TGO Challenge 2024

 

TGO Challenge 2024

 

There is real pleasure to be had when a plan comes off; a route that works, a well-placed camp, perhaps obstacles overcome. But plans come with expectations. It is the moments of serendipity that perhaps give the greatest pleasure of all, a more simple, childlike joy in their element of surprise. It is one of the great gifts of the Challenge that with fourteen days on your own unique path there is plenty opportunity for the unforeseen.

One of these moments comes on my way out of a winding exploration of the Monadhliath, following the River Dulnain towards an overnight stop in Nethy Bridge. I started following its course the day before, accompanying it from youthful stream to adolescent river and it’s here that the scenery starts to change. Old pines, isolated at first, become more abundant, their scent filling the air. Patches of juniper are scattered over grassland and the glen begins to open around me like a Scottish savannah. The sounds are different too, plaintive calls of peewit and curlew replaced by the sweet harmonies of willow warbler and siskin. It is a joy on all the senses, a beautiful area that is near but far enough from the treasures of the high Cairngorms that I don’t see a soul.

Two days later, and it’s shortly before 5am. I have woken early as has become my habit. Peering out of my tent door, the first warmth of the morning sun is touching the top of the Shelter Stone crag across the far, still water. Immediately opposite, the northern flank of Beinn Mheadhoin sweeps up from the shore, dark and heather clad at its roots, then alive with shades of luminous mossy green before the shattered granite rocks take over its upper reaches. Outside the tent I am lost in this magnificent scene as the light starts to paint the sky amber and gold, breathing new life into the shadows of the crags while beneath them, the dark mirror of Loch Avon calls back the contrast of land and blue sky.  

I should not be here at all, the lure of this special corner of the Cairngorms having taken me down off Bynack Mor away from my planned camp at the Fords of Avon to spend the night at the Saddle. Arriving in mid-afternoon with hours till sunset brought me one of the great joys of distance walking. Here in this timeless heart of the Cairngorms my own world was able to slow down to an almost tangible feeling of harmony with this ancient place. In the still evening air, gazing out to Carn Etchachan and the slopes of Macdui I had a feeling of profound gratitude for this unchanging land, and for a moment a sense just out of reach of my younger self walking these same slopes discovering them for the first time.

So to this year’s route, starting at Torridon, taking me through the hills north of Loch Monar, and from there east towards two Challenge institutions; Gordon Menzies’ ferry over Loch Ness and the boundless hospitality and conviviality of the Sutherlands at Ault-na-goire. Three days of wandering in the Monadhliath lead to Nethy Bridge before I swing south to the Cairngorms to pick up the River Avon as far as its Linn and onwards to Ballater, Glen Lethnot and my destination with the North Sea, St Cyrus.

It’s a narrow thread, a thin digital line on a map that will be the boundary of my world for the next two weeks.

 

Days 1-5

Sgorr Ruadh from Coire Lair

Allt a Chonais

It’s only my second TGO, but there is a familiar feel as I disembark at Inverness station, glancing at other backpack clad people trying to pick out fellow challengers. Like the wildebeest following the rains, this is our annual migration first to the west coast and then taking our own chances with river crossings and the smaller bloodthirsty beasties we will encounter all the way to the east.

My start point this year is Torridon, but first a night’s stay with friends Lulu and Berndt up near Gairloch, an overdue visit from pre-Covid days. We take a day -1 visit to Red Point beach to practice getting my feet wet, and then my generous hosts set about feeding me up, a last fresh supper before the dehydrated meals that lie ahead. It’s a lovely interlude before it all begins. In the night the wind whips up and rain clouds have come in. No sign today of the Torridon giants as we drive round to the youth hostel.

A quick farewell, and suddenly I am on my own. It’s a big gear shift, and a surreal feeling taking these first steps down the road, just me and all that lies ahead. I am conscious too that it will be a long first day; 27km and 1,000m ascent lie between me and camp at Allt a Chonais. Down by Annat I find an easy way to the water to dip my toes in, and shortly after the familiar path starts is journey winding uphill to the south of Meall Dearg then round between Beinn Liath Mhor and Sgurr Ruadh. The rain is intermittent and for much of the day I can see little, the best a murky view back to Sgurr Ruadh on the way down Coire Lair. But it is pleasant walking and by Achnashellach I feel I have walked a decent opening day, with still 8km to go and a bit more uphill left.

