Bus Pack Blair Atholl to Aviemore

 

‘What would you like for your birthday Colin?’

‘Can we walk from Blair Atholl to Aviemore through the Lairig Ghru?’

‘Of course we can.’

That’s how it started. Next planning. Walking route, bus times, equipment and all important, food.

We booked our bus tickets. Stirling – Blair Atholl with a change at Perth Broxden Park & Ride. What we didn’t know was that the bus drivers change shift at Perth Bus Station and the stop in Blair Atholl is request only. When the bus passed by our stop we flew down the aisle to the driver.

‘We wanted off at Blair Atholl.’

‘Nobody told me,’ he grumped, obviously thinking we were two old codgers out for a day trip.

By this time we were well out of the town. He pulled over, we stepped out onto an overgrown verge, the luggage compartment struggled to open against over-hanging hawthorn branches, but when the driver saw our heavy backpacks he was overly apologetic. We had booked tickets after all, did he not check his bookings?

So, our long walk began with an extension of having to walk along a verge along a busy road back into Blair Atholl.

It had been pouring rain when we left Stirling but that had reduced to a drizzle. We stopped under shelter, donned waterproofs, unravelled our walking poles and gobbled some homemade flapjack. And we were off.

The walk would take three days.

The start point 

Day One – Blair Atholl to Falls of Tarf, 20 km

We picked up the Glen Tilt track, following the River Tilt through woods. I mentally gave myself some markers on the map to aim for – Marble Lodge 10km, Forest Lodge 15km. I knew our planned camp spot was Falls of Tarf.

The good track meant hardly any deviation in my walking stride, and this meant that very soon my shoulders burned under the weight of the rucksack. I tried putting my pole horizontally behind my back and hoicking the bag up, that worked for a bit. After passing my first two markers and then out of the shelter of the trees, the glen seemed to stretch forever. I had no real idea how long I had to endure the shoulder pain before our camping spot. I looked at my map to pick out some features. How could we have been walking for over five hours?

First night camping spot beside The Tilt

And then I spotted what looked like the entrance to a glen - that must be Glen Tarf. Up ahead I saw Colin had stopped. Thank goodness, this must be the campsite. When I reach him he pointed up the path.

‘The Falls of Tarf is a kilometre, the ground could be too steep there to camp so the best camping spot is about the same distance again.’

I looked at where he had stopped. A flat piece of land beside the river. The evening was dry but dark clouds gathered in the south. We would have rain soon.

‘What’s wrong with here?’ I asked. He looked confused.

‘But we haven’t reached the Falls of Tarf.’

‘Does it matter? We can see it.’ By this time I had ditched my rucksack and the relief was immediate. I pointed to the rain clouds. The argument went on a few more minutes but he knew he was beat. ‘Come on let’s get the tent up before the rain comes,’ I said.

And we had just managed to get the tent pitched and the first brew on when the rain arrived. As did another pair of walkers who looks just as beat as I was.

We ate our cup-a-soups and Jamie Chickpea Curry with added kabanos inside the tent, with the rain battering down. We were soon cosy and shared some port to toast the end of our first day.

Falls of Tarf

Day Two - Falls of Tarf to Lairig Ghru (Colin’s Birthday) 20km

Although the camp spot was good, it was beside the path and wasn’t easy to find a decent toilet spot. I had to climb a good way up the hill to be sure to be concealed. Even at that I was looking down upon two other tents (perhaps the couple we saw and another late arrival).

The rain had stopped, and the glen was fresh and sweet. Breakfast was instant porridge mixed with dried milk and cranberries washed down with an instant cappuccino.

I had been working this last year or so to reduce my single use plastic down to a minimum. This was the first backpack where I had been conscious of how much rubbish we take into (and out of) the hills. But a balance had to be struck between low waste and low weight. It’s a tricky one. The Jamie pouches were a left over from a previous trip but I hoped everything else could be recycled or burned.

Bridge over the Tarf

My body had recovered well, and I took extra care to adjust my straps so the bag would sit on my hips rather than my shoulders. We were soon at the Falls where an impressive Victorian footbridge (the kind found all over Deeside) crossed below the falls. There was a little flat piece of land there so we could have camped.

After that the path narrowed to a small windy footpath and that shift of weight distribution helped my shoulders. We also agreed we needed more breaks during the day.

