Decline and Fall: In which our hero plods wearily to the finish of the 2019 TGO Challenge

Trailstar Party Time: Philbrick, Dr Fagan and Captain Grimes

“I expect you’ll becoming a school master, sir. That’s what most of the gentlemen does, sir, that gets sent down for indecent behaviour”.  

(The college porter to the naive Paul Pennyfeather as Paul departed Oxford after wrongly being sent down for running around the quad naked at night, having previously been de-bagged by the Bollinger Club following their annual dinner.) From 'Decline and Fall', by Evelyn Waugh.

Wot? Why not smiling? In Glen Roy

Paul Pennyfeather reflected.  Not for the first time on this TGO Challenge.  Life can throw strange things at you.  Scottish backpackers expect the weather to be wet and cold and miserable.  Anything else is normally a bonus. But the wall-to-wall sunshine and 24 degree centigrade temperatures when carrying a large pack were of questionable benefit.

Still, thought Pennyfeather, “embrace the suck”.

Pennyfeather had heard an American backpacker use that phrase and, having eventually worked out what it meant, had decided it should be his mantra, there being much suck in life which needed to be embraced.  But embracing it was not always easy.  Still, the amiable and encouraging presence of Dr Fagan helped as they trudged along the road towards the Great Glen and a camp site with showers and resupply parcels full of chocolate and stuff.  Grimes and Philbrick had disappeared several hours ago, Grimes mysteriously vanishing into a forestry plantation and Philbrick had halted for a snooze in the sun by a gurgling river.  The team eventually reassembled on the towpath of the Caledonian Canal, if lying hot, dishevelled and thirsty in a hedgerow can be classed as reassembly. 

At the Caledonian Canal

They had heard that Digby Vane-Trumpington, with an injured knee, was in Fort William and would be taking a taxi to the camp site to join them.  Philbrick telephoned him with an order for wine and cheese and other goodies.  He muttered some last words into the phone, and Paul could have sworn that his final instruction was “Oh, and Trumpington, if you value what remains of your kneecaps, don’t be late.”

Vane-Trumpington was waiting at the site.  Prendergast arrived, smiling.  The team showered.  Not together, obviously.  The wine, intended to be drunk two days later, was opened.  And it was good.

The following days turned into a blur.  Despite his wooden leg Grimes frequently raced ahead, prodding cattle away to protect Pennyfeather.  Dr Fagan and Philbrick wandered behind "deep in philosophical discussion”, Pennyfeather suggested to Grimes, who simply smirked in response.  The last of the Cheese and Wine was drunk in the sunshine at an enjoyable spot by the River Spey not far from the Melgarve Bothy.  Over the wine Dr Fagan sought to convince some lovely Canadians, Malcolm and Martha, who had not, incidentally, consumed most of their cheese and wine days earlier but had actually carried the stuff to its intended destination, of the problems with climate science and the evils of wind turbines.  Malcolm sought quietly to rebut the good doctor’s analysis and change the subject.  A week later at Tarfside Pennyfeather met Malcolm and Martha again and learnt that Malcolm was, amongst other things, an adviser to the Canadian Government on climate change.

With Martha and Malcolm at the Cheese and Wine

The wonderfully named Brisbane and Yeticlaws from the US of A: Two thoroughly nice blokes. And no, those aren't day packs that they are carrying.

Glen Banchor: The best day. Simpy the best.

They plodded on.  At Kingussie they marvelled at the US backpackers with their ladies' clutch bag sized rucksacks and strange ‘trail names’.  Things like ‘Yeticlaws’ and ‘Brisbane’.  And they saw one happy Challenger, who must remain nameless, skipping, yes skipping, from the bar of the Silverfjord Hotel towards the bothy in Glen Feshie at four in the afternoon having sunk eight pints of bitter and three glasses of scotch.

