tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83582057717465688432024-03-05T02:29:00.736-08:00into the great solitudeOwenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-30801948500810123452020-08-03T11:50:00.001-07:002020-08-03T11:52:23.572-07:00Braerich<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9jc_3xEzDsQ" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Haven't posted anything in ages, all the lockdown inactivity had me quite down. Getting out again feels weird, never sure what kind of reception I'll get. So far it has been good, maybe there's less of the stay away mentality than the press would have us believe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've been cycling quite a bit, some quite long day rides up to 80km (50 miles). I'd hoped to do a small tour around the Cowal Peninsular but the week I had off work for it, it rained all the time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've also got a new camera a GoPro, the video above is my first attempt. The sound wasn't a great success, couldn't hear anything I said due to the wind noise. I've put some music over it to drown out the racket. Now I'm not sure which is worse, the wind noise or the music. </span>Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-31288820842470337612020-03-03T10:50:00.000-08:002020-03-03T10:50:07.786-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Just an experiment, some photos from my phone. Not thought of trying to post like this before.</div>
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Seams to work.</div>
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<br />Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-28733340537670968442019-10-26T07:53:00.002-07:002019-10-26T07:53:28.583-07:00Ben to Ben (Macdui to Nevis)<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I had to cut short my last backpacking trip due to my ankle and knee,
now they're a bit more healed I went back to finish my route. Last
time I'd walked from the bus stop in Aviemore all the way up to
Cairngorm summit. I felt it would be more than a little pedantic to
repeat this, so this time I caught the bus up to the ski centre and
started from there. It seems Cairngorm Mountain, or what ever they're
calling themselves this week, have hired a “meet and greet man”
all dressed up in green tweeds. Everyone was ignoring him, I felt
sorry for him, he must have been desperate for work, but I also just
walked on by. The wind was howling and it was drizzling on and off,
it was past 15.00 and I wanted to find somewhere to camp. I'd
originally thought of the top of Lurcher's Gully, but that would be
very exposed in this wind. I wandered into Coire an Lochan and found
a spot tucked under the ridge that was both level-ish and flat-ish
but most importantly dry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Like most people, I'd imagine, I have my little routines and rituals,
places where things go and orders of doing things. Put the tent up,
fetch water, pull out stuff you need and put it into the tent.
Everything else stays in the rucksack which goes in one vestibule
under the fly. In the other one goes the kitchen etc. I pull off my
boots and dive in and start to get organized, something is missing?
My kindle. I'd even downloaded half a dozen books to read. “Oh
Bugger”. I use the phone to message my brother and sister via the
inReach, then turn off the inReach. Then I notice I have an internet
signal. I surf the net for a bit, a friend is cycling from Roscoff to
Constanta on the Black Sea. He's publishing video blogs as he goes so
I watch a few. He did ask me if I wanted to go with him, after
watching his videos I'm beginning to wish I'd gone.
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Wind and rain buffeting the tent all night didn't make for a restful
time, sometime early morning I thought I heard voices. Once awake I
couldn't get back to sleep so I got up and ready. Up the ridge that
makes the western side of the coire, and over a shoulder of Cairn
Lochan to Lochan Buidhe. I found a black fleece jacket laying on the
ground. I look at it but decide it's too heavy to carry and anyway I
don't want another fleece. Further along I meet a man who asks me, in
Spanish, if I'd seen his jacket. When I answered, in Spanish, that I
had and told him where, he seemed amazed. It just struck me as a very
bazaar conversation. There were a few folk around on the summit, a
young lad who'd spent the night by Loch Etchachan and three lasses in
fell running kit ran up and then ran off again. Last time I'd
descended from here by the Sron Riach ridge down to the south, then
walked all the way around to the Lairig Ghru. I'd realized that there
was another shorter way, via the Tailors Burn (Allt Clach nan
Taillear). I'd never walked this path but knew it as an exciting off
piste ski run. The path sticks closely to the burn, it's a good if
steep way down, I wouldn't like to walk up it mind.</span></div>
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Once in the Lairig Ghru I crossed the Dee by the bridge at Corrour
and stopped at the bothy. There's a bloke putting up a tent in front
of the bothy and a girl putting one up at the side. There's also two
girls dressed in running kit sitting on the door steep one appears to
be strapping up the other girls feet. I put down my pack and get out
a biscuit and in a nanosecond we're all mobbed by midgies. All five
of us dive into the bothy and slam the door shut. Once we'd wafted
the midgies away we all settle down to eat. The single girl is
French, about twenty with long blonde dreadlocks, nose rings and very
tanned. The other two girls are from Banchory and have come to “do”
the ridge above, they are going far too slow though. The guy is like
me an old grey beard, he's fussing around the French girl trying to
impress her, quite funny really. After eating I prepare myself for
going out. Head and hands smothered in smidge, wind shirt done up to
the neck. Wide brimmed hat and head net on. Outside not a single
midge.
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I plod up the track into Coire Odhar, first the two girl runners pass
me, I hear them talking as they come by their bitching about the
French girl. Then the old guy and the French girl, he tells me their
going to the Devil's Point (Bod an Deamhain – it actually
translates as the Devil's penis but don't tell Queen Victoria). I
plod on, they having just light day packs soon leave me behind.
Eventually, I get to the col, the Devil's Point being on my left, I
look but can't see anyone, I head on to Cairn Toul, to me right. Near
the top I meet the old man.
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“I just remembered I need to do the Devil's Point” he says.
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“Oh, where's the girl?”
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“Oh she's gone on, bloody hell, she's fit”.
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I did have a chuckle to myself.
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“So, she's gone on to Braeriach, and then back to the bothy?” I
ask.</span></div>
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As it was already late afternoon and that's a long way I was quite
impressed.
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After Cairn Toul I dropped down to the start of the Allt clais an
t-Sabhail stream and search out a leave, flat and dry spot to pitch
up for the night. This is where I'd broken off my walk back in April
and now I felt I was really back on track. As the wind had once again
picked up I put out all the guys on the tent. I'm glad I did as it
went from windy to howling gale very quickly after that. Around
midnight the rain came, with the wind and rain hammering away on the
tent I didn't get much sleep again. I put off getting up in the hope
of an improvement but it never came. Eventually, I packed everything
and wriggled into full body armour before crawling out. All I had to
do was drop the tent and roll it up before getting going.
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First I went uphill again to the main ridge and followed it over
Angle's Peak (Sgor an Lochain Uaine) to Carn na Criche. From here I
just followed the slope downhill to the south-west until I could see
Loch nan Cnapan sitting in the middle of the Moine Mhor, the huge
expanse of peat moor that lays to the west of the main Cairngorm
mountains. I pass the Loch and just beyond it crossed a stream, the
Allt Sgairnich – this flows away to the south and becomes the River
Eidart itself a fantastic walk, but today I'm heading west. On the
far bank is a jeep turning circle and a track that goes all the way
down to Glen Feshie. I don't like estate roads, they shouldn't be
there and their a horrible surface to walk on. But they are the
quickest way across boggy moor and today it means I can just pull my
hood a bit tighter, switch off my brain and plod on without having to
think too much about navigation. The route the track takes down off
the Moine Mhor is down a ridge between the Allt Garbhlach which flow
out of a very steep sided coire and the Allt Coire Chaoil to the
south. It goes straight down the hill and it's uncompromising and
brutal, by the time I'd gotten down to the valley my thighs were
burning. Over on the other side of the Feshie I could see my route
out of the Glen, again another estate road and again just as brutal.
With that knowledge and the weather it was an easy decision to stop
at the Ruigh Aitechain bothy on the banks of the River Feshie.
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There was an old dishevelled looking guy outside the bothy chopping
wood as I approached. I asked “How many people were staying at the
bothy”?
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“You should have been here last night, there mush have at least
twenty of um”.
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“Yes but how many are here now”?</span></div>
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“DofE group running wild they were”.</span></div>
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“Are they still here”?</span></div>
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“Oh no, they've gone”.</span></div>
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“So, how many are here then”</span></div>
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“Oh, just me and a lass”</span></div>
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The “lass” Jacky, it turns out is also walking from Aviemore to
Fort William only she's going via as many bothies as she could, or so
it seemed. She was taking eight weeks to do the walk, I had eight
days. She was trying to dry off her boots and other kit by a rather
small and inadequate log burner. She said she'd tried to wade across
the Feshie in her flip-flops but had lost her nerve and turned back.
This was worrying news as I also needed to cross the river. Up to a
few years ago there was a footbridge nearby but it was washed away in
a flood. The Dutch owner of the Feshie Estate had a new one made.
This one was made so as to be higher – so it didn't get washed away
again, and it was also wider so he could drive over in his Landrover.
The Cairngorm National Park didn't like this and refused planning
permission, so now it sits useless on the far bank.
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The road out of Glen Feshie.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Next morning Jacky and I set off to find a way over the river. About
a kilometer south of the bothy where the river is spread out into
several braids we waded across, none of the braids were anymore than
knee deep, a bit of an anti-climax. Once across it was just a
question of following the steep uphill track. At the top as it levels
out onto the plateau we past a Lochan and were surprised to find a
lorry trailer and a large digger. I'd seen quite a few other digger
dotted around the hills the day before and more were to follow. At
the moment land owners don't need planning permission for building
hill tracks. Several major conservation groups are lobbying hard to
have this changed. It would seem that there is something of a bonanza
to get as many hill tracks built before the change in the law comes.
At this point the track enters a spruce plantation, it's marked on
the map as a footpath but it's now a brand new very wide gravel road.
A few hundred meters further in to the wood it came to an abrupt end.
They'd been harvesting the trees, the machines had churned up the
ground into a hellish quagmire. Tree stumps and piles of brash lay
all over the place. Maybe we should have gone back and walked around
the wood but nobody likes backtracking. So we fight our way through.
Climbing over, under and around. Slipping sliding and falling all
over the place. It takes us well over an hour to cover just two
kilometers.</span><br />
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Still at least the weather was nice, the rain and wind had stopped
in the night sometime and now the clouds were beginning to break up
and the sun was beginning to shine. At the far side of the wood we
finally find some semblance of calm. Now we have the opposite problem
- no track. There was no sign of the footpath marked on the map but
as it lead down slope to the burn it wasn't much of a problem.
Gradually as we followed the Allt Bhrun a path began to emerge from
the bog. We crossed over to the western bank by a weir and picked up
an estate road which made the going quicker if less enjoyable.
Further downstream still, another stream flows into the Bhrun, the
outflow from Loch an t-Seilich and another track follows the stream.
This one leads to Gaick Lodge at the far end of the Loch. There's a
bothy at the lodge and this is where Jacky is heading. We say our
goodbyes and she goes off south while I continue north.
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At Bhrun cottage there's a bridge marked as being up stream of the
cottage. I didn't find a bridge here only a ford, it wasn't until I
walked downstream past the cottage that that I saw the bridge,
downstream of it. It wasn't as though my boots were dry anyway.
There's one track marked on the map, there are three new ones on the
ground. I pick the old one going west. It's now sunny and getting
hot, I'm walking along in a T-shirt. As I climb the wind slowly but
surely begins to pick up once again. On top of Clach-mheall Beag
(558m) I try to put on my windshirt but it's whipping around in the
wind so much I have trouble getting it over my head. By the time I
get to Clach-mheall Dubh (619m) I can hardly stand. These two hills
are really just a shoulder of Meall Chuaich (951m) one of the
Drumochter Munro's. On it's north-west side is Loch Cuaich where I'd
planned to camp for the night. From the top of Ciach-mheall Dubh I
can see a line on the hillside below me, at first I don't twig
exactly what it is, it's a fence, a deer fence about eight feet high.
I look for a style but there isn't one. I could climb it but doubt it
will take my weight. On the other side is a dry foot path, this side
is all bog and sphagnum moss. I follow the fence for about three
kilometers before I eventually find a gate down by the shore of the
Loch. Loch Cuaich is less than one and a half kilometers long it lays
south-west to north-east in line with the wind. At the down wind end
there are waves lapping on the shore a couple of feet high, there's
nowhere to shelter from this wind. Below the Loch is a mini-hydro
scheme, by the generator shed is a side stream which looks promising
but turns out to be all waterlogged. From there a concrete aqueduct
take water down to Dalwhinnie, I follow it but the ground is all
boggy and sloping and in sight of the busy A9.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">
Feeling quite dehydrated I stopped at the petrol station for a large
bottle of pop, some sandwiches and cake. I sat outside on some
benches and was quickly surrounded by about a dozen ducks. “What to
do now?” I asked. “There's no campsite at Dalwhinnie, and it
would be pushing it to pitch up in someone's back garden. It was
17.30 already, the next place I suspected I could find anywhere to
camp would be around Loch Pattack, if it wasn't too windy there, and
that would be a good fifteen kilometers further”. “On the other
hand the Dalwhinnie Motal was offering rooms for £35 for the night”.
The duck's just looked at me like I was quackers. Motal rooms are not
really my style so I shouldered my pack and set off.</span></div>
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Hiding from the wind my camp near Loch Pattick.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Signs all around the train station warn anyone even thinking of
parking that the estate is harvesting timber and needs access
twenty-four, seven. Not sure that's strictly legal on a public road.
Beyond the level-crossing it is definitely private land, here the
tarmac ends and gravel takes over. The road runs for miles down the
length of Loch Ericht, about a kilometre from the start of the Loch
is a fairytale Disney-esque gatehouse complete with towers, spires
and battlements. The peasantry are directed around by a side gate. To
the left of the track the ground slopes down steeply to the Loch, to
the right it rises up steeply and is covered in a dense spruce
plantation. Thirty years ago there was government subsidy for
planting spruce trees, these trees are now ready for harvesting. This
is why there's so much forestry activity in the Highlands at the
moment. It's late so all the workers have gone home but their
machines are parked up at intervals all the way along the Loch. At a
small bay half way down the Loch is another Disney-esque gatehouse .
Beyond along the shore are yet more buildings in the same style, a
chapel, a third gatehouse and out of sight further along is the main
“house”. It's a mock French ch<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">â</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">teau
complete with giant boathouse and heliport. No accounting for taste
is there?</span> </span><br />
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Ben Alder.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Some pretty impressive electronic security surround this part of the
estate, the main road goes off left still following the shore. The
hoi-polloi are again directed around the back. On one side of the
track are some lovely old Caledonia Pines but their on a very steep
slope. The other side is flatter, here the trees are spruce in
regimented tightly packed rows. I tried at half a dozen places to
find a suitable camping site but the ground is all chewed up humps
and hollows left by the forestry plough. Finally I find somewhere,
with a bit of clearing, just big enough to fit in my tent. The only
stream nearby is manky so I have to wait twenty minutes longer while
it filters. Twenty minutes is a loooong time when you're gagging.
