A gentle stroll.

Wednesday Sept. 23rd.

It is 2100hrs, 9pm and the long wait begins. All around me is hustle and bustle; voices, excited, sad, resigned and in many tongues. We are all fellow travellers congregating in that great temple of travel, Victoria coach station; a hub that reaches out to the far corners of the UK and Europe. It always the same, I arrive early, my journey does not begin for another two hours and there are seats for everyone on the coach. Like many who travel on a regular basis, there is that regular seat one always aims for. A strange foible maybe but for me I prefer travelling towards the front of the coach; not the very front seats, there is often little leg room in them, the next seat back on the left hand side is good. The back seats are anathema to me, more bumpy and the swaying motion of the coach is more accentuated. It is over two months since I was away and the pack feels heavy although I know that I will once more become accustomed to carrying it. Being Autumn means carrying more weight, my winter sleeping bag, an extra layer of clothing, gloves, woolly hat and so forth. A sudden burst of activity as a group of people make a frantic dash for a coach that is about to pull out. The driver just gives a wry grin and a shake of his head as he ushers them on board; he has seen it all before. A young couple hug and kiss in an amorous embrace, oblivious to folk around them. It is time for her to board though and she enters the coach brushing away tears; the sadness of parting shows on the young lads face as he turns away. Tonight we are lucky, the coach pulls in at 22 30hrs and the drivers promptly let us on board. Occasionally passengers have to wait until ten minutes or so before departure time. One of the drivers, a regular on this particular route, recognises me and friendly banter is exchanged. Early, 02 35am and we have stopped at one of the motorway service stations for our designated break and we stumble bleary eyed off the coach to shamble off to the loos or visit the restaurant or shop. Amazingly the coach is not full and somehow I have managed a seat to myself. Usually I manage to doze a little on the night runs but even that has proved illusive so far. Much of the journey up has been watching the endless succession of lorries that travel the motorway at night. A recent craze that seems to have swept the haulage companies are the many and varied lights that decorate the trucks. it is quite amazing and some resemble gaudy Christmas trees trundling through the night. Attempting to doze I reverted to counting Eddie Stobart lorries, after twenty or so the mind just shuts down.

Thursday 24th Sept. Camped GR OS Explorer map 386, 946628.Loch a' Choice.

Not having been away for a while and knowing that my levels of fitness where minimal my preference was for an easy trip. My first choice had been Wales but it was cheaper to travel direct to Scotland. Pitlochry was a designated National Express coach stop and there was a wide range of easy walking in the area. Hence this morning I arrived at 0945am. My first priority was breakfast; overnight travel usually leaves me a wee bit dehydrated and in the need of substance. Finding the public loo allowed me to change in to my hill going gear. Sadly though breakfast was not to be. Oh there where establishments serving breakfast; scary places though. I tentatively wandered in to one, set menu, luxurious padded chairs, pristine white linen tablecloths and matching serviettes. Equally scary where the elderly couple partaking of coffee; dressed in matching tweeds, she with carefully blue rinse coiffured hair do, make up laid on somewhat heavily; he wearing brogues to match his tweeds. Honestly I swear his military, toothbrush white moustache bristled as the pair paused, mid sip of daintily help cups and two pairs of glazed eyes at the apparition at the door. Sorry folks I am not keen on doing battle with dragons and I may be an inverted snob but I do not do posh either. Taking to the hills after picking up a few bits. Breakfast was taken just outside of Pitlochry, bread and cheese and water, sustaining enough but poor fair when one fancies bacon and eggs and mugs of tea. It was leisurely stroll up to where I am now camped. Although still early this is just a trip to get out of doors and do nothing in particular.