Grimes and Pennyfeather then put in, what for Pennyfeather was ‘a big day’, off route, but on the lovely and easy path, up and over the Feshie to the Geldie Ford, Pennyfeather being encouraged and cajoled by the ever energetic and supportive Grimes.  They would have told Fagan and Philbrick of their plans, but these two had been passed hours earlier lying on the grass discussing how the world could be put to rights.  If they are ever put in charge you should be afraid. Very afraid.

With Captain Grimes

Braemar.  The Fife Arms has become horrific since its revamp.  What’s with a stuffed deer with angel’s wings flying above the bar?  Pennyfeather went to bed early to re-plan his route.  He had to get home earlier than he had wanted because of a sick elderly mother.  Grimes explained that he was also going off route and was heading for the hills.  “I'm not in the soup again old chap,” he assured Pennyfeather, “but needs must, you know how it is”.  Pennyfeather didn’t know.  All he wanted was to get to the east coast quickly and with the minimum of discomfort.  He’d had enough of embracing the suck.

Balmoral passed in a blur.  Well after the coffee and cake at Her Majesty’s place, obviously.  Ballater saw more niceness with lots of Challengers, the re-appearance of the smiling Prendergast, the appearance of a cheerful, excited Mrs Clutterbuck and also of a laid back, esoteric, ageing rock star in his trade mark cashmere sweater.

Pennyfeather eyed the top of Mount Keen from the dullest mountain path north of Skiddaw.  “Been there, done that, can’t be bothered again”, he thought, opting for the beautifully crafted but oh so artificial path over the shoulder, which he had not taken before.  Tarfside showed that the cheerfully inebriated challenger last seen skipping out of Kingussie was safe and well, still skipping, but had signed the pledge.  Well the first part of that statement is true.  Lots of old friends were making bacon butties at St Trinian’s Hostel.  Pennyfeather enjoyed the hugs and comradeship almost as much as the bacon butties.  North Water Bridge campsite was, well, North Water Bridge Campsite.  It has splendid new shower and toilet facilities.  What it really needs each May is a pop-up bar and a bacon buttie and cake shop.  He headed off to the coast at 5.10 in the morning of the Wednesday and walked along the empty beach from Kinnaber Links to the golf course and then up to the Park Hotel in Montrose to sign out before mysteriously disappearing, never to be seen again by his fellow travellers.  In 2019.

An evening in the Mason's at Tarfside

Epilogue

What happened to the ‘real’ Decline and Fall characters?

Prendergast, unable to maintain discipline in the classroom became the Chaplain in Dartmoor Gaol.  The reforming governor, in his efforts to rehabilitate the horrendously violent inmates, had allowed them woodwork tools in the workshop.  They used these to saw off Prendie’s head.

Philbrick, ever shady and politely menacing, had a spell in Dartmoor, but was last seen being driven around Oxford in the back seat of an open-topped Rolls Royce with a heavy fur rug over his knees.

Grimes, in the soup, escaped from Dartmoor Gaol by stealing one of the warders’ horses whilst breaking rocks in a quarry on the moor.  He galloped off into the fog, never to be seen again.  His wooden leg and his clothes were found abandoned on a beach.  His body was never found, but as Pennyfeather smilingly reflected, Grimes was one of life’s immortals.

Dr Fagan gave up being the headmaster of a minor public school in Snowdonia and, being a polymath, established a sanatorium on the south coast.

Pennyfeather, also a prisoner in Dartmoor, having innocently become mixed up in the white slave trade, was taken from Dartmoor to Dr Fagan’s sanatorium, allegedly with appendicitis.  The Doctor faked a death certificate and Pennyfeather disappeared from public view.

Any resemblance of the characters in these blog posts to any person, either living or dead, is entirely intentional entirely coincidental and is merely the outcome of my warped imagination and odd sense of humour.  The post has been written with affection, admiration and thanks for all these characters who helped me across Scotland - again. 

Decline and Fall was Evelyn Waugh’s first novel, being published in 1928.  Waugh was, in my opinion, one of the best authors of the twentieth century.  He created some of the funniest and most wonderful characters in fiction as well as some of the most poignant.  If I had one thousandth of his literary skills I would be a happy man indeed. 

