Raising money for UNICEF

There seems to be some debate as to whether this valley was actually lost or merely hidden. My aim for today was to find it. That was a plan that didn’t start brilliantly.

It seems that my thermarest has developed a slow puncture. I know this because I awoke in the mist, in the wee hours of the morning, cold and damp on something quite squishy that only separated a few of my appendages from the ground. I know that I have to sleep like this again for at least one more night; this is not ideal.

Eventually I dragged myself out of my damp living quarters, had a wash and packed up for the day. At least wild camping tonight would mean that there wouldn’t be people gawping at my tarp.

I replanted my next few days to get to Fort William a day earlier. It would mean adding mileage to retrace my steps for the Ring of Steall, but on the bright side it would allow me to do Ben Nevis on a Friday rather than a busy weekend, so all good really.

My next mission was to find a B&B in Fort William for Thursday night. There I would be able to let everything dry, do some repairs, catch up with odds and sods that need sorting, get a good sleep and to have a shave. I really need that shave.

I have acquired an adventurer’s tan. The red and brown patches contrast with the completely untamed and very pale parts that have mostly been in shadow. I’m pretty sure one of those patches is my chin, if only because I’ve mostly had my back to the sun. Ah well, I don’t mind looking ridiculous as long as I’m having fun.

Back to trying to find a B&B – no luck. All the options on my list were full. Not to worry, I did what any other single male would-be adventurer would do in these circumstances without a support crew – I sent my mum a text before heading out down the glen.

My phone was off to save battery, so I had no way of knowing whether or not I would have a place to stay the next night. If I did that would be great, if not then I’d be no worse off than I was right now, so why worry?

Along I trotted and came to Coire nan Lochan. This turned out to be much harder than it looked. On the way up I met an Australian who who was here attending a conference via working in Japan. (Note to self: find a nice research grant and a conference in Japan.) we chatted while we rested, before he merrily made his way down the valley and I continued my struggle up it.

I don’t know whether it was the walking so far, a lack of caffeine and fried food, or me being generally unfit, but I found this ascent quite difficult. I was cut, bruised, bitten and burnt; the bits that didn’t ache were sore and the bits that weren’t sore were worse. I was also aware that I was probably flying low. I regularly have this awareness about 3 minutes after talking to someone. The thing is it’s very hot out here; walking with the zipper down provides a nice breeze; sometimes I forget to do it back up. I’ve probably given a fair few people along the West Highland Way a glance of my undies. I don’t mean to do this, when I’m out on my own it’s just more comfortable, I just need to remember to do it back up when I see another human being, or at least whenever I reach civilisation.

After a seriously long time I was finally most of the way along and was ready to make my way up Stob Coire nan Lochan. This took another long time and I was beginning to think that nine hours for the walk may turn out to be accurate. The path up that way is along a short ridge covered in large rocks rather than any discernible path; this made it slow going, although it would make the following walk along to Bidean nam Bian seem much easier. Half the day had gone and I was less than halfway around, maybe I should have got out of bed earlier. I’d done the hard half though, so continued around to An t sron via Stob Coire nam Beith.

On the way I bumped into a walker who had coincidentally also done Aonach Eagach the day before. He was travelling in the opposite direction to me, so asked what I thought about my route up as a route down, I then asked about his route up as my route down. It seemed that the start of my route down would be very steep, I could live with that.

Around I walked, happy to be along a ridge, even if I was having to retrace my steps back up to Bidean where I came across another two walkers travelling in the opposite direction. The same conversation occurred and then I went to conquer Stob Coire Sgreamhach. This was getting difficult. I questioned whether it was sensible as my ankles began to misplace my feet from time to time, but it’s on my route and I’m not coming back any time soon, so I had a quick rest and pushed on to the top, all downhill from here.