Allt a Chonais is a welcome sight, and there’s a good choice of pitches on the flat grass near the river. I pass two other tents before getting to a fine spot of my own, the clouds still down but the rain having ceased some while back. If I’d known now that this would be almost the last use of my waterproofs before my crossing finished, I would scarcely have believed it.

Sgurr Coinnich

West end of Loch Monar

The next day breaks with a warmth in the tent, and my plans to stay low on day two go out of the tent door when the daily reveal opens up to clear tops under a high layer of cloud. I haven’t got into my packing rhythm yet and after a slow start the Pollan Buidhe crossing is easy with no need to more than look at the wire bridge. Crossing this area by Loch Monar to Strathfarrar is something I have been looking forward to, and the temptation to get up high was too much despite my fitness doubts and I make my way steadily up to the bealach below Sgurr Coinnich. A stiff breeze starts to build as the route turns to pass through three bands of rock on the steeper slopes to the top, but the sun is also now breaking through on a hazy, spectacular vista. The Torridon hills form a barrier to the north, the bulk of Moruisg and its zig zags dominate nearer by, but it is the spear of Bidean a Choire Sheasgaich and the remote Lurgh Mhor which draw the eye most.

With a full pack and 12 days yet to go I don’t feel the need to keep going onto Sgurr a Chaorachain, and in any case I am keen to get down to the quiet west end of Loch Monar to enjoy camp. I had learned the importance to me on last year’s challenge of finding good camp locations and taking time to enjoy them. On a two or three-day outing there is tendency to pack the walking hours in, shortening time at camp; but with 14 days and the long light of May there is a real joy in an early start and finish and the rewards of slow highland evenings with time to absorb all that surrounds you. The descent to tonight’s stay will prove easier than I expected, even so the small path lower down marked on the ever-accurate Harvey map is a welcome appearance. I camp near Allt Toll a Chaorachain in a fabulous setting nestled in amongst the high tops around Monar.

I wake before 5am the next day, my sleeping bag beckoning me to tarry in its warm embrace. There’s a chill in the air that bodes well for the forecast clear conditions, and I am instantly awake when I poke my head out of the door to a simply magnificent scene. The early morning sky is clear, Sheasgaich standing guard over a mirror image of itself at the end of a perfectly still Loch Monar. It is blissfully quiet.

I take my time getting up, drinking this scenery in as the sun stretches upwards and starts to fill the slopes with light. It is a long hike out from near the far end of Loch Monar. In rain and low cloud it would test the spirit, but today it is serene and beautiful, the vista slowly changing with my passing steps. Frequently I will stop, to watch, to photograph or just listen to the silence, the only noise my beating heart slowing as I come to rest. Then occasionally some birds would strike up on the far shore, chattering and bickering, the sound softened in its passage across the water.

At first the going is pathless, hard work alternating up and down from rocky slopes near the shoreline to heathery small hags just above. Then on reaching my originally planned stop at the foot of Bidean nan Eoin a path picked up, a delightful trace in and out along the lochside. Further on I arrive at my previous night FWA spot by a beautiful burn at the foot of An-t-Slithean, and in the baking heat of the day with nobody around it’s a perfect spot to immerse myself. It is something of a pinch me moment to be in these magnificent surroundings in such conditions freed, my normally rigid clock so elastic.

Refreshed, it is easier going to Monar Lodge and the long quiet road through Strathfarrar. Camp in this beautiful and peaceful glen proved surprisingly difficult, the burns all but dried up at the first two spots I had lined up and it was a weary pair of legs that made their way the extra distance to Allt a Mhuilinn. There was to be one more short journey when a fine-looking pitch near the river ended with the sight of a battalion of small ticks making their way up the tent wall. I quickly relocated finding some shorter grass a little further up the All a Mhuilinn where I could check both me and the tent for unwanted passengers.

It was a fine evening in camp, eating out and reading by the Allt while my tent cooled from its initial greenhouse temperatures. One tick was removed having made its way through my guards and I was up and away early next morning with a forecast of thunderstorms due in the early afternoon. Fresher legs made the track back along the road from the previous day much easier, and there was peace in the dark reflective waters of Loch a’ Mhuillidh.

Glen Strathfarrar

Glenn Affric way near Cannich

Today would be a straightforward track over to Glen Cannich then down to a pod in Cannich and a chance of a shower. Initially a steep 4x4 track reared up on the right side of a stream before I switched to a more pleasant and natural path on the left. A short tussocky peat hag section soon led to easier ground and on to the hydro track down to the glen. I then chanced my main route across a low ford over the River Cannich given the dry conditions which led to a gentle forest track through mixed woodland full of birdsong. This in turn took me to the last 8km along the road, and meeting my first fellow challengers of the trip including Andrew and Adam who I would go on to meet several times later over the rest of the challenge.