Made it: a lonesome early morning selfie

Decline and Fall: The TGO Challenge 2019

(With unashamed plagiarism of the great Evelyn Waugh's first novel)

Four men of revolting appearance were approaching from the glen. They were low of brow, crafty of eye and crooked of limb. They advanced with the loping tread of wolves, peering about them furtively as they came, as though in constant terror of ambush; they slavered at their mouths, which hung loosely over their receding chins, while each shouldered on his ape like back a burden of curious and unaccountable shape. On seeing the ultralight American backpacking vloggers they halted and hedged back, those behind squinting and mouthing over their companions' shoulders.

“They’re surely going to die, those fellows”, the band of four muttered, “for no-one can survive in the Scottish bogs without a decent set of nine inch gold Eastons. Or at least seven inch Groundhogs”.

“Nor without a good, sturdy gabardine mackintosh”, whispered Philbrick, doffing his recently purchased Black Watch tartan ‘I love Scotland’ cap to the hikers from the world’s only remaining superpower.

(Adapted from Decline and Fall by Evelyn Waugh)

Paul Pennyfeather reflected. It was supposed to have been wall-to-wall sunshine for at least the first week.  He called up the stairs of the Lochaillort Hotel to his delightful group of walking companions. “It’s peeing down chaps. Overtrousers time”.

Paul Pennyfeather at Locahaillort: A mild mannered, naive chap, and generally modesty personified, despite his somewhat narcissistic tendencies. And damned handsome to boot.

They sat in the bar and waited 20 minutes in the hope that the rain would ease. A semi-darkened hotel bar at 9.00 am is a cold and unwelcoming place. It was hopeless trying to get the team together for a group photograph. Eventually, Dr Fagan decided that they would leave.

“Typical of Grimes, he’s never ready when I say”, said the Doctor. Philbrick grunted in assent.

“Steady on Doctor”, said Pennyfeather, “he’ll be along soon. He’s waiting for Prendy”.

“Prendy’s hopeless at early starts. He knew what time we were supposed to be leaving. So did Grimes. Come on, they’ll just have to catch up. In any case, Prendy might be a decent sort, but he’s not in our team. He’s not Grimes’ responsibility”.

Sir Solomon Philbrick, a man with a mysterious past and Doctor Fagan.
According to Evelyn Waugh, who thankfully can not be sued as he is dead, Philbrick may have been the former owner of a London pub and safe cracker; or a wealthy ship owner and slayer of a Portuguese Count; or a Cambridge educated novelist. None are likely to be true. Waugh describes Doctor Fagan as the Headmaster of a third rate private boarding school in Wales, allegedly with three PHDs and an expert in many things. Only the latter is true.

Ravaged by time and a misspent youth, Captain Grimes suffers from appallingly high levels of fitness, despite Waugh's belief that he had a wooden leg. Note that Pennyfeather would fall over without leaning on those trekking poles having just managed to keep pace with him for almost a whole killer metre.

The three set off along the side of the road, soon caught up by Grimes and Prendergast. Pennyfeather was in front at this point dodging on to the rough verge every few seconds in the face of frequent, fast moving traffic; Dr Fagan and Philbrick never varied their distance from the kerb, but stared into the whites of the eyes of the drivers of the passing vehicles. The pure menace inherent in their look forced most cars to give them a wider berth. Grimes simply shouted obscenities at any unabashed motorists. Prendergast just smiled at all and sundry.

Prendergast: A rare photo this, in that he is not smiling. But he is still oozing pleasantness from every pore.

Police Constable Isla McTavish’s Volvo sped round a bend, almost wiping out the five Challengers, and skidded to a halt. She wound the window down. “Walk on the verge”, she commanded. “No”, replied Dr Fagan. PC McTavish sped off. Her match had just met her.

