Monster training

Culbin again

We set off from the boy racer car park in Nairn on dry sandy trails into a biting north wind. We followed a mixture of fire roads and glorious single track resembling a BMX track to Hill 99.We climbed the tower just after sunset and then set off. Neil immediately tumbled down the steps at the bottom of the tower, went over the handlebars and into the stove of two squaddies who were brewing up while in full camoflage. It takes some skill to find the one open flame in 40 square miles of forest. As Culbin settled into darkness , our lights went on and we swooped down the rest of the hill and off into the mysterious forest with only the screaming of thousands of geese for company. We reached the cars wanting more of this wonderful place.


Night terrors

Spring's frigid easterly winds continue but gave us a fine evening for a 10 mile walk up to the Orrin dam. This is a strange stretch of country - wild yet partially industrialised with the tarmac road giving rapid access into the lower reaches of the wilds of Ross. Walking up to the dam gave the feeling of entering a different country where the wildness grew with each step. Strange and empty under a bright moon. We puzzled over a light circling, disappearing and reappearing in the western sky, strange lights on the dam itself and eery noises and screams in the woods. At the dam the wind cut through all my layers and I shivered all the way back to the car. It may not have been just from the cold.

Doon the water

April brings blizzards with the Clyde coast particularly badly hit. The following week I had a fine run of 7 miles of trails on the island of Bute in spring sunshine with views out to a snow plastered Arran. Despite the sun the wind remained biting and enough snow lay on the trail to require some comedy postholing. Variety is the spice of life - but now can we have some warmth?

Zermatt comes to Ullapool

A cracking half day on Beinn Enaiglair, a Corbett which nestles under the shoulder of Beinn Dearg. We got a nice early start and scrunched off from Braemore round a boggy but frozen detour to avoid whoever owns Braemore Estate being troubled by our proletarian presence. This new.. erm... path was created as an alternative to the forest track up to Home Loch which you have every right to use. On my next trip I will not repeat the mistake. The path round the hill provided growing and grand views across to the Fannichs and down towards Loch Broom. The hills were plastered in snow and Sgurr na Clach Geala looks particularly alpine with its north ridge curving gracefully up to the summit. 

Once past the big stone the route curved round to the north side of the hill and the temperature plummeted. The path was slick with ice covered in fine powder which slowed us right down. We joined a more constructed path running up the east side of the hill in gentle curves mostly obscured by snow. At about 600 metres the snow took on the consistency of chalk, firm but yielding to a slash of the boot edge to give a good grip. We moved from shade to sun and back but the snow remained the finest neve and we eventually conceded to crampons prior to the final steep slope up a small gully to the summit ridge. The upward motion on the perfect snow under a soft blue sky and warm air was hypnotic but over all to soon. I turned to look wistfully down the gully and thought of other places such as Centre Gully on Ben Lui where such movement can last hours. 

From the summit the views opened north, west and south across that unique Scottish scene of snow, sea and mountains out as far as Ben Loyal and what might have been the Statue of Liberty. Today there was nowhere finer.

Culbin of the sands

Children need routine and my 3 year old boy is no different. It took a fair amount of effort to persuade him that our weekly adventure should go somewhere different to last week’s outing to the treehouses of Abriachan. I used some psychology along with the words ‘woods, beach and fire’ in quick succession and had him hooked and we were off for Culbin forest in the grey morning.

 We bundled into warm clothing and set off along the wide paths towards Tower 99 which was to be the big draw for the day. He made good pace, only halting occasionally to pick up something familiar from previous walks. ‘Old man’s beard!’ he yelled in triumph holding up a branch that was bigger than him festooned with moss. A few wobbly moments followed as he tired and then when I refused to pick up a massive pile of stones ‘for the big tower’ he descended into a wailing cry with some proper tears. I scooped him up while surruptiously dropping the stones and licked the tears from his face..’These ones on the left taste nice but the ones on the right are rubbish.’ It did not work and I left him bawling in a wee sandy hole next to the path. I got myself out of sight , crouched down and and waited and predictably he sprinted up the path and into my arms. Instantly better.