Friday 25th. Camped same location a yesterday.
A blustery night but dry; time was spent busy doing little over a mug of tea and a bite of breakfast sat in the doorway of the tent. Finally stirring myself, I took the path up to Ben Vackrie. A steady plod up a well manicured path, pausing every so often, just to admire the view of course! The hill is obviously a popular walk, two groups of people in front of me touched the top and fled because of the strong wind that was blowing. Lingered for a short time but noticing more people heading up and not feeling that sociable, headed back down. A brew and spot of lunch back at the tent and I set off for a wander. Keeping fairly high I picked my way over toward Creag Oisinnidh. My meandering led me up and down and around little rocky outcrops, hidden hollows and little secret places. There was no goal or specific purpose and that is what made it fun, an enjoyable explore. The wind is buffeting the tent a tad but it is no problem. Evening early this evening people are still heading up the ben; tomorrow I am out of here.Sat.26th. Camped, same map GR 937634

Was woken early by the bark of a deer feeding close by. Dozed off again for a while and then put a brew on while I dithered over the map. Something I had been contemplating was to drop down to Killieckrankie and then make my way over towards Loch Tummel. Route finding though looked problematical and getting back to Pitlochry for early next week might be awkward. Instead in a bout of laziness I packed up and wandered over to the track that leads down toward Killieckrankie and then turned off. On the map there is a track that leads up and around by Meall na Moine. Fantastic, the track is very indistinct and has fallen out of use which suited me just fine. Following a spur of this old track it led me around the back of Meall na Moine and to the most lovely camp spot. It was early but that was of little consequence. Have spent the afternoon just wandering willy nilly around the area, exploring around the rocky outcrops and doing little. Having managed to pick up the local hill forecast the weather does not look too bad at all, wind speeds of thirty to forty miles an hour, stronger on the tops, overcast but remaining dry. Well the tent is tucked is out of the way and well snugged down and I am comfy.

Sunday 27th. Same spot as last night.

An easy day once more. When I nipped out in the grey light of early morning, the sky appeared dark and ominous with the cloud down low and scudding across the tops. However, by the time I had a brew and some breakfast things had brightened up.Yesterday, in my meanderings I had noticed a faint path that went over the bealach close to where I am camped.Today I went back across, skirting around two tiny lochans and decided to follow the path. It soon became apparent though that it angled across the hill below the ridge line and headed up toward Ben Vackrie. Instead I turned off and picked my way up the hill heading more directly for the ridge. Deer and sheep have a habit of contouring diagonally across hill sides as they graze. Over time they leave tiny trails which can make life easier when picking ones way up steep ground. Surprisingly up on the ridge I noticed substantial mole hills; hardy, hill going moles, interesting! Made my way over to Meall an' Daimh and hunkered down out of the wind. Further north the Cairngorms where shrouded in dark storm clouds, but here it was not too bad at all. Originally my intention had been to do the whole ridge line. Ben Vackrie had fairly large crowds milling around its top which I wanted to avoid. Instead I dropped off the northern side of of the hill aiming for the line of the old track. It was a steep descent but once more I made use of sheep and deer trails. Close up the old trail is now nothing more than a well worn sheep trod but makes for good walking and it had obviously been finely engineered following the lie of the land. Once more I was back quite early, the sun had made a brief appearance but the weather soon turned overcast once more. It was not cold though and I was content to spend to spend and hour with a mug of tea and a book reclining on a soft mossy couch outside the tent.Have quite a selection of beasties wandering through the tent. Various types of spiders; it is amazing to watch a spider nonchalantly picking its way across the midge netting totally unfazed as the tent shifts and billows in the rising wind. Have managed to pick up the hill forecast for tomorrow and it is not so good. Further north it going to be stormy with high winds and heavy rain; in this area wind speeds are set to rise to around forty to fifty miles an hour. The tent is well snugged down and I am heading out tomorrow.