Before I've finished cooking it's dark – dark! What's that all
about, I haven't seen dark for months. Where's my headtorch? Luckily
I had remembered it. Sometime in the night it rained heavily but it
stopped around dawn. The wind however hasn't stopped, it still bends
and distorts the tent, shaking it violently even though I'm
surrounded by trees. A flash of orange catches my eye, a lady
mountain biker on the track outside the wood. “She's up early, time
to get going”. A good stalkers path follows the Allt <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
Chaoil-reide, the river that drains the east side of Ben Alder. It
take me past the old Culra bothy, five years ago when I was last up
this way there was a sign on the door that said that plans were under
way to demolish and replace the bothy. Since then it's had a coat of
paint, it's still closed due to the presence of asbestos, it hasn't
been replaced. </span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> Two short ridges descend from
the high plateau that makes the summit of Ben Alder, the short and
the long Lethchois ridges. I've done the short ridge, a fairly easy
if steep scramble. I had it in mind to do the long ridge this time.
The path leaves the river and begins to climb straight up hill by
this time I'm getting very aware just how strong the wind is.
Suddenly a stronger gust picks me up and drops me face down. I pick
myself up and carry on, a few minutes later the same thing happens. I
pick myself up again, sit down and have a little think. Maybe going
on to the summit today wasn't such a good idea, fortunately I had a
plan B. I retraced my steeps back to the stream and crossed it. On
the other side another well made stalkers path followed the river up
through a small gorge to the Bealach Dubh (the Black Pass). This lays
between Ben Alder to the south and Geal-Charn to the north. On the
other side a long wide valley lead away to the distant Loch Ossian.
The path stays high and contours around the side of Ben Alder – the
left side as I was looking. It crosses another Bealach this time
between Ben Alder and Ben Cumhainn, it then follows the Alder Burn
down to the haunted Ben Alder Cottage on the shore of Loch Ericht.
That wasn't where I was heading this time. Unfortunately between the
path I was stood on and the one I wanted there was several kilometers
of very wet squelchy peat bog. </span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> There was nothing for it except
to plod on. I dropped down to the valley floor, crossed yet another
river before beginning an endless succession of climbing up one peat
hag only to immediately jump down into the next grough and then
climbing up again. Trying to determine whether a piece of ground is
wet or saturated, firm or a bottomless quagmire by the subtle changes
in shades of green or type of plant. A couple of kilometers into
this bog a figure appears coming the other way. He informs me that
two large groups of DofE students along with their handlers were
following on behind him. He also said the YHA on Loch Ossian was open
and most likely to have space as he and the other DofE staff had just
vacated it. The nearer to the loch I got the better the path became
until it morphed into yet another gravel road by a micro hydro scheme
just above the loch. The road lead around the big house on the end of
the loch, Corrour Lodge. This seems to have a large stone tower like
something off the “Fortress Europe” defences. I take the road
around the south shore past some old chalets and through a dark
plantation. Somewhere off in the woods the sound of sporadic shotguns
but I didn't see the shooters. A woman popped out of the hostel as I
approach, and “Yes she has spaces for the night”. The old wooden
building feels more like a Scandinavian hut than a traditional YHA
establishment. It also has hot showers thanks to solar power. </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I'm up early to a beautiful day,
no wind and the clouds quickly dissolving in the sun. There's no need
to rush, as I don't have far to go, but it's far too nice a day to
spend it indoors. I pass the turn for Corrour Station, the old
station building are gone as has Morgan's old house. In it's place a
new building, it was an independent hostel for a while but it's now a
pub come restaurant. Apparently it's quite the thing to come up on
the train from Fort William for a meal before getting the train back.
Who'd have thought a pub in the middle of Rannoch Moor would have
worked. I made my way down to Loch Treig, they must have been drawing
power as the “tide” is out. By the shuttered Creagquaineach Lodge
the gravel road finally runs out and the path returns. The Lairig
Leacach path follow a river up stream first through a beautiful mini
gorge then across open moors with Rowen trees in berry and Dippers
dipping. By mid-day I'm at the bothy, I could have gone on but it's
the obvious place to stop and for starting the next leg of my walk. I
chat to a passing walker and a couple retrieveing their mountain bike
parked behind the bothy. The next time I look out it's poring with
rain, “Oh No, will this stop play prematurely”? I got up in the
night to starry sky's.</span></div>
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Glen Ossian.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The main Grey Corries ridge, Ben Nevis on the horizon behind Aonach Beag.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'm up at dawn and quickly away.
I follow a stream up behind the bothy up into a coire. On one side
the main ridge, on the other sitting out on a limb Stob Ban, a round
dome of a peak. At the col between the two I drop my pack and sprint
up to it's top. I'm back at my pack in just thirty minutes. At 977m
Stob Ban is a Munro but compared to it's neighbours it's a mire
pimple on the end of the giant ridge. I pick up my pack and an hour
later I'm on top of the first of the Grey Corries peaks Stob Choire
Claurigh and looking down into the huge coire on it's north side. The
floor of the coire is covered in scree and as the rock is Quartzite
it gives the hills around here a grey colour, hence the Grey Corries.
Away seven miles to the west Aonach Mor and Beag with the dark
brooding bulk of Ben Nevis behind. Between us is the sensuous
snaking knife edge ridge. Never once dropping below 900m in all that
length. To the north wide open views across the Great Glen to the sea
beyond. To the south the vast expanse of Glen Nevis and the Mamores.
There's three Munro's and five other summits in all. Although the
north side is steep the south is more gentle and the crest is always
wide enough to walk along. On Sgurr Choinnich I meet a young chap and
him small daughter, she informs me that she's “already done
twenty-eight Munro's”. I chat to her dad about the off piste
skiing in the area when we notice she's gone running off along the
ridge. “Look at her” he says, “Seven years old and already I'm
struggling to keep up”. Below Aonach Beag the path runs out
strangely there doesn't seem to be a connection but a scree gully
takes me up onto the upper slopes. It's 18.00 before I make the top
of Aonach Beag and I still need to find a way down. In none of the
guidebooks that I'd looked in could I find any reference to any
connection between the Aonach's and Ben Nevis, which seemed strange
as they're so close. From the col between Mor and Beag I make my way
diagonally down and straight away I'm onto steep unstable scree and
vertical Sphagnum moss. All of a sudden this was beginning to feel
serious. Very slowly I inch my way down, I make it eventually. The
only flat ground is at the col between the Aonach's and Carn Mor
Dearg. The wind which had been building all afternoon was whistling
through the gap with such force there was no way I could pitch the
tent. I had to drop down two kilometers to the north before the wind
had abated enough to camp.</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> The silence next morning is
strangely reassuring, I rolled out to a white world. The mist clears
as I climb, I'm soon back at the col and a short dry stone wall marks
the way up. I stash the poles and start scrambling, in what seemed no
time at all I'm four hundred metres higher on the summit of Carn Mor
Dearg. All that seperates me from the Ben is a kilometer of knife
edge ridge the Carn Mor Dearg Arete. If you're used to scrambling
it's not hard, you need to use your hands in places but not all the
time. The ground below is sloping scree rather than steep crags so
the exposure isn't too bad and there is a by-pass path on the
south-east side if you need it. But why by-pass all the fun of
balancing along the crest of the arete, even with a big pack on I had
a ball. As I started the arete there had been another party just
finishing. As I finished it yet another party were starting out. As I
climb the scree slope up to the summit of Ben Nevis a guide and two
punters came down. Up to that point seven people was all I'd seen
that day, that was about to change dramatically. </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The North face of Ben Nevis with Fort William in the background. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">One minute I was all on my own
quietly walking along in the mist the next I was surrounded by
literally hundreds of people. Everywhere you looked there were large
groups of people all crowding around a flag or banner or T-shire all
posing for photo's, whooping and shouting. Everyone was in high
sprites and happy, there was an almost carnival atmosphere. The mist
was trying to lift but I didn't wait for it, if I was quick I could
get the 15.00 bus and get home that night. I started on the trudge
down the yellow brick road that is the tourist route on Britain
highest peak. Coming up was a seeming endless procession of folk,
folk from Germany, France, Spain, Poland, Africa, the middle east and
the Orient, Americans and even a few Scots. There were people in
running kit, people in suits, girls in miniskirts and heels. Perhaps
the most surprising sight was middle aged men – and they were all
were men, dressed head to toe in the latest most expensive outdoor
kit that money could buy. It was all shiny brand new, still spotless
fresh out of the bag. They had the biggest warmest Alpine boots
available La Sportiva Nepal's and the like. The best heavy Gore-Tex
jackets and salopettes I'm sure one even had a down jacket on under
his cag. By this time it was getting hot, most of the walker around
them were like me in T-shirts. But not them, they'd spent all that
money on the best and they were determined to wear it. There were
about seven or eight gentleman so attired and non of them look as if
physical fitness and outdoor activities was their thing. </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> Once Achintee farm had been just
that a tumbledown old farm house and a lay-by, now there's a
visitor's centre, a pub and a huge car park. Still a larger shandy
went down well. I mist the bus by fifteen minutes but still made it
home that night. </span>
</span></div>
<br />Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-22363892540236678142019-07-23T13:35:00.002-07:002019-07-23T13:35:48.567-07:00New Toy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Since I got back from my backpacking trip in the Cairngorms I've gotten into cycling. At first as exercise for my knee but now I'm really enjoying it. My old bike is one I'd got cheap when Raleigh closed their factory in Nottingham, I think I paid about £100 for it. It's painted to look like a Team Raleigh Banana Bike, but it's not at all high spec even for the 1980's when I brought it. The other night I went out and buckled the front wheel, several other things have gone on it as well. I've been reading about this Ladies adventures in the Finnish Forest. </span><a href="https://livingthislifeoutloudblog.wordpress.com/">https://livingthislifeoutloudblog.wordpress.com/</a> <span style="font-size: large;"> Really inspiring stuff. She uses a bike made in Sheffield by a company called Orbit. I've just got one in "Hot Red" looks good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It came yesterday in a big box, I put it together and went for a short ride. It feels very smooth and surprisingly comfortable after my old bone shaker. I still need to adjust a few things, the front brake rubs for a start. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've done backpacking and kayak camping as well as just camping for most of my life, so cycle camping is just another angle. </span>Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-44164433527493093742019-05-19T10:10:00.000-07:002019-05-19T10:11:12.040-07:00A Cairngorm walk. <div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'd
started planning this trip a while ago, then things happened. The
firm I've been working for, for the last eight or nine years, went
bust. I wasn't employed directly by them, I worked for an agency, so
theoretically the agency should have moved me to another firm. Only
they didn't have any other clients. All of a sudden I was getting the
odd shift here and there, maybe one a week maybe none. Then I had a
fall skiing at Cairngorm mountain, I broke a bone in my ankle and my
knee partially dislocated before popping back in, as it did this the
ligaments holding my knee cap in place were sprained and twisted. It
hurt like hell but A&E said there wasn't much they could do, a
plaster cast wouldn't help as the brake was inside the joint. They
said it should heal in four to six weeks on it's own. As I wasn't
getting any work there wasn't much need to take time off, so I sat
around trying to rest my leg getting more and more bored. After three
weeks I started doing some short walks around the local area. Then
some longer walks to nearby villages and finally I went up Ben Lawers
with a rucksack packed for a weekend out. The leg seemed OK. I rang
the agency and told them I was going away for a week. I went online
and booked two bus journeys one to Aviemore and one back from Fort
William, both on my bus pass so they cost me nothing. I packed nine
days food and my kit, then went out for a walk. I hadn't gone far
when the phone rang, it was John Marshall's a firm I'd done a little
work for in the past and had sent a CV to purely on spec. “We're
looking for drivers can you come in and see us.” Yes of course I
could. I went in next day and they offered me a job. I said I had to
work a weeks notice just so I could still get my walk in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I
got the 08.10 bus into Stirling where I had to wait half an hour for
the City-link to Perth, here I waited another twenty minutes for the
bus to Inverness which stopped at Aviemore. At 13.15 I arrived
outside the train station in Aviemore. My route took me along the
“Old logger's way” to Glenmore village. On the journey up it had
been showery and very overcast but as I walked along the sun came out
and it got quite warm. I popped into the Red Squirrel Cafe for a last
pot of tea and a cake before wandering into the forest above the
village. It took me a while to find the right track, and the faint
footpath I wanted. Then a while longer to find somewhere to camp. I
eventually settled on a stand of old Caledonian Pines, still a
plantation but at least the right type of tree. I'd taken some
different types of dried food along so I could check them out, I
pulled out a “Firepot” Dall and Rice with Spinach. Sounded good
but turned out to be rice and wood chips in a water curry sauce. The
three bits of green tissue paper one inch by a quarter inch were
apparently the spinach. I didn't eat much of it. I turned in
listening to bird song. I woke to the sound of bird song and a
woodpecker drilling. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After
a very cold night I was slow getting going and didn't leave till
after eight. The path which followed the Allt na Ciste was overgrown
and obviously little used these days, clearly most people just drive
up to the ski centre car park. It was steep as well, climbing a
thousand meters in under six kilometers. I broke out of the trees
just below the old Coire na Ciste car park, the chairlift bottom
station now covered in graffiti abandoned and forlorn. As I climbed
higher it started to rain and the clagg descended, I plod on seeing
little. Odd landmarks come and go keeping me on track. Coire Laogh
Mor to me left, a nice off piste ski run when there's some snow,
Coire na Ciste to my right. I crest the ridge by Cnap Coire na
Spreidhe and the top of Ciste Mhearad another off piste run that will
take you down to Loch Avon. Then the top of a ski tow looms out of
the mist, the plateau poma, I find the start of the rather
over-engineered path just beyond it that takes me to the summit of
Cairngorm. It's 13.00 already, I stop for a biscuit by the summit
cairn. There's another walker there, he's moaning about the weather,
how far he's walked, the roughness of the ground and half a dozen
other things. I smile but thing to myself. “Well you're a cheerful
fellow, aren't you”. I set the compass due west and set off down
the steep scree slope. Oow the ankle doesn't like that, not one bit.
I limp on down as best I could. Then I come to a big snow patch and
kick steeps down it but it turns hard so I get onto the side and
continue on down. Then I realize the aspect has subtly changed and
I've gone down too far, I climb back and soon find the giant cairn
that marks the top of the Fiacaill ridge. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now
I'm on a Cairned Path and can relax a little. I meet a woman and a
child then a dog, on it's own, it runs off. Further along I meet a
couple who ask if the dog was mine. I tell them, no. I climb up to
the summit of Stob Coire an t-Sneachda and down the other side. At
the col at the head of Coire Domhirn just before the path starts to
climb up to Cairn Lochan, and a couple of kilometres from where I'd
last seen the dog. I find the owners, “Oh don't worry about her”
they say “she's always running off”. The path up Cairn Lochan
would take me further around the rim of the “Northern Coirres”
another path heads off south to the Lochan Buidhe, I take this. It
soon disappears under a snow patch and I can't see the other side in
the mist. I take a compass bearing and plod on. Then I meet two
girls, Irish, mid-teens. Their wearing what to anyone who grew up in
the sixties are school plimsolls, only these are coloured, leggings
and none waterproof coats which are soaked. They both looked frozen.