The steep drop into Coire Gabhail was easy. I made short work of it, stopping only to collect a couple of litres of water from a spectacularly clear stream. From there everything flattens and opens up. I promptly got lost. It was all downhill and I hadn’t followed the path, leaving me stuck on a non-path in the forest. Here I was lost in the lost valley. Well, not lost exactly, more like temporarily displaced. I knew roughly where I was and roughly where the path should be. I just had to keep walking until I had the opportunity to ensure those two points converged. They did.

As I came back up to the road I met the pair who were meant to be down the other valley. It turned out that one of them wasn’t willing to walk up Stob Coire nam Lochan and had found another path into Coire Gabhail. It wasn’t a marked path and was one they regretted taking. They were glad to have made it down safely. We chatted until they made their way to their car and I continued walking up Glencoe where I met a ginger-bearded man taking landscape photographs.

I continued on and made my way down the Lairig Gartain path. I’d wanted to come down this path as there’s a spot on the path up to Etive Mor that I consider mine. It’s not a spectacular place to sit particularly, nothing that marks it out from anywhere else on that path, just one that holds a lot of memories. I knew there wouldn’t be many great camping places but I was glad to be walking here. You spend a lot of time thinking on the road, but mostly about where to sleep, what might break, and less actual pondering than you might initially think. Here I had time to remember some absent friends. I didn’t make it to that spot. I no longer felt a need to.

I checked my phone for time as I was now exhausted. It was 23.00 and I was dead on my feet. Without the desire to add an additional climb to my journey, I wandered on to the next suitable camping spot, pitched my tarp and climbed into my bivvy. I settled in for what I knew would be an uncomfortable night, safe in the knowledge that my mum had managed to find me a bed for the following night.

This was a day I had been looking forward to since I had planned the 2011 trip. It was considered too tricky at then and for various reasons that and Bidean nam Bian were left untouched. Completing this today would leave me a full day ahead of schedule, but potentially facing five days with an awful lot of up at the cost of some across. By Sunday evening I shall hopefully have covered 170 miles and have reached half of my cumulative ascent for the trip. That’s a long way away yet.

I awoke in the wee hours of the morning to find myself buried in mist. Damp and dismayed by the thought that the cloud may be here to stay, I rolled over and went back to sleep. Rinse and repeat until about 9 am (a guess wildly based purely on the fact there were other walkers from Kings House beginning to trickle by) and finally the mist had dispersed.

I was in no rush to get moving, partly in the forlorn hope that the sun would dry everything before I packed it away. It didn’t. Eventually I gave up waiting, so tonight I’ll be climbing back into the damp. It may be baking outside, but nothing dries inside a rucksack. After marshmallow breakfast I was off.

In next to no time I was wandering down to the Glencoe. The ascent up to Am Bodach was much harder work. It felt a bit steep for these tired legs and it felt at though all the power had drained away.

On my way up there was a kid and someone who appeared to be his older brother coming down. The kid was picking a needlessly difficult route down and ended falling a me sliding a few metres. A lesson about overconfidence that I would later completely ignore by running along the first bit of ridgewalk. At the time I waited to see if he was ok, and a small part of me was concerned that I may have to help him off the hill and that once more circumstance would dictate that I again miss the fun bits of my walk. He was fine and I left him to be admonished by his older brother who proceeded to warn him about how bad that would have been had there not been grass to slide along.

What seemed like an eternity later and I was at the start of the ridge. It’s a hard walk but the views are stunning. I came across three pairs of walkers, none of them were attempting it with a full set of camping gear on their backs. Indeed, there were a few tricksy bits, and one the exposed scrambles my gear twice offered to provide a quick route off the ridge. First a walking pole got caught, then my rucksack on a narrow scramble down. I declined the offer, if I were to fall off the ridge it would make the rest of the walk a lot more difficult.

There are a few challenging bits, but I think what made it hard for me was the distance as much as tricky scrambles. It felt like it was taking forever and, as fun as it was, it was becoming hard work.

Wary of dehydrating, I drank liberally from my water supply. Halfway round I was down to my emergency half litre. It was enough to see me through but also amazing how despite there being patches of snow on the north face of Bidean, a few of the streamlets below looked to be drying out – not that there were any up here on the ridge. I have now upgraded my level of concern regarding water supplies on the Cape Wrath Trail – I’ll worry about that when I reach Fort William.