It is normally at this point writers start talking about the wildflowers they see, of birds swooping joyously, butterflies flitting about. I need to own up. I noted none of these things. The only creatures I remember seeing were slugs, lots and lots of shiny black slugs crawling along the same path I trod. Although there were probably skylarks – they had been my walking soundtrack all season so far. (Colin now assures me there were skylarks, also curlews and heron)

Lonely Bynack Lodge

Again, I gave myself more markers – the ruin of Bynack Lodge, the Geldie Burn, which is quite wide but I didn’t have a problem crossing. And White Bridge, the halfway point of the whole walk – hurray! We stopped there for a fully homemade lunch of rye bread, bean pate, date bars, fruit cake and flapjacks carried in brown paper bags.

Birthday boy eating homemade trail food

I had been to White Bridge before from the Linn of Dee direction. It is a busy junction, a crisscross of Cairngorm paths and from there our route became busier with walkers and mountain bikers. It was fun to look at the landscape again and to spot all the hills we had climbed here in the past.

White Bridge

We had 10km before our planned stop, a camp at the Courour Bothy in the Lairig Ghru. We heard it had a new toilet installed, but one of the walkers we met told us the toilet was locked (possibly due to Covid restrictions). We met an American man who told us he was walking to Braemar. As we approached the bothy we saw someone darting about outside, there were two other walkers approaching from the north and a woman with blue hair who was also headed that way. She told us she was walking to the east coast before checking in at Montrose, it was a funny thing to tell us, and I thought nothing more about it until next day. The bothy looked busy, so we decided to keep going a bit longer.

Into the Lairig Ghru - Just a little bit further

The Lairig Ghru is a high pass in the Cairngorm Mountains. Seen from afar it looks like a gash scooped out of the Cairngorm Plateau. Close up it is an impressive glen with high mountains on either side. The path to Aviemore climbs up to a height of 800m. That was for day three. First, we searched for a flat piece of land to pitch on, which was not easy; on either side of the path the glen floor was carpeted in thick heather and boulders. Eventually about two kilometres from the bothy we scrambled over rough ground to the riverside and struggled to pitch on a scrappy triangle of rough grass. The wind was whipping up. Storm clouds seemed to come out of nowhere and we just pulled all our gear into the tiny tent before the full onslaught began. It was at this point I realised we were camped over 600m, the highest point this small mountain tent had been so far. Thankfully dinner was cup-a-soup and couscous, so we only needed to boil water inside the porch. But the wind was fearsome, and we just managed our meal before having to weld ourselves to the tent sides to prevent them flattening. The wind direction changed, and we were being hit side-on – not good. After about an hour of praying the tent poles wouldn’t snap, I suggested we move the tent direction. This required donning full waterproofs again and taking out nearly all the pegs, but mindful that in this gale, the whole tent could be whipped away. But we managed it and although we now lay slightly on a slope, the tent felt more secure. At last we a little calm and enjoyed a wee dram to toast Colin’s birthday.

Birthday toast - calm before more storms

But as light disappeared the wind changed direction again. As I was falling asleep the roof flattened over my face. The poles were in jeopardy again. We both sat up in our sleeping bags to hold the walls. For hours I was dropping to sleep sitting upright, then buffeted awake as gust after gust hurled itself at us. I kept telling myself it couldn’t last but it did. At one point we considered ditching the tent and walking in torrential rain back the two kilometres to the bothy, but we would lose the tent for sure. The poles still held and so did we.

When the wind changed again and gave us short reprieve, I must have slept but as soon as it was light, we grabbed a quick breakfast and carefully packed up.

 

Day 3 Lairig Ghru to Aviemore 20km

The rain had stopped, the sun shone and although the wind was still fierce, at least it was on our backs propelling us along the path. This last section of our walk was also 20km in distance, but we had to climb over the high pass which is famous for being an ankle-twisting boulder field. But I didn’t care, I was near the end with my beer goggles on and glad to be moving. We soon encountered other walkers who struggled against the wind. As we stopped for a break at the Pools of Dee a group of four walkers came up from the opposite direction. They were walking The Great Outdoors Challenge, a coast-to-coast walk held each year, starting somewhere on the west coast and finishing somewhere near Montrose. This explained blue-haired woman’s comments about checking in and why the bothy seemed so busy.

Into Rothiemurchus forest with Aviemore in the distance

We left them to struggle on against the wind as we set off towards Rothiemurchus Forest. Just before entering the forest, I had my first glimpse of Aviemore and realised we still had 10km to walk. But the sun still shone, and we had eaten most of our food, so my pack felt a little lighter.