We reached the tower and climbed it nervously. My vertigo reached new heights as I scanned the slatted wood for small boy sized gaps and gripped him tight. He did not seem to like it much either as the wind bit down from the north and we headed down after some lip service to the views out as far as Caithness.

At the base of the tower the year had moved on from winter. The red trunks of the Scots pines  threw out some dappled light and meagre warmth so we huddled close on the bench to drink our flask and eat muffin treasure from the picnic box. His face looked back at me, framed with a flapped hat and lined with tears and chocolate and a challenge in his eye. ‘Are you enjoying this?’ I said fearfully. ‘Yes.’ Time to head to the beach, then.

We wandered off down a steep dune in the firm direction of the sea. He walked for a further half mile before he began to trail behind and held his arms up. By then, the wee legs had done nearly 2 miles and I could not say no so I swung him up on my shoulders and we jogged down to the edge of the water. As we stepped out from the margin of the forest the north wind picked us out. He looked up and said  ’This is a cold place.’ No fooling him today, this emerging outdoorsman. We turned quickly and found a sandy spot in the shelter of the great pines which line the shore. I scooped away the needles to make a fire pit and we construct a small pile of twigs, paper and one hidden firelighter to create the magic in front of his eyes. I thought it best to obey his mum’s instructions and prevent him from seeing the actual act in case he decided to replicate it in the living room so I distracted him with some pine cone gathering as I applied the match. The fire got going quickly and raised  a pall of smoke high in the pines.  I could picture a forestry commission swot team descending on me with beaters so I bottled it and smothered the fire quickly. We tidied the pit, packed and headed back to the car with a satisfying smoky flavour clinging to us.

We sped the journey up with joint Gruffalo recitals and some walks and some carrys get us back to the car with a sense of a day seized and a mission accomplished.   

Culbin’s aura of peace lingered on us for the rest of the day along with a faint, sweet smell of wood smoke.At the tower the seats carry a poem which summed up our day.

Hill 99

I stood one day upon the hill

And felt my shadow wheel full circle

I stood one day upon the hill

And saw the heather turn to purple

I stood one day upon the hill

And smelt the tang of marsh and sea

I stood one day upon the hill

And knew my soul returned to me

I stood one day upon the hill

And heard the coast birds pipe and call

I stood one day upon the hill

And dreamed of sailors in a squall

I stood one day upon the hill

And felt my gritted teeth bite the sand

I stand this day upon the hill

Knowing my heart rooted in this land

A night with General Wade

We followed the remains of Wade's great north road from Kinveachy to Tomatin on a dark, windy night in the name of Monster training. 10 miles through the dark woods became oppressive as the trees pressed in between Sluggan Bridge and the Slochd and it was a relief to emerge onto the cycle path beyond the pass as the moon rose at last. 

A hard night hike for January. 

On the slide at Slochd

A fine day on nordic skis at the Slochd. Such sport in Scotland is brief and has to be grabbed while it lasts - the trails are probably already bare after some rain and rapidly rising temperatures.

I hired the kit from the ski school at Slochdmor and skied out to the memorial stone above the Dulnain river and back in beautiful sunshine and a rapid thaw. Part of the route forms the western edge of the Cairngorm National Park.

The softish conditions made for a steady glide which becomes a bit meditative - you could go for hours given the chance. 

The picture does not do the dayor the snow conditions justice - I picked about the thinnest spot on the entire route.

Winter bites me on the bum

After an extended bout of flu over Christmas my first night ride of the year ended in disaster when a  patch of black ice on the descent of Dunain hill up ended me and brought me down hard on my rear. I lay still for a long time in the darkness badly winded and moaning before heading down the hill gingerly. Funny - it was the same ice that I passed on the way up and thought that I had better avoid on the way down. 

