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Tuesday, 4 June 2013

TGO Challenge 2013: Day 2: To Caolasnacon

The little pools of happy smiling Challengers from my descent into Slumberland had all dissolved in the pools of water filling the ditches either side of Sally Solomid and only the little blown slug-lets remained, staring up at me from my titanium cup. Some bastard had been drinking my whisky in the night as the flask was now barely half full. Desperate for a pee and in an unfamiliar tent I only just made it outside in time.

I’m not one to pee into bottles or litre mugs or whatever in the awkward confines of my tent. No. I need a fresh air pee, staring about me, admiring the fresh sun-dappled dawn. I enjoy the first pee of the day au natural – it’s just that you have to get out of the tent smart-ish, before it all goes horribly wrong.

Mission successfully accomplished I etched the zip arrangement of the Oookworks inner firmly onto my hard-drive, with back-up copies all over the shop. That was close.

TGO2013 DAY 2

[CLICK MAP TO ENLARGE]

Today’s route plan (should I really be saying this?) was actually not too bad. Lord Elpus had anticipated the problems of the difficult second album day and had plotted a shorter, if slightly more hilly walk. He knew that our flabby Fenland muscles would not be used to two consecutive days of struggle and so had provided an acceptable compromise.  He had obviously anticipated the weather: Cold blustery winds with soaking showers chucked in to add to the misery. Here’s what it looked like on the ground:

PHIL'S PICTURE OF GLEN CRERAN

It probably looks quite beautiful to you right now, sat as you are on your comfortable settees with a nice glass of red in your hand ~ all ethereal and full of wonder and mystery. However, back in the real world, where we were, it was pretty cold and horrid. Nip outside for a moment, douse yourself down with the garden hose and stick an enormous rucksack on your back and then look again at that picture. Then walk up to the top of that block of flats thirty times with a bit of a hangover.

So, back in our real world there was a gentle warming walk up a forest Rover-road, followed by a bloody awful slog up through some sodden conifer plantation and out onto what is now open fell, which on the map was shown as plantation. The forestry workers had cut a great chunk of the forest down, leaving huge piles of brash and a quagmire of heavy plant tracks that had completely obliterated the path. The hefty showers were topping up the bogginess of the place to ensure our assault course was set to level ten. How I got to the top I’ll never know. It was miserable.

Having got to the top of the ridge, there was no triumphal celebrations, no planting of national flags. Oh no! As I dumped my rucksack to the ground (with a pleasing “splutch” as it hit the sodden ground) the other two bastards carried on walking – disappearing over the horizon!

I left them to it and sat on my pack to devour a second breakfast of a Mars bar, peanuts and whisky. Summits should be celebrated. New vistas are opened up and there is the elation of having beaten your knackered body into submission to get to this new view, this whole new section of your day. It is definitely not the time to go beetling onwards and down into the next hell-hole before you have gleefully grabbed at, and consumed, all the richly deserved endorphins!

But such are the perils of hiking with partners. After the briefest of brief rest-stops, I shouldered the pack and set off to follow the keen, keener, keenest bastards, down the forty-five degree running bog that was the hillside that slid down into Gleann an Fhiodh. There was spiky shrubby things that pulled at my pack, huge swampy gloopy patches that pulled at my boots and big greasy bits that prompted bum-slides down to the bottom.

There was a brief respite for an early lunch at a side-stream, but it was too cold to linger for long and before we knew it we had found ourselves in Ballachulish, to stock up with pie products at the little grocers, and, an unexpected bonanza, we found ourselves in a pub!

BALLACHULISH PUB

The above photo is illuminating for a couple of reasons. Phil is looking happy (obviously – he is in an unexpected pub) and Andy is looking nervous, tense, perhaps? That’s because the lad had not visited any porcelain for quite a number of days. He is worried that the extra pressure from the application of Scottish fizzy beer will suddenly produce a devastating deluge, and he is already wearing his spare pair of knickers. I am sitting well away, at a safe distance.