Rothiemurchus is a remnant of the ancient Caledonian Forest and a wonderful place to explore. We had been there many times before and it felt good to be back. The excellent path network means it is popular for all recreational use and we encountered many runners, mountain bikers, and dawdlers. When we stopped for lunch I at last noticed birds singing. The rye bread sandwiches we’d carried for three days were a crumbling mess so I rewarded the birds by scattering the crumbs on the ground and hoped they wouldn’t object too much to the garlic in the bean spread. At the campsite boundary I began to hear traffic from the main road, but it seemed ages before we hit it. When we reached the main road, I was fooled into thinking I was almost finished. A sign announced 1 ½ miles to Aviemore. It was the longest 1 ½ miles I’ve ever walked.

Our end point was the Old Bridge Inn where we had a room booked in the bunkhouse. We finished walking at 3.00pm and couldn’t check into the room till 4.00pm. There was only one thing to do. Within minutes of dumping my bag I was sipping a pint of IPA and munching on salty crisps, the boots kicked well under the table. Bliss.

Endgame - #earnedourbeer

The relief of getting into our room was short lived. Despite smoking being banned, the last occupant had been smoking so we had to wait for the staff to move us to another room. At last after a glorious hot shower, we hit the high spots of Aviemore.

I’ve been to Aviemore hundreds of times, and I normally find it a culinary disappointment. The Old Bridge Inn is the best eatery but is normally fully booked. Covid and Brexit hasn’t helped with many cafes and restaurants still closed. We had an unspectacular meal at one of the cafes on the main street and went back to the Inn for a celebratory drink before bed.

 

Day Four - Aviemore to Home

The big breakfast we devoured at The Coffee Corner more than made up for the meal of night before. The sun was blazing in the cloud-free sky and it was hard to believe we’d braved that storm only hours before. It was relaxing sitting on the wall at the bus stop, people-watching.

When the bus arrived, the female driver (Karen) made sure everyone was booked and that luggage was stowed in the right place. It was a pleasant trip down to Perth where we changed to the Stirling bus.

We thought we were home and dry until the bus sailed down the motorway and past the Stirling turn off. Not again! Surely, we weren’t going to be dumped off at the side of the M9? Other passengers raised the alarm, and the driver took the next exit, apologising as we disembarked.

The last hurdle was the No 52 to our home where the driver failed to heed the bell and yet again, we had to make a dash for the door to him to stop before he passed our stop.

Colin was happy with his birthday trip. It was a real adventure both on the ground and on the buses.

Homeward bound

Corbett Bashing in Knoydart

 Knoydart, a peninsula in the North West Highlands just across the water from Skye, is said to be the last wilderness in Scotland. There is no road into Knoydart and its centre of population, Inverie is reached by either a 30minute boat trip from Malliag or a walk of thirty kilometres from Kinloch Hourn. It is this inaccessibility that makes Knoydart special.

I first visited there in 1996 with a group of hillwalkers. For serious walkers this is a must do trip because there are three Munros (hills over 914m) and three Corbetts (hills over 762m) in Knoydart.  On that first trip I climbed all three Munros and two Corbetts, deliberately leaving one unclimbed because I wanted a reason to return.

When our friend, Ian, asked if Colin and I wanted to help him climb the three Knoydart Corbetts I jumped at the chance. We are both in training for another big trip. We left home on Tuesday evening and drove to Crianlarich where our mountaineering club own a cottage. We grabbed a meal in the nearby Ben More before belting back to the cottage in a torrential rain storm. Next morning was clear and the roads quiet so we arrived in Mallaig in plenty time for the 10.30am ferry. Unfortunately parking proved difficult in this bustling town and we ended up sprinting for the boat. The training had started early.

Inverie Pier

The boat ride takes only 30 minutes but when the boat drops you on the Inverie pier it feels like the end of the world.

Knoydart was part of a community buy out in 1999 and is managed by the Knoydart Foundation. Inverie is a one street village with one pub, the Foundation office and shop and a post office. As we walked the couple of kilometres to the beach campsite I noticed Inverie seemed more prosperous than the last time I visited. The Foundation is doing a good job

The campsite, on Long Beach, is basic with only a tap, a composting toilet and a bothy type shed that holds all manner of emergency supplies – the location is stunning with just enough sea breeze to keep midgies at bay.

Camp Knoydart

We quickly pitched our tents and headed up our first hill. Sgurr Coire Choinnichean (796m) sits above Inverie, the normal route is from just behind the pub but for some reason Ian’s planned route took us straight up from the campsite. A steep slope covered with thick vegetation and neck high bracken reminded me why I hate climbing Corbetts (most are without paths and are often over rough ground). This one beat the lot. I uttered many expletives on the ascent. I was miserable, especially due to the fact I’d climbed this hill before by a better route. When we eventually joined a path the going got measurably easier. 