By 2pm I was in Cannich campsite, and realised it was not just a chance for a shower, but some laundry and then a meal at the Slaters Arms. By the evening the warm weather had broken to the promised downpours, but I managed to avoid the worst till I was back to the sound of heavy percussion on the pod roof.

There’s not so much to say about the next section on the Affric Kintail Way. It was a morning of dank, low cloud, but dry overhead, almost muggy with easy walking through the forests. I was glad to have skipped the new path diversion north for the sake of 20 minutes on a fairly quiet road. Passing Corrimony cairns I found added interest recognising I was on the edges of the territory of my book choice for the first few days, The Bookseller of Inverness, an enjoyable and well written historical yarn set in Jacobite times.

Sultry cloud and sun had now taken over by the descent to Drumnadrochit, with plenty time for lunch at the Ness Deli before the ferry was due to depart. Once there, a cheerful fellow diner well known to the staff had spotted my large pack and came to introduce himself as none other than Gordon Menzies who would be taking across Loch Ness on his boat later.

Heading to the ferry I met Andrew and Adam again, and a small group of us walked the 2-3km by the busy A82 to the pier to wait in the sunshine. Gordon arrived promptly at 3:45 by which time we were the quorate 12 for the crossing and quickly onto the boat. Stepping on I saw a looseness in one of my walking pole strappings too late, and it was one of those slow-motion moments as it freed itself, evaded my grasping hand to bounce up off the edge of the boat and land in the waters of the loch. Given this doubles as one of my tent poles it was a combined relief that carbon poles float and Gordon had a fishing net to hand.

Crossing Loch Ness with Gordon Menzies

The hospitality of Ault-na-Goire

It’s a lovely interlude crossing Loch Ness and then a short piece of team building to get people and packs out over the metal framework at Inverkirkaig before the 3km walk to Ault-na-goire. The quiet woods and roads make a contrast to the opposite bank of the Loch and there’s a relaxed and companionable feel to this short section. Ault-na-goire itself is a treasure and the most extraordinarily generous welcome. Tea, biscuits and charging points are all set up outside when we arrived by the generous and thoughtful hosts, Janet Sutherland and family. There are beers and wine in a cooler, a pre-ordered and delicious dinner cooked, and tomorrow breakfast and packed lunches will all be made for our departure. It must be an incredible amount of preparation, work and clearing-up for the peak nights of the challenge and speaks volumes for the kindness of this family.

Sixteen of us are in the field that night, and it’s the end of day five for me, the great glen crossed and what I think of as stage two to commence tomorrow across the Monadhliath. They look high and distant as we turn to the windows in anticipation, stories of peat, bogs and Odyssean journeys through featureless miles passing round the table.

Days 6-8

River Erskin camp

Descent towards Dalbeg

A later start from the comforts of Ault-na-goire sees a group of us heading off to the high plateau of the Monadhliath. Andrew, Adam and Andy soon swing to a more northerly route, while John and I head south on a surprisingly busy road, probably a consequence of the wind farms that my route will attempt to studiously avoid.

Through a farm we follow a track up to a single wind turbine, and if that is a short foretaste of the latter-day downside of this range, it also heralds the start of a trackless section above and a preview of the more natural challenges that lie ahead. This one passed easily enough before we picked up the next vehicle track south taking me to Carn-na-Saobhaide and John to Dalbeg. My legs were starting to feel it by the time I reached the Carn, and ahead lay 4km of real Monadhliath country, described by my vetters as “encountering numerous peat hags and very rough boggy ground”. Nothing for it, then, but to head into this morass and find out for myself. At first the hags are small and I make reasonable progress, but as I descend their depth increases and the route becomes a labyrinth of twists, turns and backtracks to make passage. Up a rise, down some more hags and the salvation of greener ground by the side of a stream appears to the left. The Monadhliath don’t release you that easily, though, and there are more bogs and hags to cross but the route is more direct now down to the River Erskin.

This is a delightful spot, wild and remote feeling at about 650m elevation and I soon found a flat grassy area on its opposite bank, its only downside the long walk to the “en suite” to get far enough away from the twisting water course.