They reached the ridge heading for Glas-charn, at what the Ordnance Survey suggested was just 633 metres above seal level. In his exertions Pennyfeather thought this was clearly nonsense. It was quite evidently at least the height of a lofty Munro. The bog closed in. Then the clag came down, the temperature came down, the rain came down and finally sleet and hail came down. A line of old fence posts pointed the way to the summit, but via many a bog and several fierce ascents and descents. Grimes stomped ahead; Prendergast smiled throughout, matching Grimes step for step, being kind and supportive and generally coming dangerously close to stealing the sobriquet of ‘the veryveryniceman’ from Pennyfeather.

Heading up Glas-charn: Clag, bog and water. But not a drop to drink.

Pennyfeather, meanwhile, was tired. Extremely tired. That dog walking along the Shropshire Union canal towpath had, perhaps, not been quite adequate preparation for the event. He could not easily keep up with Grimes and Prendy, but to his surprise the Doctor and Philbrick were left far behind. And was he thirsty? Yes he was. He reflected that those who say there is no need to carry much water when walking in Scotland are perhaps just repeating an old canard. If enough people say something, believe something, it does not make it true.

“I’m sure we’ll start to bond as a team as the days go on”, he said to Grimes.

“Hmmm”, was Grimes’ ominous reply.

“I wonder why they’re so slow”, mused Pennyfeather, adding “anyone would think they are hatching some dastardly plot”. Grimes looked at him, pity masking his ravaged features. “You’re a good egg, Paul, but you are rather naïve”, was his reply.

The top of Glas-charn: The forced attempt at a smile speaks volumes

The day couldn’t end soon enough for Paul. He and Grimes pitched up at a spot by a new hydro scheme that was far better than its stony appearance warranted. Philbrick and Fagan arrived 30 or 40 minutes later. Fortunately, looks cannot kill. But remember. If the Doctor ever tells you where to stop for the night then stop there for the night. Or, if you do not, wait until he’s had a large scotch and is tucked up in his sleeping bag with a cuppa soup inside him before begging forgiveness.

First night camp spot

Despite team orders from the Doctor and Philbrick, Pennyfeather couldn't bring himself to sniff his own socks but he did hang them in his tent to dry out

It got better over the coming days. Much better. The weather that is. And the terrain. Not that Pennyfeather became less tired. The forty five minute stop for bacon butties at Glenfinnan Station after just an hour’s walking the following day was welcome and deserved after the privations of the first day; the second stop, for thirty minutes for coffee and cake at Glenfinnan Visitors’ Centre did not, he felt, really seem to have been truly earned.

Dr Fagan and Philbrick believe that the keys to a happy and successful TGO Challenge are regular rest breaks and sniffing your own socks at frequent intervals. By the look on Philbrick's face this sniff suggests that he's in for a rough afternoon.

Gleann Fionnlighe was rather splendid. Prendergast left the team for higher things; Grimes pointed out that the weather hardly warranted the decision of his three companions to follow the Foul Weather Alternative. He was right, of course, but wisdom and the previous day's exertions got the better of them. Grimes harrumphed and headed upwards at the speed of sound; the others trudged the glen and over the col to the Glensulaig Bothy at the speed of snails. Pennyfeather found Grimes camped and unpacked by the time he arrived. To his credit Grimes then did what he is a master at. He shovelled shit. Piles of it. The cattle variety. He cleared it from the best camping spots reserved for the Doctor and Philbrick who arrived somewhat later. And it was finally good.

The Glensulaig Bothy: A splendid spot to camp and hardly a cow pat in sight

To be continued......probably. I have a holiday to attend and a house to move.

Challenging Reflections on the 2017 TGO Challenge

Early Morning Reflections in the River Findhorn 

And then it was over.

The Beach at Redcastle

Paddling in the North Sea at Redcastle

Alan Sloman at Redcastle

Himself

We arrived at the wonderful beach at Redcastle in beautiful sunshine, I pouted for the last time as Al pointed his camera, then mine, to capture the moments, and after that we walked to the Lunan Bay Café to eat cake and ice cream and phone a taxi to get us to Montrose.

