to fill the air. My only sense of urgency was to assure Whang that I was still alive! If I hadn't gone and told him, like a daft bat, I was going to be about six hours (in reality I was twelve!), I would have slept on a washing line at Maol Bhuide but if I had, there would have been a Sea King helicopter whirring up and down the glen with me on their radar!

As it turned out that night we had another guest, a man from Paisley by the name of Johny M, whether that's some sort of pseudonym I've no idea but he does a lot of writing for various Scottish journals. They were both very pleased to see me but I wasn't up for much socialising, not long after my supper, I hit the hay and almost immediately in so doing, drifted off into the magnanimous ocean of sleep. I woke up once during the night, to turn over! For me, that quality of sleep in a Bothy has never happened. Next thing I knew light was beaming through the dappled Bothy window as if on sunlight wings, a million bright ambassadors of morning!

I always like to have a bit of bothy banter but if there's one thing that bugs me, it's the pointless nature of Munro bagging, especially when it's to the exclusion of everything else, for example, in comparing notes with Johny M, I happened to mention that my favourite hill was Suillven, now Johny M has been a regular visitor to the Motherland for decades but hadn't knocked off Suillven! Why not? Because it wasn't a Munro! He had just finished his first round of Munro's and had just embarked upon the journey of 221 Corbetts, Suillven isn't even a Corbett, that puts it way down the list, how can such an iconic mountain be relegated to the bottom of the pile on height status alone. In my opinion there are times when Munro's stand in the shadow of their not so high neighbours. By the way I've done 78 Munro's !

For the walk out I opted for a different route, through Atterdale, it was longer and with more ups and downs but on a clear Land Rover track. The pot of gold at the end was Atterdale Gardens, a scaled down Inverewe, delightful. The road back to the car was a bit like a 'Status Quo' song, tedious predictable and just when you thought it was going to end it carried on, another end, another end and finally it did end the most welcome sight in the world, my car!

Attadale Gardens

Loch Carron country

Around Durness and Farraid Head

Sometimes I think I'm a Schizophrenic, and the thing is when you're with a Schizophrenic you're never on you're own! Now after a sandwich 'Mark the Indomitable' wanted to head for the Cairngorms and walk the northern end of the Lairig Ghru, involving bothying and wild camping whereas 'Mark the Rational' wanted to do something a lot more sedate. The conversation that ensued was very interesting.To speed up my typing and your reading we shall refer to them simply as MI and MR.

MI: don't be so boring R we're only up here once in a blue moon we've got to make the most of it.

MR: That's irrelevant 'I', we've gone from fitness to decay in two days. We deal in opposite attractions.

MI:You're always the one that's saying 'o it's a window of opportunity and you can't bargain with Highland weather' so come on put your money where your mouth is!

MR:We've made the most of a window of good weather for Pete Thomson's sake, we were walking for eighteen hours on Thursday, on the back of a 500 mile drive with no sleep and the walk from the Bothy to the car took us six hours in shimmering heat! 

MI: I know you've got aches in places where you didn't think you even had places but it's the same for me! You're just thinking about yourself!

MR: Come on 'I' let's face this together, we can no longer outrun the undertow. Instead of sleep in the bank we've got stored exhaustion held in waiting and you've still got your tab to pay!*

MI:O go on then you boring old farmer!  I suppose I do always try to cram too much in. United we stand divided we fall.             *I would just like to confirm that throughout the whole of this dialogue, it was reassuring to know that I had the full backing of my Psychiatrist!

We were on our way to Durness!

As far as the road network goes Durness straddles the north west tip of Scotland and is a unique and special place. It has a remote and lonely vibe to it that will not go away, there is no village centre as such but this only fortifies the mystique of the township. As I was standing overlooking the beautiful red Sango Sands it occurred to me what a humble, genuine even a tad naive place Durness is, if this was developed I wouldn't be able to stand here for Hotels, guest houses and self catering cottages competing for the best view but it isn't developed, apart from one of the best located camp sites in the country only a handful of houses and two shops occupy this prime spot. This is real Scotland, Mackay country.

pastures near Durness

part of the main road across the North of Scotland!

Sango Bay

Essential part of any visit to Durness is a saunter round the craft village at Balnakiel, originally built by the military as an early warning system at the height of the Cold War but abandoned as soon as it was completed, it then fell into the hands of the council but they were at a loss as to what to do with it, from 1963 it began to be acquired by local artisans but particularly since 1980 it thrives as an entity and craftsmen and their families from all over the country live and work there.

I would love to sand sledge down that!

If I charged 'Jon Beevers' prices for my windows I would have filled the car with various paintings, rugs, enamels and pottery but I don't, however I was very happy with my jar of homemade marmalade! Everything is so individual and imaginative which appealed to me as someone who detests the 'chain store' ethic but love originality. It can't be overlooked that the Military only erect buildings to be functional, I would say the word that would least describes these buildings would be 'quaint'! However the distant hills and coastal scenery do soften the lines somewhat. Just purely as an observation it would have been nicer to have heard a few more Scottish accents coming from behind the counters.

it would have been nice to hear a few more Scottish voices

Balnakiel Craft Village

The M.O.D never did build quaint structures.

In talking to one of the Craftsmen I was 
astounded that this region of Scotland has had no real rain for three months! In a land whose weather system you can neither fathom nor predict or to put it in layman's terms it basically never stops raining, well it has now, for three months, never been known before apparently.

Faraid Head is a walk I've wanted to do so since a family holiday in Kinlochbervie back in 1994. I would never have singled it out for a main walk but now in my dilapidated state, it was an opportune time to go for it. I combined it with some of the other Durness walking network for a round of about seven hours, therein lies some of the most dramatic coastal scenery on mainland Britain. At times, with natural arches and the like, I thought I was on the west coast of Jura. There's always a childish excitement of seeing the sea and you certainly get that childlike buzz here as the North sea meets the Atlantic ocean!

Clach Mor and Natural Arch

It stands out like a sore thumb that the parish of Durness has been cultivated for centuries. Like an oasis in the desert is this chunk of limestone in a million square miles of stinking bog. In tourism terms it's not referred to as 'stinking bog' but rather 'Flow Country' . How pleasant that sounds, visit the 'Flow Country' a lot more endearing than 'come to the land of a million square miles of stinking bog'.

looking back towards Durness

Farraid Head

I wasn't out to break any records on my turn round Faraid Head, however I must have been pleasantly distracted by at least an hour trying to photograph a plethora of wild flowers in the sand dunes, collectively known as Machair. I say trying to photograph because the sea breeze was blowing them inside out and sometimes had to be held still by my non photogenic chunky fingers. A customer of mine who is an ecologist informs me that because of the high sea shell content, it neutralises the acidity of the peat, hence a variety of wild flowers thrive including many rare ones. The machair gave way to white sand on Balnakiel beach and replete with an ultramarine sea that gladdened the heart, it was hard to believe I was on the north coast of Scotland.

Balnakiel Beach

Sea faring life

a plethora of wild flowers collectively known as Machair

Common Orchid

Wild Pansy

Well done Blogfans, you have now reached the last paragraph(that's providing you haven't just jumped to it Clinty!) and I know what's been bugging you for the last half hour, what is the significance of the title 'Slicing through time in a perfect curve' well there isn't one, it is totally unconnected, just thought it sounded good at the time! My apologies for keeping you hanging on, I will try to make sure that it doesn't happen again.

Shine on you crazy Blogfans

Toodles. 

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