After the delights of the pub and having been handed Stormin’ Norman’s laminated map of his first two days of the Challenge by the attractive barmaid, we lurched outside into the the horrid daylight only to have to stop almost immediately to don full waterproofs for another little stormlet careering up Loch Leven.

The Glencoe coffee shop was a little oasis, to further top up the mounting Vesuvius that was Mad’n’Bad’s digestive tract. Still no eruption. Something had to give soon.

Then there was the vertiginous clamber straight up the shoulder of the Pap of Glencoe that was rewarded with the following view: That’s the Ballachulish bridge, four miles away, spanning Loch Leven

ANDY'S PICTURE: LOCH LEVEN

[CLICK ON THIS PICTURE TO MAKE IT BIGGER, ‘COS IT’S GORGEOUS!]

Then it was quite a charming clatter along the hill path above the main road to Kinlochleven, that drops you quite suddenly down a stumbley stony bit down to the road.

LOOKING TO CAOLASNACON

We stopped, on schedule again, at Caolasnacon campsite, which is wonderfully friendly and does deals for backpackers. We had finished the day some eight miles further north than we had started yet barely six miles further east. Phil put it all down to the Ordnance Survey’s complete inability to fathom out Scotland’s geography, and continental drift.

CAOLASNACON CAMPSITE

Andy & I put it down to bloody rotten route planning.

15 comments:

  1. I remember clambering over a bog and up a hill to get that picture without pylons.
    'Twas worth it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I didn't bother with that clamber - I photoshopped the cables out of my picture. But I used your excellent shot this time as it has better definition. I need to get a newer camera.
      :-)

      Delete
  2. I would like to point out that although I am enjoying this (in pjs) from the comfort of my (reclining) armchair, it's a bit early for a nice glass of red. Even for me. I shall read it again later to redress this...

    That boggy bit is in my next route plan, although attacked from a different angle. But there will have been an extended dry spell with pleasant westerly breezes and sunny spells. David has booked it...

    As for the peeing thing...ha! Even with the unfamiliar tent zip faff , you still get it easier, pah! Luckily, I'm never in a hurry 'cos I'm a young thing ;-)

    Oh ha ha, word: Emancipation!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Too early for a nice glass of red? Try a chilled glass with Gentleman's Relish on hot buttered toast.
      Works for me!

      Delete
  3. Slightly verging on the 'too much information' perhaps?..........

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It must be a bloke thing.
      The endless discussions about the colour of your wee - what else is there to talk about in the mornings on the Challenge?
      :-)

      Delete
  4. Good luck with your op next week Alan. We'll be thinking of you - probably from some Highland glen or hill.

    Gibson and Lynne

    ReplyDelete
  5. Just realised Alan - your op is tomorrow! Behind the curve as usual.....

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. :-)
      I'm always behind the curve. - In fact, I'm off in a few minutes to Oxford Churchill.
      My op's tomorrow lunchtime-ish - my brother is in before me.
      Thanks Gibson (& Lynne)
      :-)

      Delete
    2. "my brother is in before me"

      That's good. Had it been the other way around you would be one knackered kidney lighter and Dave would be carrying extra ballast. A tip here - grab your sister's lippy and write "DONOR" across Dave's belly. Don't want ny slip ups at this stage do we?

      All the best to you both mon ami.

      Delete
    3. I'm sitting here on my electric hospital bed - with Wifi!
      Good tip, that...

      I have wrist bands on both wrists - perhaps they are thinking of taking an arm off? I must check my notes at the foot of the bed...

      Delete
  6. Second and last try. I hope all goes well. Have tried to post before, but unsuccessfully. Good luck to you and your brother: to your brother in particular, as he deserves the best outcome. Shirl

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  7. Sally looks great. A fine day but we kept out in the hills. This is a soft boys walk so far :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. In fact it's a day designed to get us into the hills in a sensible fashion, looking at the walk as an complete entity.
      :-)
      As I said earlier, well designed, Phil!

      Delete

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