Coming out of the mist

The summit is along a ridge which should have given us panorama views of the surrounding area but sat in thick fog throughout our climb. We took the main route back using a good path and were rewarded with good sea views as soon as we dropped from the ridge.

Views at last

The day had been warm and on the way down I fantasised about a cold pint at the pub, but was disappointed to find it's closed on a Wednesday. Thankfully the Foundation have built a wooden shed across from their shop, which is also an off licence, and many people were enjoying a drink in the sun by the shed. We soon joined in and sat on the beach sipping local ale while trying to brush the deer ticks off our trousers.  We cooked our camp food in the campsite bothy and turned in before it was fully dark.

I got up early to meet the first boat. My friend Janette was joining us and needed help with all her gear. We only hung around long enough for Janette to pitch her tent before we all headed off for the second Corbett, Beinn Bhuidhe (855m) and the hill I resisted climbing all those years ago. This was our best weather day and we made full use of that by planning to climb the full length of the 8km undulating ridge. We walked up the pleasant Gleann Meadail and climbed on reasonable ground to the ridge. 

On the Beinn Bhuidhe ridge look towards Eigg and Rum

Looking east we could see the cragginess of the Glendessary hills, and walking along the ridge into the sun and towards the sea the views were of the islands of Eigg and Rum but on closer inspection we found we could see as far west as the Outer Hebrides and south as far as Jura. The ridge was spectacular, a route not to be missed. The descent down to the campsite found us again on rough ground but somehow, at the end of the walk, it didn’t seem so bad.

After a quick change we walked to the village. This time we ate in the pub. The beer was good and the moules frites I had was delicious but expensive for such a dish.

The wind picked up in the night and heavy gusts hammered the tents so sleep was disturbed. Rain was forecast for our last walking day but it was the wind causing the problem. Janette and I planned to climb the Munro Ladhar Bheinn and Colin and Ian were going for their last Knoydart Corbett, Beinn na Caillich (785m) so we all set off on the same track that led north west out of the village. It rained on and off but the wind wasn’t letting up and I grew concerned as we got nearer the hill. We stopped for a soggy lunch at a ruin where our paths would part. Janette and I decided not to risk the Munro, the wind was strong and gusting and we knew it would be impossible to reach the summit. Colin and Ian kept going.

Red Deer grazing 

We were glad to get back to the village and have a coffee and scone in the Pottery Café. Mhairi, Ian’s wife, came over on the afternoon boat and we were all glad when the boys arrived back, battered but successful despite having to crawl the last part to the summit.

Dinner was more camp food and an interesting chat in the bothy with a London girl who was also camping.  A couple of the longer term campers lit a fire and many locals joined them for a Friday night party. We were all too tired to join in so left them to it. We had an early boat to catch.

The wind had died by morning and the midgies took full advantage of that. Our tents were packed up through the veil of midge nets. We left Knoydart in sunshine and I was envious of the visitors arriving off the boat we were boarding.

It was glorious to get home to a hot bath and the chance to remove the ticks I had picked up. The company was great and the hillwalking, although tough, was satisfying.

I will definitely go back.

12 Bus Buspack to Orkney Part Two

St Magnus Cathedral sits slap bang in the middle of Kirkwall so is useful for using as a landmark to help navigate around the narrow streets. It was founded in 1138 by the Viking Earl Rognvald in honour of his uncle St Magnus. It is a regal structure built of red and yellow sandstone and a perfect setting for a folk concert. I booked the tickets late for Lau (Orkney word meaning natural light) so we were in the restricted view area – inside the high ceiling is supported by many stone pillars so the of restricted view is quite large. We joined the queue early and were lucky enough to find seats near the front.

St Magnus Cathedral

We have seen Lau before (guitar, fiddle and accordion), also their guitarist Kris Drever at Celtic Connections. We thought we knew what we were letting ourselves in for – we were wrong. Lau played their new album in the second half and introduced the audience to a new contraption called Morag, a sort of homemade gizmo that produced the weirdest sounds. At one point all three band members were gathered round Morag adding their own twist to their instruments – they looked like three mad scientists. At first I thought ‘oh no’ but then the sound grew on me. Traditional acoustic sounds crescendoed in waves, brewing to full strength before taming and reducing. It was innovative and fresh. The encore was the excellent song Ghosts which sent shivers down my spin.