Another concern is the durability of my trail runners. actually, I know they are durable; I took them around my last trip, but they’ve now accumulated well over 500 miles of tough terrain and who knows how far of just bumbling around Cambridgeshire. I’ll make a call on what to do about them in Fort William too. I hope they last, but if I had planned this trip earlier I would be wearing something with a few less miles under them. My other gear issue so far is one of my shiny new Fizan walking poles is stuck so that I can’t change the length. Well, at least it’s the right length for walking.

I don’t know whether it was tiredness, my footwear slowly losing grip, or a particularly challenging route down, but never have I slipped onto my backside quite as much as I did on that drop down from Sgorr nam Fiannaidh down a scree path alongside Clachaig Gully. It probably didn’t help that I chose a trail that didn’t exist on my map, but it did happen to be the shortest way to the nearest pub. It was a long descent, possibly into madness, but at least one that eventually lead to a glass of coke.

As I left the pub, I encountered two walkers from the ridge. They asked which way I had come down and looked slightly horrified when I told them. Apparently that route has been closed off a few times, people dying down there and whatnot. I don’t know about that, it was a route that required me to be careful and was a bit awkward, but didn’t seem too scary. I’m not sure if we were thinking of the same place, but at least I felt a bit better about slipping on my ass a few times. They asked me if tomorrow was a rest day and again looked slightly concerned when I told them of my plans for tomorrow. They were exhausted after Aonach Eagach and their friend who had done the Bidean walk had taken nine hours and was equally shattered. They told me to be careful up there and wished me luck before bidding me farewell Nd once more I was on my way.

I made my way down to the Red Squirrel Campsite. So far it’s the only campsite I fully approve of. (OK, the wigwams were cool too, but the camping area didn’t seem so nice.) There are people around me with wood fires burning, leaving a pleasant smell of woodsmoke in the air. I’m in a quiet spot, the same place as two years ago – what can I say, I’m a creature of habit. As I write this sat next to a river, the sun is setting to my right. If every day ends like this I won’t want to go back!

I’ve taken advantage of the campsite (and their new shower facilities) to clean myself and my clothes, so at least I don’t have to smell myself anymore.

A brief check of text messages from the outside world tells me a work colleague and her new bairn are doing well, which I was glad to hear; my little sister has passed her first year of Uni, so congrats to her, and thank you to everyone who has sent me a message so far wishing me luck. Also today I saw some foxgloves – they reminded me of my mum, she likes foxgloves, or a least I think she does. Either way I think she’d like to think I thought of her. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves wherever you are. I’m still having fun out here.

One of the nice things about being on the trail with other walkers is that none of them think you are particularly crazy. Nobody seems surprised by my journey, there’s just a matter of fact response along the lines of “well dearie, if you’re going to be walking that far then make sure you take a dry pair of socks” or something. Nobody out here really cares what I’m doing or how far I’m going. Out here I get to just hike my own hike.

The day started brightly, someone from one of the other huts wished me luck as I yomped off site and back onto the path.

I soon bumped into a lovely young lady walking south. God knows why she chose to walk south, the sun would be in her eyes all day, but we briefly chatted about where each of us was going and she recommended a few camping spots depending on how far I would get. Then we went out separate ways, our paths never to cross again.

At Tyndrum I met two ladies who were just starting day five of their journey. They made their way north; I stopped for breakfast. I had a sausage and bacon sandwich which had five layers of bacon. It was amazing. If my canteen at work stocked such things I’d become a big fatty. It’s probably a good thing I don’t come across such things too often.

Fed and filled with water I sped off on a bacon powered stretch. I soon encountered a wee lass pushing a bike uphill. She asked if I was doing the West Highland Way, I told her I was, but it looked more fun to be doing it on a bike. She declared flatly that no it wasn’t, before asking about my walking poles and the hose for my platypus which allowed me to both walk and drink at the same time.

