Packing it in.

It all fitted when I was in the Lake District.

So what happened this time?

Today I went to Birmingham in the morning after printing out the remaining Anquet maps (Why IS Birmingham so difficult to navigate?). I have emailed everyone who I work with to ensure they know I am not going to be here. I have organised Mistress to sit on my cat. I have spoken to Lynnie in her Austrian Health Spa. I have spoken to the Lawyers, Accountants and Bankers. I washed my walking socks and Merino shirt so they are fresh for tomorrow. I have made dinner. I have had a few thirst quenchers - all this is very hot work in this surprisingly clement weather and I am now very tired.

Then I started packing.

Perhaps it was a bit late to start packing?

It won't fit in. The bald fact is that is does not fit in the rucksack! What on earth has happened here???

I retreat, puzzled, to the settee. The settee is my friend. I am distracted by 'The Apprentice' and a jolly good Budvar dark lager (new to me and quite gorgeous!) Watching telly is so much easier than re-packing the rucksack.

It must be the gargantuan food bag.

The Apprentices are clueless. Wonderfully clueless. The painted girl is looking particularly ratty tonight. Alan Sugar is magnificent in his disdain for them all.

Or perhaps the camera charger and phone charger have tipped this over the edge?

Lily, my cat, looks at me suspiciously. She knows I am abandoning her. I cannot look her in the eye. Mistress has suggested that perhaps if I took her Louis Vuitton rucksack it might all fit in. I counter that at least my kit will stay dry in it as it is made of plastic. I am being peevish and I am sorry, Mistress.

Could it be that I have packed the tent in the side pockets this time?

I will finish my beer. I will finish The Apprentice. I will have another go at packing the behemoth. Later.

It is not looking good. Lord Elpus will be here at 5:15 in the morning. I can see myself still packing when he gets here.

Lord Elpme!

TGOC 2008 Report: First week

DAY ZERO: Home to Ardrishaig:

Breakfast at Stansted: Why do the English look so bad when they are off on their holidays? The airport is full of overweight puffy-skinned types in badly fitting shorts and flip-flops all wearing their reflective sunglasses in the terminal.

But Phil is looking dapper as we work our way through our last 'Full English' as they will be 'Full Highland' from tomorrow.

We are soon having our first party at Glasgow Queen Street station, where the usual suspects have gathered to wish each other well. Then after a snoozy trip on a bus (I Travel On A BUS!) we are soon catching up with each others' last year at the start-point hotel. Ardrishaig (pronounced as if you are sneezing) seems to be a connoisseur's' start point as everyone seems to have done loads of Challenges.

We retire, at slightly past our best, to recover in our slumber.

DAY ONE: Ardrishaig to Carron Bothy:

We are almost last leaving the start point and amble quietly along the Crinnan Canal. The rucksack waist belts are not flattering to our soft southern bellies.

Morning coffee is taken to finally straighten ourselves out and then its up the valley and a gentle climb up into the hills, catching up with the earlier starters. We do well and then have a bit of a 'senior moment' at the end of the track until we find a very boggy way through the extended forestry to make the welcome sanctuary of Carron. John & Norma, and John Chaplin are already parked up and after a while we are joined by Terry, Richard and eventually the La Borwitts, who have had a torrid time finding their way: It has to be said that everyone struggled a little with the last mile or so.

Phil and I park up away from the worst of the snorers and after a lively night in the bothy sleep the sleep of the dead.

DAY TWO: Carron to Inverary:
It's a fine amble out of the woods and soon we are sitting outside the yet-to-open pub at Furnace. It never looks too good, waiting at the front door of a pub... But we are soon tucking into passable fish and chips before taking the coastal track around to Inverary. At the end of the second day we are still on the west coast but Phil is soon in the shower, all soaped up when the shower stops running. The hotel doesn't seem to interested in his plight so I have another cup of restorative tea and a highland shortbread, until at last the antiquated plumbing system splutters back into life.

After a spot of supper the war memorial is investigated. All through my walk last year I was constantly amazed at the total loss of a generation in the Great War from tiny little highland communities and Inverary was not to be spared either.