The Old Library

Next day was rainy. We had a lazy start and made our way back to The Old Library for brunch with Helene and Sandy, two friends from Glasgow who were also visiting for the festival. While we chatted I enjoyed a delicious smashed avocado and poached egg and lots of fresh brewed coffee. Helene and Sandy had tickets for an afternoon event in Stromness while we had tickets for an event in St Andrews.

When I booked the tickets I didn’t realise that the venue was outside of Kirkwall, then when we arrived in Orkney we discovered there were no buses to there on a Sunday. We had no choice but to hire a taxi.

St Andrews is a little community twelve miles east of Kirkwall and the home to Sheila Fleet Jewellery who sponsored the concert. The village hall was a great venue with plenty of seats and not too noisy with the rain battering down on the roof.

First on stage was Benedict Morris (fiddle) with PabloLafuente (guitar) and Conal McDonagh (pipes and whistle). These three young men produced a sound that was quick, slick and very polished. Benedict appeared to be a reluctant singer but his voice is excellent and I hope they keep the song in their set.  Next up was Heisk an all-female sparkly six piece and although I enjoyed them they weren’t as slick as the previous act. Next on the bill was Irish singer Cara Dillon who appeared with husband Sam Lakeman and a mandolin player. Again we have seen them perform before and I had forgotten what an engaging performer Cara Dillon is. I particularly loved her own composition, The Leaving Song.

Things were running a bit late and our return taxi had arrived early but we hung on and watched most of Kinnaris Quintet before heading back.

Sparkly Heisk

The rain was torrential when we left St Andrews so we had the driver drop us off at the Bothy Bar. We grabbed a quick drink before running round to our dinner reservation at Helgi’s, the must visit restaurant in Kirkwall. We both had burgers and chips and it was good but not outstanding so I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. I topped off my Orkeny gastronomy with one scoop of Orkney vanilla ice cream, a fitting end to the trip.

We had an early rise and pack up to catch the 7.00am bus to St Margaret’s Hope. I’m glad we planned to do this round trip because the bus ride allowed us to see the southern part of the islands; to cross the Churchill barriers and pass the Italian Chapel.

Leaving Orkney

The Pentland Ferries boat to Gills Bay is small but efficient – even before we left port we were munching sausage on a roll and coffee. Most of the travellers seemed to be workers heading for a week’s work on the mainland. The crossing was fair with good views back to Orkney. Number 77 bus picked us up shortly after disembarking and dropped us at Wick were we had a short wait for the X99 to Inverness. Unlike the trip up from Inverness, the weather was good so the journey was pleasant. Unfortunately we couldn’t get on two fully booked Megabuses so had two hours to hang about in Inverness. We reached Perth at 6.00pm and had another hour wait for the M8 to Stirling, but that gave Colin the chance to nip down to the nearby Spar and buy a tin of beans.

As we approached Stirling the rain started again but we weren’t too worried, we were almost home. We assumed there would be a Unilink waiting but didn’t know that at that time of night the University buses cut the service back so we had a further delay in Stirling.

We arrived home at 8.30pm fourteen hours after leaving the campsite in Kirkwall. The pile of waiting mail and discarded rucksacks were ignored until we’d eaten our beans on toast and congratulated ourselves on a successful mini adventure.

12 Bus Buspack to Orkney Part One

12 buses, 2 ferries, 2 campsites,1 haircut,  2 concerts, 3 catch-up with friends, 4 library visits, 1 return taxi ride, many ancient sites, a lost water bottle and a new pair of Sheila Fleet earrings.

Tickets

 These are some of the numbers from our latest bus packing trip to Orkney.  Why Orkney?  I thought it would be fun to see how far we could reach in a day with our bus passes.  We had one free weekend in the calendar and I was delighted to find out it coincided with the Orkney Folk festival.

We planned the travel through Traveline Scotland but have now discovered that is not always the best way. The most important lesson we learned was to book the Perth/Inverness/Perth Megabus well in advance. This proved to be a mega busy route.

And we are off!

We left our home in Stirling at about 9.30am last Wednesday morning, jumped on a local bus then caught the Citylink to Perth which takes about 30 minutes. The bus had come from Glasgow and was busy. The woman in the seat behind had an annoying whiny voice which was bearable until we reached Dunblane (ten minutes out of Stirling) when she proceeded to wail on and on about the tragedy that happened in 1996 as if she had some involvement and had exclusive rights to sympathy. I tried to shut her out but couldn’t and was glad when her travelling companion took over the monologue.

