Wandering Through Scotland Part 3

We woke up beside Loch Gynack, a small loch just north of the Cairngorms National Park. The wind was howling up the glen and the sparse silver birches around us provided very little cover. In hindsight, we should have sought a more protective area for the night. We had spent the night in and out of sleep hoping that the wind would die down but the crashing of branches around us reminded us it was no passing breeze. This was a menacing wind sweeping down from the Highlands, the sort of wind that kept wolves up at night. It toyed with our tent and taunted us awake. Was this the hostile, albeit belated, welcome that was long overdue? It was definitely in stark contrast to the welcome of the Scottish people we’d encountered along the way.

We woke from this half sleep to find the tent flapping angrily and we began to worry that something might land on our precious shelter. We packed our backpack and quickly set about taking down the tent. Neither of us said it aloud but we were pretty worried and the tension of starting our day in this manner was tangible. This was the worst night’s sleep we had had and in our bleary-eyed state we did not feel too hopeful that this terrible weather was about to let up. Normally, we would pack away our belongings and then sit wherever we had camped to cook porridge before heading off. This morning we decided just to get going and try to find somewhere more sheltered. Trying to pack everything away neatly whilst being blown around was a real challenge. Imagine rolling up the groundsheet of your tent whilst such a strong gale blows into your face and draws tears from your eyes. It isn’t how you would start an ideal day. We had to walk head on into this gale and as we rounded the corner, heading in the direction of Laggan, we were greeted by even worse weather.

The rain came at a horizontal angle, straight into our faces. With our hoods on the rustling was so loud we couldn’t hear each other so we walked in silence for a while. Eventually, we came to an old crofter’s dry stone wall which provided a perfect windbreak. We sat here for a while and finally managed to gather our thoughts. First of all we ate an energy bar and drank some water. After a while of feeling a little sorry for ourselves we saw that there was an open cafe in the nearby Newtonmore. We set off with the promise of hot food driving us onwards. On our way, we came across a fellow hiker going in the opposite direction. He had just done the Cape Wrath Trail (this would be the final and hardest leg of our journey). He warned us it was very boggy and his array of equipment, from GPS tracker to waterproof trousers made us feel pretty inadequate. In the end we were happier to hike in our slightly more precarious way without every eventuality covered. It necessitates a bit more concentration and of course some more luck. Still, we weren’t really thinking of anything but a hot breakfast so we soon buried our concerns.

We couldn’t stop smiling from the moment we walked in to the Antlers Cafe in Newtonmore. When our Full Scottishwas placed in front us there were huge grins followed by about five minutes of silent, relentless eating. A Full Scottish is essentially just a Full English with a fried slice of haggis added too. I am definitely not the biggest fan of haggis but after a cold and windy morning it satisfied the main criteria of being hot. The cafe had a homely feel and they were very friendly to us. I expect weary travellers are regular customers here. The food was exactly what we wanted. Slightly stodgy and greasy. Extra slices of toast began the job of replenishing our energy stores. A cup of tea started the process of restoring our core heat. For £8.50 we were new again.

Newtonmore is an area famous for its Scottish Wildcat population. These small predators are the UK’s rarest mammal, found in just a few places in the Scottish Highlands. The inhabitants of Newtonmore are proud of this and dotted around are various effigies and depictions of Wildcats. Their distinctive, wide flat faces distinguish them from domesticated cats but they, too, are very small. They are rarely seen but if you are likely to see them anywhere it is here.

We walked up out of the village towards the River Calder. As we left the village behind, we passed the Well of the Alder. This is an ancient spring which was the source of water for the village long before there was piped water. Like many such sites it is said to have healing properties. We refilled our bottles on the off chance it would improve whatever ailments we had lurking. Like all of the spring and stream water we drank it was infinitely more delicious than tap water. For a while after we finished this trip tap water tasted horribly metallic and impure. As we continued along the Calder, the woodland petered out and the ground around us began to squelch. Then the path ceased to exist in any meaningful state. We followed the river and wound one direction and another to avoid impassable sections of bog. It was a sight this bog must have witnessed for centuries. We hopped from dry patch to dry patch until, suddenly, what looked like a solid tuft was in fact a very malleable clump of moss. All the while the weather was turning sour again. Slowly we picked our way through bog after bog. Occasionally a section of solid 4X4 track would present itself and we would smile at each other. Then it would just tail off again. Eventually we made it to the A86 at Balgowan and some firm ground. We hated walking along roads, tarmac is unforgiving on all your joints and the drudgery is no good for the soul. After staggering through bogs it felt wonderful. Every step would land and the ground held us up.

We walked the short distance to Laggan and found a warm sanctuary. Specifically, the delightful Laggan Stores which is both a shop and a cafe. It also houses a very chatty parrot. When we arrived we were met by extremely friendly faces and the eerily human speech formulated by the parrot. It sang through its favourite phrases and then fell quiet. After only hearing wind buffeting against our ears for the last few hours it made a strange change. Despite this, it is a place I would recommend to any walker or passerby. There are all manner of delicious treats you can buy and their shop was well-stocked. We treated ourselves to a bowl of soup and a couple of Glen Spean ales. Both of these (and the slice of cake we stuffed into our bag for later) did wonders for our morale. The parsnip soup was delicious. The heartiness was required after a day of being toyed with by the various extremes of Scottish weather. By the time we reached Laggan we had been walking for nearly a month and even though it was the 21st of May it was still chilly.