DAY THREE: Inverary to Toman Biorach:
Another hot day was on the cards as we left Ardrishaig and before too long we were wandering up the surprisingly beautiful Glen Shirra. I am constantly surprised at Britain's ability to provide top-drawer scenery from seemingly unprepossessing maps. The beech leaves were newly unfurled and the smell of fresh grass and earth filled the glen. Before too long we had 'legged it' up the road to the upper level where we looked down the length of the glen; Quite beautiful.

Walking beneath Lochan Shirra Dam - a magnificently Stalinist edifice, holding back millions of tons of water - Lord Elpus quips, "It only takes one Lancaster, you know..."

We positively whizzed along the track along the Lochan and at the track end took to our first 'off-piste' few miles. Hard work indeed! Our slack Fenland Frames gasped and wheezed up the tussock and bog but the views all around made up for the hard work.

 

At a reasonably tardy hour we finally made our destination to join John, Paul & Maggie who were already parked up and tucking into their suppers. It had been a lovely day.

All is well with our world!

DAY FOUR: Toman Biorach to Dalrigh, near Tyndrum:

It's straight up from the start - another bash of trackless bog to warm the muscles up between Ben Lui and Ben Oss - two fine hills. Ben Lui dominated for the next few days and is best seen from the east - it's magnificent black Corrie Gaothaic still holding great slathers of snow.

Then it was a quick scamper down Allt Coire Laoigh for an early lunch.

I had been carrying a rather nice tin of french mackerel since Ardrishaig and it was now time for their demise. We found a splendid spot in the sunshine on a big flat rock and the first fish fillet slipped down a treat; scrumptious real food. I slipped Lord E the next (small) fillet and the greedily, lovingly scoffed the remainder with huge glee as Lord E looked on, salivating.

Being a careful sort of chap I carefully wrapped the oily tin in my J-Cloth and popped it into the lid of the sack for later disposal.

Ben Lui (Piccie from Lord Elpus)

The Real Food Cafe in Tyndrum provided a monstrous early supper, with quite astonishingly polite and efficient service. Washed down with 'Bitter & Twisted' (an acquired taste) and Irn Bru and Ginger Beer - to rehydrate my very dehydrated and slightly sun-bothered skin.

There was just one moment of note on the way to our B&B - a close column of marching Germans all in step, all in identical gear, all with walking poles in perfect unison, stomping up the West Highland Way like a Panzer Division.

DAY FIVE: Dalrigh to Druim Beithe, Glen Lyon:

Another day, another bealach. But this one was an absolute peach. It's Bealach Ghlas Leathaid, between Ben Challum and Cam Chreag. Its a wonderful walk on the extended track, up through a woodland regeneration project that is doing a fantastic job; there are wild flowers beneath every footstep and little furry creatures scampering about in their grassy paradise, buzzards mewing overhead. This glen is absolutely stuffed full of interest - I could have spent a whole day here sitting amongst the flora and fauna in the warm sunshine.

As soon as you climb over the boundary fence to make the bealach you instantly revert to an almost sterile upland environment. But the views are first class, if a little misty from the heat haze.

You clamber down the other side into Glen Lochay and eventually, after quite difficult ground, make the interceptor pipe track that transports you along the glen-side, with one or two interesting steep little climbs that were not immediately apparent and so slightly disappointing!

At the end of the track its a minor road walk over the bealach into Glen Lyon and our idyllic camp-spot.

DAY SIX: Druim Beithe to Carie campsite, Loch Rannoch:

With the scent of a tea shop in our nostrils, we have an early start and are soon bimbling down the ever more scenic Glen Lyon with 17.5 km to Bridge of Balgie and its delights of tea shop and post office. The day was soon warming up - another cloudless sky and we were gasping for a pot of tea.

Imagine our horror to find a sign outside announcing its closure during the middle of the week.

Horror and despair.

We stumbled on to the picnic site and the comfort of the pub-style benches to find Paul Hemingray already there. We sat and had a brew to lift our badly dented spirits. By now the sun was searingly hot and shade was sought beneath the tree - to be shared with the ant colony that somehow found their way into my trouser pockets and thence my more sensitive little places to have a few sharp nibbles!

After an impromptu dance, it was time to be on the track - two mad Englishmen out once more in the mid-day sun. We had been on our feet only minutes when the dashing Alan Hardy nipped past us, carrying his huge Bergen up the track - two muscley legs hanging from his pack - pounding up the track ahead of us. This was not the pace we had set ourselves and so we ambled up the very steep stony, dry track in the now blazing sun.