“Er, excuse me, is this the path back to the car park?” they ask.
I groaned inwardly, what should I do now? I think I should see them
off the mountain safely. But that would seriously screw up my plans,
I was later enough as it was. I gave them directions back to the
cairned path. “Are you sure you'll be OK” I asked feeling guilty.
“Oh yes” they say. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At
the Lochan Buidhe I pick up the main path to Ben Macdui, more of a
motorway than a path. There 's hundreds of oversized cairns marking
the way, even in this mist I can always see several at any one time.
The wind had been getting stronger all day and was now enough to make
standing still difficult, it was also getting really cold. I had my
thin fleece gloves and beany hat on but was beginning to wish I'd
brought my mitts and warm hat with me. There was not much I could do
about it except push on. Eventually the slope flattened out and stone
shelters began to appear, then finally the summit trig point. It was
16.00 how had it got so late? Why was I going so slow? No time to
ponder these questions, I needed to get on. I tried to take a compass
bearing but my hands were too cold, I couldn't grip the bezel. So,
I'm on top of a mountain in a howling gale shaking my hands, flapping
my arms and dancing a little gig just to warm up my hands enough to
work my compass. Oh great, good job there's no one around to see. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually
after much faffing about I get a bearing set for Sron Riach a couple
of kilometers away and head off. First I drop down then cross a
boulder field before climbing a bit, then I approach the top of a
huge Craig off to my left, all going according to the script. To my
right the ground slopes away less steeply and my way becomes a narrow
ridge as expected. I drop down a bit more to a col and then a window
in the clouds opens up before me. Then I have a major “Where the
hell am I!!” moment. I can see two huge steep sided mountains their
sides all glacier polished slabs, water pouring off in torrents. It
looked like the Gates of Mordor, certainly nowhere I recognized. I
sat on the ground mortified, I kept staring at the map but I was
baffled. Eventually, I got out my phone, switched it on, turned
Viewranger on only for it to confirm I was where I should be, on Sron
Riach. But what was I looking at? Where were the gates of Mordor?
Then it clicked, they were much further away than I thought, way off
over the other side of the Lairig Ghru. They were The Devils Point
and Beinn Bhrotain over ten kilometers away. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> After
I'd picked myself up, I headed off down the long ridge of Sron Riach
in the direction of the Luibeg Burn. By now the ankle was really
complaining and the knee wasn't much better. I had a memory of
camping at the foot of this ridge with an old girlfriend about twenty
years ago. How the memory plays tricks on you. The whole area is now
overgrown with waist high Heather, I could see nowhere to put a tent
and even if I could have the ground was far too boggy. I pushed on, I
looked at several places all to no avail. I was half way between
Luibeg Bridge and Derry Lodge where the Burn takes a bend before I
found somewhere for the night. Where there were a couple of blown
down trees by the side of the burn there was a small patch of short
flat grass. By the time I had the tent up and fetched water it was
20.00, I decided to stick with the tried and tested Bewell meal this
time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It
was a very very cold night, I wished I brought my warmer sleeping bag
and more clothes. The ankle and knee hurting all night didn't help. I
felt very groggy next morning and was even slower to get going than
the day before, something unheard of for me. As I retraced my steeps
back to the Luibeg bridge I was past my a young couple on mountain
bikes, then they'd stop for a rest and I'd pass them. This happened a
few times, when I reached the bridge they were just behind me. I
thought they'd soon catch me up but they didn't catch me till I was
almost at Corrour. So much for mountain bikes being quicker. After
the bridge as I approached the start of the Lairig Ghru I could for
the first time look directly into Glen Geusachan which lies between
Beinn Bhrotain and the Devils Point. My plan was to cross the River
Dee here and explore this Glen as I'd not been into it before. But, I
could now see that it contained some very rough terrain and there
wasn't any hint of a path. Time for a rethink. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The
plan had been to camp near Loch nan Stuirteag which is behind (west
of) The Devils Point but I could also get there by going the other
way around the mountain. If I went up the Lairig Ghru to Corrour I
could use the bridge so avoiding the river crossing and there's a
path up that side. So that's what I did. Glen Geusachan will just
have to wait. I poked my head around the door at Corrour but
unusually there was no one there. By now the wind had died and the
sun put in a brief appearance so I sat outside and enjoyed my
biscuit. I even went so far as to take off my windproof top, it
didn't stay off long. The climb up into Coire Odher is steep, 600m in
one kilometer. It starts steep, levels out for a while as you enter
the coire then the headwall is very steep. Right at the top was a
patch of snow not very wide but enough to spice things up a bit.
Eventually, breathless and tired, I arrived at the ridge above with
The Devil's Point on one side and Stob Coire an t-Saighdeir and Cairn
Toul on the other. Now I should have gone over Stob Coire an
t-Saighdeir, which is really just a shoulder of Cairn Toul, but I was
lazy and decided to contour around instead, big mistake. It would
have been far easier to have gone over as contouring was far further
and the going was rough on a constant side slope. Once I could see
the loch I could see that all the ground around it was waterlogged
and not good for camping. Fortunately, I knew of a place nearby.
Draining the south west side of Cairn Toul is a stream, the Allt
clais an t-Sabhail along it's length are a few nice places for a tent
or two.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At
around 1000m it was a cold spot, I quickly rapped up in all my spare
cloths and retreated into the tent. So, what to do next? I just
wasn't romping along at my normal pace, I'd only covered half the
distance I'd planned and the pain from my ankle was really spoiling
the fun. It wasn't that I wasn't enjoying being there, just that the
pain was getting tiring. The next section getting to Drumochter was
going to be tough, with lots of untracked heather moor to cover. At
my present pace it was becoming clear that I wouldn't get to Fort
William in seven days. If I carried on I could get stuck between bus
routes with no easy way of getting home. On the other hand if I went
over Braeriach and down into the Lairig Ghru. I could be back in
Aviemore by tomorrow evening but that would cut my holiday very
short. I wasn't that ready to throw in the towel just yet. I played
around with various options in my head, going this way and that but
all routes had snags. The stream I was camped beside, and Loch nan
Stuireag, both drained down Glen Geusachan and into the Dee. But,
just one kilometer west of the Loch another stream drains away to the
south west down a short gorge. As it emerges from the gorge it turns
south and becomes the River Eidart. This really is a beautiful glen
and something of a hidden gem. I could follow the Eidart to it's
confluence with the Feshie and then follow that to Achlean farm.
Trouble was, how to avoid the long road walk from there to
Feshiebridge and the forest tracks to Aviemore. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlc4jhnz_BpvVP_IhmbaJyEt9aqASrOtG8qD4Us-qm9xHrDADh8nRMssJZD-ED9UgWkSjphcsYGgFwhFrSd__kxBf-AH-QeYgeIeM6F6G-SgSfrTzGtNssuXK3bx8y0uAKtQy3NHgGuUPx/s1600/IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="824" data-original-width="1165" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlc4jhnz_BpvVP_IhmbaJyEt9aqASrOtG8qD4Us-qm9xHrDADh8nRMssJZD-ED9UgWkSjphcsYGgFwhFrSd__kxBf-AH-QeYgeIeM6F6G-SgSfrTzGtNssuXK3bx8y0uAKtQy3NHgGuUPx/s640/IMG.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Frost
on the inside of the tent didn't encourage an early start but, once
up, the morning sunshine soon dried the tent. It was turning out to
be a beautiful warm and sunny day and it seemed a pity to be heading
home. I took a roundabout route sticking to old moraines and rocky
ground to stay dry. Just before Tom Dubh I had to cross a section of
peat bogs to get to the start of the gorge. A sharp alarm call and
movement in the grass caught my attention. A pair of small waders
were defiantly defending their nest site. I backed off, changed to my
telephoto lens and took a few shots of the birds before finding
another way around them. I didn't know what they were but later found
out they were Dunlin. The scramble down into and along the gorge
wasn't kind on the ankle but it's such a dramatic place I really
didn't mind the pain. After the gorge I sat in the sun and enjoyed a
prolonged lunch stop to recover. The river with it's numerous falls
and pools should be ideal territory for Northern Dippers but so far I
hadn't seen any. I kept to the riverside looking for them until after
only about three kilometers I came to wide grassy area and just
thought to myself. “I'm stopping here, it's just so nice”. It was
only mid-afternoon but I wasn't bothered. I found a nice rock to sit
on and put the tent up right beside it. I sat on my rock drinking
tea, reading and chillin for a few hours until a cool wind drove me
into the tent. I continued reading “High and Low-how I hiked away
from depression.” by Keith Foskett. Not the lightest of reads. At
one point I had to go out of the tent to pee. I looked around and
right above me was a Golden Eagle riding the thermals. Too high to
photograph unfortunately. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvTMi0F4E7SfCztOaEHizl_IP6qN0l1hQ9gJPMdO-UJ1AO-LolJh-atOJ92SsbClgehVOD-jVCO0OeUrb3zgi3wzoqFe1P3lseumSP6iqqmRgocFdSUnBcBGk3kvKK7L2iX39c1NQOmWs/s1600/IMG_0441-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvTMi0F4E7SfCztOaEHizl_IP6qN0l1hQ9gJPMdO-UJ1AO-LolJh-atOJ92SsbClgehVOD-jVCO0OeUrb3zgi3wzoqFe1P3lseumSP6iqqmRgocFdSUnBcBGk3kvKK7L2iX39c1NQOmWs/s640/IMG_0441-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The
down side of camping on the west side of a deep valley is you loose
the sun early. The upside is you get the sun early next morning. It
had been yet another very cold night so the warmth of the early
morning sun was especially welcome. I was breakfasted and pack by
seven. I stuck to the river still looking for Dippers. I'd gone about
a couple of kilometers when I finally saw what I'd been looking for.
A brief blur of movement, a splash, and it was gone. I spent nearly
an hour trying to get a photo, but no luck. I'd just put away the
telephoto when the Golden Eagle returned flying right overhead at
about fifty feet. “C'est la vie.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Someone
from the estate had been up Glen Feshie as far as Eidart Bridge in an
ATV recently, the tracks had churned up the ground and left quite a
mess. This didn't make for easy walking and it wasn't until I hit the
gravel road that things improved. By this time I was having to stop
and rest my ankle ever half hour or so. I stopped at Ruigh Aiteachain
Bothy just for a nosy around as it's been done up recently. It's now
really posh, far too posh for walker. I'd not seen anyone for a
couple of day by this time but two minutes after I'd entered the
bothy I hear voices outside. A couple had just walked in from Achlean
to spend the afternoon painting. They tell me about the bothy and
it's association with Sir Edwin Landseer and his painting “The
Monarch of the Glen.” Not far from the bothy is a chimney standing
on it's own with no building attached to it anymore. This is all that
remains of Sir Edwin's private bothy which was a wooden building. He
stayed at his bothy when he painted the Monarch. As it was only
mid-afternoon I pushed on to Achlean and started the long slog down
the road. I'd sort of decided that I'd walk as far as Balachroick.
The old bunkhouse is only let out to group bookings these days but I
knew just beyond it there are places to camp in the wood. I'd just
reached the bunkhouse when a car pulled up beside me. It was the
couple from the bothy, they gave me a lift to Aviemore. I stayed at
the SYHA that night and got the bus home the next day. </span><br />
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<br />Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-49982895309756730182019-03-24T05:34:00.000-07:002019-03-24T05:34:39.105-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Not posted for ages, not had much to say, not been doing much since August; how has so much time gone by?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">New Year, I stayed at Mar Lodge it was very cold but not much snow. It was also very windy so we stayed low but enjoyed some nice long walks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In January I went to the Cairngorms with the ski club, there was still not much snow. We did manage to find something but a lot of skis were damaged that day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In February, I went on another ski club meet at the Raeburn Hut near Dalwhinnie. What snow there had been had gone. We went for a walk in the rain, I didn't take any photo's that weekend. I have been out trying to improve my wildlife photography. Here's some birds. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Last week I went back to Cairngorm as there had been quite a good snow fall. Unfortunately, I managed to ski off a 4ft drop. I've broken a bone in my ankle and torn my ACL. This could put me out of action for a couple of months. Just before that the firm I was working for went bust. So now I'm looking for work with a limp. I'm not sure what to do now, I may look into early retirement. Everything seems very unsure at the moment with the country tearing itself apart and no one having any idea of what going to happen. </span>Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-12077137776432679822018-08-26T14:41:00.002-07:002018-08-26T14:42:35.941-07:00Braeriach with the Atompack Prospector Pack.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My new pack finally arrived from Atompacks, it's really nice but ten weeks is a long time to wait. Once it came it seem a shame not to try it out, so on Friday evening I drove up to Aviemore in the pouring rain. Luckily, it stopped before I got there. I parked at Whitewell and headed up Glen Einich, I walked for an hour or so until I came to the edge of the Rothiemurchus forest. Here I camped in what was the worst midgie site I've used for ages. I resorted to a Tiger coil which never fails to clear them out of the tent. It rain all night but had stopped by the time I got up in the morning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The midgie site.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The new Atompack Prospector. with water one side and tent the other. The tent could have gone inside but it was wet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Glen Einich.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Loch Einich.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There's a good path from Glen Einich up into Coire Dhondail and up on to the plateau. A short walk up hill took me to the edge of the massive An Garbh Choire. It has been speculated that the last glacier in Britain was in this coire. I'm not so sure, some of the science this claim is based on is decidedly dodgy. It's mainly radio-carbon dating of the lichens on the scree in the coire floor. Still it is a spectacular place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Carn Toul</span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">and Sgor an Lochain Uaine (Angel Peak) from near the Falls of Dee. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My campsite near the Falls of Dee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back in the Rothiemurchus forest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I camped by where the Falls of Dee start, I've used this site before and really like it. I thought "I'll just have a brew and then I'll go up to the summit of Braeriach and take some photo's. By the time I'd finished my tea the mist had descended and I couldn't see more than a few feet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">By morning it was no better and it was raining hard. I had to use my compass to find the way down. I dropped down into the Lairig Ghru and follow the path back into the Rothiemurchus forest and back to the car. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The rucksack was very comfortable and dry inside, has some nice pockets and should be a good size for shorter trips up to about four or five day I think. </span></div>
Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-80982520455271791992018-08-19T06:37:00.003-07:002018-08-19T06:37:46.708-07:00Wild life photograph.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I love seeing wildlife whilst I'm out walking but I've never been that good at capturing it on camera. Not that I have a decent quality DSLR camera and lenses I'm keen to have another go at getting some better pictures. These are some of my first try, their from Morton Lochs which is near Tentsmuir in Fife. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">What do you think?</span>Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-37757723074974247512018-07-30T12:30:00.000-07:002018-07-30T12:30:13.567-07:00Knoydart.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mallaig,
the long stay carpark sign says “Max stay 7 days” Mallaig is my
kind of town. I've just enough time for a quick brew before boarding
the ferry. I find a place to sit on deck but I'm quickly surrounded
by a group of Glaswegians, middle aged, over weight men well on their
way to being pissed. Their good natured but very over excited, a boys
weekend away. They're rather crowding me out so I move to stand by
the rail for the 45 minute journey to Inverie. I've paddled this bit
of coast many times but this is my first time on the ferry,
interesting to just stand and pick out landmarks, places from past
trips.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The
quay at Inverie is all hustle and bustle, people arriving, people
leaving, people picking up parcels, meeting people. I grab my pack
and head up the track into the woods. Somehow I end up on a mountain
bike track but it loops back to the main track. Soon I'm out of the
village and heading down a track to another wood, here the track
splits I take the right-hand one. Further on I find a clearing, it's
obviously well used, an ugly fire ring right in the middle, but it's
clean and close to water. I set up camp and chill out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm
away by 07.00 in the morning, I cross the stream and head up, even
this early it's hot. Up and up, views open out behind me – Egg,
Mull, Canna, Point of Sleat. The first section of the route is brutal
straight up onto the ridge. At the Bealach the angle eases, real
walking in the air feeling. Behind all the way out to the islands
ahead Loch Hourn, Sandaig and the ridge up to the summit, Ladhar
Bheinn. On top I pause try and take it all in, is that the Forcan
ridge or the South Sheil ridge? Then on eastwards along the ridge
down, up, down, up. I've walked this ridge - twenty something years
ago - I really don't remember it. Then I'm scrambling, it gets hard,
I take off my pack and let it slid down before me. My ridge joins
another, a T-junction, turn right over a minor top Anonach Sgoite to
a bealach – M<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">à</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">m
Suidheig. Below me the Dubh Lochain my goal for the night, but
there's no path. Just a sea of Bracken, a jungle. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I
zigzag down trying to find a way through, I find a dry burn and
follow it, the midges swarm – bastards. Then I'm down, I cross the
river but it's all tussocks and sphagnum moss nowhere to put a tent.