The next stage of our route was a manageable pass through the hills ahead. This steep formation of hills offered no easy ways round but there is one which was well-trodden, the Corrieyairack Pass. It was a pass designed to carry General Wade’s troops ever further north. But, first of all, we needed to find a spot to camp in order to sleep off the soup and ale! We found a sheltered place by the River Spey and tucked into our slices of cake. As an English person the novelty of being able to just choose a beautiful spot to camp had not worn off. Better still is the ability to sleep there safe in the knowledge nobody will tell you it is private. If anything, people are enthusiastic and happy to see young people out exploring the landscape. The fact people treat us with respect reinforces our respect for each place. Of course, we leave no trace and where possible we pick up litter that others have left. This is how it should be.

As we stirred our porridge beside this lovely river I discovered that the coming night was supposed to be very cold. We were going to be climbing to roughly 780m for the pass so it would probably not be wise to camp up there. It was pretty amazing that in late May it was still dropping to around freezing at night. Because of this, we decided to make the relatively short journey to Melgarve bothy and then make the crossing the following day. That way we would have plenty of time to make it down the other side to the town of Fort Augustus.

Our walk took us past a string of Wade’s bridges. Distinctive in their style and now largely redundant due to the shift in the river’s course. Remarkably, the bridges still stand as imposingly as they have since the day they were built. The route to Fort Augustus, and the domineering Loch Ness, follows General Wade’s military road. A road constructed by the English General in order to quickly move troops around the Highlands and pacify the warring clans. A few weeks earlier we saw the remarkably well-preserved bridge, built under his orders, across the River Tay in Aberfeldy. Wade was a bastard by all accounts and the history of English repression in the Highlands is not spoken about as often as it should be. The repercussions of the Highland Clearances are there to see today with vast areas of land owned by very few people with just the ruined croft walls left to speak of a richer history.

As we walked towards Melgarve bothy we were surrounded by a heavily overgrazed landscape. The weeping sores that are peat hags show how far the sickness has spread. The hordes of semi-tame deer that line the hillsides around us are certainly not helping this landscape. They may provide income and entertainment for a few but their numbers are unsustainably high. I am surprised just how tame they are. I walk to within 15 metres of a reasonably sized Stag and shout ‘bang!’ and wave my walking pole but it does not flinch. Maybe I’m the idiot in this scenario!

We arrived at the Melgarve bothy to find that it was still struggling after probably more than a year of closure during the pandemic. It was clearly once a magnificent bothy but it has now fallen on harder times. Thankfully for us, the space upstairs is still lovely and there was a small chess set. I lost so many games in a row that Will started giving me in-game advice. Nothing more humiliating. Whilst I was in a rut I realised that I had left the guide for the Cape Wrath Trail behind, most likely in the Laggan Cafe. There was absolutely no chance I was going to walk all the way back so we would have to walk that section without the useful tips and advice. It was not ideal but luckily I still had the maps. That night we had a relatively cosy night in the bothy (apart from being startled when some late arrivals walked in). We woke early the following morning to begin the journey over to Fort Augustus and Loch Ness. It was a pretty miserable, grey day but in many ways we needed the cloud cover to keep us cool. Our breakfast was just an energy bar and some beef jerky. If we were quick we might make it to Fort Augustus before the pubs stopped serving lunch. Sitting down without the weight of our backpacks in the warmth of a pub was a very powerful feeling. Suddenly parachuted back into normal life with an ale and some chips.

The climb up was relatively steep and when you are carrying roughly 20kg backpacks it is quite draining. The ascent was a series of hairpin turns on loose stones which was knackering to walk on. Each time you push off on your standing leg it would slip slightly and your momentum would be lost. Near the top, we found a wonderful old fresh water spring to refill our bottles and splash our faces. We had slept the previous night with our hats on and until you rinse your hair, it is hard to feel clean. Whilst most nights it was necessary to keep a hat on it was not a nice feeling to wake up with your hair stuck to your head. Most days we wouldn’t have enough water to spare to clean until we found a stream. The moment you come across a fast-flowing stream with clear delicious water and you can drink and wash is the moment your day can start. We reached the top of the pass and walked in this eerie landscape where very little lives and the odd patch of snow still lingered. There was a very cold wind, we were sweating from the walk but as soon as you stopped to sit down the wind would draw all the heat out of your body. A group flew past on mountain bikes as we brushed our teeth and looked out at the view ahead. Loch Ness is not yet in view but the mountains away to the north made a very impressive view. As we descended we began to see the small town of Fort Augustus and the wooded glen within which Loch Ness sits. Like the false summits that exist across this walk, the illusion of being close to your destination is one that hounded us. It appeared so close and yet after an hour’s walk it still seemed to be just as far away. We decided to sit and enjoy the view with a Crunchie bar and talk nonsense for a little bit.

