TGO Challenge Day 10: Masterchef at the Hard Rock Cafe

29 kilometres walked, 1036 metres climbed 8 hours
Weather: Fair to middling to very pleasant

Day 10 Route: Part 1

I had arranged to depart with Ian Sommerville for today’s walk, and we set off out of Braemar as soon as we were able to get through breakfasts at our respective B and Bs. It is absolutely untrue to suggest that we took a slightly wrong turn soon after, and started to head up Creag Choinnich by accident rather than taking the direct path to the Lion’s Face. Oh no. We both had an instinctive feeling that if we took that path we would meet Martin Banfield coming down and could walk back with him for a while and, do you know, that’s exactly what happened. In any case, walking directly to the Lion’s Face from Braemar is so over rated.

The three of us then headed off through the Balmoral Estate. Despite the fact that I was jogging to keep up with Ian and Martin, we were still overhauled by John Sanderson and the Chuckle Brothers, Dave and Graham, just as we were returning from our exploration of a very nice small path that had not, strictly speaking, been on our route plan. But as I always say, it is important not to be a slave to the route plan. 

We stopped at Connachat Cottage for a break, as this is where our routes diverged.  Martin, Dave and Graham were heading for Ballater; John, Ian and I to Gelder Shiel, then on to the Spittal of Glenmuick and the Shielin of Mark. Dave Wishart looked wistfully at us as we stood up to go.  I think his words were:

“I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, remembering how I love thy company”.  He said this in a Geordie accent, obviously.  I replied on all our behalves “and I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, forgetting any other home but this”. Now Graham, overcome with it all, added “I would have thee gone, and yet no further than a wanton’s bird, that lets it hop a little from his hand”.  Parting is indeed such sweet sorrow, as an old Elizabethan poet and playwright might once have said.

Well this wasn’t getting us anywhere, so with tears in all our eyes through the emotion of it all, and with white handkerchiefs fluttering a symbolic good bye, the three of us headed onwards and slightly upwards.

Seb Coe and Steve Ovett

We then proceeded to walk quite a long way. I say “walk”. What I mean is John and Ian walked; I ran at my top speed and managed generally to keep up with them. We by-passed Gelder Shiel and had lunch soon after. Ian produced some very fine extra mature Cheddar from a small dairy on the Isle of Mull. I out did him with my tube of Primula with Ham. He looked longingly at it but I pointed out that he had the chance to buy his own  in Braemar, but had not done so, and that he could go whistle.  It is dangerous to get between a man and his Primula.

Wilderness

Lochnagar in clag

Day 10 Route: Part 2

The sun appeared as we started down towards the Spittal of Glen Muick. I have always been fascinated by geology and, being interested in the rock formations on the path, I decided to have a closer look.  Despite the cheese rage incident at lunchtime, Ian was very kind and got his first aid kit out, and helped me clean the blood off my head afterwards, and after a bit of a sit down for the old crock to recover we got ourselves to the Spittal, and the drinks machine in the Visitor Centre without further mishap.  

Towards the Spittal of Glenmuick

 All that was left of the walking was to follow the Allt Darrarie up to near the Shielin. I had read that navigation can be tricky at the top. Well, I have to admit that it was a nice clear day, but it did seem to be a piece of piss to find the bothy, it being hand railed by streams for all but a few metres.  No doubt if I ever go again I will get hideously lost.

The Allt Darrarie

After we got our tents up we were joined by other Challengers – Mervyn, Alan Rayner and JJ, and also by Richard. As this blog hasn’t got an 18 rating I cannot repeat almost anything that Richard had to say.  Suffice to say, that although the letter “e” is the most frequently used in the English language, Richard is a Scot and a soldier, and the letter he uses most is “f”.  I did learn that the correct name for the grassy tussocks that can make your sleep so uncomfortable on wild camps is “babies' heeds”.  More accurately, “f…ing babies’ heeds”. Hills are "cheeky" or "f...ing cheeky" depending on their degree of steepness.   Richard proceeded to pitch his Scarp just upwind of the rest of us, as he was going to fry steak for dinner and sausages for breakfast, and he wanted to make sure we could all smell it. That’s what I call thoughtful.

Camping on small babies' heeds at the Shielin of Mark

Most of us cooked in the bothy that evening. Ian knows a thing or two about food and even has a food blog in which he writes about it.  He watched with a kind of transfixed horror as I ate my commercial dehydrated meal out of the bag and later I made up some instant custard in a plastic food bag to save washing up. Alan, who has forgotten more about bag cookery than I will ever know, then proceeded to pour hot water into an Alkosac to rehydrate his meal. Poor Ian came close to hyperventilating at this point, but I suspect it will not be long before he, too, is downing tubes of Primula and eating Oats so Simple from a Tesco sandwich bag. It certainly saves on the Fairy Liquid

It had been a long day. I had fallen and bumped my poor head. But the company had been superb. Thanks guys.