I follow the river down, here I meet a couple who have also just
fought their way down off the ridge. Americans, from Boston we curse
the Bracken and the Midges. Further down something big moves in the
bushes, cattle. I shoo them out of the way and carry on, a squeak
from behind sends me running back to rescue the yanks. “Wow, I've
never been this close to one before” said the Lady “she's
beautiful”.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Eventually
I pitch for the night by a stream just off the main track, it was the
only place that was very slightly less lumpy than everywhere else.
With all the cattle around I had to filter my water. It has been a
very long hot day, I was gagging for a drink those twenty minutes it
took to fill my water bladder seemed an eternity. By the time I'd put
up the tent it had started raining, it was ten o'clock before I'd
finally finished eating. The rain hammered down all night, by morning
there was no let up. I'd planned to climb Meall Buidhe and Luinne
Bheinn but they were nowhere to be seen. I sat it out or in that
small backpacking tent it was more like laid it out. I've been
experimenting with different food for my mid day snacks. This time I
was trying Rye Bread and squeeze cheese in a tube. Up till now this
had proved fine but this time as soon as I'd finished my sandwich I
was throwing up, not quite sure why.
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Next
morning dawned dark and overcast, I decided to skip the peaks and
move on. A short walk down stream lead to a bridge and the path to
Glen Meadail. This is part of the main path into Knoydart from the
east, I suspect it was in use long before the clearances. As such it
was well made and gently graded. In six kilometers it takes you from
20 to 550m in one long easy climb. I stop at the bealach (Màm
Meadail) for an early lunch, I brave the rye bread again but it was
fine this time. By now the sun was beginning to break through,
tantalizing views of Sgurr na Ciche and Ben Aden. Below the bealach I
meet another couple, East European – Poles maybe. She all bubbly
and smiles he doom and glum. “Where are you heading”. I ask. “We
see how it evolves”. Was all he'd say. The east side of the
bealach was steep the path cut down in a series of short zigzags.
Soon I'm at Carnach, the ruin cottages by the river. The old foot
bridge gone, cut and now rotting in the grass, the new one still held
up in “Planning”. I wade across in this dry weather only ankle
deep. The tide is in, I scramble around the rocks to Sourlies. Yet
another couple, English this time, they were heading for Barrisdale
but got this far and decided to just chill out. Who can blame them as
it was turning into a hot and sunny day. </span>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Under
the bridge that crosses the Allt Coire na Ciche I find a shady pool,
I strip off and jump in, it was very fresh. In a little time I'm at
the head of Glen Dessarry by the first of the Lochains I find a flat
level bit of grass for the tent with a rock to sit on, what more
could I want. The hot weather has dried up all the streams, the
outflow from the Lochain doesn't look so good – a lot of sediment
and bits in it. I hang the filter bladder off the end of my boulder,
set up my solar panel to charge my camera batteries, and sit in the
sun drinking tea and cooking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">To
get back to Mallaig I need to get up onto the ridge that makes the
south side of the Glen. It's very steep and craggy, I set off slowly
weaving a snaking route upwards. I surprise a heard of Red Deer, one
barks and they all run away. On I climb, I crest the ridge by a small
pool, ahead the ridge looks rocky but I carry on weaving my way
through. The summit block of Sgurr na h-Aide stick up pointing into
the sky looking for all the world like a miniature Matterhorn. From
the top I see all the way down to Sourlies bay on one side and on the
other I can make out the Oban Bothy and Kinlochmorar. That proved to
be the last view of the day as the mist now descended. For the next
ten kilometers I tentatively work my west navigating as much Braille
as anything else. Around six o'clock I see a small Lochain and head
for it, I was hoping the outflow was indeed flowing but no luck. The
water in the Lochain is again cloudy and full of bits so I set up the
tent and start to filter water once more. As I do this the rain sets
in for the night. </span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Dawn
and the mist is thicker than ever. I set a compass bearing for South
Tarbet Bay. Very soon I'm stood looking down on that very bay. I'm
look over the top of a big crag. There's no way down, I traverse
right, then there's a high Deer fence in the way. I see a style, “if
there's a style there should be a path” I think. I fight my way
into a stream bed and up the other side to the style, there's no
path. I carry on down until I come to a footpath, this takes me to
Tarbet Bay, the old church, no longer a bunkhouse, Frankie is long
gone. The place is like the Mary Celeste, generators running light on
but no one to be seen. I follow the track up the hill and down the
other side, Swordlands also deserted. The track now runs along the
Loch shore, easy going, past the old farm house at Brinacory. Past
the old jetty, to the end the tarmac road. I'm just packing away my
walking poles when another couple appear behind me, they'd been
following me all the way from Tarbet Bay but I'd not seen them. They
give me a lift to Mallaig. As I'm driving out of the town the heavens
open once again. </span>
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<br />Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-89525984525843479392018-06-16T06:22:00.000-07:002018-06-16T06:22:23.075-07:00Spending time in the Cairngorm's. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've not posted much lately so here some photo's from a few trips I've been on over the last few mouths. First my friend Ingrid and went ski touring from Glenshee ski centre back in April. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Then I did a walk up Glen Feshie as far as the bridge over the River Eidart where I camped. The next day I followed river upstream and onto the Moine Mhor. Then I walked back over Carn Ban Mor to Glen Feshie. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A few weeks later I went up to Glenmore and walked over to Fords of Avon where I camped. Then I climbed Beinn a Chaorainn and crossed the high moor to Beinn a Bhiurd and then went onto Ben Avon. I camped for the night in Glen Avon. The next day I walked back to Fords of Avon and back to Glenmore. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've ordered yet another new Rucksack, this one's from Atompacks https://www.atompacks.co.uk/product-page/the-prospector They're made to order so I have to wait between four and six weeks for it. When it comes I'm planning to take a week off work and head to Knoydart, which should test it out quite well. </span>Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-78840295094750255182018-05-01T04:34:00.000-07:002018-05-01T04:34:33.242-07:00The great plans of mice and men.<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Well, things didn't turn out quite as planned. My winter trip to Sweden didn't happen. I was ill and didn't work through November and December, I'm still not fully fit. So I've no real idea what I'll be doing for the rest of this year. I don't know whether I'll be up to a long backpacking or kayaking trip, I may go on a photo safari working from a base camp somewhere but I've no real plans yet. </span>Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-33057586211123402132017-10-15T03:31:00.001-07:002017-10-15T03:31:23.549-07:00Marking the passing of time.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">In just six weeks I turn
60, can't say I'm all that happy about this, still the more birthdays
you have the longer you live. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've been thinking how to mark this
momentous occasion. So far my plans are concentrated around going
back to Sweden and skiing the Kungsleden Trail. From Hemavan at the
southern end all the way up to Abisko in the north, a distance of
about 450km. In the north and at the southern end there are huts
quite close together so it's possible to ski for hut to hut. However
the bit in the middle doesn't have huts, this is quite a pain as to
ski the whole route I'll have to carry a tent, stove, sleeping bag
etc. <u>all the way.</u> In all I think I'll need to camp twice and spend a
further two nights in Prism huts (small unheated wooden sheds). Quite
a lot of weight for such little use. Of course having the tent gives
me the freedom to stop when and where I like, as the huts are quite
expensive. But, sleeping out when the temperatures go down to the
-20<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">º</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">'sC
and the snow could be several meters deep shouldn't be taken lightly. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Getting there is another problem, there's an airport only 60km from Hemavan, but it's in Norway. For some reason there doesn't seem to be a bus service going across the border, or at least one online. November isn't a good to go ski touring so the plan is to take march off work and go for it then. </span></span></div>
Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-85988556726596881732017-09-09T09:05:00.002-07:002017-09-09T09:05:55.570-07:00Just a quick overnight.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I came back from Sweden on a bit of a high only to go back to work and landed with a bang. So I decided to go up to the Cairngorms for an overnight camping trip to cheer myself up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I drove up to Achlean farm at the end of the Glen Feshie road and headed up the path to Carn Ban Mor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Lots of fungi growing along the path.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Looking back to Glen Feshie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> From Carn Ban Mor I crossed the Moine Mhor to Loch nan Cnapan, This is looking back with Sgor Gaoith on the left and Braeriach on the right. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8YDj0MMwIsK8BolFpq-HxwjYSY3OMd9w7J0i6xXfpH6mX48l2NuzU83vcifKI-BYgFVzhHXFe7LEuS6tNHy4gLYYca-2XieaESrUPh0bSDbr4CM36X1UWjpC-FBm6LJuPbvxKDrkWUBoD/s1600/IMG_0820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8YDj0MMwIsK8BolFpq-HxwjYSY3OMd9w7J0i6xXfpH6mX48l2NuzU83vcifKI-BYgFVzhHXFe7LEuS6tNHy4gLYYca-2XieaESrUPh0bSDbr4CM36X1UWjpC-FBm6LJuPbvxKDrkWUBoD/s640/IMG_0820.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">From the Loch I went over Tom Dubh and onto Monadh Mor. Looking across to Sgor an Lochain Uaine and Cairn Toul. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qVYZ9mVZd4sDDrmSC8y5XI8-sfBEb9ugfOLHYMPee_hlOJ72DlXKuNDj6g7IPdQbg9fjXteFKlFHYEofwxq3FsMk2uFaTkTyva5ToLq4EyV2eZC7w3w_fpVz4xr3yQTnE1DMSdEi8rgB/s1600/IMG_0822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qVYZ9mVZd4sDDrmSC8y5XI8-sfBEb9ugfOLHYMPee_hlOJ72DlXKuNDj6g7IPdQbg9fjXteFKlFHYEofwxq3FsMk2uFaTkTyva5ToLq4EyV2eZC7w3w_fpVz4xr3yQTnE1DMSdEi8rgB/s640/IMG_0822.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Looking down into Glen Geusachan. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJKLD3K8PzdJiabIf6_k-hqo4wYj5mfFnBBYL6omnXCz4FP6QljlTsDaT0wb-hb9p5jNvqXzd3JDZJAQGtGQlPOsoBLGzJsE4L7AmZXc0PlMnflg9_bHlGCHykN2SAzpflY4eiZyqgQ2h/s1600/IMG_0827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJKLD3K8PzdJiabIf6_k-hqo4wYj5mfFnBBYL6omnXCz4FP6QljlTsDaT0wb-hb9p5jNvqXzd3JDZJAQGtGQlPOsoBLGzJsE4L7AmZXc0PlMnflg9_bHlGCHykN2SAzpflY4eiZyqgQ2h/s640/IMG_0827.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> The summit of Monadh Mor with Beinn Bhrotian behind.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbUjA2re5awoC2AIRCC3MvYBY9gKdPXJEPiHsT7RhJRzgCyylZPVUXvteNXvo57CJRNHnbdSoulcYbxR4Xzk9EIIbh2OQ3yfMSGDH5ML6dk7qvqWKpVKtFj5BduKrJ0CtlvaaHDyJUfEv/s1600/IMG_0828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbUjA2re5awoC2AIRCC3MvYBY9gKdPXJEPiHsT7RhJRzgCyylZPVUXvteNXvo57CJRNHnbdSoulcYbxR4Xzk9EIIbh2OQ3yfMSGDH5ML6dk7qvqWKpVKtFj5BduKrJ0CtlvaaHDyJUfEv/s640/IMG_0828.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The down and up again between Monadh Mor and Beinn Bhrotain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The summit of Beinn Bhrotain.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQg7wKKMzgsI6PapPCsHYXVFyOP4k4ub7_EXXBzJuD4K9nU8dNvm_gDViFOq81wOVxDs4ArI7fy-IF0I-qYeotgIDEvcwhYsa_0SrhDPXSsLGRH0smgX1p34yPBewQ4qRjUHKVd5ogm_JL/s1600/IMG_0833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQg7wKKMzgsI6PapPCsHYXVFyOP4k4ub7_EXXBzJuD4K9nU8dNvm_gDViFOq81wOVxDs4ArI7fy-IF0I-qYeotgIDEvcwhYsa_0SrhDPXSsLGRH0smgX1p34yPBewQ4qRjUHKVd5ogm_JL/s640/IMG_0833.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I camped on the way back on the banks of Allt Luineag. By way of an experiment I was trying out this beer can stove by Trail Designs, it did work but took quite a lot of time and was very fiddly to get the amount of meths right. There's no way of putting it out once lit so you either don't use enough or end up burning off fuel which you didn't really need. I can't say it was a very successful experiment. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimp7g7DMGhzg67Pm91PGSGgrFUHrok3oxfnFW8hMb0L4PwyJfTqwEqnR6Jrupen30HjPpVX-vIuIUTHLezwbwzOgqajq6b74OhuIfkVCSwmnhrEYtxjTQP52rYwVx3yt_zJ925PxAcloHy/s1600/IMG_0834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimp7g7DMGhzg67Pm91PGSGgrFUHrok3oxfnFW8hMb0L4PwyJfTqwEqnR6Jrupen30HjPpVX-vIuIUTHLezwbwzOgqajq6b74OhuIfkVCSwmnhrEYtxjTQP52rYwVx3yt_zJ925PxAcloHy/s640/IMG_0834.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">My bed for the night. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBz7KPKG3kvPMm5wNuTd0giTDTdh1rI8E_SlHWyrcULSHjCz8TEZRqDMquAWjKx_6_nUsmmhy7LA941IyYUD2CpEMjv-PTrCSDmVbjFubN1KfmJ4VR3K6ej4R3XUDlaTyPHEk5s06ShTjf/s1600/IMG_0835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBz7KPKG3kvPMm5wNuTd0giTDTdh1rI8E_SlHWyrcULSHjCz8TEZRqDMquAWjKx_6_nUsmmhy7LA941IyYUD2CpEMjv-PTrCSDmVbjFubN1KfmJ4VR3K6ej4R3XUDlaTyPHEk5s06ShTjf/s640/IMG_0835.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">It got quite windy in the night and the tent flapped quite a bit, this wasn't very restful. Apparently the wind hit 60mph at the automatic weather station on Cairngorm summit only 12km away. It was still very windy in the morning so I just wandered back to the car and home.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've been playing around with the layout of the blog to try and make it a bit easier to read, I hope you like it. Let me know what you think. </span>Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-45069214322144590232017-08-20T07:37:00.001-07:002017-08-20T07:37:09.671-07:00Sarek Revisited.<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<u><b>Sarek revisited. </b></u>
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<br />
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I must be getting something's right, this time I flew Edinburgh to
Stockholm direct missing out the hell-hole that is Heathrow. Just
enough time for a quick sandwich and on to Lule<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.