Monday 28th. Pitlochry

The end of a few lazy days in the hills, mainly just to shake the cobwebs away. Niggling health problems have continued as have a few bad migraines. This morning saw me heading for the heady delights of Pitlochry? Woke to a blustery with lowering dark skies and low cloud scudding across the tops. Looking at the weather prospects was the clincher; I had been contemplating the idea of stopping just outside of Pitlochry and heading down early to catch the morning bus. However, the prospects of a bath in the tent and an early morning start in the dark with the possibility of rain was daunting. What I craved was a hot shower and clean clothes. B&b would have been darned pricey but there was a backpackers hostel which would be much cheaper. Thus packed up this morning and headed over towards the track leading up to Bealach na Searmoin. Swung off to pick my way up to Meall na h-Aodainn Moire and Stac an Fheidh . Thin wisps of cloud drifted around me and the ben opposite looked dark and brooding. Skeins of geese flying overhead, heading north; their cries haunting, evocative, goose talk. Picked my way down off the hill to pick up the bealach path again and then meandered on down to Pitlochry. Managed to book in to the backpackers hostel; an old hotel that has seen better times, it is cheap and cheerful though. Am lucky in having a small dorm to myself by the looks of it. The sheer bliss of a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes, wonderful. Tomorrow morning I am catching the eight twenty am bus south. Not a bad trip, even if it was a lazy one.

Finally

workshop corner

Ok, just a brief write up. Recently, due to a variety of reasons I have not managed to get away. More minor surgery, the sheer cost of travelling and a few other things have seen me somewhat hampered. With cabin fever setting in I began perusing the maps; with my fitness levels low I wanted to just get away and potter. Wales was my first choice but in fact it turned out more expensive and meant more hassle than a straight forward run up to Scotland. It was the same with the lake district. Now though I am travelling tomorrow night, heading north once more; so, watch this space.

On a totally different theme, someone that I know down in South Wales is putting up a craft stall and I am contributing wooden spoons, pendants and bowls. Hand carving bowls was a new venture for me but it has turned out to be an interesting idea. A couple of bowls are shown above, the latest one, which is special; a goldfield burl, I will post up after I return from Scotland.

Pottering

My tiny balcony, yes, Iam on the 6th floor but it still floods.

Spoons, the one on the left has yet to be oiled, usually with olive oil. Left hand one cherry, the other two olive.

It has been over a week now since surgery. only a fairly minor op but it took a while to settle down. Knowing I was going to be stuck in the flat for a week or two,I went on the net to search for some cheap wood suitable for spoon carving. Found a couple of nice bits going cheap; however, the sizes where in metric which I did not really take in. Poor postie, he was a bit out of breath when he called with the package. It was little wonder really, the wood was a tad bigger than I realised; a piece of rough cut lime board, some three foot long and over a foot wide, plus an inch and a half thick; the other bit was smaller, a piece of cherry. Working in my tiny flat presents a few difficulties, I have no other work space apart from a small balcony, which floods when wet . The first job, after cutting a length of wood to the appropriate size, is roughing it out, hewing it somewhere close to the shape I want. This is done sitting on the floor with the wood on a chopping board and using an axe to shape the wood. To be honest, I am not too happy using an axe for this; it gets kind of close to the fingers at times. What I want is an adze, a short handled small one; so folks here is quick appeal, if anyone knows of a fairly decent adze that needs a new home and is willing to let it go fairly cheap, please contact me, I would really appreciate it. After the rough work comes hours of work with the knives, shaping, cutting, shaving until finally a spoon takes shape. This is carried out either with the rough work clamped to a shelf, for example when I am using a draw knife, or sitting on a chair with wood chipping piling up around my feet. Finally the wood is ready to be oiled, sanded again and oiled once more. All this work is done by hand, I have a variety of knives, again I need a special spoon knife, a left handed one because I work left handed mainly and also because it easier to work with both left handed a right handed knives. An added headache is that I am constantly having to clean the flat; it is just as well I have no carpets. These spoons are quirky, working spoons, nothing fancy.