Still not half way

We had a good change over to the Inverness megabus and settled back for the relaxing ride. I had made a picnic so we munched while watching the A9 scenery whizz by. I was surprised when the attendant offered us cake and a drink but it was most welcome. Four hours after we left home we reached Inverness bus station. We were still not half way there.

'Driving the bus'

We had left Stirling in sunshine but the clouds darkened the further north we travelled. The next stage of the journey, Inverness to Scrabster, was long but I knew the scenery would be magnificent. It was a double decker and, like a kid, I jumped in the front seat upstairs pretending to be the bus driver, but it was a bumpy rollercoaster ride and maybe not the best seat. 

When it rained the windows steamed up and it grew cold. 

We were both relieved to reach Scrabster and the warm MV Hamnavoe bar for the last leg of our journey.

A welcome Orkney Ale on the ferry

We disembarked in Stromness at 8.30pm, eleven hours after we left home. It was lashing with rain as we scuttled the mile distance to the campsite. We pitched in the rain but were soon cosy in sleeping bags sipping a dram and congratulating ourselves on the successful journey.

Our Peedie Tent

Rain and wind battered our wee tent through the night but it held well. The Ness Campsite has good facilities; a cosy sitting room and a kitchen with kettle and microwave. This meant we could cook and eat our porridge in luxury. The lounge was also a good place to meet fellow travellers.

The bad weather continued throughout the day. We visited Stromness Library, with its open views and fabulous George Mackay Brown Collection; The Pier Arts Centre, celebrating its fortieth anniversary; braved a walk to the trig point on the local hill, Brinkies Brae which proved a strange experience: as the rain was soaking us, the stiff wind simultaneously dried us. After yet one more cup of tea in a café we gave in and headed for the pub.

Binkies Brae

The Ferry Inn was busy and welcoming and although still early evening a traditional music session was in full swing. We shoehorned ourselves into a corner to enjoy the music and a pint of Orkney’s fine ale. The surroundings were so convivial that we ordered fish and chips and settled for a while. We were just getting ready to leave when two familiar faces appeared. Charlotte and Donald are friends from Stirling, they have a boat and are both excellent session players. We had no idea they were coming to the festival. It was wonderful to chat and listen to their playing. I had brought my whistle along on the trip and was sad I’d left it in the tent. They invited us to stay on their boat but we had made plans and were leaving Stromness next day.

Next morning the weather improved enough to allow us to get the tent down and packed in the dry. We caught the 9.10am bus to Kirkwall, jumped off at Pickaquoy Campsite, put the tent up and headed into town.

We first met Orkney residents David and Pattie in Applecross many years ago and have kept in touch. When we knew we were coming to town we arranged to meet in Kirkwall’s Old Library, now Sound Archive and Groove Records, a wonderful establishment with a fine coffee shop, record store, toy shop and what can only be described as an emporium. After a lovely catch-up we were once again let loose to explore.

Orkney Library's famous balls

Colin went for a haircut while I chose a pair of earrings from the Sheila Fleet store. Kirkwall is larger than Stromness, but although dominated by the magnificent St Magnus Cathedral I feel it lacks the charm of its smaller neighbour. But it is home to the now world famous Twitter star @OrkneyLibrary. A visit was a must.  I took photos of the famous library balls and introduced myself to the staff. They were lovely and very proud of their fame.

In the evening we ate in the authentic Italian restaurant Lucano and ended up in The Wrigley Sister's Reel Bar for another Trad session. This time I carried my whistle in my handbag, but the session was a local affair with much singing and I found I could only play a few tunes so didn’t stay too late.

We discovered, while pouring over bus timetables, that a tourist bus left Kirkwall each day. Because we have our concessionary tickets we could travel for free. Next morning we bought a meal deal from the local Tesco and caught the T11 with other tourists, including some from the visiting cruise ship.  The bus was chilly, and there was no commentary but I wasn’t complaining. It took us past ScapaFlow, where the German’s scuttled their fleet in WWI; through Orphir, the home of the Orkneyinga Saga and onto Skara Brae where we had an hour and a half to visit. Skara Brae is an ancient Neolithic settlement that was uncovered by a storm in 1850. It is fascinating to see how the people lived five thousand years ago. The site is by the sea and very exposed so we didn’t linger and like most of the others on the tour, returned to the bus before our allotted time. The next stop was the Ring of Brodgar, a Neolithic henge and stone circle. Here we had half and hour to walk around which was perfect for seeing this impressive site and to take photos. The bus returned to Kirkwall early afternoon.

An early dinner in the Bothy Bar was needed before we made our way to St Magnus Cathedral for our first concert of the festival.