At the top of the hill we came across her dad who encouraged her to get back on the bike and start cycling. They were aiming to get to Kings House that night – the same place I hoped to be camping that night. It was quite nice to think that out there ahead of me somewhere is a ten year old girl peddling furiously to raise money for the Make a Wish foundation.

On I walked until I found that I only had ten miles left to go that day so I stopped for a haggis and cheese panini. I spent the next hour chatting to a couple of groups of people in the Inveroran Hotel bar. One couple were halfway through their sixth day of walking. They were hoping to stop at the cottage ruins that my southerly walking friend had advised me to camp at. The other group were acting as a support crew for a group of people on their fourth day of travels. I quietly gave encouragement and words of advice regarding what lay ahead. We chatted for a wee while and I told them how far I was going before darting out to fill my water bottle. Inside I heard one of the girls remarking on how amazing my journey was, a good reminder that I am doing something a bit special and that I should enjoy it. With that encouragement I took to the trail and back underneath the afternoon sun.

Sixty miles down and ahead of schedule I continued on over the moor and towards Kings House. The heat was oppressive at times, and no matter what your religious views, each breeze felt as though it had been sent from heaven by God himself.

The heat I was getting used to, or at least today may have been cooler. Now it was the insects who were becoming the bane of my life. Not just the midges mind you, those hills are full of a wide variety of flying bitey things.

I came across another southerly walker. She was carrying lightweight gear and had a total pack-out weight of 30lbs. That put my 16 kg to shame. We chatted briefly and I pointed out a few good wild camping spots I had passed, and after wishing her well I continued on.

As I descended towards Kings House I met an old Scotsman on a two day trip. He’d got some nifty lightweight gear, so I walked with him down the hill to the Hotel (and strongly resisting the urge to run down the hill.) We were overtaken by two familiar cyclists who briefly stopped and chatted, we wished each other luck, before they cycled ahead of us. I must have overtaken them when they stopped for lunch at Bridge of Orchy. It was good to see them again and know they are doing well. The girl was excited at the prospect of going up a hill on a ski lift, and when you’ve got that to look forward to who cares how hot and tired you’ve been. As they cycled, myself and the old man plodded, passing some deer and heading into the bar.

I seem to have spent a lot of time in eating establishments today, enjoying myself immensely. I’m potentially three or four days away from my next proper resupply, so I’m taking advantage of it while I can. I sat in the walkers’ bar talking to people on their various travels, eating a venison burger and waiting for the sun to set before I wandered out to camp for the night.

It was still beautiful out when I left, the sun had set and a cool breeze swept by as I made my way through the campers and back onto the trail in search of a more secluded spot. I’m not good enough with words to describe how serene this place is, with the moor behind me and the glen ahead, all I can say is if I were to be stuck in a Groundhog Day, destined to repeat the same day again and again, I wouldn’t mind it being this one. You could have shot me then and I’d have died happy.

Aside from the stunning scenery, I’ve come across some wonderful folk today, from those who think I’m off my head to those that consider me a free spirit – if only because I stop when I want to and my only care for the time is based on where in the sky the sun happens to be. I’ve been told I’m still looking fresh, I may not be feeling it and perhaps I’m being lied to, but nobody is backing away from me just yet. I guess so far so good and I must say, apart from the insects, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.

Well, so much for a restful night. It seems that midges don’t sleep at night, that or they were treating me as a B&B. It meant that I didn’t have much time to reorganise things or get comfy. Likewise, my ground choice was not as horizontal as it could have been and my bivvy slid from my roll mat more than once. Several times during the night I questioned how I was going to complete the trip. I shouldn’t be having such doubts so early on.