Bus into town, walk around the corner and into the outdoor shop to
get some gas. Then on to the Hotel Comfort Arctic for the night. The
hotel is opposite the train station, so after a leisurely breakfast I
just strolled over and onto the Narvik train, I take this as far as
G</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ä</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">llivare.
Then four hours on a bus takes me to the fj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ä</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">llstation
at Ritsem on the north side of the huge Ahkkajaure lake. This time it
all went like clockwork everything was on time and the times on the
tickets I had matched the times the train and buses were actually
working to, unlike last year. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Next morning the lake was rough,
waves breaking over the top of the little ferry that took me across
to the tiny settlement of Anonj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">lmme,
in reality just a collection of summer cabins. There were three of us
on the ferry one guy in running kit with just a small day pack, he
ran off as soon as we landed. Another guy with a very big backpack
and myself. It was luck the other backpacker was there as I very
nearly slipped between the boat and the quay, he managed to grab me.
He was heading down the Padjelanta trail and planned to be in
Kvikkjokk in a weeks time. I had twice as long to get there and no
fixed route. Between Anonj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">lmme
and the mountain of Ahkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
a short but extremely powerful river flows into Ahkkajaure, the
Vuojatadno. I often like to watch whitewater river and try and
imagine how I could kayak it, trying in my minds eye to pick the best
route down. But not this river, the volume of water was so huge the
power so intense that I couldn't even see how anyone could survive
it, luckily there is a bridge. Once across a little blond haired
toddler comes running up to me chattering away for all her worth in
Swedish, when I answered - in English – she looked horrified,
turned on her heels and fled.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1KCBBUagzemEkJj9RyuGP5d6iZjQ0XdOF7Jxk6vrH8qgwDkYOX4gHe3AUAmiPbpueYia2piILMOgKjo1evXgSKj_eflti5MwJx6mXw2NQf2OSVJ0ipa4dwwt8H8SebSRNLQe2MwshjvY/s1600/IMG_0251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1KCBBUagzemEkJj9RyuGP5d6iZjQ0XdOF7Jxk6vrH8qgwDkYOX4gHe3AUAmiPbpueYia2piILMOgKjo1evXgSKj_eflti5MwJx6mXw2NQf2OSVJ0ipa4dwwt8H8SebSRNLQe2MwshjvY/s400/IMG_0251.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">So far I'd been following the
Padjelanta trail but now I was going off piste, that trail went
south-west from here but I was going north-east back to the shore of
the lake. On the map there is a path marked but there's nothing on
the ground. You just have to find your own way between the bogs and
the dwarf willows and alders. It's only about three kilometres in a
straight line but you can never walk in a straight line. Down by the
lake the shore line only very vaguely resembles the map, the lake is
dam controlled for hydro so the level goes up and down all the time.
High above on this side of Ahkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
there are two Corries each with an active glacier in it. The out
flows from both come together and flows down through a short gorge
before fanning out into a delta on the less steep lake shore. Getting
across the various braids of the delta proved much easier than I'd
imagined and I managed to get across them all dry footed. Once across
I followed the stream up through the forest zigzagging around bogs
and impenetrable thickets. Somewhere around the 900m contour just
before the top of the treeline I find a nice flat, level and dry
clearing. So I pitch up for the night, half an hour later the heavens
open, it pours down all night. </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">It
was still raining next morning, I dallied over breakfast. The idea of
coming this way was to climb Ahkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
From the hut at Ritsem I'd seen the amount of snow still laying high
on the mountain so I knew I probably wouldn't get all the way up. I
had hoped to at least get up into the upper Corries and get some
photo's but now the visibility was around 100m at best. By mid-day
I'd finally accepted that things weren't going to improve and pack
up. If I couldn't get up the mountain I'd go around it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I'd read that the moorland to the
east of the hills was a good place to see wolves. Last year a pair
had past by my tent in the night leaving footprints in the wet sand,
but I've never seen them. I was trying to contour across the slope,
something easier said than done. Go to low and you get ensnared in
the willow thicket, harder to penetrate than a barbed wire
entanglement. Get to high and it's all steep scree's and crags much
of it snow covered. I spent a lot of time climb up hill only to have
to descend again just a few metres further along. All the time the
rain continued to fall, sometime in mid-afternoon I stumbled across a
flat spot, probably the only flat spot I'd seen all day. A covenant
stream flowed just a couple of metres away. In minutes the tent was
up, water bladder filled, wet kit draped over the inner and the brew
was on the stove. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1WzH3dsSqPzoZ0zRvoqRo_AP2Gjy2ID5yaV-aPdDYGKFNId1F95AWEtQLi823m2dxMuuLtTgjueS-jMW6h9YKfS1wxsCS9wJKTht1YLmv0N6zZU2e7FLLxBg4De3My8m77Z7K-0P5n5HE/s1600/IMG_0747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1WzH3dsSqPzoZ0zRvoqRo_AP2Gjy2ID5yaV-aPdDYGKFNId1F95AWEtQLi823m2dxMuuLtTgjueS-jMW6h9YKfS1wxsCS9wJKTht1YLmv0N6zZU2e7FLLxBg4De3My8m77Z7K-0P5n5HE/s400/IMG_0747.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Last year I'd used my Tarptent
Notch a very light tent which uses trekking poles as it's main
supports. Mostly it was fine but there were a couple of nights where
the weather was getting near it limit. What would happen if the
weather was worse than last year? This year I'd switched at the last
moment to my old but much stronger Macpac Ultralite. Being stronger
unfortunately meant to was also heavier, a kilo heavier. The
groundsheet of the ultra is much wider than on the Notch but because
of the way the back of the tent slopes there's less usable headroom,
something that with all the sitting out bad weather was beginning to
grate. The rain didn't let up at all and it was now getting windy, I
went to sleep thinking maybe it was a good decision after all. In the
end it never got that bad and the Notch would have been just fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">A
couple of kilometres further on from my campsite I came to the end of
the north-east side of Ahkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.
A big black cloud sat on the mountain right down to about the 1000m
contour. The floor of the valley to the south of Ahkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
was at 900m, between the two I could just about make out the way
ahead. On the valley floor was a string of shallow lakes and marshes,
mostly snow covered and frozen. Dozens of streams were pouring off of
the flanks of Ahkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">,
from tiny trickles to ranging torrents. Somewhere at the other end of
the valley away in the gloom was a couple of tarns and a col that
lead on to the next section of my route. I trudge on, felling a bit
like Titus Oats, rain getting into my waterproofs down the neck and
up the sleeves, wet snow soaking and freezing my feet. Eventually I
pass the tarns and cross the col, on the other side I can't see much
but know there's a wide valley down there somewhere. Again I pitch
camp early feeling quite pissed off. Next morning it's still raining,
I start to pack but think “Sod it” and un-pack again get out my
kindle and spend the day reading about the Flannan Isles lighthouse
disaster of Christmas 1901. I went to sleep to the sound of rain
falling on the tent fly, I woke to silence. Either I'd gone deaf or
it's stopped raining at last. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Now
I could see, ahead of me were two big snowy mountains Gisuris, and
Nij</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">k.
From the valley between these two flowed a river, another one flowed
down from between Nij</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">k
and where I was where they joined together they formed a big wide
turbulent whitewater river the Sjnjuvtjudisj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.
Somehow I needed to get across this. Feeling much happier - san
Goretex - I stroll down to the river and waisted a couple of hours
trying to find the non-existence way across. Eventually I have to
bite the bullet and hike the twelve kilometres down stream to the
bridge and then twelve kilometres back up stream to get to a point
two hundred metres away. It wasn't that bad, the sky was clearing it
was getting warmer by the minute and the mosquitoes were still
asleep. I'm concentrating on avoiding the boggy bits trying to find
the easiest way through. I'm approaching the upper limits of the
trees, all stunted, spindly, widely spaced birch trees and some dwarf
willows. When I see something moving, something big, an Elk (that's a
Moose to the Yanks) with massive antlers and a calf in tow is running
towards me. I fumble with the camera, she disappears, then I see her
peering out from behind some bushes. I raise the camera and she
vanishes. How can that be? How can an animal half as big again as the
average farm cow with great big antlers just vanish in such rubbish
cove. I'm flabbergasted, I stand there scratching my head for a full
five minutes but she long gone. I continue down to the bridge which
is back on the Padjelanta trail, I've gone around in a big circle and
am now only 15km from where I started. I go a couple of kilometres up
the other bank before finding an idyllic camp. I spread all my wet
things out to dry, set the solar charger up and for the first time on
this trip sit out to cook and eat; bliss.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsOELuzlyX-9U7SkKnvnDyaiQ8Tn9j4mGFXCLuyvW81xfYzwQKC5Sn0xyOYC2WmI4KojGsfv1tgIEE5NYnCHeGHub4OyfxjxEn7D7_XNtO777f_8cLjBY60UL53iadqwkdQVj-sToRVNZY/s1600/IMG_0287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsOELuzlyX-9U7SkKnvnDyaiQ8Tn9j4mGFXCLuyvW81xfYzwQKC5Sn0xyOYC2WmI4KojGsfv1tgIEE5NYnCHeGHub4OyfxjxEn7D7_XNtO777f_8cLjBY60UL53iadqwkdQVj-sToRVNZY/s400/IMG_0287.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">In
the morning there were definitely more mosquitoes around, not enough
to really bother, but definitely more than yesterday. When I crossed
the river I also crossed from the Stora Sj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ö</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">fallets
national park into Sarek NP. The area between here and the Norwegian
border is the Padjelanta NP just why they differentiate between the
three I don't know on the ground their all just one big wilderness
area. In Sarek there are no maintained paths and the few bridges
there are are there for the Reindeer herders not walkers. Having said
that the route up the south bank of the Sjnjuvtjudisj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á
is a popular route through the area so there is a faint path which
makes the going a fair bit quicker. Soon I'm back opposite where I
was trying to ford. There's an old Sammi hut here, made with a round
base and a square top. The frame is made of logs with birch bark
woven between the logs and then finished off with a covering of turf.
Graffiti inside show a date of 1909, back then I think the Sammi were
still nomadic. The wind has eroded away much of the turf leaving the
frame exposed to the elements. It looked rather sad and forlorn, a
monument to a bygone era.</span><br />
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<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">That
night I camped between Gisuris and Niják, again sitting outside the
tent to eat but there's a few more mosquitoes about as it was getting
warmer. There's a big ridge coming down from the summit of Gisuris
down to a col just above where I camped then it goes up to a couple
of small rocky tops. The big ridge is just a bit too steep and snowy
to do alone and without ice axe etc. but the rocky peaks look much
more do-able. I left the tent up and all the food and camping gear
behind and set off with just a small day pack, oh the joy of not
having that great big lump on your back. I quickly get onto the start
of the ridge and look back at my little tent. Two people are standing
near the tent, one goes up to it and bends down; then they leave.
“Funny” I think, I guessed they were maybe checking whether there
was anyone in the tent and was ok, but put it out of my mind and
climb on. The two tops were just a little bit scrambley had to use
my hands every now and then but mostly just a nice ridge walk. Big
views to the south and west across Padjelanta all the way to the
distant peaks of Norway, lots of snow that way. I Dropped off the
summit down to a col between my peak and the main bulk of Gisuris,
sidestepped the cornice and was back at the tent by mid-day. There
on the grass by the tent door was a pair of binoculars, not mine,
mine are Bushnell's these were Sliva. There wasn't much I could about
them the couple were long gone. I can only assume they'd found them
and thought they might be mine. </span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ahead
of me was a watershed, the river I'd come up – the Nijákjågasj –
flowed back the way I'd come. The one I was approaching flowed away
from me. It drain a large glacier bowl to the west (the right as I
travelled) on the side of a mountain called Ruohtes. When the many
braids of slit laden icy cold water came together they formed the
Smájllájåhkå river. But first I had to cross each braid one at a
time. None of them was much more than knee deep but the force of
water against my leg was enough to keep me concentrating. After each
crossing I had to empty the grit out of my shoes as it made walking
painful. Just as I started crossing it also started to rain, just a
shower, but it turned a lovely warm afternoon into a humid
mosquitoefest. I tried camping by a large snow patch but it didn't
really do much, I tried my head-net but it was far to hot under that.
In the end I eat inside my cramped inner tent balanced on one elbow
cursing the mozzies and wishing for a bigger tent. The route down the
Ruohtesvágge (Rouhtes valley) following the Smájllájåhkå river
is a popular one so the path was well worn and quick. Soon I was down
at it's south end at the top of the truly amazing Skárjá falls, I
try to video them but I'm no film maker. The falls drop about 200m
over a kilometre down an often very narrow gorge, sometimes only 3m
or 4m wide. At the bottom the Smájllájåhkå flows across a wide
flat boggy valley floor, here it flows into another river – the
Guohperjåhkå – together they now b</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ecome
the R</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hpa,
the big river that effectively divides the park in two. Last year I'd
taken the path down the true left bank of the river, this time I was
going over to the pathless right bank, but first I had to get across.