My aim on this section was a fairly convoluted route across three days, skirting as far out of sight of the wind farms as possible to try to recapture the old sense of the Monadhliath. The next day will prove to be magnificent, a long arduous route in superb weather with a variety of track and energy sapping pathless sections combining lower ground through glens and rivers with the sweeping space of the plateau higher up.

River Findhorn

Monadhliath Plateau

I was up at 5am again, soon reaching a wet track that descends in a beautiful setting above the Erskin, the lower morning light emphasising colours and contours, the quicksilver river below. Early cloud was by now breaking into another hot and sunny day, with barely a breeze as I turned north at the Findhorn towards Dalbeg. Stopping for a snack and some water I meet John again setting out on his route also towards the River Elrick. With a long day ahead, I take a proper rest before resuming along the broad track and the changing views and angles of the Findhorn’s gorgeous glen.

Before I turn off this track I see a lone walker heading towards me in the distance who turns out to be a walking encyclopaedia on bothies and routes in the area. There are those who like to show their knowledge, and those who just like to share, and the cheerful Mike Slater is definitely in this latter category. Within minutes he is giving me helpful hints and advice on options for my route ahead and where traces of path can be found to help the journey over the toughest ground. It is another of those brief, generous moments of human contact on the journey as he heads off to explore possible sightings of new bothies in the area.

A bridge over the Findhorn takes me east now by the River Elrick where a good track gently rises up the glen to a ford beyond the last bridge. From there, a short, steep zigzag soon leads to the main trackless section of the day and the beginning of the hard part; bog, peat, hags, and thick tussocks. I wound my way along, my pace slowed dramatically through the uneven terrain and feeling a little intimidated by the scale of what I had to go over. After a while, a green stretch of one of those streams that gurgles more below ground than above appeared to my left and I followed it, diverting in hope of slightly better ground higher up. Whether it was or not, I don’t know, but it would help me find the extra section of path Mike Slater had told me about before the descent on the main track to the Octagon Hut.

River Dulnain

Camp near Dulnain

It was energy sapping work, with still a long way to go, and for once limited option to stop short. Eventually, though, a trace of a squelching peat argocat track appeared, and while it was often best avoided soon enough led to the gravel track lower down to the River Dulnain. It felt a significant landmark but there was still 9km to go.

The Dulnain was beautiful as it wound along its journey; sometimes broad and flowing with the chatter of water over shallows, at other times narrower and plunging its way down, peaty and forceful. It fair took it out of me, though, up and down over marsh, rock and heather with the weight of the miles already on my legs. More than once I had to cross the river in search of better ground, and while sometimes there were merciful grass stretches, even these had their marshes and tussocks to negotiate.

I was tired enough now to be managing my mental and physical approach, planning distances ahead before I permitted myself a stop and minimising the duration of those to keep me going. The river was broadening, and I crossed one last time to the east bank before a final uphill diversion and I could see the bend ahead that would lead to camp. It was a relief to get there, and a fine flat spot by the river. The soles of my feet were really hurting by this stage, and I closed the day wondering how they would respond to 30km more tomorrow, with a section of that on hard track or small roads.

By the River Dulnain

Although this would be my seventh night of a fourteen day walk, in many ways the next day to Nethy Bridge felt my true halfway point, crossing the A9 with the Cairngorms ahead, a third stage of the route. It was another day of spectacular weather, hot and sunny and I was glad to be up early again after a cool, clear night. The first 5km was harder than I expected, reminiscent of the day before along tussocky river plain but still with soft, spongy sections to wind around and the occasional deviation up onto the heather where the river cut close into steep banks. Faced with another such diversion before the bridge I was aiming at I opted to freshen my feet up with one more crossing of the Dulnain on this fuller, broader section and join the track early on the west side.

The next section I loved. The Dulnain has carved out miles of plain with grass, juniper, Caledonian Pine and birch, their scents filling the air. The trees were an unexpected highlight, an unheralded remnant of the old forest, mixed in with other woodland that is home to willow warblers and siskins and I was not to see a soul all day. Sometimes it looked like a gentler version of the Quoich or Derry glens and forests, at others the scattered trees and heather moors reminded more of the Muir of Dinner.

Eventually my route started to angle east, and the surroundings changed, alternating mixed deciduous woodland and more commercial forest. It was fast going now to the A9, and I was starting wilt in the heat on the final section towards my overnight stop in Nethy Bridge. A section of the Strathspey Way provided welcome cover from the heat, a soft forest path to ease my feet, and just before the village the bonus sighting of a great spotted woodpecker flitting its way from tree to tree.