After a night punctuated with muscle cramps and nightmares involving Matlab licensing issues (don’t ask!), I decided to launch myself out of my insect-proof bivvy and into the wilds. I promptly became breakfast. It appeared that my midge-bitten muscles were mostly recovered and I was quickly packed and away. Maybe that should read that I quickly packed and was slowly away. I plodded along and, for the first time, was overtaken by two walkers. They were ladies carrying day packs and I caught up with them just outside Inversnaid hotel. They told me they were on their third day of walking and were getting their luggage transported along the way. They thought it was crazy that I was so far along after one day. The gave me a cereal bar and a handful of Jelly Babies, so I was energised for the next leg of the journey. I left before them, but they had threatened to catch up.

When you look at this leg of the journey on a map it looks flat and easy. The map lies, this stretch has lots of small ups and downs and twists and turns, making it one of the harder parts of the West Highland Way. As beautiful as it was, I was glad to be past it. The stretch between the loch and Beinglas is also deceptively hard going. It just seems to take longer than it should, and the hot sun was sweating the energy out of me.

At times my thinking alternated between “This is amazing, everything is beautiful, I’m making such good progress” and “oh my god, the sun is killing me, why am I doing this? I must be crazy.” The answer to why I’m doing this probably lies somewhere between pointing people towards the stuff UNICEF do, and me actually being slightly crazy. It does, however, appear that I’m not as crazy as the Germans. At least I think they are mostly German anyway. I kept passing them all afternoon, usually they were in groups of two or three. They were slowly getting in my way and carrying giant rucksacks that probably contained another German who would presumably climb out, swap places and carry on walking. I don’t know, they did look like heavy rucksacks though. They were all here in 2011, probably not the same ones, and presumably if they are then they have returned here and not just been lost along the West Highland Way for the last two years. Whatever the case, it does seem to be some sort of masochistic rite of passage for them to carry heavy things around Scotland. So there you go, if you want to find a masochistic young European you know where to look.

Anyway, I arrived at Beinglas in time for the start of the tennis, so I stopped for a large coke and watched Murray win the first set 6-4. The two ladies from earlier in the day wandered in about half an hour after me and wished me well for the rest of my trip. An athletic guy with an overly tight white vest started chatting to me in an over-friendly way, so I decided that it was around about time to skedaddle and accumulate a few more miles despite the blistering heat.

Out into the furnace I stepped and immediately into the shop to buy sunscreen and between the sun and my sweat it might have been more effective if I just drank the stuff. The person in the shop commented “I bet you didn’t think you’d be buying suntan lotion in Scotland.” I just thanked him and did my best not to mention that I didn’t think I’d be spending £14.50 on a bottle of suntan lotion.

On I sweated. The commentator for the tennis had talked about how much the players must be struggling in the heat. Well, I don’t know about them but I was struggling and I don’t even get a medal. The afternoon was slow going, I passed a few more walkers but most were hiding in the rare patches of share as I sweated by.

Yesterday I had thought that every mile done in the evening was worth two the following morning. I have since decided that every half-hour in the pub was worth another couple of miles in end-of-day range. As the day wore on and the midges began to descend on Crianlarich forest, I pushed on through the craftily placed B&B signs.

My legs were tired, I was severely dehydrated an bed and breakfasts seemed determined to lure me in with the promise of hot showers and comfy beds. It was only a matter of time before broke; a little further I admitted defeat, calling time at around 19.45. Tomorrow I will have to manage my food and water intake better. (Note to self: pee should never be brown.) the dehydration more than the muscle pain has limited me today.

Here I am writing this from Stathfillan Wigwams. Ok, it’s not quite a luxurious B&B, but it’s not my tarp either. Anyway, I’m on holiday and have wanted to stay in one of these since I passed them in 2011.

The man running the campsite was actually from Cape Wrath, so he told me some wonderful stories about the place and also told me of two walkers in their late sixties who walked from the Pennines to Cape Wrath and back – two years running! I felt a little soft for hiding in comfort so early on.

The early rest and comfortable environment gave me a couple of hours to shower, wash my clothes, eat, drink and give myself a proper systems check. The four small blisters on my left foot and one on my right were somewhat inevitable. The ground has been hard and my feet have regularly complained in the heat. I’ve thus far resisted the temptation of cooling them by walking in streams, if only because my socks are still more or less still dry.