I followed the Guohper upstream for about 8km to a point where
another river – the Algga – joins it. There's a good ford here
I'd used last year. But this year the water was very high maybe a
metre higher. Even though it was still early I decided to camp for
the night and try early the next morning when water levels would
hopefully be lower. </span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was away by six and the rivers
were much lower, the Guohper can up to mid–thigh, the Algga was
only calf deep. The rest of the day was spent wandering up and down
the steep hillside between the willow thickets and scree slopes. By
six that evening I'd only covered ten kilometres on the map but what
felt like three times that over the ground. The mosquitoes were now
beginning to get bad and it was hot maybe into the lower thirties
Celsius. I camped that night on a rocky promontory over looking the
river 300m below, thinking it would get any breeze there was. Only
there was no breeze to be had, it was however a great viewpoint. I
spent a long time just scanning the valley looking for any sign of
the abundant wildlife that is said to live here, didn't see a thing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Again I was up early, I left the
tent up and set off up the hill behind my camp. An hours scrambling
saw me up the steepest section and onto an easy angled snow slope.
The snow was even at this time of day very soft, but ok to walk on.
Higher it gave way to scree, here I was meet by a pair of fat fluffy
white birds with black streaks on their wings. They were very
defiantly defending their nest site, chirping away at the top of
their voices. I took their photo and moved away, later I found out
they were Snow Buntings. The hill I'd climbed was “point 1354” it
was just the end of a scree ridge that flanked a glacial cirque. At
the head of the cirque was a peak called Sk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">rvatj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">,
the climb up to this peak looked to technical to solo but I could
follow the ridge up to the hill next to it, point 1658. The going was
quite easy, alternating scree and easy angled snow patches. I was
romping along, taking photo's and just soaking it all up when a
movement to my right caught my eye. I only got a glimpse of it but
the unmistakable silhouette of an Eagle soared by. I also saw a heard
of Reindeer plodding purposely up the middle of the glacier. Just
what were they doing up here? Across the glacier a crumbling rock
outcrop on the side of Sk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">rvatj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
had laid down a long line of moraine right down the middle of the
glacier, the rock was pure Iron ore and the moraine was bright red.
From the top of point 1658 I was able to look down to the col before
Sk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">rvatj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hkk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å
and there were the reindeer laying down in the snow cooling off.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Next morning was the eight day in
a row that was hot and sunny after the wet start I could hardly
believe it. South of where I was camped the river Ráhpa goes through
a big meander around the base of a hill called Låddebákte on the
other bank. The path on that side shortcuts the meander by crossing a
col on the other side of Låddebákte. Another river – the
Sarvesjåhkå – flows into the Ráhpa on the apex of the meander.
The whole area around the river bend has a very remote feel to it,
there are no paths down here. This section would be the crux of the
trip, I had a succession of rivers to cross and any one of them could
turn out to be my Rubicon. The first couple of hours were idyllic
wandering along in the sunshine, keeping just above the willows. I
look up and there are not one but two eagles, White tailed Eagles,
lighter than Golden eagles almost grey with very distinct white
tails. Then I came to the stream that drained the glacier I'd been on
the day before. There was an island of river gravel in mid-stream,
getting to that was easy. The stream on the other side was something
else. I loosened my pack straps and stepped in, leaning heavily on my
walking poles I got about five metres across with only three more to
go, I couldn't feel bottom with my pole it's too deep, I back off.
Try again just down stream, no better. I walk upstream and come to
the base of a waterfall that issues fourth out of deep gorge, no
chance there. I walk downstream, I try again and again, still no
luck. Then I'm down by the main river – the Ráhpa – there's a
gravel bar just before the stream flows into the river, the ground is
less steep here so the stream should be just a little slower. I inch
my way across, there's still power in the stream but it's not
threatening to throw me off balance, it comes up over my knees but no
further.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">On the other side I try to eat
but the mosquitoes are out, and not just normal mosquitoes. Here were
some super mosquitoes, about 2cm long with yellow stripes. At first I
thought they were wasps but they don't sting they bite with a
proboscis just like normal mosquitoes. Their bites were really
painful like a clegg bite, they actually drew blood. The only escape
is to keep moving. An hour later another glacier stream flowing into
the Ráhpa, again there's a gravel bar just before it flows into the
river. This ones deeper, but less powerful so is easier to cross.
Still I'm mobbed by mosquitoes. Now I'm walking along right next to
the river on sand and gravel out of the trees, making good time
until I come to the confluence with the Sarvesjåhkå, which I
followed upstream. The ground here is very boggy and the willows grow
right up to the river banks, it feels more like the jungle than the
Arctic. I find a ridge of river gravel, an old bank, it's dry and
flat topped, I camped on it. The rain started just as I zipped up the
tent and it lasted all night. I was therefore quite surprised to open
up to sunshine in the morning, however everything was soaking wet,
every bush, every leaf. I pushed on upstream looking for somewhere to
cross, everything depends on getting over to the other side. On the
other side two large streams flowed into the river, upstream of them
the flow should have less volume, so should be easier to cross. That
was my theory, but it didn't look like that from the bank. Then I
came to a section where the river widened out into several braids,
this had to be it. Normally I change my boots for trail shoes and
roll up or take off my trousers for river crossings but now I was so
wet with water audible sloshing about in my boots it didn't seem
worth the effort. I just waded in, the first couple of braids went
easily then I came to the main flow. About a hundred metres then a
small gravel bar and then another forty metres, there was so much
silt in the water I couldn't see the bottom so couldn't tell how deep
it was. Straight away it was over my knee, then hip deep and finally
up to my waist. The pressure against my legs was so strong I was
being pushed backwards downstream with each step I took. Then I was
being pushed back even when I stood still, the pebbles on the bottom
were rolling under my feet. I couldn't stop where I was, I couldn't
go back I was over halfway, so I kept going. I paused for breath on
the gravel bar before plunging in again for the last stream, this was
not quite as bad as the main flow. I was now on a big island
mid-river, I couldn't see what was on the other side, luckily there
was only a shallow backwater to cross. Despite the mosquitoes I sat
on a rock in the sun for over an hour empting my boots, drying out
and regaining some equilibrium, now I'd crossed the Rubicon there was
no going back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So, onward and upward. Climbing
up through these natural forests is such a joy, seeing the vegetation
change as you go up or down, so different from the man made woods in
the UK. An hour later I'm at the timberline and making my way up into
a long V-shaped valley. I'd crossed the river at about 600m, up at
the head of this valley at 1400m there should be a pass into the next
valley. There's no path, no sign anyone has ever been this way not
even Reindeer tracks in the snow. I'm contouring steep scree slopes
maybe 100m above the stream. It's a long straight valley but somehow
I just can't quite see very far ahead, there's always a little rise
blocking the view. Once you get to that rise there's another one just
a short way ahead. Then there's snow bridging the stream, I kick
steps up this “soon be there” I think, but each time I think this
has to be the top there's another little bit to climb. By now the
sun has disappeared and a cold mist descended, all the step kicking
in wet boots had cooled my feet. I'm wriggling my toes trying to get
some feeling back into them, “just where is the El Paso” I come
to the end of the snow and it's all big blocky unstable scree, and
then finally I'm there. No time to stop too cold for that. Down the
other side, more blocky scree to wobble over. A couple of kilometres
further I find a level-ish if not very flat patch of grass between
two streams. In minutes I'm in my sleeping bag warming my feet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">More rain in the night and thick
mist in the morning but it does start to lift as I pack. On one side
the foot of a big glacier, on the other a rocky scree slope
disappearing into the clagg. Somewhere down the valley around a
corner out of sight a bridge is marked on the map, I head for it.
Despite the colder weather there are still loads of mosquitoes the
only way to avoid them is to keep moving. The valley floor is covered
with moraines, not so long ago that glacier must have come all the
way down. I climb over one moraine heap only to be meet with another,
up down, up down. Still I can't see any bridge. I'm beginning to
wonder whether it's been washed away, not unheard of around here. I
climb another heap and there it is right under me. I'd planned to do
another climb around here but not in this weather, so I had plenty of
time. I camped just after the bridge even though it was still early.
Next morning started with the last climb, just a few hundred metres
over a saddle on the end of the mountain and then I'm looking down on
the Sammi autumn cabins at Pårek. Beyond them the lakes and forest
around Kvikkjokk. Once again I get soaked from walking through the
wet forests but it doesn't matter now. I camped for the last time
just a few kilometres form Kivikkjokk where my route meets the
Kungsleden in a small clearing. And then the last walk down to the
fjällstation and the end of the adventure. </span>
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Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-15990706980542798692017-06-28T08:50:00.000-07:002017-06-28T08:50:38.917-07:00What I'm taking to Sarek. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is not</span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">something I'd normally blog about but I was asked by someone on one of the forums what I take on my long walks so I thought I'd do something on my kit. This is what goes in my pack on top of what I'd normally wear. </span></div>
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Food, this is 15 main meals and 15 breakfasts I still need to get 15 mid-day snacks, I normally take flap-jacks/granola bars for this.<br />
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My waterproofs, a gore-tex Firefox jacket by Mountain equipment, 272g has been very waterproof so far. The trousers are Rainfall pants again by Mountain equipment made of Drilite, 300g, they have full length side zips so I can get them on over my boots, something I regard as essential.<br />
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Extra cloths, a Rab Xenon jacket 323g, primaloft filled so it doesn't matter if it get a bit wet. A change of tee-shirt and pants, knee length long-johns could be either underwear or sleep wear. Three pairs of sock, fleece gloves and hat and a Tilly hat for keeping the sun/rain off me.<br />
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Some miscellaneous bits, My solar panel for charging my Inreach tracker (the yellow thing) and my phone which isn't on the photo. Map and compass, I have viewranger on the phone which I use as a GPS if required. A headtorch and first aid kit. My camera a Canon Powershot SX420 IS and a couple of spare batteries (their not compatible with the solar panel but only weigh a few grams each) and a very small ultra-pod mini tripod. A canister of Smidge a non deet midge spray and a headnet. A small swiss army knife, sun glasses and a tube of sun cream. a mini sawyer water filter, a two pin electrical adapter (only for Sweden) and a very small repair kit - spinnaker tape, glue and a few patches, needle and thread. <br />
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Kitchen kit, A gas cooker (minus the gas which I'll need to buy once in Sweden) a 0.5lt mug and a 0.5lt pan, the rolled up thing at the back is a foil windshield, a long handled spoon and a small tea spoon, a lighter and a box of matches in a plastic bag. A llt platypus hoser for drinking water while walking and a 2lt platypus water bladder for use in camp, I should have two of these for use with the sawyer filter, one for unfiltered water and one for filtered.<br />
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Wash kit, A folding tooth brush and a small tube of tooth paste, travel towel rolled up at the back. A razor and shave gel (not strictly essential but I really dislike having an itchy chin). The blue round thing is a folding bowl. Not shown is a roll of toilet paper and hand gel and a small block of soap but I think you know what they look like. <br />
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My Rab Ascent 300 sleeping bag, good down to just under freezing and at 912g not too heavy. A Tarptent Notch single person tent very light at 915g uses trekking poles (not shown) as it's main support. A Therm-a-rest Neo Air lite sleeping mat 225g <br />
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My Lightwave Ultra hike 60 pack, not too heavy at 1200g but more comfortable when carrying a heavy load than some of the ultralite frameless packs. A clip on mesh Exped "Flash pocket" useful for stuffing wet kit into and the blue thing is a pack rain cover - not strictly necessary but I like them. One item I've mist out is my pair of inov8 trail shoes that I'll be taking for changing into at the end of the day and when crossing Sarek's many rivers. That's about it.Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-53850708695412597652017-06-10T06:07:00.001-07:002017-06-10T06:07:56.899-07:00The Far North-West.<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>The
Far North-West.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Two years ago I left off my walk north at the inland
(south-eastern) end of Loch Broom, by the farm and car park at
Inverlael. Then I'd hitched in the pouring rain up to Ullapool. This
year I returned back to Ullapool and then tried to hitch back to
Inverlael, this time I was not successful. I had to march the 7 or 8
miles along the main road, getting to the car park around six in the
evening. </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So there I was hot and sweaty but back on my own version
of the Cape Wrath trail, To mark the occasion on my great walk north
I headed off to the south- east. Up through forestry and past a
micro-hydro scheme, I past an old walled enclosure, looked at it and
thought “No, I'll go a bit further” two hours later I'm back at
the enclosure even hotter and very tired having found nothing but
sloping boggy ground for miles ahead. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Beinn Dearg (Red hill) is a biggie at 1084m you can see
it from all around but not on the route up it. All the way up the
Glen (Gleann na Sguaib) all you can see are the crags on the side of
the Glen and once at the bealach you still can't quite see the
summit. From the top, great views all the way to An Teallach and
Ullapool but not of the route up. From the summit I dropped back down
to the bealach and up the peak on the other side Meall nan
Ceapraichean (hill of the stumps) and it's outlier Ceann Garbh. I was
planning on doing another Munro Eididh nan Clach Geala (web of white
stones) before camping, but decided to call it a day at the bealach.
It had been a lovely sunny day and I was able to sit outside the tent
cooking and brewing tea, but high above cirrus clouds were starting
to show. Sure enough in the early hours the heavens opened and it
poured it down for a couple of hours. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was still raining when I packed up and I started out
in full body armour, ten minutes later it stopped. The clagg was
still down and I need a compass bearing to reach the top of Eididh
nan Clach Geala (928m) only to find there were two tops? Which one to
use? I chose the second one mainly because I couldn't be bothered to
go back to the first one. Another bearing to the next top unnamed on
the map just 872m, a kilometre away. Four hundred metres later I'm
looking over the top of a crag, should have used the first top. I
follow the edge of the crags and find the col just as the clagg
starts to clear. From 872m I can see the next two days walk laid out
before me like a giant map. Below me are a line of lochans in Coire
an Lochain Sgeirich feeding a stream which flow away north cutting a
steep sided gorge across the moor. I follow this for three kilometres
to where it flows into the River Douchary. When I'd walked the Sheil
Bridge to Ullapool section of my walk I'd had five days of constant
heavy rain and every river had been in spate. I had all sorts of
problems crossing these rivers so I was a little concerned
approaching the Douchary, I needn't have worried I hopped across dry
footed. Further down stream the river entered a gorge, not well
marked on the map, although there are three waterfalls marked. I was
blown away by it when I peered in from high above. I decided there
and then to camp in the gorge that night. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were falls big and small each with it's own
resident Dipper, a dry, flat and level grass area high enough above
the water not to be worried about get a soaking in the night and
trees for shade. I was just contemplating going for a swim when it
began to rain, slowly at first but very quickly turned into a deluge.