On the hill

Recently I have been watching the hooha over the Ramblers Association and find it in many ways sad but also an indication of the times in which we live. The RA's roots where working class and was considered quite radical for its time. Folks did not have money in the years it was formed; rambling was cheap and there was fairly extensive public transport system, also many people hitched, it was an accepted norm and lifts where often readily available. Remember too, many people still worked five and half day weeks and the annual holidays where the statuary two weeks. Kit was makeshift, there was none of the high tech stuff we have today. A lot was army surplus or old clothing modified for use on the hill; old gabardine macs cut down, suit trousers long past their prime; heavy woolen pullovers, getting wet was the norm, many women still wore skirts, there was no special women's clothing, they had to adapt. Boots where heavy leather and nailed, again, often army surplus because they where reasonably cheap; decent mountain boots where astronomical in price. Tents where canvas and normally leaked, for many, tents where beyond their price range. That is where the close companion to the RA came in, the YHA, basic, simple cheap accommodation. Probably I am showing my age here, however, I can still remember being on the fringes of those times. My first ever boots where a pair of hand me downs and had nails and weighed a ton; when I up graded to vibrams it was something special, my first anorak was a ventile one bought cheap because it was shop soiled; it was murder when it froze, I had an awful job taking it off. The hostels themselves although often basic, sometimes very, where welcomed and well used by the rambling classes. The wardens where often eccentric, a few draconian and one or two mad. Certainly I have encountered a few peculiar ones such as one kilted, heavily bearded guy, complete with dirk and a broadsword that he kept in his office and well remember the Scottish hostels, all self catering, and one provided their own cutlery plate and mug.
In many respects the RA has lost touch with its roots and has become soft and genteel, everything it seems, boils down to being cost effective. Possibly we could argue for a new movement, more radical and out spoken and willing to fight for the rights of outdoor folk. but; cynic that I am, I cannot see it happening. As for me, well, I will wander and ramble as and where my feet may take me, will camp in wild and out of the way spots, leaving no trace of my passing and defy any who may challenge me.

Scuppered

Well, the best laid plans etc,as Rabbie Burns would say. Originally I had plans for an extended trip over July; however, after another trip to see the surgeon those have been scrapped. basically I have to go back in to hospital for yet another fairly minor op next Monday. However, I have been warned that for three or four weeks afterwards things can get rather unpleasant. So thus, July is a no go month for getting away. Hopefully I may get a few days in August, it will be a case of wait and see. Provisionally I did consider a trip this week but with the weather non too good I decided against it.

Night on a bare plateau

upper glen Feshie

Lochan nam Bo

Hare

hare, is there somewhere

above river Eidart

view from camp, river Eidart

cloud inversion

promise of a hot day

sunrise

sunrise

plateau weather

showers

high level camp

mist on the plateau

A stony place

Cairngorm plateau

Looking toward Braeriach

Looking down from Sgor Gaoith

Glen Mharcaidh

Thursday 18th June. Camped GR OS explorer map 403 884043, roughly.

Well, what a day, managed to excel myself totally. After the normal night run up and getting off at Aviemore feeling a Little green around the gills; nipped in to the public loo and did a quick change in to my hill going gear. Needing fluids, it was a case of a cup of coffee and a scone, which was a rip off at some £4. Picked up a few nibbles in Tesco and headed out. Before I started I had been feeling sick and had a pounding headache; just to cap things off an on going bladder problem also flared up. Walked up to Inverdruie in a very heavy rain squall which eased for a short time as I entered the woods. Managed to be sick as I headed over to Loch an Eilein and then got severe stomach cramps as well. By the time I reached the tiny Inshriach bothy I had had to dive in to the woods twice; not a pleasant or easy experience in waterproofs. Took some medication at the bothy and downed plenty of fluids and carried on. My goal was upper Glen Mharcaidh. In theory there is a path all the way up, however, when I have attempted it before I find the first and upper sections but never the bit that cuts around the lower rough ground. This was the case once more and I pushed on more or less direct through thick heather, occasionally following meandering deer tracks and avoiding the worst of the boggy bits. Once up by the bridge I kept to the left hand path knowing of a spot that would give me enough space to camp just before the last of the trees. However, that plan was dashed when I found the spot was now dominated by large a fallen tree. There is little in the way of places to camp on that side of the glen. Finally, needing to stop and knowing that the path is not that often used I pitched on a more or less level, grassy spot right on the path itself. Being tired it will suffice for the night, I am sure no one will fall over me! As yet it is steadily raining; although not the heavy, driving squalls experienced earlier and I am much wearied.