Checking my feet also alerted me to some sort of tick type insect merrily munching its way into my ankle. Out it was pulled, but even with a tick removal tool it was stubborn and wanted to stay put.

Stopping here had also given me some much needed human contact. I’ve met some really nice people out here and it’s nice to be reminded that, for the most part, folk are good.

I’m now sat in my cabin with my first cup of tea this trip. I’m probably suffering from caffeine withdrawal too. I’ll have another cup of tea before a long and hopefully restful sleep. If tomorrow is a little bit cooler then I should be able to built on the slim lead over my predicted location, then it’s out into Glencoe before back onto the Way and to Fort William.

I’m quite enjoying the time to myself, but if anyone particularly wants to join me for a wee while, you know where I am =)

I started my journey along the West Highland Way a little bleary-eyed. It was shorty before nine and I had rolled off a sleeper train a little over an hour earlier. It turns out that the seated areas of sleeper trains are not entirely suited to sleeping on. I couldn’t stretch my legs out and so any sleep was punctuated by grumbles from my knee. I had also completely failed to think ahead enough to grab a bundle of clothes to use as a pillow. I did have my platypus though, which, containing 2 litres of water, made for a cold and plasticy pillow. If I’m honest, I probably wouldn’t have slept well anywhere; it was exciting to be starting a new adventure.

Bleary-eyed I may have been, but the first miles fell quickly underfoot. The first ten miles of the West Highland Way, and for now I felt unstoppable. My only company during that stretch was an old guy going on a day trip. We talked about the scale of my journey and he told me he was too old to do anything more than day trips. I replied that I was taking advantage of my knees while I still could. He advised me that it’s be my hips that would be the first to go. I think my IT band would agree with that.

By lunchtime I was coming around Conic Hill and looking over Loch Lomond. Fifteen miles down and I felt exhausted, the sun was hit and I was beginning to ache, but overall I still felt as though I was on top of the world.

I reached Balmaha and decided to treat myself with some snacks. Other than finding an honesty-box-shop thing for a can of coke, all I’d really had to keep me going since the night before was a bag of almonds and a chocolate bar. Neither the coke nor the almonds were providing sufficient calories and so I opted for an ice cream and a litre of banana milkshake. This turned out to be a mistake. Ten minutes later they were gone. Ten minutes later I was walking along and began to see the error of my ways. Not only was I walking away with a stomach filled with sugar and dairy, which was being dutifully digested by my stomach, but the sun was now fully determined to cook me. I must say that I didn’t feel particularly pleasant.

There were numerous other people out for the day, enjoying the sun and wandering around. I dread to think what they thought as hot and sweaty I stumbled along in an autopilot daze.

The sugar high came and went, the sun dropped and I began to feel better. I came across the first potential campsite for the night, it was overpopulated by people in caravans and the noise would have driven me mad. On I walked. I passed another campsite but decided to stretch myself and march through the restricted zone and wild camp along the loch.

Back at the tourist information office at the start of the way, the girl at the reception had dutifully explained the wild camping restriction zone – explaining to me that I could try and make it to either Milarrochy or Cashel Farm campsites, past that there would be a hostel at Rowardennan, but I wouldn’t make it that far. “You underestimate my power” I thought to myself, and it’s true that she did, but not by much. I called it a day just north of Ptarmigan lodge, and just north of the restricted zone.

Those last miles had been hard and slow. I’d not yet really met anyone to talk to along the way, so I was glad to be getting my tarp up and hoping to relax. Relaxation wasn’t really an option once the midges descended. That stretch of Loch Lomond is sheltered woodland next to the water. I would be sharing my accommodation with the local insect population. I had been tired since Conic Hill, so only managed a quick wash and to clean my rather sweaty t-shirt under a miniature waterfall. Without the energy to keep moving away from the midge cloud, burnt and bitten I retreated to my bivvy for what I hoped would be a restful sleep.