Memorial to Ian Beag MacAndra

River Nethy

Days 9-11

Another hot, sunny day is forecast. I am up early, skipping the pleasures of a Nethy Café breakfast in my excitement to get into the Cairngorms once more, and also keen to cover the lower ground in the cool of morning. Within minutes I am back into the forest where old pines mix with birch and rowan and underneath a thick bed of blaeberry looks made for Capercaillie. Along the route there are some magnificent granny pines, towering, twisting and gnarled that stop me in my tracks to gaze up and up. In between I the soft tracks bring the high tops closer and before long the forest starts to thin and there they are. First Bynack Mor, then Strathnethy and Cairngorm rearing up across a plain of heather.

Bynack Mor

Lochan Uaine

My main route goes over Bynack Mor’s shoulder and down to the Fords of Avon before a long day tomorrow on Beinn a Bhuird and Ben Avon. But with thunderstorms forecast for the next afternoon I am toying with a diversion up to Bynack Mor and a higher camp tonight with a lower route off the plateau tomorrow. At Ryvoan I can’t resist a visit to An Lochan Uaine in these conditions, and spend a delightful hour gazing at its clear, aquamarine waters, a tranquil haven in its shade of trees flanked by the steep screes of Creag nan Gall.

It is a wrench to leave this place, but there is a long way to go and soon I must start to head up. The bridge over the Nethy gives a chance for rehydration before the pull up, which proves less hard than I expected it to feel today. That is enough for my mind to be made up to head up Bynack Mor and then over A’ Choinneach to find a spot at the Saddle. I meet two young women on their way down, who noticing my backpack ask where I’ve come from. When I tell them I am crossing east to west, one of them observes “and going up munros as well?” and roars with laughter, head thrown back on, and I immediately like her open humour at the absurdity of it.

Now the hills to the east are opening up, Morven, Ben Avon and Beinn a’ Bhuird standing out the most as the top approaches. It’s fast progress then down to the soggy shoulder connecting to A’ Choinneach and then easy going to the Saddle to gaze once more on my favourite spot amongst so many wonders in the Cairngorms. With the early start I am here for 3:30pm and after a short pace around find a decent flat spot in view of the Loch. Finding water involves more of a descent than I expect down a thinly trickling Garbh Allt, and I meet another challenger, Paul coming up – I assume from the tough slog through Strathnethy but forget to ask. He is heading to Fords of Avon expecting a few other challengers to be there, but even the prospect of that company is not going to shift me from a night here.

Camp set, it is warm and still so I cook and eat out happily al fresco on a nearby rock overlooking the magic of this place, not knowing where to rest my eyes in the vastness around me. My book for this section of the work is Merryn Glover’s “Hidden Fires” based on her reflections from Nan Shepherd’s “Living Mountain”. It is appropriate company as I spend the next hours taking in the slowly shifting colours and light of this scene. On a day walk, I might be doing well to stay for an hour in a single spot like this, on a two or three-night trip a little longer than that. But this is one of the gifts the challenge provides and I have one of the best night’s camp I have ever known as time stretches out towards the horizons around me.

By 8pm the sun that has been catching the Shelter Stone Crag has faded slightly, no longer filling its cliffs with the warm movement of shadows. Beinn Mheadhoin across the loch feels like it is embracing my vision in the scale of its reach, yet the highest point looks almost touchingly close. Behind that arcs its western top, patches of snow in between before a descent down to a mossy shoulder feeding the life blood of the waters below.

It is cooling now, and a light evening breeze picks up pushing me back for a while to my tent. By 9pm the original Gaelic name of these hills, Monadh Ruadh, is resting on the slopes of Beinn Mheadhoin, a bright half-moon high above as the rest of the great complex begins to darken, drawing itself in toward the brief night at this latitude. My tent door will stay open tonight.

5am and I am up again, but in no hurry to leave. The warm morning sun is just starting to catch the crags at the head of Loch Avon, and it is breakfast and coffee outside once more on the rock overlooking the loch and the hills jostling all around. I manage to stretch this out for another three hours or so before heading down the slopes to the Loch. Craving a physical connection to it, I wade out to where the bed slips away to its depths and look back across the length of its waters to the great walls surrounding the Feith Bhuide at the far end. I was trying to hold this moment, to drink it in and take some part of this place back with me before I had to leave.