It was lovely to get to The Park Hotel. It was heaving with Thursday finishers and too many old friends to mention. Robin Evans, Johnboy Sanderson, John Woolston, Andy “Mad ‘n’ Bad” Walker, Crocodile Dundee from Croydon with his new hat, Hugh and Barbara Emsley oozing their loveliness, Mick and Gayle, Humphrey Weightman and many, many others. Happy, smiley fit people. People who, as Al says, are made of “the right stuff”. The people who make the Challenge what it is, and why so many come back year after year. People were already discussing where they would start from in 2018.

As for me, I know I shall not be back (what I should write really is “I do not think I will be back”).

My 2017 Challenge was a very different experience to those I did in 2013, 2014 and 2015. The weather, in the main, was better for a start. And I climbed more hills on the way across, including five Munros, and generally walked longer days, with longer stops and pitched camp later.

Oh! Another difference! I bought an excellent cap, in which, at a hundred metres or so, I could be taken for Field Marshal Rommel. Yes that cap. Hideously overpriced at £20 in Braemar Mountain Sports when it is on sale for £19.99 in at least one online retailer.  Al loved it so much he got one as well, but in a different colour. Mine is a steely grey, which will nicely set off my eyes when I wear it in the early evening sunshine.  I later found that Johnboy also has one that is identical and, to quote him, “it’s essential backpacker apparel to engender fearlessness and occasional foolhardy actions. People will look at you in a way which says there goes a man who embodies the very essence of an outdoors expert”.  How right he is. I shall wear it on all future backpacks.

Field Marshal Rommel of the Africa Corps in a bunker on Driesh

The main difference, though, was the fact that I had a walking companion for the entire crossing. This did not, of course, make the Challenge any less demanding physically.  I was still exhausted at the end of most days. But it made an enormous difference. For me, without a shadow of a doubt, it is far easier to successfully complete the Challenge if walking with someone rather than going solo.  It’s all in the mind you see. The extra sense of reassurance, especially for a born worrier, of having someone with whom to share (or indeed take on) most of the decision making does make the event that much less daunting. The companionship goes without saying, although say it I just did.

It seems to me that there are three wonderful things about the TGO Challenge. Firstly, the sense of achievement it provides. I know that my crossings are something that I will always be proud of. That's always and for ever. Right to the end when I shuffle off this mortal coil. Secondly, the Challenge has a spirit of its own, especially of commaraderie. The people you meet, the friendships you form are what make it so special. This has to be so as we could all go off and do long backpacks anytime and anyplace rather than stumping up our £50 entry fee to the publishers of the TGO magazine. And thirdly, there is a wonderful, liberating simplicity in the rhythm and routine of a long walk. You get up, you walk, you cook dinner, you go to bed. Only if you have experienced this day after day can you understand, and the Challenge, at two weeks, starts to provide a little understanding of the motivations of those who through hike the much, much longer trails of the USA and Europe.

But I will not be there next May or in subsequent Mays. I think not. You see I did not relish the Challenge of the walk. I'm not made of the right stuff. On too many mornings I woke thinking more of the difficulty of walking up to 30 km in a mountain environment, knowing for much of that time I would be shattered. Too often I did not appreciate the magnificence of my surroundings, but rather wondered how much further I had to go to our chosen camp spot or B and B. I don’t think there was a single day when I was not thankful when it was over. For me, as I approach 60 years of age, walking for up to ten or more hours with a large backpack starts to make each day a chore rather than a joy, in a way in which a four or five hour walk does not. I am not made of stern enough stuff.

Then there is what is happening to Scotland. The wild landscape is being trashed with the connivance of rich landowners and the government. Wind turbines and massive electricity pylons blight extensive parts of the Challenge area. And the massive and numerous new hill tracks. I need to be clear that I don’t think on the Challenge I have ever not thought 'thank goodness' on getting on to one of these and being able to walk on it after being on rough or boggy ground. But they are despoiling the landscape in the most appalling way. Any mountain lover must weep, at least metaphorically, when they they see what has happened to large parts of the Highlands. Again, you have to see and experience these to understand the point. Those that run elevated over the the summit plateaus are perhaps the worst of all. I do not understand how the nation of Scotland, so proud of its Highland heritage, can have allowed this to happen.