For the last 12 Challenges I had religiously carried sunhats and suncream and had hardly ever used them and so this year I had abandoned them in favour of more foul weather gear - I was so convinced that it was going to be a cold and wet crossing this year.

At last the relentless grind of the steep track gave way to a delightful walk through Lairig Ghallabhaich and Lord Elpus came up with a blindingly good idea. At a splendid little waterfall and clear pool, he dipped his J-cloth into the pool, squeezed it gently and tucked it beneath his TGO cap to resemble a Marsh Arab. Stunning idea! I quickly found my J-cloth and dipped it speedily into the pool and tucked it beneath my knotted handkerchief hat. It was bliss! A refrigerated head!

We stumped off, now nattily dressed in our new headgear and wonderfully refreshed. We re-soaked the cloths at every stream. It was heavenly.

There was a little downside, however. There was a strange smell of mackerel that kept following me around, as the water from the headgear dripped down my neck and back to seep into my shirt and pants.

 Phil finds a new storage place for his 20 litre platypus

We made Carrie campsite - a very basic but perfectly peaceful little place - without any further bother, to bump into Paul again - who by now had his laundry drying on his line.

A very good day!

DAY SEVEN: Carie to Blair Atholl:

A biggish day on the cards, so up reasonably early for a gentle stroll into Kinloch Rannoch for pies from the shop and coffee in the excellent cafe. The cafe has an internet connection so we logged on to see that Darren and Dawn were having a few problems and had got a couple of days behind. Darren sounded a little bit down but was planning to reschedule his route into a manageable dash to Braemar for Saturday night. That sounded like a good plan.

Martin & Sue seemed to be belting through their hills on their blog and getting the job thoroughly well done.

With a decent second breakfast under Phil's ever increasing belt (will this man ever stop eating? Starter, mains and pud, even when camping!) we stepped out to stroll along the quiet roads, to bump into Waggy doing his washing in a very dodgy sheep stream, slapping his socks against the stones. he had lost his Tilly Hat the night before (and was about to lose his maps later today) but was otherwise blissfully happy.

It started going downhill in the forest. Phil is beginning to settle into his 'Gentleman of the Road' experience and he decided that his trousers were a little too hot. He stood in the middle of the forest track lowered his trousers and aired his softer parts by continual flapping of the waist elastic of his pants. However, that was not enough pleasure for this old hobo.

No.

Out came the Vaseline to lubricate all the private soft tissue, to gasping "Oooohs" and "Aaaaghs and deep guttural grunts. If the forestry workers had come along at that moment who knows what the consequences could have been.

Besides all this, I continued to walk with the gentleman and we found Loch Bhac quite easily for a rest in the freezing cold shade to watch a lonely fly fisherman on the other side of the loch catch nothing more that a cold for his efforts up to his waist in the cold water.

Then we were off again, trundling over the moorland on the tiny little path that leads you to views of the Fairy Tale Castle and down to one of the worst managed livestock farms I have ever witnessed. Balnansteuartach had four dead ewes and four dead lambs within easy eye shot of the farm track we walked along, parallel to the A9. Some of these animals had been dead for some time. There had been no attempt to remove them.

We made the town and laundered, showered, rang Challenge Control and stepped out to the Atholl Arms for a well earned beer.

TGOC 2008 Report: Second Week

DAY EIGHT: Blair Atholl to Gleann Mor:

The walk out of Blair Atholl is an absolute honey. Eschewing the trade route up Gen Tilt we chose the more direct option, taking the fine track beneath Carn Liath and Beinn a' Ghlo, with magnificent views of the summer pastures and Loch Moraig. We met Two Glasgow lads who were off to conquer four big hills that day and took shelter from the strong morning sunshine in the hut below Carn Liath.

Then it was back out into the scorcher to plunge my left leg up to my knee into the Allt Coire Lagain, much to Phil's delight as it gave him an opportunity to take pictures of me wringing out my socks.

The track beneath Sron na h-Innearach (nose & ear-ache?) was a bit harder than I thought it would have been (having not looked too closely at the maps, it has to be said) and so I was looking forward to Glen Loch for a spot of lunch, which we made bang on time; just as the heavens opened giving us a very soggy, cold luncheon.