Friday 19th June. Same map. GR 886037.

Today turned out to be a mixed sort of day. The overnight rain eased off early this morning. It was not the earliest of starts but I was in no rush. The ongoing path can be a tad indistinct in one or two places. There are two that head off up the hill, the one that continues on across the hill needs a careful eye kept on it. There is in fact a couple of paths and the lower of the two leads in to bog which I found out the first time I ever came this way. The path proper is in fact higher up the hill. Coming across one of the burns which was fairly high with all the earlier rain, I managed to slip and fall in. No injuries except for scrapes and bruises; however, I did lose my glasses, fortunately I carry spares. Higher up I crossed over to join the other path which leads up to the bealach below Meall Buidhe. Wandered up towards the top but showers of sleet and hail harried me and rather than press on I turned back although there are a few spots to camp once over the hill and down to the next bealach. However, having run out of steam and feeling a little chilly my footsteps led me back down the hill. There is place by the remains of the old hut just below the bealach that offers a nice spot but water is only available further down the hill. Another spot a bit lower is by a small pool, however the area is tiny and the ground was saturated. Following the other, more defined path, I came down lower to the spot where I am now camped. A lovely place for a wild camp with a few old pine trees for company; who could ask for more? The wind has picked up a bit and is driving showers from the west before it. To be honest I am a little concerned, much of last night was spent popping in out of the tent answering the call of nature; tedious and annoying. As yet the problem continues despite of the fact that I am continually drinking water, which is a necessity.

Saturday 20th June. Same place.

woke early to the gentle patter of light rain on the tent; when I nipped out thick, dark blue/black clouds where covering the tops. It was an easy call really and I snuggled back down in the sleeping bag deciding to rest up for a day. Most of the day was spent pottering. By early afternoon the sun had come out and a breeze was keeping the midges at bay. It was an opportunity to get things dry as well; even my boots are almost dry, yeeha!

Sunday. 21stJune. Same map, camped GR 910959.

A much better day, what little cloud there was brushed only the highest tops. The early hours of the morning had been chilly enough for me to throw my jacket over the sleeping bag. There was promise of a good day though and I was eager to be on my way. One more following the path up to Meall Buidhe the initial pull up the path up was warm enough to see me walking in just my light thermal base layer. This time I carried on over the two bare, rocky tops, dropped to the bealach and then climbed directly up to the main ridge. That was a fairly hard push up and I took it slow. One on the ridge though, it is an easy stroll up to Sgor Gaoith with spectacular views down into Loch Eanaich.. There is little to hinder the wind on the high tops and it sweeps across unchecked, making things feel distinctly chilly. My maternity smock in the guise of light windproof was rapidly donned. Lunch was a hurried affair, huddled low behind a small rock for a smidgen of shelter. Passing over Carn Ban Mor, I barely paused, the top has little to offer as such, a cairn and a vista of rock. Although still quite early, my intention was not to camp late, having it in mind to take things fairly easy. Also, the plateau is not a place to be hurried through, it needs to savoured and explored, time is required to get the full flavour of these high places. Showers of rain, wet enough to warrant the waterproofs, scudded across in the afternoon. Coming down to the track I swung left and followed it to its end and then wandered a bit further up the hill. Finding a pleasant little spot with panoramic views and a busy, bustling burn what more could a body ask for?