More about Orkney and the festival in part two. 

Bus Pass Backpack

In July 2018 I celebrated my sixtieth birthday. It was a double celebration because in Scotland when you turn sixty the government gives you an entitlement card free of charge.

This smart card allows citizens access to various public services and facilities. To be honest I am not entirely sure what the many benefits are but I do know that it entitles me to free bus travel throughout Scotland and some discounts on other means of transport. In the past this card has been known as a Bus Pass and that name has stuck.

Sixty used to mean old age. When my granny was sixty I thought she was ancient, confined to a wheel chair and no fun. This did not stop her living a further twenty six year. My own mum seemed old at sixty even though she played curling regularly and had an active life. Now it’s my turn. I am shocked to find my own grandchildren think I’m old when I feel eighteen.

I write every day, I work hard, I exercise and do many activities people half my age can’t manage.

The image of me as a little old lady flashing her bus pass at a dour bus driver as I make my way into town for shopping does not work.

I’ve decided to use my card for adventures.

In Scotland the bus network travels widely, even to remote areas by post bus. I have a backpack, a lightweight tent and gear and I can read a map and compass. I have climbed mountains all over Scotland and this has given me a good sense of the geography of the land and the extensive drove roads and tracks that crisscross the glens and coastlines.  I could join up some of these tracks with bus routes to explore parts of Scotland in a different way.

Being sixty doesn’t need to be about slowing down. I am about to embark on a whole new era of adventures.

The start

One late afternoon in October 2018 my husband, Colin and I had a mini adventure to test the tent and the grand plan. We caught the number 23 bus from Stirling to Dollar. We then climbed Bank Hill and Earl’s Seat to reached the main plateau of the Ochil Hills just as daylight was beginning to fade. The afternoon had started dry but as we climbed the wind whipped up and a light drizzle fell. At the planning stage we picked our overnight camp on the map, but when we reached there we found it boggy and slopping. We wandered around the Maddy Moss area of the hills for a while before we found a spot with water which was flat enough to pitch the tent.

The tent was new, so we were pretty slow at erecting it. By the time it was up and the bags unpacked the light had almost gone and it was freezing cold. When we were at last zipped up inside the tent we were in need of some food but too tired to light the stove. We had a quick dinner of precooked lentils followed by cake and crawled into our sleeping bags.

Looking for a perfect pitch in the fading light

Misty morning on Maddy Moss

The wind was pretty fierce during the night but the wee tent held well. Next morning was misty but dry and we were happy to have a hot breakfast of porridge and coffee. It was easier to pack the tent in daylight than it was to put it up in the dark. The track to the other side of the Ochils, on the A9 is good. I believe it was used centuries ago by mill workers walking from Blackford and Auchterarder to the mills in Tillicoultry and Alva. As we tramped under wind turbines and past the reservoir I felt relief and joy that our plan was now under way.

Looking back to Upper Glen Devon Reservoir and wind turbines

In Blackford we discovered we had a while to wait for the number 20 bus back to Stirling so we found a cosy pub and enjoyed a welcome hot chocolate.

Trips can be planned easily by using www.travelinescotland.com

#discovernationalparks

I am ashamed to say that until today I didn't know Discover National Parks Awareness Fortnight was a thing.

But I am delighted to find that I have something to say about it because over the last week I have climbed two very iconic hills in The Loch Lomond and The Trossachs National Park.

The first was last Friday.  My nine year old grandson, James, has recently shown an interest in hillwalking. He has climbed a local hill but I knew that Ben A'an on the side of Loch Achray was a spectacular hill and well within his capabilities. I have climbed it twice before, both times with non hillwalkers at a slow speed. I was looking forward to showing my grandson this gem.

The pointed hill Ben A'an

We had a problem parking the van because the carpark was packed so Colin dropped us off and planned to park in the nearby Ben Venue carpark. He would catch us up. James was like a puppy let off a leash and was soon racing up the path.  There has been quite a few changes since the last time I was here. The path is better and there has been substantial tree clearing. Colin still hadn't caught us when we rounded the bend and had our first view of the hill.


Ben A'an is only 454m high but has a pointed summit that looks inaccessible from a distance.
'That's the hill,' I said hoping he'd share my excitement.
'What! I'm not climbing that,' said James and plopped himself down on a rock. 'I'm not going.'