TGO Challenge 2013 Day 11: Pet Shop Boy

Soon after this was taken I popped in for tea and cake

My route across Scotland was always intended to be relatively low level and straightforward.  But sitting in the Fife Arms in Braemar on the Sunday evening I had realised that all along I had had a very straightforward strategy for the Challenge.  It had been in my sub-conscious, but sitting with James, Chaz, Dave, Vicky and Toby it suddenly hit me what I was up to.  It was not very original.  This strategy had first been articulated in 1993 by one of the most sophisticated and talented set of rock musicians that the 20^th Century ever produced ie the legends that were, indeed still are, the Pet Shop Boys.  These two kings of backpacking (well queens of camping about anyway) articulated by way of words and music what I had been doing and would continue doing.  With one vital exception.  They were 180 degrees out in their thinking.  You may recall their melodic crooning of these lyrics:

“Together, we will go our way

“Together we will leave someday…

“Together we will make our plans

“Go West, life is peaceful there

“Go West, in the open air

“Go West, where the skies are blue

“Go West, this is what we're gonna do

“Go West”.

And that was it.  Except I was going east to where the skies would be blue. In as straight a line as possible. The only diversion from east would be if a hill got in the way. Then I would go round it.  Other than that it was Go East.  In a straight line. Shortest distance between two points and all that.  Go around any hills. Stop when waves hit toes.

And so on Day 11 of my walk I headed east.  Well I did after a minor altercation with a man who was “serving”, and I use that term loosely in this context, behind the Post Office counter in the Co-op in Braemar.  If Scotland has an award for the rudest shop assistant in the country then this man ought to be entered.  He would romp to victory. Indeed, I suspect he would win the award for the rudest man in Scotland without too much effort, if such a competition were ever  to be run.  The altercation would have been far worse but it was a nice morning and I didn't want to spoil it.

Caledonian pine forest on Balmoral Estate

Majestic site near majestic castle

The Dee near Balmoral

So east it was to Ballater via Balmoral.  After a short stretch on the road, the way to Balmoral was a joy.  The sun was out much of the time as I walked through the Caledonian pine forests beyond the Invercauld Bridge, passed large herds of red deer near Garbh Allt Shiel, and on to the castle.  And you have to hand it to Her Maj.  She lets tourists wander on the lawn, and the tea shop was actually open and serving.  I was so impressed I bought a post card showing Prince Charles in full highland regalia and wondered at the mind of the man who will one day be our King.  It was then along minor roads towards Ballater. It seemed further than it actually was.  I cut off through woods and crossed the Dee by a rickety suspension bridge at Polhollick.  Soon after, a road sign told me Ballater was 1 mile away.  I left the road again in favour of a path by the Dee.  And let me tell you I walked for another 45 minutes from there by the river and the Golf Course to get to the camp site, so it was either the slowest or the longest mile in history.



6 miles? Two hours? Wishful thinking

Not a bad camp site.  A fabulous evening in the good company of lots of Challengers including Graham, Colin Crawford and John Wright in the Alexandra Hotel which served up a cracking meal. 

Akto City, Ballater

TGO Challenge 2013 Days 9 and 10: Braemar, Booze and Crazed Ducks

Mar Lodge also offers Challengers a help yourself continental breakfast for a fiver. Great value, especially when you get up early, eat whilst everybody else  sleeps, pack your tent  up then go and have another breakfast whilst almost everybody else except Dave the Devon policeman still sleeps.  Not that I would stoop so low as to eat a second breakfast and pretend it was my first.  Certainly not.  Oh no, that would be just greed that would.

Victoria Bridge on the way out of Mar Lodge

The walk into Braemar is short and sweet.   I walked with Alan Kay from Ilkley (I don’t think he was bah tat), who had come down from camping at a very windy White Bridge that morning.  We met a married couple of Challengers on the way.  The lady was sitting down on the verge tending blisters.  Her husband chivalrously helped her on with her pack.  “Crikey this is light” he said as he picked it up.  I asked her how she managed to have such a small load.  “Simple” she replied “I do all the packing.  I pack his sack as well as mine.”  I assume after that revelation they will both be consulting family law solicitors.