Right on cue, the rain ceased as we were packing to leave to head off piste once more beneath Sron Chrion a' Bhacain (nose of the weeping bacon?) to regain a track north over yet another bealach beneath Carn an t- Sionnaich. The showers kept coming and going, but mostly coming as we headed round the corner again off-piste and headed down into Gleann Mor, beneath Carn an Righ. It felt great going down hill on the boggy stuff but even as we were descending, the clag, murk and heavy rain was coming down even faster.

We gave it up as a bad job and soon had the Wendy houses up on a tight little patch of green amongst the peat hags.

The noise in a little tent from the rain beating down can be incredibly loud, but I started to hear strange deep rhythmical grunting coming from somewhere close by, outside my little Wanda. At first, I put this down to Lord Elpus' straining, blowing up his Thermarest. But the noises went on far too long, for even his Weakened Condition, I started to think that perhaps we had pitched too closely together for Phil's sexual comfort.

Still, his regularity was impressive and his bellowing became stronger and longer until, at last, I snapped! A loud reminder that we were only feet apart in our tents brought the rejoinder that he thought it had been me kicking up the dust!

I poked my head out of the tent, and there, only yards away, was the most enormous stag I have ever seen, bellowing away at us, backed up by about three hundred of his harem!

As soon as he clocked who we were, he wheeled away and the whole hill-side moved off with him. Quite Magical.


DAY NINE: Gleann Mor to Braemar:

Today's the day for the dash to Braemar. But first, (I know, Marian, I know!) we had to make up the missing 6km we didn't manage yesterday afternoon in the rain. Those deer of last night know a thing or two about the best way through trackless terrain, and so we followed their expert trails up the valley, skirting the worst of the bogs and gloop, finally making Loch nan Eun (it had been on my route sheet three or four times in the past!).

Picture courtesy of Lord Elpus

It has to be said, in the weather we were experiencing, Loch nan Eun was not the best Cheese & Wine venue we could have picked, but we did note the one or two fine little pitches for future years.

Then it was fine traverse above Glen Ey to head for the most direct route to the Baddoch Burn and a wonderful yomp down the mossy banks to finally make solid ground of the track and a nip down the Golf Course Road down into Braemar.

As we were fair belting down the road in the now hot sunshine, the other side of the valley a motorcyclist pulled up, removed his helmet. Even though we were a good two hundred yards apart it was obviously the peculiarly wobbly outline of Gavin Meldrum on his clubs Grand Highland Tour. It's strange how we all recognised each other. Perhaps Phil & I have similarly odd silhouettes.

The evening was spent at a tremendous do organised by Challenger Doug Bruce with two good real ales and an excellent local rock group, nattily named "Bingo Wings"


DAY TEN: Braemar to Lochcallater Lodge:

We spent the bulk of the day generally swanning about, taking in the delights of the Hungry Highlander and a deep-fried Steak Pie (delicious!) and trying to cram as much real food into the pack for the next few days.

We bumped into Darren, Dawn and Duncan mooching about looking suspiciously like they were enjoying themselves enormously. And quite right too!

With a fine bottle of beer on board and an excellent Ardbeg stashed away for Stan & Bill, we headed off up to Loch Callater for a great evening with Stan, Bill and about forty other Challengers, all in fine voice.

DAY ELEVEN: Lochcallater Lodge to Shielin of Mark:

During an incredibly late night of entertainment, ably lead by Croydon and tunefully assisted by Mr Jocys, I will never forget the poignant moments when Bill sang to his friends of his recent loss. I know we were all 'tired and emotional' but Bill truly caught the moment and there were lumps in the throat and huge chunks of grit in the eyes of all present.

After breakfasting on sausage & bacon rolls washed down with coffee, Lord Elpus and I made our very best efforts to stay with Martin & Sue on their clamber up yet another Munro, but discretion got the better part of valour and we decided to make our own way up - a far better plan. Dan joined us for a while while we sat looking down on the success of our labours - the climb up from the Lodge) but we let him slip away as we daundered down to Dubh Loch.

Lord Elpus bottled out, quite unreasonably, from taking on the huge water slides on his bouncy thermarest, so instead we took regular boot breaks in the sunshine.