I dived into the tent and remained there all night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Next day I spent far too long taking photographs of the
gorge downstream of where I'd camped, it really is a hidden gem.
Another stream joins the river via a spectacular waterfall at a point
where the river turns sharp left and becomes the Rhidorroch. Here I
left the river and cut across the moor for a kilometre to the western
end of Loch an Daimh. My route crosses the guidebook version of the
Cape Wrath trail at this point. It follows the north shore of the
Loch eastward for three kilometres to the bothy at Knockdamph. I went
westward for a kilometre, a small wooden post marked the start of a
stalker's path north across the next section of moor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> For the rest of the day I wandered along lost in my own
thoughts weaving a trail around, over and through a maze of peat hags
and stream beds. I crossed the Rappach Water, now only a shallow
dribble at a ruined farm called Lubachoire. All day the weather was
going from hot and sunny to dark and ominous the day ended sunny but
high in the air cirrus clouds were once more building. I camped in
Strath nan Lòn
on the south side of the Cromalt hills. I had to cross these to get
to Elphin and the next section of my walk. It was also at this point
that I discovered a three inch split in one of my boots just above
the sole. Would I be able to continue? Would the boot hold out? I
decided there was nothing I could do about them except carry on and
hope for the best. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> According to the map
I was camped on a path, there was no sign of it on the ground but a
couple of kilometres further another ruin marked where my route
turned north once more. As I started to climb up the rain started to
fall down and the wind began to blow. From walking in a T-shirt the
day before I was now in full head to toe gore-tex, fleece hat and
gloves. My route went into zigzag mode, north then west then north
again then north-west all the time weaving around endless peat hags.
By mid-afternoon it finally stopped raining, I'd only covered ten
kilometres but had walked many more and was very knackered. I dropped
down to a couple of small Lochans and followed their outlet stream
downhill. Somewhere on this section I managed to step into a bog
right up to mid-thigh. As my boots were now full of bog I just waded
into the stream and washed off the stinking black muck. Further
downstream the stream just disappeared, one minute there was a
babbling flow of water the next nothing. A quick investigation
revealed a limestone pot hole, “limestone what's that doing here”?
The track took me to Elphin - all six houses and a community hall -
according to the hand painted signs all life in Elphin revolves
around the community hall, when I got there it was closed. That
night I camped on the shore of Cam Loch with spectacular views of
Suilven. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I had planned on
climbing some of the hills hereabouts but the walk up from Beinn
Dearg had taken longer than I'd hope plus I had to get the bus from
Durness the following Saturday, so time was limited. Also big black
clouds were building. I decided to skip forward a bit and hitched a
lift up to the Inchnadamph Hotel at the south-eastern end of Loch
Assynt the next morning. The Hotel is now a walkers hostel and is on
the guidebook trail, the implications of this hadn't dawned on me
until a couple of kilometres beyond the Hotel I heard a shout from
behind me. “Oh thank god I've caught you” he said “I saw you
passing the hostel, you are doing “The Trail” aren't you”. It
seemed I'd acquired a limpet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The path takes a
meandering route around some small lochans before crossing a low col
the Bealach na h-Uidhe. It started to rain at the Bealach, only
lightly at first so I just put my jacket on and didn't bother with
the over trousers. Ten minutes latter I knew I'd made a big mistake
but it was too late I was soaked already. Visibility closed down to a
few metres as we stumbled on down eventually we found a cairn that
marked the start of a zigzag going down into the next valley. Half
way down the zigzags just stopped so we scrambled down the side of a
small stream. From the valley bottom we could look up at the Eas a
Chùal
Aluinn which is apparently the tallest waterfall in mainland Britain.
It fell over some crags next to our decent route, it wasn't very
impressive. The route from here down to the sea at Loch Glencoul and
around the beach to the Bothy was very hard going in the wind and
rain. The bothy was packed when we arrived, luckily four people were
preparing to leave and two more left half an hour later. That left
just three an Austrian walker the Limpet and me. When the Austrian
said he was heading on the Glendhu bothy seven kilometres further
around the Loch the Limpet decided to go with him, I decided to stay
where I was.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wind continued
to howl and the rain poured down half the night but by morning it was
calm and the sky clearing. Loch Glencoul is divided into two arms by
the peninsular of Aird da Loch the path from Glencoul bothy to
Glendhu bothy goes out almost to the end of the Aird before going
right around the other arm of the Loch. On the north side there is a
remnant of the old coastal oak wood that would have once dominated
the whole west coast. Overhead an Eagle flew, I couldn't work where
it's Eyre was but it must have been close. Across the Loch the Moine
Thrust was clearly visible. Down by the shore a young seal dozed on a
rock tail held high to keep it out of the water. As I approached the
bothy I saw a familiar figure sitting by the door. “I saw you
coming across the Loch so I waited for you” he said. Deep joy!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">From the Glendhu
bothy and for the rest of the day I would be walking on hard packed
estate roads, one of the worst surfaces for walking on I know.
Fortunately after five kilometres we came to a fork in the road. The
Limpet was going into Kylesku to buy food, I was going in the
opposite direction, inland across the ridge to Achfary and Foinaven.
I waved him goodbye and set off into my own solitude. It was hot and
there wasn't that much to look at so I plodded on and on. By the time
I descended down through the recently cleared forestry around the
village of Achfary my feet were killing me, they were so hot. I then
had a couple of kilometres along the road followed by more estate
roads before I came to the bothy of Lone, only it wasn't a bothy it
was locked. Luckily half a kilometre beyond the bothy was a small
copse that made a wonderful campsite. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I was up at 05.30,
there didn't seem to be too much damage to my feet which was good
because if I was going to get to the Cape and make the bus I'd need
to get a wiggle on for the next two days. I was walking before seven.
The climb up beside the Ailt Horn was a steady gradual gradient and I
was quickly at the Bealach Horn. Here the path descended down into
Srath Dionard but the way ahead was obvious. Just keep going uphill
to the summit of An t-sàil
Mhor due north from the Bealach, again an easy gradient. In contrast
the north side is a sheer drop down to the coire floor. Follow the
cliff top west to the next top, just marked 808m on the OS map. A
grassy col topped by quartzite scree, fossilized limpets and mussels
still preserved in the quartzite. Then the summit and wow what a
viewpoint. The Loch bejewelled moorland, Handa Island, Loch Laxford,
Loch Inchard and Eilean an Ròin.
On the horizon Lewis and further out could that be St Kilda?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Over the moor
another squall was coming my way, I move on. Down horrid steep loose
scree to the col of Cadha na Beucaich, then up again, up the side of
a rock buttress. Stash poles, hands coming into play scrambling up
the rock, great fun. On top of the buttress I see a bypass path but
why spoil the fun. Up along a sharp ridge, real walking in the
clouds, another unnamed top 869m. Down to another col and up again,
the main summit of Foinaven, Ganu Mor 911m (3m short of a Munro). The
top covered in cloud, no view from here. I head west, straight down
the scree slope then follow a stream into Coire Dùail
and on to Srath Dionard and more estate road seven more kilometres to
the road (A838). I come out onto the road by a farm Gualin House,
What to do now? I'd already covered twenty kilometres and climbed
several high hills but wanted to get nearer to Sandwood bay for the
next day. I thought about camping at Feur Loch another four
kilometres further, but that turned out to be more of a muddy puddle
and no where to pitch. Five kilometres from Feur Loch is Strathan
bothy, I bite the bullet and plod on, on and on it just never seems
to come into view. It's getting dark by the time I get there at
22.30, after a 29 kilometres day. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdp2x6MZXeGbGqDTJKq7rhZCmIF-xSmC9XiyYBfrBdmVWQatqE-r9NLA8GZTlz3Z2PNpixobvxgMnsxtAbBNk_5AFVaQTTd1QvCcNnpZdcZaRUw7XVNmDj9XcbLtYZFDgjk8YRqso6roIG/s1600/IMG_0204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdp2x6MZXeGbGqDTJKq7rhZCmIF-xSmC9XiyYBfrBdmVWQatqE-r9NLA8GZTlz3Z2PNpixobvxgMnsxtAbBNk_5AFVaQTTd1QvCcNnpZdcZaRUw7XVNmDj9XcbLtYZFDgjk8YRqso6roIG/s400/IMG_0204.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Once again I'm away
early, I've a long way to go and I'm not sure when the last bus from
the lighthouse goes. The three kilometres from the bothy to Sandwood
Loch are a nightmare, some of the worst bog of the whole trip. I'm
very aware of how much time I'm loosing trying to get out of this
mess. Just as I get to the fresh water Loch I see a fox raiding birds
nests, I try but fail to get a photograph. Once on the side of the
Loch the going gets better but it's such a beautiful place I just
want to keep on taking pictures. From the beach I climb up a steep
hill only to drop down again almost to sea level before climbing up
once more, followed by yet another river gorge. In all there are six
gorges to cross in the twelve kilometres from Sandwood bay to the
lighthouse.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRye-9liRHzqCJXuIbgKBDQ2iPoZIQ8yeW29daL8Sgdqt3aWIc1nvAKmxvpiTLTZfaD6RUiQc4dKKeKTqZaRxKhKTGW0ayH5-oLQH4dC27Ce3hH9ZZG3OYoCpSrMDwrSr7ydkD3tSnj7zw/s1600/IMG_0207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRye-9liRHzqCJXuIbgKBDQ2iPoZIQ8yeW29daL8Sgdqt3aWIc1nvAKmxvpiTLTZfaD6RUiQc4dKKeKTqZaRxKhKTGW0ayH5-oLQH4dC27Ce3hH9ZZG3OYoCpSrMDwrSr7ydkD3tSnj7zw/s400/IMG_0207.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_Z5CXY-J8KX0_VUxNHby9S3uUe__iEQnsC2ysq9A1ErDAaA5ogO-vb5uwue584uNf2mYcEV1_NNsBWiJ1PJoIr1OJPtq0yXDuH9wd5fYc0zQks4qmyjLh-ezUk1KYsXJgXSwLRE-fsji/s1600/IMG_0236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_Z5CXY-J8KX0_VUxNHby9S3uUe__iEQnsC2ysq9A1ErDAaA5ogO-vb5uwue584uNf2mYcEV1_NNsBWiJ1PJoIr1OJPtq0yXDuH9wd5fYc0zQks4qmyjLh-ezUk1KYsXJgXSwLRE-fsji/s400/IMG_0236.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A fence guards the
MOD range with big signs warning people to keep out when the red
flags are flying, they also made an easy style for climbing over the
fence. I got a good view of the lighthouse a few kilometres from the
bay. “Not long now” I thought, but as the up's and down's kept
coming there just never seemed to be anymore signs of the elusive
light. As I climbed up the final hill I caught sight of a mini-bus on
the road above me. “Hope that's not the last one.” At 15.30 I
finally arrived hot and thirsty at the lighthouse. Just as I did so a
man emerged from the cafe. He said. “ If you want the bus you'd
better get on, this is the last one”. I didn't even get time for a
cup of tea. I stayed the night on the campsite in Durness. Next
morning it was pouring with rain, it rained all the way to home. </span>
</div>
Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-12568024266336848802017-04-20T05:28:00.001-07:002017-04-20T05:29:38.231-07:00Spring time in the Cairngorms.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This winter has been a washout skiing wise, I've managed some good walks but only had three days on skis. So it was with some surprise when I set out at the weekend to find so much new snow. I parked at the end of the Glen Feshie at Achlean farm and headed up onto the Moine Mhor.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzV8-F8Cz1SR3y66xDmpgSX78YIMDgadE17K_PrBuXZNftGXuZtgJLzJQyr7FYUXj2nO4eKjEiR6A-T3PWRzGVzAOKP2Ygx5DULZHSGzHeVJrE8QBUImUWRVs5RaQlHNpeWCcNyhkPbLi_/s1600/IMG_0028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzV8-F8Cz1SR3y66xDmpgSX78YIMDgadE17K_PrBuXZNftGXuZtgJLzJQyr7FYUXj2nO4eKjEiR6A-T3PWRzGVzAOKP2Ygx5DULZHSGzHeVJrE8QBUImUWRVs5RaQlHNpeWCcNyhkPbLi_/s400/IMG_0028.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Loch nan Cnapan, a nice place to camp in better weather. This was snow free a week before. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYEwQ3ArKRHpjWeSyY_vxBj8tEmkBD0YOjkZqlCU1RfkKQz7HNa0LeyGiHOfdEX4bxpXbgG29wZBmVw2crFtiA-yF2xNlwWWz_cKj4f2iH9SFZK-o2xlokgqlyDPBvNnbjfpIsY6zE9ZQ/s1600/IMG_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYEwQ3ArKRHpjWeSyY_vxBj8tEmkBD0YOjkZqlCU1RfkKQz7HNa0LeyGiHOfdEX4bxpXbgG29wZBmVw2crFtiA-yF2xNlwWWz_cKj4f2iH9SFZK-o2xlokgqlyDPBvNnbjfpIsY6zE9ZQ/s400/IMG_0032.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the summit of Bod an Deamhain (The Devil's Point).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D_vyHo8eeO49E3WhB3a-6YFKCjQVZnFmBykKiAQOEMVwRZQ5x2hQ3p0QB1IS4ZM6nr6IkeS1KsjGn-I-jsrL4h_fFG7FFPS9hUdiTmw6JPDlY7X6sS-mCqdHNG6M_gzYMnmQOXtgNDCf/s1600/IMG_0040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D_vyHo8eeO49E3WhB3a-6YFKCjQVZnFmBykKiAQOEMVwRZQ5x2hQ3p0QB1IS4ZM6nr6IkeS1KsjGn-I-jsrL4h_fFG7FFPS9hUdiTmw6JPDlY7X6sS-mCqdHNG6M_gzYMnmQOXtgNDCf/s400/IMG_0040.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stob Coire an t-Saighdeir from The Devil's Point.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Braeriach from Stob Coire an t-Saighdeir.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Old cornice on Cairn Toul.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I walked as far as The Devil's Point and back again 37.5km altogether.</span></div>
Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-9038385565174964942017-01-28T10:20:00.003-08:002017-01-28T10:23:10.094-08:00Waiting for the snow.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A slow start</span> <span style="font-size: large;">to the season, it's just been far too mild so far.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This was on New Years Day at Badaguish but the snow only lasted a few hours.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Two weekends ago we had a bit of a dump, most of the snow was blown off the summits and landed down in the valley. I had a good day XC skiing in Glenmore forest with friends, the next day it poured with rain and washed all the snow away but it was good while it lasted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another photo from New Year Pam on Meall a Bhuachaille.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had tentative plans to walk to Ben Avon and camp this weekend but it's blowing a gale, hopefully the start of something good. If conditions become good enough I'd like to do this trip as a ski tour, maybe even bivi in a snow hole. That would be good.</span>Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-63574302840161655362016-09-21T12:30:00.002-07:002016-09-21T12:42:21.176-07:00Sarek, Europe's last Wilderness.<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> In truth there isn't much to Kvikkjokk, a campsite, a heliport, a
church, a few houses and the Fj<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ä</span>llstation
that's about all. Hard to imaging I'd just taken two days, three
flights, a two hour train and a four hour bus journey just to get
here. I stayed all of five minutes just long enough to send a quick
text home adjust my pack, get my bearings and go.