From there, it was on to the Fords of Avon, a couple of tents from the night before still being packed away and then east to follow the River Avon to its linn before turning south towards Glen Gairn. The track alternated good sections and wet bog despite the continuing glorious conditions, while below the clear river is a constant and interesting companion, steadily picking up weight, running faster over boulders and rocks on its turbulent journey down. A broader, flatter section starts before Fairndouran Lodge comes into view, and I spend an enjoyable break with a party of four who have spent the night there and are soon about to commence their day.

The track is broad now, and fast progress, turning one delightful corner where the river narrows and quickens between lush trees, and the great corrie dividing Beinn a’ Bhuird and Ben Avon slowly starts to reveal itself. Down here, the vast footprint of these hills is felt in every step around them, and I stop for a snack in front of the huge complex arena shared by these two giants. It’s a magnificent aspect. A band of rocks like a stegosaurus lead up Ben Avon to the long corrie wall still with remnants of snow beneath it, descending to the Sneck and then back up to Beinn a’ Bhuird and the top of Mitre Ridge.

It's a long old way still, and a fair pounding of feet to circumnavigate all the fingers that Ben Avon stretches out until I reach the bridge crossing the Avon. The clouds have been building up in the last hour or two and a loud rumble and banging announce the forecast thunderstorms on cue. I was glad not to be up on the top, the plateau a great spacious trap in these conditions.

It is curious to be on the very edge of the weather system, clouded and dry for now, blue sky to the north but a maelstrom in the sky south that I will find later has brought a deluge to Braemar. Treading between these two worlds, the Linn of Avon forms a lovely stretch, a typical Cairngorms narrowing of the water through hard granite with a pool that would have been magnificent for a swim a few short hours earlier.

Turning the corner south, the rain started with that ominous sense of a sudden surge any moment, but it didn’t last and soon the path somewhat rudely twisted its way uphill testing my tiring legs on its way to Loch Builg, looking somewhat desolate in these conditions. I had a FWA camp here but decided to push on to Glen Gairn so shortening the next day to Ballater. Hoping for an abundance of grassy patches by the river, it would take another hour to Cornavon before I found a spot there, meeting Ed from New York who was camped up by the second building and the end of day ten.

River Avon

Slochd Mor between Ben a'Bhuird and Ben Avon

There’s a spot by the Dee in Ballater that I have always come back to every visit, when my parents lived there and since; a promise to return that feels like a pact between the land and me. From here you can look across to the slopes of Pannanich, out over the Coyles of Muick and upstream the broad purposeful river chatters over its rocky bed. Beyond sits Geallaig Hill; I have looked out on it countless times and today’s route will for the first time take me up there to I hope gaze back in the other direction.

Overnight there’s been a big change in the weather. The cloud and mist are down, the world has narrowed and clear skies replaced by a closed-in quiet. Ed appears shortly before 7 to wave goodbye and I am on my way soon after to find more challengers have been camped further down the glen by the next bridge. Robert is getting ready to go when I arrive, then round a corner I find Dominque chatting to Dennis who has camped further up – seeing me approach he makes me laugh, “If you’re another challenger, you can get lost! I’ve been trying to pack up since 6”. We did soon leave him to it and I walk a short while with Dominique before we go our separate ways, the path winding round by a route to some old shielings which describe the  “small flits” and “big flits” of communities to higher ground each summer; first the men and cattle and then everyone and everything else.

A short section of road then leads to the path up Geallaig Hill, the top clear for now. On the last stretch the cloud starts to draw itself up from the Dee below, mist ascending in a slow, silent march, a benign smoke advancing in fronts, quietly but relentlessly. Within moments it envelopes me and the air changes bringing with it sweet smells lifted up from the glen below. I’d hoped to look back down onto Ballater from the top but find myself instead captivated by this immersion. There is a special silence to mist such as this. Sound travels differently, the air still, a sense of it floating in a suspension. Wisps of cloud within cloud move soundlessly without apparent means as if in a different dimension that could pass right through you. After days of sweeping panoramas, visually, aurally the reach of my senses reduces and yet intensifies on all that is closest.

Wandering on from the top, Creag Chabhais emerges on the other side of the Dee, its shoulder rising up from the muir I skirted on last year’s challenge, slopes of rock, heather and pine giving definition to its characterful top. Yet in clearer weather, were Lochnagar and surrounding peaks visible I would be looking less at this peak than past it and it is a mesmerising scene, one no camera can capture, the slow movement of circling mists integral to it.