Monday 22nd June. Camped.same map, GR 908929

As normal I woke early and had to nip out which was chilly and damp; Thick cloud and drizzle swirled around the tent. Took the hill walkers normal and standard procedure of making a brew and returning to the sleeping bag for another hour's doze. Gradually the clag lifted, originally I had been considering nipping over to Beinn Bhrottain, but I dithered a bit and eventually decided on an easier option. Mullach Clach a Bhlair was a Munro that I had never bothered with before and so I opted for a wander in that direction. Walked over to a small top only marked as 937 on the map and then back to the track for a short spell and then back on to the moss. Keeping to a general direction and avoiding the boggy bits and gullies where possible I fetched up on Mullach Clach a Bhlair. It was an uninspiring little lump although I suppose for the ardent Munro bagger it must be one of the easiest. Heading easterly and generally following the line of the track I meandered over Diollaid Coire Eindert and back across a cairn only marked as such on the map and a spot height of 974. On the plateau height has little significance as such; it is a wide open place riven in places by deep gullies and corries. Bands of thick clouds had been moving across all day; occasionally they had brought a smattering of rain but had posed no real problem. Coming over to Cluas na Creige I found the most awesome place for a wild camp. Rain was falling heavy enough for me to need the waterproofs as I put the tent up, but I did not care, the views where stunning , the pitch was comfy and I was content to laze in the front of the tent in peace and quiet. The showers that where passing through where not heavy driving rain and it was fine to leave the whole of the front of the tent open. One thing that strikes me and that is the clarity of the water, normally the water from burns up on the hill is often brown with peat, high up here though there is no peat and the water filters through the granite leaving it clear.

Tuesday June 24th. Ruig Aiteachain Bothy in upper Glen Feshie.

Something woke me during the night, it took a moment to realise what had made me wake with a start. Silence, utter quietude, there was not a sound accept for the pounding of my own heartbeat. No deer talk, no wind or breeze, no tinkling of water, absolutely nothing and I lay still hardly daring to breath; it may sound strange but there was something that was near deafening in that silence, it almost spooked me and I lay still rather awestruck and feeling quite emotional, eventually I drifted back in to sleep.When I woke again, the early dawn light was just brushing the eastern horizon and it was something special to to lay in the sleeping bag with the whole of the tent wide open and watch the birth of a new day. Reaching for the camera I attempted to photo the fiery sunrise as the sun rose framed beautifully by two tops over towards Cairn Toul; photos though do very little justice to the beauty of that moment. A cloud inversion had me reaching for the camera yet again. Unable to settle back to sleep, I stretched out in front of the tent for a mug of tea and an early breakfast. One advantage of being up high is that it appears to be above the midge line. There was a strong temptation to remain up there for another night, however, it would entail a long push out tomorrow. Taking my time I wandered around the rocks of Cluas na Creige, gazing down at the river Eidart far below; even from up high the noise of the river was quite audible. Packing up I walked around the rim of Coire Mharconaich, a great scoop out of the hillside. Went as far as Cnap nan Laogh and then turned west once more. Deer grazed all around, moving off in a that brown, fluid, flowing movement that deer have when on the move. Coming by a small rocky outcrop, I was content to sit down for a while and just gaze about me. Yet another group of hinds had seen me, the matriarch giving her warning bark; heads came up, wary, however, as I settled back against a rock they cautiously began grazing once more, content to allow me to remain close by. Although the day was still quite early, already a heat haze was shimmering off the ground; it was obvious that the day was going to be hot. The chink of stones being disturbed on the other side of the rocks alerted me to the presence of something. Freezing, I tried to just swivel my head to see what it was, at the same moment a hind peered around the corner. She gave a startled bark as our eyes met and then sprang away, pausing for a moment to look back at me. Sitting absolutely still I waited to see what she would do. Obviously curious, she took a few tentative steps back toward me and then ambled off. Surprisingly the group of deer close by had observed this interchange but remained unfazed. With the heat of the day steadily building I knew I had to move on and reluctantly got to my feet and once more made my way across the plateau. There is no heather up in those regions, only mosses, tundra and rock. Ptarmigan where numerous , scuttling off whenever I approached too close; their long necks give them an almost reptilian look. Large numbers of dotterel where present too and snow buntings; very trusting busy hopping around my feet when I stopped for a quick break. Coming back over Bhlair I headed down over Druim nam Bo. A slight movement by a cairn caught my eye, a rock with pointy ears? It was a hare and I was surprised to to see how close it allowed me to approach. Black grouse startled me as they exploded from almost under my feet; taking off with their mad cackling and cries of 'go back, go back', crazy birds. The surrounding scenery was stunning but by the time I reached Lochan nam Bo I was feeling a tad dwam and was glad to rest for a few moments and replenish much needed water. A lovely spot for a wild camp, something I have filed away in the back of my mind. According to the map there is a regular stalkers path a little further down. My advice would be to forget it and stick to a track made by the estate's all terrain buggies. The zig zags where obscure in places and once in the trees it was a wearisome task attempting to find the faint semblance of any path. It was still quite early in the afternoon when I reached the bothy but I was glad to stop. Wandering over to the river, I slipped my boots off and still dressed in shorts and top, sat down in the cool water; the heat of the sun soon had me dry again.The upper glen is showing signs of good regeneration many young trees, especially Scots pine and juniper are much in evidence. Bird life is much more prominent, crested tit, wrens, finches and so on. Bumble bees droned their way from plant to plant, ants scurried in frenetic haste among the fallen needles. There was no one else in the bothy, my worry was that it may have been taken over by one of the many groups that frequent the area. My preference would have been for the tent but because I am heading out in the morning I opted for the bothy for convenience.