Braemar from Creag Choinnich

 

Braemar.  My first visit. As I arrived it started to rain.  Later it heaved down.  Absolutely heaved.  Cats and dogs and lions and tigers.  My B and B, Callater Lodge on the Glen Shee Road, let me in at 12.30pm, long before the official 4.00pm opening time.  Thanks hosts.  Spent the afternoon drinking tea, eating and drinking Guinness, but not necessarily in that order.  Actually it was in that order.  As those heavens really opened I was thankful that I had finished early for the day, and that I wasn’t staying on the camp site.  Not well'ard me, you see.  The town was filled with Challengers and I met others only known previously through the blogosphere, including Martin Rye and Philip Werner, both with their wealth of knowledge on matters backpack.  I also met more loveliness in the forms of Norma and John Keohane who were staying at the same B and B.  Well Norma is lovely, whilst John is not.  John is just funny.  That’s funny ha ha not funny weird, although he may be weird too, I can’t judge, although I can have suspicions.  And of course there were a whole bunch of other Challenge legends around including Messrs Lambert, Walker and Sloman with great stories of derring do to tell.  Alan, in particular, enthralled the audience as the photo below shows.  I think I may have taken this on the Sunday morning, but I am not sure whether he was on the same anecdote from the Saturday at this time or whether he had moved on to another one.

These hardy Challengers, gathered round Alan Sloman, listen enthralled to his anecdotes
L to R: Andrew Walker, ANO, ANO (sorry, but they know who they are) Philip Werner, Martin Rye and Alan's leg





As even Phil Lambert loses the will to live and resorts to texting, Alan slumps exhausted from his valiant efforts to entertain and contemplates what an ungrateful lot his companions are

It was a disappointing evening in the Moorfield.  I thought there would be communal Challenge entertainment.  There wasn’t.  I was put on a table for one to eat (I mean to eat dinner, not to eat the table), just like Billy All On His Own Because He Is So Pathetic He Has No Mates.  I wasn’t having that, so I physically man handled another solo Challenger who was dining alone, Tony Pugh, and twisted his arm behind his back until he submitted and agreed to sit with me. “Just pretend we are together”, I hissed, “and make out that I am the sort of guy that people would like to spend the evening with.  If you don’t you’re dead meat”.

Sunday was a planned rest day and was a considerably better day, both socially (sorry that is not a criticism of Tony Pugh who was good company) and weatherwise.  James Boulter stormed in to town despite his bad ankle.  Hurrah!  Chaz and Dave arrived too.  More cheers.  I was feeling fit, and not really in need of anymore rest after the short Saturday, so in the fabulous afternoon sunshine I walked up Creag Choinnich (538m above seal level), the small but perfectly formed hill behind the town, admiring the beautiful pines on the lower slopes, disturbing a small herd of deer higher up, and enjoying the great views of the village, and the Dee Valley and surrounding mountains from the top.

The Pines on the way up Creag Choinnich

Looking down the Dee Valley from Creag Choinnich

James and I had a good meal in the Old Bakery in the evening before heading into the Fife Arms.  We took our Guinnesses and joined Chaz and Dave at a small window table.  They were eating pizza.  What happened next was all over in about 15 seconds, so the precise sequence of events is unclear.  But as we discussed our Challenge heroics a brown streak of feathers flashed through the air between the four of us.  It was a low flying duck, moving at what seemed the speed of an RAF Jet Fighter.  It splatted into the window, bounced and landed slap in the middle of our table.  It reared up on its webbed feet and flapped its wings violently and at speed.  I grabbed my Guinness and leant backwards.  James grabbed his Guinness and leant backwards.  Chaz kept on eating.  Dave the young Dutchman calmly leant forwards, reached out, took the duck by its neck and held it at arms length away from the table.  The duck flapped.  Dave didn’t.  The barman walked over, took the duck by the neck and said “sorry about that guys”, and carried the duck to the front door and chucked it out into the street as if it was a drunk on a rough Saturday night.

We looked down.  The table was covered in - how can I put this delicately? – the biggest pile of bright green duck shit you ever did see.  I checked my Guinness.  The head was still perfectly cream.  James did the same.  His was also ok.  To me, Chaz and Dave’s pizzas now looked dead dodgy. Were those anchovies, green peppers or something far less edible?  The barman reappeared.  “I’ll get you some fresh meals” fellas he said.  “No need, these will be fine” said Chaz, taking a mouthful.  Dutchmen are just so cool.

This incident had a fortunate spin off.  We all sought out another table and hence ended up making more new acquaintances, the wonderful Vicky and Toby from Leeds, both with lots of interesting tales to tell, and not all Challenge related.  I shan’t repeat them as that would be telling tales….