Down then over the connecting tops to the east, golden plovers around me and a roe deer bouncing off after a brief inspection of this intruder. I veer off the path to the left of a fenced off area of trees, the heather initially low and easy. It is pleasing to see young pines pushing up on the unprotected side of the fence, the forest here not over-grazed and starting its natural spread. Rough tracks help the route for a while but soon there is thick heather to plough through, the footing underneath obscured. Grassy stretches occasionally intervene, themselves full of new growth bracken, the long stems upright with coils of young ferns like swans’ necks, so small it is hard to imagine the growth that will soon unfurl. All around, last year’s bracken lies in its ruins, the hardy stalks ready to trap and snare your feet. Further down and the effects of just small changes in altitude are fascinating to see, the ferns here already opened out to miniature versions of their future selves. Young birch starts to appear, then older more adolescent ones, the whole area feeling full of renewal on both its annual cycle and longer journey through the ages. It is a fair distance from one side of Geallaig to the other, and a broad track now appears to take me swiftly down back to Glen Gairn and a short stretch of the Deeside line to Ballater. Once there it is my night of creature comforts, a hot shower, good company and delicious food of the Darroch Learg, where a resupply bag also awaits complete with a change of walking gear for the last stretch ahead.

 

Days 12-14

Lochnagar

Burn of Lunkart

My last night in the hills, and it is ending as it seems to have so wonderfully been on many nights of this crossing. It’s late afternoon, the sun is beating down from a cobalt sky by the Water of Mark where my camp stove and food are set out. There’s a book to read and a half bottle of leftover wine is resting in a cask in the water to cool off following an inspired suggestion by one of my hosts last night. A short distance away my tent is pitched waiting in a perfect flat grassy spot by the Burn of Lunkart.

To get here, it was a leisurely, slow start to the day in Ballater, the clouds still down but forecast to lift and clear around mid-day. I was able to indulge in a good breakfast, and post home laundry in a biohazard bag marked “do not open”. Passing the Bothy on the way out I chanced on Adam, Andrew and Michael having their breakfast and spent a few moments catching up on where we’d all been and who we had seen since we last met. Next it was an old familiar route, into the Creag Coillich wood and up the edge of the trees to Pannanich. Coming out of the trees by the ladder crossing the wall and deer fence I was halted by a new electric fence ludicrously positioned just beyond the foot of the steps. Fortunately others before me had already carved a way round this further up, but it is sad to see this as given the other barriers in place it seems to serve little purpose beyond deterring walkers.

The cloud had now lifted as forecast and I stopped for a while to chat to another walker heading down the hill from an earlier start. The views have opened up too, Lochnagar magnificent with the light falling into the corrie, Morven green and inviting to the north and further back all the Cairngorm tops beckon in the clear air. To the east, Bennachie is as proudly isolated as ever, and Clachnaben peers around the side of a so-close feeling Mount Keen.

I am at home and at ease here, and it is a lovely section past Cairn Leuchan and on to Cairn Hillock. I had toyed with heading over to Glen Tanar and Mount Keen but the chance to follow a route down the Water of Mark wins the day, and it is time to come off the path back into the bogs, tussocks and peat hags. It seems fitting on the last hill day of the challenge. In clear weather and with the recent dry spell it is not at all bad, proving relatively easy to trace a route through. The view of the hills may no longer be here, but in compensation it feels immediately wilder and more interesting off the land rover tracks. Rather than simply one foot in front of the other, now there is an engagement in my steps, where they land and where they take me. Sometimes the route ahead appears to be impenetrable hag, a diversion inevitable, but getting closer a bridge across appears, or stepping stones of tussocks and heathery shelves that can be used to hop and leap over. Other times it can go against you, the way ahead seeming clear, only to have a deep hidden hag reveal itself behind a small contour.

Down to the stream then, and much needed water, the grassy banks making an easy passage, skipping back from one side to the other. Sat by the gurgling, splashing burn as it busies itself downhill I am taken by the sight of dozens of small insects caught in the light, dancing mid-air in Brownian motion. A breath of wind rustles from the glen below and suddenly, to my perception instantly, they are gone only to return just as quickly the moment stillness returns.

It's a delightful passage down, and soon the Water of Mark is in sight, flowing and spreading round a scattered rock bed. Before I get there, I come across a near perfect pitch by the burn, and while it may be 3-6km short of where I intended to camp it is too good to pass. It will mean a long day tomorrow, but here at this confluence with a real sense of the high hills remaining is the right place to stop on what proves to be my final night in the tent this crossing.