Wednesday 25th June.

Woke this morning to some thick cloud drifting over the tops but it was still warm. Someone had come in late yesterday evening and had slept in the other room. Sleep had been difficult for me, I had felt shut in by the bothy and the hard platform was not that comfortable. Managed to make a pint of tea and cook a bit of porridge on the last of the gas, also made sure I drank a couple pints of water before starting out. It was a case of having to head for Aviemore to catch the night bus back south. As I headed down the glen the cloud cleared and it was obvious the day was going to become a hot one. With a good few miles to cover and the heat it was a case of picking the simplest route. Thus I headed down toward Achlean and continued on toward Feshie Bridge before heading off through the forestry to Loch Gamhna. The heat was relentless and there was little shade from it on my route. Wherever possible I continually topped up my water supply and kept drinking. Stopping for a break on the way under a nice shady tree, I found that a kit kat I had been carrying had totally melted. Do not carry chocolate in hot weather, it is messy, very. By the time I was over by Loch an Eilein I was running on auto pilot metronome like, placing one foot in front of the other and keeping on the move. Nipping in to the visitor centre at Inverdruie for a couple of cold drinks,tired, sweaty and a tad dishevelled, I overheard a small girl saying to her mum, "Wow mummy, look at that lady, she looks like a really wild woman!" Yep, that is me, mad, bad and dangerous. It was noticeable as I walked in to Aviemore that the tarmac on the road was very soft from the heat. The day had not been the easiest with a distance covered of some fifteen miles. A few more cold drinks in Aviemore and deep joy, the shower in the public loo was open. Utter bliss, a refreshing shower and clean clothes to put on. Once I had recovered a bit I wandered in to the local chippie for fish and chips. Noticing someone buying a a glass of something very cold looking I asked the chap serving me, "What is that?" He grinned, "Ice crush ma'am." So I asked him for one. "Blue or red?" "Oh I'll have one of each please." it is now the long haul back south.