Lord E's Piccie

It's a great walk down to the Glas-allt-Shiel and we brewed up in the bothy just catching some faster Challengers before their departure and making a brew for an arrival just after our own. Then it was off again to the Spittal for a cup of hot chocolate and to catch up with the two young Dutchmen (nice chaps) with their very lightweight gear, along with Russ and a whole host of others, all of whom looked very chirpy.

We carried on up the Allt Darrarie in the rain, passing a whole host of pitched tents in the showers. We were expecting great numbers at the Shielin, but when we arrived, there were only a few tents, so we decided we had done enough for the day.

We had only the one bottle of 'Low Flier' between us so we made good in-roads into it assisted by the late arriving JJ.

All in all, a pretty fine day, tackled with just the right amount of exertion considering the circumstances of the start point!

DAY TWELVE: S-o-M to Tarfside:

With the promise of comfy beds and showers, we were up early for a 6:30 departure from the Shielin and we had soon cantered past the late risers at Stables of Lee and picked up Stuart & Maria to walk merrily into Tarfside well before mid-day. We washed clothes, showered and started our tab with the Tarfside ladies (Elizabeth, Janet, Anne & Carol). The Goddards were given time off for good behaviour from Control and popped in to say 'Hi'. They must be saints to forgo their places on the Chally to man Control - so a Huge 'Thank You' to them both for doing an excellent job.

I am becoming increasingly concerned that the voluntary efforts of people helping out on the Challenge are being taken for granted. It's as if some (and I do mean a very small few) have paid their 'subs' and expect the services offered by theses volunteers (such as Stan & Bill and the Tarfside Ladies) as a 'right', rather than a privilege offered to them out of the kindness of the individuals hearts. This attitude really should be nipped in the bud now, so perhaps the notes next year should make this more clear?

Anyway - the Ladies did fabulously well and were helped out handsomely by Jules E, Martin & Sue and other kind souls who realised that the ladies were beginning to struggle with the effort - they had been on their feet this particular day from 7:00am until about 9:00pm - an exhausting schedule for even the most able bodied!

After four sittings of main meals, we hot-footed it to The Masons, who were also providing excellent hospitality of the more liquid kind, but the cumulative effect of four very late nights took their toll and we wimped out just before midnight, back to our beds at St Drostan's.

All was well in our worlds.

DAY THIRTEEN: Tarfside to North Water Bridge:

Quite late leaving the Lovely Ladies, we strolled down the road to visit the Sandmartins (happily, more than last year, so making a bit of a comeback!) to cross to the south side of the North Esk for a while, before Phil makes an Executive Decision.

My lips are sealed on the route he took us on, but the locals know it as the Blue Door Walk - a Victorian Gem of a walk that I had never experienced before. It was absolutely wonderful and we daundered through the woodland and rocky gorges with red squirrels and all manner of wild life for company. It was stunning.

Consequently we made Edzell later than usual and so spent a little longer in the Panmure Arms after buying our strawberries and cream from the General Store.

Then it was the gentle stroll across the suspension bridge and the Airfield Road to make whoopee at the campsite to see Man U beat Chelsea on penalties in the European Cup Final and finishing up the last of the whisky.

Tent Inspections were carried out on the fifty or so tents pitched on the site. It has to be said that most were pretty good, with just one or two glaring exceptions (The World's Best Vetter's was APPALLING!)

We slept jolly well and was only woken by the rumble of traffic from the nearby trunk-road.

DAY FOURTEEN: NWB to Tangleha':

Tangleha' was chosen as a few years ago I had promised Uncle Roger that after ten finishes at St Cyrus I would make more of an effort to find new finish points. Cannily, Phil had chosen a point only a mile or so from St Cyrus and so honour was satisfied!

Not much can be said of the walk this morning, but we strode out in fine form and finished in good time. Tangleha' itself is a fine little spot - a natural tiny harbour in the rocks with a few small boats scattered on the foreshore. The walk back up to the pub on the map is a disappointment, as the pub is long gone!

So it was a short taxi ride into Montrose to sign in with Uncle Roger, shake a few hands and prepare ourselves for the night's festivities.

A magnificent year for the Challenge in great weather and excellent company.

Cheers Phil - A True Shiny Star!