No bones broken but a few lessons learned. Ice is not sticky but it is quite hard.

Four outings to kick off another winter

December now and the sun hits the horizon at just after 3 in the afternoon.  We have had quite bit of snow and the temperature has hovered around freezing for two weeks now. Time to man up and face the winter.

Run

I headed out to the pass of the fair haired lads late in the day as the sun and the temperature sunk low. The trail up to the pass was just covered by snow and was not disturbed by any trace of a boot or a tyre. Occasional fox prints was the closest I got to company. Once at the pass I dropped down the zig-zags on the other side toward the loch. From somewhere out on the water far below I could hear the commentary from the Jacobite cruise boat drifting up in the gloaming. When I reached the forest track I turned and jogged back up with some short recovery stops. Hill reps is the official title but it does not feel much like training when you are out on a path clinging to the side of the great glen high above the loch. The evening was bone cold but beautiful. 

Bike

It took me a good 30 minutes to prepare man and bike for a night out on the snowy trails above the town, I stuck to familiar trails as a concession to my wife's concern at the wisdom of heading out alone in sub-zero temperatures on icy roads. The canal path was a ribbon of silver under my bike light with light snow concealing slick black ice but as long as I made no sudden course changes the wheels adhered well enough to keep me upright. Once in the wood the bike light was thrown around by the powdery snow to create a bright black and white movie of a trail. I stopped at the bench overlooking the town and took it all in for a while. The strange thing was how warm I felt despite the epic frost settling  all around. Every other Invernessian had thought better of it and stayed in to watch River City. I hit some traffic on the rip roaring descent narrowly avoiding a head-on with a deer caught in the headlights and then having to duck to accommodate a quick strafe from a tawny owl. I got back to the house after an hour scarcely able to stop from giggling out loud. Night biking must soon be either taxed or banned - you just cannot have this much fun for free.

Walk

Three of us headed out straight from work to get in a few miles of training for the Monster under the full moon. We headed up the good land rover track from Lynebeg quickly discarding the torches in the bright moonlight. Up on the hill top there was a covering of a couple of inches of crunchy snow giving perfect conditions for night walking. All around snow covered hills glowed in the moonlight as white clouds floating over the jet black valleys. 

It was just too good a night to go home so we trailed out along another track southwards guessing correctly that it would turn back to the road at some point. The detour meant a cold fording of a wee stream and a two mile march up the side of the A9 but it was a small price to pay for such a grand night stolen from the early winter. 

Hills

The exploration of gorgeous Glen Feshie provided another great day out. This one featured 4 sports in one day with cross country and downhill biking, a bit of winter hill walking and the option of a bit of orienteering all provided. 

I biked in from the end of the public road along the perfect tarmac of the estate road to Feshie lodge where the track deteriorates as it passes out into the beautiful meadow at the where the glen turns east. From there a decent track ran up the hill to a small pass leading eventually west to the Gaick forest. After a toughish climb of about 300 metres I discarded the bike and headed off along the track towards Leathad an Tobhain - a Corbett sitting out in the wilds between the old counties of Inverness and Perth. As  reached the intervening hill I was getting a bit concerned about the depth of snow which was now ankle deep. The decision to wear trainers was looking marginal for frost bite. I rationalised that I would be fine as long as I kept my feet dry and then promptly fell into a patch of unfrozen bog up to my knees. Still a bags a bag and I was too close now to turn back. The summit was frigid with a vicious wind seeking out those wet toes so I lingered only long enough to eat my piece and note that the GPS read an interesting 3005 feet. Not a Munro though. Back to the bike for a descent of only 30 minutes to the car. Phew.

While I saw no wildlife at all I did get passed by two argocats and one landrover on the hill track - an outrageous amount of traffic - they might need to consider dualling it. All three stopped to chat continuing the impression of Feshie as one of the better estates. They are by most accounts trying hard.