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

New Year, New Hope

Too much work, so much hassle just before Christmas meant that I was desperate to get away after the family commitments had been dealt with.  We packed up Bessie with leftover Christmas cake, cheese and biscuits and of course those gallons of extra cream that occur at this time of year. At least I'd made a batch of home made muesli as a feeble attempt to get back to some form of healthy eating. Normally I take lots of outdoor gear but I'm injured so instead I filled a bag full of toys; whistles, knitting, two paperbacks and my latest, a small Zoom recorder. We set the controls for Dumfries and Galloway.

Our first stop was Glencaple where the community actively encourage campervans to stay on the quay by the river Nith. There are public toilets in the adjoining car park as well as a water tap. At the quay is a sign showing where five vans can easily park and a small honesty box should you wish to leave a donation. This scheme pays off because the excellent Nith Hotel was open for meals and we were more than happy to forgo yet another meal of cheesy pasta for a good steak and a bottle of finest Chianti.

Glencaple and the river Nith

The weather had been settled since Christmas and looked set to continue as next day we drove the few miles south to Caerlaverlock Castle and Wetland Centre. Again the community had provided an area for campervan parking at the Corner Campsite, this time with the addition of a chemical toilet disposal.

Welcome Here!

Caerlaverock sits on a estuary and the tidal mudflats provides food for a thousands of migrating seabirds that visit here from the Arctic Circle each year.


We laced up our our boots and tramped through the grounds. I took my recorder hoping for some bird calls but all I managed to capture was the sound of my boots squelching along the muddy path. At a hide we stopped for a picnic and spotted a lesser white egret among the barnacle geese. and then a curlew entered the mix and we felt like real birdwatchers despite our pathetic binoculars. I ventured back out at dusk for another attempt at recording but a nearby car park seemed to be a haunt for local (and noisy) boy racers so I gave up.




I love Dumfries and Galloway. I have been many times before but never to the Mull of Galloway which is the most southerly point in Scotland. On this trip I was determined to get there. Why there? I suspect it is because 2019 is set to be a rough time in the UK. We are due to leave Europe which will definitely be cause for another call for Scottish Independence.  I wanted to be where I'd feel closest to Scotland, England and Ireland.

The sun sets on 2018

 The scenery in this area is spectacular. The sun was shining and as we reached the lighthouse at the end of the road the dying sun was sparking on the sea.  The Mull of of Galloway lighthouse was built by the Stevenson family and became operational in 1830. It is 26 metres high but because it sits on a cliff it stands 99 metres above sea level. It was automated in 1988. There is a good size car park which is fairly flat. Although the wind was howling in from the north west we parked up for the night. Earlier in the night I saw lights from the Isle of Man and from Ireland (possibly Belfast) but at the midnight the sky became overcast and the only New Year fireworks I saw came from the surrounding Galloway homes. I will try to remain optimistic for 2019 but at midnight I admit to feeling rather sad.

Mull of Galloway Lighthouse

Dark Sky Park - It was very dark!

Another gem in Dumfries and Galloway is the Dark Sky Park, an area of land surrounded by forest with low light pollution so perfect for seeing the stars. A clear sky was forecast on the 1st of January so we headed for a good spot. We were not disappointing. Wrapped up against the biting cold I stood outside the van  staring into the skies. It was possible to see the Milky Way as a backdrop to bright constellations and my heart filled with joy. My camera was not up to the task of recording this wondrous event so, while I cooked more cheesy pasta, Colin headed out to capture the night sky.


Before we left this fabulous area there was one last thing I wanted to do - attend and play in a traditional music pub session.

Through playing traditional music we have made friends all over the country and some live in D & G. We drove a short distance from the park to our friend Wendy's small holding. She fed us delicious food before taking us to a session in a cosy pub, The Clachan in St John's Town of Dalry. Most of the regulars played Irish tunes, of which I know only a few, but I did manage to play along to a couple of tunes.

Traditional music session in The Clachan

Dumfries and Galloway has something for everyone. If I had not been injured I would definitely have climbed some of the fine hills there. But despite not hill walking we managed to fill five days with different activities. But best of all, unlike other parts of the UK, Dumfries and Galloway made us welcome as campervan owners. That makes a difference and I will definitely be back there soon.

Out of Gas

One reason we chose our van was its winter features; the onboard autogas tank and the heated water tanks, so there was no excuse not venture out over the festive period.

The only problem was, on one of the coldest days of the winter so far (minus six) we drove to Argyll with hardly any gas in the tank and only a vague idea where to get gas.

The girl at the first petrol station didn't even know what Autogas was. At the second stop we received a resounding "No".  In Arrochar they were more helpful and said we would probably need to travel another two hours to Oban to get gas.  But it was getting dark and by the time we got to Inveraray we were ready to stop.  The temperature was dropping dramatically.  The sea Loch Fyne was frozen! Thankfully the Argyll Holiday Park was semi-open and allowed us to use a hook up for £10 and also use the service point.  It was not the wild camp we had planned but we were alone in the touring site and anyway we had only ourselves to blame.

Frozen Loch Fyne

This was the second year I took part in a running challenge The Marcothon which required me to run for at least twenty five minutes every day in December.  Next morning was slightly warmer and we ran from the Park along the shores of the frozen loch.  That woke us up.

I phoned ahead to a service station in Lochgilphead - at last we found our gas. From there we drove to Kilmartin where the standing stones cast long regimented shadows to prove there was something in the ancient winter solstice ritual.

Kilmartin Standing Stones

The weather turned mild and with it brought rain. The drive up the north side of Loch Awe, a road new to us, was spectacular but very wet and windy.  We parked up on a forest track, just off the quiet road, high above the loch. It was perfect.

High camp above Loch Awe

It rained and buffeted all night.  Next day we took another new route on a small single track over high steep ground with some quite interesting tight bends. Bessie handled it well and we soon arrived back on the main drag. Next port of call was Seil Island and the Atlantic Bridge, a location I chose for my last run of 2014 and the finale to my Marcothon. We parked by the bridge.  I ran, then showered in the van. A quick spin round the island showed us the parking options were few so we headed back to the mainland and a quiet lay-by.

The bridge over the Atlantic

It was Hogmany and as we lay cosy in bed we watched fireworks from far off townships light the sky to herald in the 2015.

The rain was relentless and our reading material was wearing thin so on the 1st January, after a lazy breakfast, we decided Bessie had passed the winter test and we headed for home.