‘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.
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| 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?
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Bridge over the Tarf |
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)
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Into the Lairig Ghru - Just a little bit further |
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Homeward bound |