And finally, when I am away I miss my family and I miss my dog and it puts additional burdens on them, even though they are able to eat salad every day and can skip meat and starch and puddings and stuff (not the dog obviously, as he shares my attitude to salad, which is distinctly hostile).

The TGO Challenge: In the words of Scotland's finest, The Proclaimers, it's Over and Done With

Despite the paragraph above I hope I will do more longish backpacks before I hang up my boots and bin the sleeping mat, and not just of the overnight variety. But it will not be on the Challenge. I am almost sure about that.

And my final words on my 2017 are simply this. Thanks, Al. It was a privilege to walk with you. Only eight more to go and you'll have done thirty. And you mind what you write about me when you get your own blog written.

Alan Sloman: A True Gentleman of the Road

Challenging Obstacles

Crossing Loch Ness, one of the Challenge's pleasanter obstacles, given the use of a boat is allowed.

It was Tuesday and Day 5 of the Challenge. We were supposed to walk from Struy to Drumnadrochit over the area of high ground called “The Eskdale Triangle”.

After a couple of miles along the road our route took us along a track and up into a forest. Except it didn’t. The landowner, known for his flouting of the Scottish Access Code, had installed a deer fence across the start of the track. This was on top of a small vertical bank. And directly behind it he had planted a number of saplings, all of which made it look like any attempt to climb the fence would be problematic. Al suggested a diversion that would mean walking several extra kilometres. We saw no alternative, and both reluctantly agreed. The road was eventually left three km further on, when we could head up another track through the forest. The first deer gate was unlocked; the second was locked but easily climbed; the third was also locked and leaning. I was about to try to climb it when Al spotted a smallish triangular shaped gap in the wood work.

“We can get through that”, he said.

I put my right leg through the gap. But the opening was too narrow to get my left leg through; that or my knee was not bendy enough.  I tried it with left leg first.  No joy.

“Head first”, said Al. “Go through head first then you don’t have to bend your legs”.

For the life of me I do not know why I didn’t just climb the fence. Against my better judgement I knelt down, then started to wiggle through, head first. The gap was some way off the ground. I had my head and one arm through, but I could not reach the ground with my hand. My other hand was bent backwards and my wrist felt ready to snap. If I went any further I would fall through, flat on my face. At this moment I realised that the bastard, for that is the only way he can be described at this moment in his life, was sniggering out loud and was taking photo after photo from behind me as I wiggled and squirmed, my backside sticking up in the air on one side of the fence, my head down on the other, making it look like I was trying to eat a grass sandwich. He asked me to turn my head around so that he could capture the look on my face. "You have to see the funny side, he said. And you're not pouting". I somehow extracted myself, tried it again leg first and managed to get through.

It was Al’s turn. I made him wait until my camera was ready. Revenge would be sweet. Then do you know what the bastard did? He climbed through with the grace and elegance of a ballet dancer. As I said. What an utter bastard.

The bastardry continued, although to be fair to Al the next time it was unintended. It was Thursday. Day 7. This was a long day, taking us ten and a quarter hours to walk the 30km, and climb almost 1000m, to get from Glen Mazeran to Aviemore. As we approached the top of Carn Dubh Ic n Deoir (750m) we spotted a new electric fence on our side of the cairn. Fortunately there was a gate which allowed us through and we sat in beautiful sunshine for thirty minutes having a snack at the cairn.

We set off again, back through the gate, then down hill for fifteen minutes, walking parallel to the fence. We then realised we should have stayed on the other side of the obstacle. Was it on? Al decided to test it, doing this in a very British way. He prodded it with his metal walking poles. Nothing happened. He then tapped it lightly with his finger. 

"It's off", he announced.

