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