Just as last year, this final night out will be the coldest, and it is with chilly hands I pack and am away shortly after 7. The first section along the Mark is harder going for a longer stretch than I expected, and there is to be an extension at the end of the day that will take me to a long 41km on this penultimate leg. An initial grassy route through the mixed ground proves deceptive and I am soon back to the familiar weaving, winding and digressions up and down slopes to track around bogs, adding distance and sapping energy.

I pass another adder, seeing it before it sees me which is always good. That makes four on the trip in all, lounging in the warmth of the sun. Further along I can see the rocks of Balnamoon’s Cave and I remember a journey up here with my father back in my teens; forty odd years on and it felt strange, like a memory from another life, and yet there it was producing a dull ache that I could not reach.

After an hour or so I come across another challenger, Paul and we walk together from here for a sociable section until our ways part at Dalbreck further down Glen Esk. Several paths appear on this south side of the water, encouraging us with false hopes before we lose them or they disappear, but at last a clear double track begins and we are soon taking advantage of the ford over the Mark to refresh our feet before the firmer tracks and road of pretty Glen Esk ahead. At Dalbreck, Paul is heading down the Esk, and I branch off up the hills one last time to cross to Glen Lethnot via the Clash of Wirren.

It made a pleasant and easy route, avoiding the most barren areas of the industrialised grouse moors abundant in the easter Grampians. Glen Lethnot itself was lovely; secluded, quiet, and a sense of being in its own world, reminiscent of the setting of my final book of the challenge set in the Angus Glens, James Robertson’s News of the Dead. There’s change in weather in the air, with clouds starting to gather in the east as I follow the West Water running its attractive course down the glen. The narrow road winds around changing scenery, maintaining the interest, with one diversion for a bridge closure on the road following the storm of 18 months ago.

By the time I reach the end of the glen my feet are starting to feel the impact of the road and it’s still 6km to my planned camp. A kind lorry driver who must have seen me up in Glen Lethnot offers me a lift, and I have to thank him but explain that would be me disqualified if I did. It is close enough now that anywhere to camp will be good, but keeping a lookout nothing appeals. My intended spot near a picnic spot looks a tawdry, scruffy affair, too sorry an end and with no obvious access remaining to the river below. Pressing on, I find there is a room left at the Panmure Arms in Edzell and decide to bag that and leave my last camp as that delightful one by the Burn of Lunkart. There’s one lovely moment left coming into the village when a man stops his car in the road to ask how my challenge has been, clearly familiar with the steady stream of backpack clad walkers at this time of year. We chat about my route, where I’m from, a recent trip he took to Ullapool and how he has spent his life here in Edzell as he is happy here. Tonight, so am I.

Just 23km left on my last day to St Cyrus, deliberately shorter than last year so I can get to Montrose in a good, relaxed time. The walk starts with an expected diversion due to the Shakin Brig being down, though I realise later in the conditions I could have had a go at fording the Esk to avoid this. It’s not a bad road out of Edzell, though, but once it turns back along the long straight road east, while relatively quiet, the cars that do go past are moving at a speed that sets your nerves on edge after so much peace. I spend what time I can scuffing through leaves in the forest, but it’s a relief nonetheless when I can turn left on a track to finish the journey to North Water Bridge.

From there, it feels the last real stretch to the coast is on. Towards Marykirk I come across Thilou and Annette, two challengers from Holland taking a short rest. They are initially thinking of going direct to Montrose, but we join forces instead to St Cyrus. They are great company and the last 15km to the coast will pass quickly in conversation and good spirit. We cross the Esk again, and Thilou wisely dissuades my interest in a track along the river when we don’t know if there is open access back to the road at the other end. A short uphill is then needed on a track and St Cyrus is enticingly close, the sea remaining out of sight. It’s been a rare morning of cloud with rain forecast to come in, but we are soon in St Cyrus, digesting the disappointment of the café being closed. A few steps further and we get a first hazy view of the North Sea, almost indistinguishable from the cloud above it today.

Ahead of us lies a lovely, clear beach with a view through the increasingly murky weather down the links to our end destination of Montrose. First, a sandy zig zag track down steps and slopes pinches the quads and will do so more on the way back up and then we are on the sand with the gentle roar of waves in front of us. I let Thilou and Annette have their moment first, and then it is my turn, shoes and socks off, trousers into shorts and I am in. My crossing is done.