Gear carried. Osprey Atmos 50 ltre. Tent Golite Shangri 1 and inner nest and tent pegs. Western mountaineering light sleeping bag and a four and half ounce Bozeman bivi bag.. Thermarest prolite three. trekking poles Varga gas stove and primus windshield. One 350 gas cylinder, it was enough, just. Food for six days, heat in the bag main meals. Some where awful, especially a chicken and veg mix. Tea bags, powdered milk, drinking chocolate sachets and cup a soups, porridge mix, mainly the sachet type, all thrown in to one poly bag, a spoon and pot grab. A one pint titanium mug which I used as my main mug for boiling water in, a titanium dish for cooking porridge and occasionally washing in. Matches and in my emergency kit I carry a striker in case the matches get damp. Nibbles, kit kats, a block of cheese, I should have grabbed some pitta bread but for reasons unknown I picked up tortilla wraps, they are non too good uncooked. Water, picked up when I stopped for the day was in a 3ltre ortleb water bag. Slightly heavier than the platty but have a couple of them leak I prefer the ruggedness of the ortleb. First aid kit and small emergency kit, which includes the striker and 2 tampons which make excellent fire starters, saftey pins, button compass and some basic sewing stuff and duct tape and spare dyneema cord. Clothing wise, I travel in summer in a very light travel skirt, for on the hill I have an old pair of craghoppers very trousers, they are now becoming a little frayed at the edges and travel stained. Also carried are my shorts. A very light smartwool t shirt, a tank top and light t shirt for travelling back in. Spare pair of socks and light travel shoes, boots where my old scarpa midis, they need to be replaced but it a question of cost, smart wool socks on my feet. 2 sets of underwear, in winter I use a couple of sports bras but find them too warm in summer. This time I used 2 Sloggi very light, non wired bras. Undies, 2 pairs of light Rohans, easy to rinse out and rapidly drying. Wash kit and another kit of personal bits I need to carry, which, because I need to spend the best part of an hour doing nothing, warrants carrying a book. Camera, Nikon Coolpix, I want to upgrade but it is cost. Map, compass and whistle, knife, my old Opinel, slightly heavier than some but it has travelled many miles with me over the years. jacket, a paramo soft shell reversible,a Montane wind shirt which I liken to a maternity top, it is too big for me but tucks in nicely under the hip belt, also carried a light mountain Hardware fleece waistcoat, not really needed. Waterproofs, Berghaus paclite trousers, excellent, they have been much used and abused, Rab Neutrino jacket, and ankle gaiters to keep trouser bottoms from the mud etc. Buff and sun hat. Spare gloves and glasses, petzel head torch.Small toilet kit, trowel, plastic, cut down, hand gel, paper and lighter All the usual assortment of poli bags, essential equipment. An intial overall weight of roughly 27/28lb, 11 kilo

tinkering

With medical problems, hospital appointments etc, time on the hill has been a little bit absent. Thus out of sheer boredom I have been rummaging through kit, sorting out, cleaning and ear marking a couple of bits to pass on to some lucky person.

One of the odd bits of my variety of kit are a couple of antique stoves. Petrol ones, the Optimus one third of a pint jobby is an old favourite. Ok, I know I am showing my age but at one time small petrol and paraffin stoves where de rigour for all serious hill going folk. The paraffin stoves needed priming, the fuel got everywhere and stank and could be a faff. The upside was that they where safe to use; or at least, safer, they did flare up and singed eyebrows at least where not too uncommon The petrol, at least the Optimus models, where a lot simpler to use, fill the tank, open the valve and after a few splutters the beast began to roar. petrol is a volatile liquid though, although I never had any problems stories abounded of folk who had stoves blow up. Getting fuel could be interesting. Nowadays it may prove difficult to walk in to a garage and buy a pint of petrol. However, at one time it was quite normal and I have done it a few times. The other stove is an oddity and not something I have used much. It goes by the name of Stesco, (no, not Tesco,) it is an American make and is another petrol burner. Anyway, I have had them out on the draining board and fired them both up and they still work just as efficiently as ever. Maybe I will start collecting a few of these beasts; as it is, I am thinking of adding a paraffin one to the collection. Anyone out there who has any old stoves, I would be interested.