We were finally getting closer to Fort Augustus but then the path changed into a hard access road for lorries which caused all of our joints to judder under each step. It ground us down but we were rewarded by views of Loch Ness. Generally, I find that famous and touristy places are usually very underwhelming, if not downright unpleasant (think of the Royal Mile in Edinburgh with all the tatt shops and overpriced soulless pubs) but the scale of Loch Ness is incredible. We were genuinely stunned by its beauty. To capture this beauty I think the best thing to do is to sit quietly close to the water line and look up at the vast expanse of water and the yellow streaks of gorse and allow yourself to be impressed. I have not seen any work which successfully transmits how beautiful it is. When we finally made it to the water line we found that someone had had a picnic and just walked away from the rubbish. It’s enough to make us want to leave straight away! Luckily we didn’t and we were fast enough to arrive just in time for an enormous sandwich and chips which soothed our stomachs at the wonderfully named Lock Inn. This meal was washed down with a few pints and the world appeared right again. Fort Augustus is a strange place. It is one of those places which has no real community. It is just a collection of tourist amenities. We stayed in a B&B which was one of hundreds. All soulless and faceless. We picked our key up at a self check-in. No smiley face or Scottish brogue to point us in the right direction of a good meal. Just an email with a five number code to a lockbox. We dropped our stuff off and wandered around the town. Fort Augustus is another place born from the Jacobite Rebellion. Here, General Wade built a fort which was finished in 1742. He intended to build a town around this fort and call it Wadesburgh. An example of a self-centred mind. The fort was taken by the Jacobites in 1746 just before the final pitched battle on British soil, the Battle of Culloden. The Jacobites lost, decisively, and English hegemony across the British Isles was secured. The Scottish clan system was dismantled and the Highlands were gutted. Maybe this is why it is such a melancholic place.

The following morning we woke to heavy rain again. We had been walking every day since we left Milngavie and we were pretty tired. I found that there was a lovely looking B&B in Invergarry for very cheap and we decided that we would have another night inside. We would be walking south for the day which was very disconcerting. We had to follow the Great Glen Way before we would then head west again up Glen Garry. It was easy walking along the very flat paths along the Caledonian Canal. When we first started this trip we would have bitten your hand off for a day of walking along such comfortable paths, but by this stage it felt pretty dull. I’m sure on another day we would have appreciated the beauty more. Maybe we would have sat on one of the many benches and enjoyed a few snacks and chatted about what we would like to do in our lives. But that day it just rained incessantly. We had water dripping into our eyes and our coats, which had stood up to all the preceding tests, could not keep all this water out. My socks were wet and all we could look at were the few metres in front of us. If we had not had the luck of finding a place to stay that night we would have been in trouble. There would have been no chance for our clothes to dry and we would have struggled to warm up. Our sleeping bags and the clothes we slept in were in dry bags so they were fine but everything else was dripping. As it was, we arrived at the Nursery Cottages B&B looking like a sorry pair. We were warmly greeted and ushered indoors to a warm room. It was a very simple place. Really just a house with a couple of rooms inside. We didn’t want to cook that afternoon but there was nowhere open to eat so we went to the Glengarry Petrol Station and bought all the snacks we could carry. We spent our afternoon eating lumps of Jamaica Ginger Cake and watching Crocodile Dundee on the telly in the corner of the room. I’d never seen it before so I managed to keep my eyes open the whole way through. A whole afternoon lying on a comfy bed with a row of snacks in front of us. It was actually exactly what we wanted to do.

Our next day started brightly. We passed a charismatic Highland cow and soon found ourselves in pretty woodland which was in the process of being restored. The rain was interspersed with long sunny patches. It felt like the weather was changing. I tentatively checked my weather app and was greeted with a row of grinning suns. Temperatures soaring and not a raindrop in sight. This optimism buoyed us and we stopped, languidly, and chatted about football and places we would like to go when we finished this trip. We made brilliant progress throughout the day. Our raincoats were stowed away and we walked in t-shirts. Then, we reached an abandoned house at Garrygualach. It had a beautiful view over the Garry River and the forest beyond. Why would somebody abandon such a place? The following two hours we spent walking two miles through impenetrable bog was why. The fucking bog. We would find the remnants of a path and it would take us ten metres then it would disappear. Never to be seen again. We would follow a drier route and make some progress but it would be false. It would be a trick. We would end up surrounded by water with our only option being to retrace our steps and try a different path. We are both pretty easy going people but this pushed us to our limit. We finally trudged through into the scattered remains of a forestry plantation. It was desolate and lowered our mood further. Right beside Loch Poulary was an old oak tree with a few birches on the bank and patch of ground flat enough for our tent. We put it up, barely uttering a word and began to cook our dinner. As we sat on an old tree trunk and ate our rice and beans we suddenly saw an otter on the far bank. It slipped into the water and went under. Then it appeared just downstream of a rock and swam up to it and sat there. It began to dive off this rock and hunt for food before returning back. It didn’t notice us at all and we sat in awed silence and watched. It was beautiful.