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I started off on the Kungsleden a marked trail that threaded a way<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">
through thick forest, well used and misused campsites just off the
path. From the thick forest into an open wooded area of bogs and
lakes, wide views of the hills ahead. The first river crossing, over
twenty in all, boots off running shoes on trousers rolled up. Still
higher a moorland zone dwarf willow and alder colourful flowers and
reindeer lots of reindeer. Another river this one a wild raging
torrent, a huge snow patch had bridged it but that had collapsed a
few day before. Took me all morning to walk to the tarn at it's head
here at last I could cross, evidence of recent glacial retreat all
around.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Back on the trail, over a ridge
and down into the next valley, Njoatsosv</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">gge
– more river crossings. Up again into the Alpine zone this time,
ridges and glaciers and moraine and bare rock. Jaw dropping S</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">itaris
and Rygg</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">sberget
rise about a desolate plateau devoid of vegetation and nowhere to
camp. Snow in the night and a blizzard by morning.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Retreat to the valley and soaked
crossing another river, lost my footing and fell in. The sun came out
and I dried off walking along past the Njoatsos lakes. Another day
and another river to cross, this one slow but deep. Feeling somewhat
self concious, stark naked with a rucksack balanced on my head, I
slowly waded in, the water came up to my chest. The next one was wild
wide and fast white water, thigh deep and frightening. This took me
to the </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">lggaj</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">vrre
(j</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">vrre
= lake), I needed to be on the other side this meant crossing the
out-flowing Miell</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ä</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dno
river. On the map there's a bridge but it's not there on the ground,
it's another 2.5km downstream. The sign on the bridge, in Swedish
naturally, is quite clear even if you don't read Swedish. It says
something like “DO NOT USE, BRIDGE UNSAFE”. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I
crossed it anyway, it's not safe.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It finally stopped raining and
the sky cleared next day as I romped along the lovely wide flat
bottom </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">lggav</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">gge
into the heart of Sarek. And then the stream no longer flowed towards
me but away from me, down into the next valley. Another river, the
Guoperj</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">hk</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">,
on my left flowed into the valley and further along I could see yet
another, the Sm</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">jll</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">j</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">hk</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">,
where they all meet marks the start of the Rahpa</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">ä</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">dno
river. The Sm</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">jll</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">á</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">j</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">hk</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">å
enters the valley through the spectacular 2 – 300m deep Skárjá
gouge.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You hear the roar of the
waterfalls long before you can see down into the gouge. It looked
like a huge curtain of rock was hiding the river from view except for
a tiny gap in the curtain where thousands of tons of water spewed out
in a massive horizontal spray. Further upstream a waterfall had bored
a hole through the rock leaving a great Gothic arch above and a
boiling foaming cauldron of whitewater below. Still further upstream
the whole river is forced through a narrow slot in the ground barely
5m wide, over this slot is the foot bridge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">From Skárjá the path such as it
is contours high above the river, above the treeline in the moorland
zone. There are no made up or marked paths in the park, only the
passage of others leaving a trail to show where they went. Ahead the
view was of the wild river meandering around the foot of Låddebákte
mountain. Behind of the sparkly white snow covered peaks. At
Låddebákte the trail leaves the river and short cuts the big
meander. Winding a way over and under huge rocky crags and zigzagging
across steep scree slopes before climbing up to the beautiful
Snávvájávvre set in a high Alpine meadow. Looking back at
Skårvatjåhkkå a peak across the valley, a glacier spirals down it
flanks. Running down the middle of the glacier is a ridge of lateral
moraine, a moraine of bright red Iron ore.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Descending back to the river next
morning a moose wades across a small lake on the far side. As I enter
the woods the temperature soars well into the mid 30°C, not what
you'd expect in the Arctic. Once in the woods the path became
something far more abstract, you'd be following it all nice and dandy
one minutes only for to disappear under a thicket or into a
bottomless bog the next. This was a real wildwood it grew or didn't
grow as it pleased no regimented lines of uniform trees here. When
trees died they just fell, dead wood lay in heaps everywhere covered
in the biggest most colourful fungi I think I've ever see. The river
had obviously changed course many many time over the years as old
dried up channels and ox-bow lake were all over the valley floor. The
contrast between the serene pools and the thundering rapid of the
river was stark. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I camped that night beneath an
old nunatak called Lulep Spádnek right on the bank of the river. As
the river was quite low at the time I was able to walk out near to
the the middle of the channel and sit watching the flow until the
mosquitoes drove me back behind the mesh of the tent. Next morning
the path again did it's disappearing act so I returned to the river
to walk down it dry banks. Only this time I found tracks. Two
animals, one large and one smaller had wandered down the river
turning over stones and digging in the sand. They were members of the
dog family but domestic dogs aren't allowed in the park, and I didn't
see anyone for the three day I was in the valley, but there are
wolves. Not many, they're very shy and wary of people, they're as
often as not shot at. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Further downstream is another
nunatak called Nammasj at it's foot on a sandspit in the river sits a
post with a plastic bucket on it, in the bucket a radio. I call
Sonja-Ann for a pick up but she says she can't get up to Nammasj as
the river is too low, so I'll have to walk. Below Nammasj the river
enters the delta before flowing into Lájtávrre. On the north side
of the delta is Skierffe who's south face rises in a spectacular 600m
shear rock face. A mornings bushwhacking and I was standing on top of
Skierffe. Peering over the edge the delta spread out before me, it
looked like some abstract painting all blues and greens and other
worldly quite fantastical. East of Skierffe is the Lappish village of
Aktse on the shore of Lájtávrre, and it was here that I picked up
the Kungsleden once again. This meant bridges over the rivers,
board-walks over the bogs but also other people. Somehow after the
solitude and wildness of Sarek I really resented having to share with
others. Although once across Lájtávrre we were soon spread out and
I didn't really see anyone again. I could have made Kvikkjokk in one
long day but my bus/train wasn't for another two day so why rush.
Mostly the walking was in thick forest and heavy rain but I was used
to that by now. </span>
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Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-70243987813905748962016-07-24T03:00:00.000-07:002016-07-24T03:00:23.456-07:00Getting ready for Sweden.<div style="text-align: justify;">
Less than two weeks to go now getting very excited, I've more or less sorted out what's going in my pack and it weighs just under 18kg. Only thing to add to that is gas once I get to Lulea as you can't take it on aircraft. I'm taking a few things that I wouldn't normally carry, the most important being a Delorme inReach SE tracker so I can let people know where I am and that I'm alright. To charge this I've a small solar panel and a backup battery powered charger, these can also charge my phone. There's no phone signal out in Sarek but I can connect my phone to my inReach which makes writing/reading text messages much easier than using the tiny screen on the inReach. I'll also be using my phone as a GPS this time. I'd normally use a Garmin but the Garmin maps for Sweden cover the northern half of the country and cost £180, a bit overkill for what I want. Viewranger do a free map of the main Sarek Peak and £5 worth of tiles covered the rest of my route, quite a saving. On course I'll be taking paper maps as well, these are at 1:100 000 scale and printed on some very flimsy paper so I'm taking two. </div>
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There are only a couple of bridges in an area about half the size of Scotland so I'm expecting to have to wade quite a lot. To help with this I'm taking a pair of fell running shoes, the idea is to take my boots, socks and possibly trousers off wade across wearing the running shoes and putting the dry stuff back on once across. The fell shoes will dry out much quicker than boots. My sleeping bag is now 25 years old and not as good as it once was, so I've got a new one which is slightly warmer than the old one. Actually the weather and temperature over there has been better than here in Scotland over the last couple of weeks. </div>
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As I'll be solo there's not much point in taking rope and harness and I'm not going to carry an ice axe or crampons. Which means I'll have to keep off the glaciers and stick to the ridges but I think I'll have plenty to climb even without them. I'm still in a bit of a quandary as to which camera to take, I've a DSLR but it weighs a whooping 1.5kg, or I've a small waterproof compact, very light but doesn't have a very good lens. I did think about getting a small bridge camera but decided I couldn't afford it. So I think it will be the compact and accept that I won't get many stunning photo's. </div>
Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-87615780713327644692016-06-21T14:05:00.000-07:002016-06-21T14:05:01.411-07:00A bit of a road trip.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
It's been a busy couple of weeks, first I went down to North Wales to visit my oldest sister Jenny. I spent three day with her and her partner Martin. Then I went over to the Bowline climbing club hut at Brynrefail near to the north end of Llyn Padarn. I had a nice walk around the lake, brought myself some new rock shoes and then managed to hit my head on a rock whilst bouldering on Lion Rock. I ended up with a nice red cut on my scalp, silly old fool. Next day I drove up to the Pen y Gwryd hotel and set off around the Snowdon houseshoe. Once-upon-a-time I'd have run it but this time it took me all my energy to walk it - it was an incredibly hot and humid day - well that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. </div>
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After that I drove on, down to Devon in the deep south to my youngest brother Pete and his wife Ro. We walked up Ridders hill saw a very recently born Dartmoor foal and went climbing on the Dewerstone. Only the heavens opened just as we started pitch two of Colonel's Arete, lucky it was an easy climb.</div>
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Next day it was back on the road again, all the way back up to Scotland. A day at home and on up to Dundonnell for a friends birthday party at the Smiddy. Only I didn't quite make it, my car broke it's cam belt about five miles short of the hut. I won't bore you with the details but eventually the car went home and I did get to go to the ball. Three of us had a lovely walk and swim in the Fannich before the rest of the guests arrived. Then seven climbed An Teallach on a glorious day, the third time I've done it but the first time I've had any kind of a view from the top. Some of us found it easy, some found it hard someone thought they were about to die, but we all made it all the way around and had a lovely evening back at the hut. </div>
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<br />Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-39292050883566343762016-04-30T10:19:00.000-07:002016-04-30T10:23:24.189-07:00August in Lapland.<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The plan is coming together, flights
booked, Edinburgh – London – Stockholm – Lule<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
( on top end of the Gulf of Bothnia), and return. Accommodation for
first and last night booked in Lule</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.
Train and bus journey from Luleå to Kvikkjokk and back, booked. That
leaves me with fifteen days in the Arctic National Park of Sarek.
Roll on August. </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I'm
not quite sure what I'll do once there, the maps aren't very detailed
so I'm not sure just how difficult travelling around will be. There's
a group of mountains just north of Kvikkjokk called P</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">rte
which look good for some climbing. It's a small cirque around a
glacier but looking at the map and some photo's it looks like I can
avoid the ice. North again is Alkatj and Sarekj</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">kk</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">å</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
so plenty to go at. </span></span>
</div>
Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-39302291197224804082016-04-30T08:52:00.000-07:002016-04-30T08:52:27.358-07:00It's not over yet!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Three weeks ago the weather had the feel of spring about it, I thought the skiing season was over for this winter. How wrong was I? I text from a friend put the idea of a ski tour around Ben Macdui and Beinn Mheadhoin out for offers. How could I refuse?</div>
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Starting out from Cairngorm ski centre up the Fiacaill a Choire Chais ridge.<br />
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Hamish.<br />
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Looking across to Braeriach from near Lochan Buidhe. <br />
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Lynn at the summit of Ben Macdui.<br />
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Fantastic skiing down to Loch Etchachan.<br />
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Skinning up Beinn Mheadhoin.<br />
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Approaching the summit of Beinn Mheadhoin.<br />
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Carry the skis across the River Avon.<br />
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The rough track up to "The Saddle".<br />
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Above the Ptarmigan for one last run down, long after the piste patrol had gone home.Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-27489122845609262122016-04-03T03:39:00.000-07:002016-04-07T05:21:30.868-07:00Winter's end.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Winter started off very wet, here is what's left of the old road at Lynn of Quoich taken from the bridge. The river had diverted and now doesn't flow under the bridge at all, instead it's washed away a huge section of road.</div>
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Snow in January allowed for some cross-country skiing in Glenmore forest, the owner of the Red Squirrel cafe has a track cutting machine and goes out when ever there's enough snow. <br />
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March sew some very good touring conditions, this is on Fiacaill a Choire Chais heading up to the Cairngorm plateau. <br />
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The ESTC out in force.<br />
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<br />Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8358205771746568843.post-40065238865961143802015-12-26T03:40:00.000-08:002015-12-26T03:40:19.378-08:00The Lancet Edge.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I did this walk back at the beginning of November, then downloaded the photo's for them to disappear into the ether. Yesterday whilst looking for something else I found them.</div>
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To start with I was late starting out so I'd lost a few hours day light by the time I arrived at Dalwhinnie. From Dalwhinnie to the start of my walk at Loch Pattack is seven miles down an estate road, you can't take your car along this road but they don't seem to mind bikes. So I swapped car for bike and rode off to Loch Pattack. At the Loch I was meet by these three locals who seemed intent on eating just about anything, me, my rucksack, my cycle helmet, my bike anything. I only escaped them once I'd crossed the rickety swing bridge, here I parked the bike an set of on foot at last as it was now mid-day. </div>
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My route took the footpath heading up to the Bealach Dubh, the pass between Ben Alder and Aonach Beag/Geal Charn. Past the old Culra Bothy, now sadly locked and off limits due to the building being lined with Asbestos. A note on the estate gate back at the start of the road said that plans are afoot to replace the building with another brand new one. Behind the bothy my objective for the day Sgor Lutharn is clearly visible the pointy peak on the skyline. <br />
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After the bothy the path follows a stream the Allt a Chaoil-reidhe for about two miles before heading up grassy slopes to gain the crest of the Lancet Edge ridge. <br />
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The scrambling over the rocks and the airy position was really fun but time was getting on and the shadows were growing long, I needed to get a wiggle on. I had planned to do Geal Charn as well but I decided to skip that one as I could skirt around under some crags on the side of Geal Charn and cut a corner. I still had Carn Dearg to do and the light finally faded as I climbed to it's summit. Up to the top there had been a good path to follow but beyond it the path became feint and wandered around all over the place so I soon lost it in the dark. The decent down to Loch Pattack was very trying and I was very glad to finally find my bike again, all I had to do now was the seven mile cycle back to the car.<br />
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<br />Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13048777383852572402noreply@blogger.com0