He wouldn't budge so I kept walking hoping he'd change his mind. A little further up the path I met a family, Mum, Dad, two young girls about 6 or 7 years old.
'Have you been up the mountain?' I asked.
'Oh, yes,' both girls said beaming.
'Was it good?'
'Brilliant.'
'Do you see that boy sitting on a rock? Please tell him that.'  And they did because James was soon back on the track scampering after me.

Ben A'an summit

The walking is easy until the base of the mountain then the path climbs steeply round the back and the rocky summit is reached from a northern shoulder. It was very windy on the summit so we didn't linger too long, just enough to take some photos and catch the breathtaking views.
For such a short climb the views are stunning over Loch Katrine and towards Ben Lomond. It must be one of the most rewarding hills in Scotland and, judging from the number of people on the hill that day, that fact is no secret.

The second hill I've climbed this week is also a short climb for great reward - Conic Hill at Balmaha, on the banks of Loch Lomond.

My friend has just retired and wanted to do a walk. We both had appointments at either end of the day so arranged to meet in the Balmaha carpark at 11.00. Trisha always brings her dog Raasay on walks but for a collie he is very well behaved.

With Raasay on the very busy summit

The carpark is large so no trouble parking this time. The path was very busy and it was lovely to see so many young children out walking. Like the day on Ben A'an, the weather was good, clear skies and not too much wind this time.  Conic Hill is a hump back ridge, with good paths up to the summit and the West Highland Way traversing along it's northern flank. At the high point we looked back to fabulous views of the loch, but the summit was so busy we kept walking the ridge until we found a quite spot for a picnic. We then dropped down and picked up the West Highland Way path for our return route.

The bonnie banks of Loch Lomond from Conic Hill

Because we had some extra time we veered off the main path, kept to the ridge and walked straight down to the loch. It's then only a short walk along the beach, then road to get back to the carpark.

If you haven't yet discovered your national parks try and get out this weekend and climb one of these gems.

New Boots

I needed a new pair of hillwalking boots.

It would have been easy to catch the train to Glasgow or Edinburgh to buy them but we hadn’t been away in the van for a while so we went to Keswick.

We started Friday morning in the usual way; climbing wall for Colin, cardio dance for me. After a short trip to the supermarket across the road from the Sports Centre to stock up we were away. We reached Keswick before the shops shut. First stop NeedleSports, my favourite outdoor shop. The staff are friendly and know what they're talking about. I was soon the proud owner of a snazzy pair of three season Salewa boots with funky blue laces.

New boots with plastic tag still attached

Next stop Braithwaite’s beautiful campsite with its stunning views towards Skiddaw (931 m) and only a five minute walk to the village. After we set up camp we wandered to the Royal Oak for an early dinner. The pub was pretty busy but we soon found a table. The local beer was excellent and so was the food, pork belly with crackling, mash and gravy - yum. Many of the diners were watching the football on the TV that played in the corner - Leeds vs Spurs so we joined them in supporting the northern team. Rain had threatened earlier but it was a clear, cold night as we walked along the small river back to the campsite. The forecast for the next day was for rain coming in at lunchtime so we set our alarm for an early start.

I wanted to test out my boots on Skiddaw, the only English hill over 3000 foot I haven’t climbed. The normal route is from Keswick but we drove the van a little further north and started from Dodd Wood. After paying £6.00 for the car park we took a good forestry track contouring below Longside Edge. We were on our own until we met the path coming up from Keswick and suddenly the hill got busy. The going was pretty good until the col between the mountain and Longside Edge. Here the path turned into a scree slope and proved to be very steep and slippy. The wind had picked up and clouds were beginning to gather in the west.

Looking back to Derwent Water

We reached the broad summit before 11:00 am but didn’t linger because the wind was knocking me over. As I skittered my way back down the steep slope I got a good look at Longside Edge, our planned return route. It looked a narrow but interesting ridge. The wind was still strong. I didn’t fancy being blown off a narrow ridge but I knew from experience that narrow ridges look less imposing close up. We went for it and I’m glad we did because it is an excellent ridge walk, a good wide path with bypass routes for more difficult sections. Because we were parked at the Dodd Wood carpark we came off the ridge early onto a steep grass hillside that led onto even steeper scree that moved like water with every movement. Many times I ended up skiting down on my backside. It was a good test for my boots, my trousers weren’t fairing so well.

Good path on Longside Edge

By the time we reached the forest track again small specs of rain were falling and we almost made it back to the van before torrential rain lashed us.

Back at the campsite I dashed through the rain to the cosy toilet block for a roasting hot shower. We thought we might go back to the pub from a pre-dinner beer but the rain held us captive in the van for the evening, but that is always a treat in itself.

The boots passed the test.