By placing a boulder near the fence we reckoned our legs were just about long enough to step over it. Al went across. I, too, then tapped the wire with a finger. Nothing happened. I started to follow. I realised that the top strand of wire was that bit too high. It could be dangerous to my manhood, such as it is. I then grasped the wire to push it slightly lower. I jumped back with a high pitched yelp. The sort of yelp you might let out if you’d just got an electric shock. In fact, it was exactly that sort of yelp. I do not understand electrickery but somebody later explained something about intermittent pulses. Well, all I can say is I wish those pulses were more intermittent. I walked back up hill to the gate, muttering darkly laughing happily about life’s little twists and turns. 

Fording a very low River Orrin

Al walks on water

There are pleasanter obstacles to be overcome on the Challenge, providing that the weather is benign. Water and peat are two. The dry conditions in Scotland in the weeks before our crossing meant that rivers were low. Thus, fording the delightful River Orrin, which was wide but shallow, just after the Luipmaldrig Bothy was possible. This allowed us to avoid a short but marshy detour upstream to the bridge. Clad in trail shoes I just walked across; Al in his boots managed to rock hop and remain dry shod throughout.

Descending through the peat

Peat is another notorious obstacle in the Highlands, making for slow progress on some trackless ground. It can potentially add significant distances to a planned walk as you must detour to get around the hags. The exceptionally dry ground this year made our lives much easier. Indeed, Al led us for long distances down gullies in the hags that would normally be impassable. What could have been tortuous sections of our route became thoroughly enjoyable. As a result of Al’s ingenuity and cunningness in this matter, I have taken him off my list of bastards, which he went on temporarily after the incident of the deer fence. Mind you, if he publishes those photographs of me attempting to get head first through that gap his name will be straight back on the list. In capital letters.

Al laughs to himself as he thinks up a shocking fate for me

The Great Outdoors Challenge 2017: A Plot is Hatched

My apologies for the quality of photos in this post. All pictures were taken using telephoto lenses during covert surveillance by a well known government agency investigating reports of cannibalism in the Highlands of Scotland, rumoured to take place each May. 

October 2016

A telephone conversation is taking place in those "lonely hours" between country pubs closing for the afternoon and re-opening for the evening.

Peer of the Realm (PotR): I’m not sure I want to do it again, Al. Lugging a heavy pack all across Scotland.  It’s not really the camping equipment. It’s all the food. Weighs a ton.

Lord Elpus

The String Puller (TSP): Don’t worry Phil.  I have a plan. We take food that can walk itself across.

The String Puller

PotR: I’m not herding sheep and chickens across the Highlands.

TSP: I wasn’t thinking of sheep or chickens.  I was thinking of something rather more special if you get my drift.

PotR: “Special stuff?”  Now you’re talking.  But Mad 'n’ Bad has been on that 5 and 2 Diet.  He’d be no use.  All gristle and bone.

Mad 'n' Bad

TSP: How about Mick Dundee from Croydon?  Plenty of meat on him.

Mick Dundee from Croydon

PotR: Are you crazy?  We might just take him if he’s in a drunken stupor or really fast asleep.  But we’d likely end with our limbs torn off.

TSP: I’ve got it!  Fellbound.  He’s become a right porker since he stopped walking as much, what with that alleged gammy leg.  We’ll invite him to walk with us.

Fellbound

PotR: Genius.  I'll bring along a nice bottle of Chianti. The evening meal on Day 4 will be one to remember.

April 2017 The Lake District Pre-Walk Daunder

Furtive whispering on Scotgate Campsite, Braithwaite.

PotR: The bastard’s been on a diet too. He's lost weight.  Now we’re saddled with a guy with a gammy leg who’s no use to anyone.

TSP: I’ll bring some Smoky BBQ sauce anyway.  In case we get desperate.  And we can send him ahead in the boggy bits to work out the depth. Anyway, I'm getting rather bored with only having you to photograph.  He's actually rather pretty now he's lost weight.  He could make a half-decent model....[Shouts]: Hey, Fellbound, drape yourself over that table would you? I just need you in the foreground to put those hills into proper perspective. And pout, man, pout. 

Fellbound after losing 20 pounds of fat