Scotnatrail 28-30 Invergarry - to Camban bothy. Questioning and candlelight.

Day 28. ‘Rest day II’ Fort William and Invergarry

I’m the morning I feel so tired and this makes me feel stressed. I ask if I can stay another night at the hostel but stil no availability. Eventually after slowly sorting everything at breakfast I decide to spend to book another night, in Invergarry. It would be where I’m heading anyway so it feels a waste, but the thing is I never sleep in my tent and if I want proper rest I need a bed. I am thankful for the decision As the guy on the phone is really lovely. I head into town 11:30.

I feel less stressed. Kill time in town, in the souverneier shops and galleries. Lovely art - I particularly love the long bothy scenes by John Beld, and the paintings by Jamie Hageman are so realistic they seem like photographs

I had an amazing lunch in the wonderful vegan and sustainable Wildcat cafe - ‘avavad-no’ on homemade gf bread made of edame and peas considering the social and environmental issues of avocado production, and a beautiful chilli hot chocolate with gf oat milk. This is what caring looks like, how brilliant it can be. I plot way markers of the route to Ullapool on maps.me. Happily for the majority of it paths are already there recognised.

Fort William is a lovely town, and the only place I’ve been to where so many people are walkers and outdoorsy. But still don’t feel comfortable without a base

I return via Morrison’s to the hostel. Edit blog then head for bus

Another stupidly extortionate bus (coach) with another rude driver who is annoyed I didn’t flag the bus down in the proper way. £8.90.

But when I reach the hostel in Invergarry it is just what I needed - why didn’t I come here two nights ago? The guy here is so kind and helpful, and they’re also so cautious about COVID. I have a huge room to spread out in. The only thing I need to wash is myself. The blog is edited. Dinner is in a tin. I feel free again

I spend a long time doing Instagram editing. Then dinner; ‘dog food’ stew (was so good last time in Blair Atholl but somehow not as good after a few days of real food). Video calls to parents.

Ever since they were playing it while I was in Superdrug the song ‘good 4 you’ has been playing over and over in my head. Well- I may not be sure if I feel happy yet, and I may be tired. But I feel so healthy, so fit, so strong, so proud, so me. And dance in the mirror to the song in my head.

I’m setting off on what has always in my head -it’s NOT, just the impression The Internet gave me- been a man’s trail. I don’t need to be a Big strong man. I’m a woman, Phenomenally.Phenomenal woman, That’s me.

Day 29. Invergarry to beyond Poulary

I am still so tired in the morning but I did have a really good night, though reading till late . Wishing I could just stay snuggled in that huge bed

I take far longer than I planned in the morning, particularly as I realise one battery pack hadn’t charged.

I’m planning to use less power and write and take less photos. We’ll see how well I can stick to it.

I can’t properly close my bag with all the food in it, so use my hat to cover the gap

My bag is too heavy and I get tired straight off.

It is overcast but humid and I get sweaty quickly. My brain keeps going, I need something to think about I need something to distract me. Listening to podcasts or scrolling too much social media creates a bad Need for stimulus. It can be broken by time with just thought and no option of destraction, but it takes time.

I stop on a rock considering what I am doing. I am not enjoying myself. But I also know it is unfair to make the judgement now when I have just restarted from comfort, haven’t had any experiences yet, and I have the huge stretch that is before me to anticipate/fear. I will pass through this. I always do. You just have to keep walking and let time flow by. It does. It’s just hard being on the wrong side of it.

A quarry face gives me awe. That is the insides of the earth frozen solid, pines, the tiny tiny tiny fraction of the world that is it’s biosphere perched above the unimaginable expanse of rock beneath.

I will endure

I will persist

What ever is coming

What e’er shall be

I will endure it

And I will pass through.

I come across a shelter with a picnic bench in the middle of these empty woods. People have carved and written on the walls

‘We’re in here because it is pissing it down’

‘Lands end- cape wrath 2018 grimwalkinggossip.Wordpress.com’

‘R.F.B 1881’ beautifully carved - such dedication

I sit having lunch. Ullapool is far enough. That’ll do. My thoughts taunt how that is giving up, or not doing enough. But even Ullapool seems so far away at the moment. And I need some home time this holiday.

Walking on though, at first cold but warming up, I suddenly see a view that makes me say aloud ‘oh shoot. That is pretty’. A slight lightning of the sky, buttercups im the grass, A mixture of native trees. Proper impressive hilltops peaking over the tree line, dappled by cloud shadow and highland cattle on the track ahead. This is worth the sight and being here to see it.

I go right up to the cattle, they’re wonderful creatures Magical. Beautiful hair, in there movement. They will have an important role to, in distributing seed and increasing habitat biodiversity.

The hills are painting worthy in this soft light.

I have a decision to make. Walk down to the road on the other side of the river and follow it for 7km. Or follow Scotnatrails boggy route. Ahh I’m probably an idiot. But I’m going to go for it. My shoes are so nice and dry at the moment I’m probably going to hate myself. But - like that section down to the River Almond - I don’t want to be wondering what I missed.

I trip on my pole in a very, that was NOT smart Lucy moment.

I head pass pretty abandoned houses before entering the Bog section.

It is reassuring to see another- maybe a couple of footprints of people who have walked this way fairly recently - their mistakes, holes straight though the bog, tell me where not to step. Halifax man maybe? Though most head the other way

Ah this is so hard, 4km of it. takes 2 hours. I am relieved to catch sight of the bridge that is my exit from this. It must be an old route though, from a distance I can See the shadow of it in the grass. And this is probably the easiest possible conditions- hasn’t rained for maybe 6 days. I do not go into the Reed bed… nearly do but sensibly go round it because …experience. And a long time more to cross the horrible hummocky ground carved with channels before I can reach the bridge. Every step may disappear into an unseen hole

I hate the next section too with horrible long grass and flies. Like the character in Ghosts, I’m going ‘get out get out get out get out get out get out’in my head.

I finally escape it to the track and bridge. And there see my first unwelcoming estate sign. No camping etc. I feel like I could cry if I let myself. I’m so done with this.

It’s after 5:30 and I’ve finished the first map. but I still have a huge hill to climb and descend if I’m to make it to where I planned (which isn’t essential). Monstrous fly spider things.

Road walk gives some time for relief from awful walking (tough not from the ugly fly things which I find clinging to me) but brings miserable reflection. I feel such a fool. Not having a clue what I want to do. Obviously I can’t end here (I could walk back but I’m not going back to the bog, and I think that would make me more miserable) End in Morvich? Yes probably. But I also hate the idea and can’t get over that it is very unsatisfying. I’d sort of set myself too on doing my first ever hitchhike to get to Ullapool, as that is an obvious road with one destination.

The low cloud hasn’t moved all day and skims the top of the higher hills.light rims the dim sky at the horizon

There’s a certain shaft of light,

Winter afternoons,

That oppresses , like the heft

Of cathedral tunes

Heavenly hurt it gives us

We can find no scar

But internal difference

Where the meanings are

The whole day has been filled with this oppressive low light. There is a phrase, fair weather walker- aye that’s me, my mood directly correlated to the dapple of the sun.

A campaervan drives past as I walk and stops ‘are you okay you don’t need a lift’ ‘no no ‘ I say cheerfully ‘just walking’ but I’m not really. I’ve lost the fun.

I realise I don’t need to climb the hill and want to call it a day not too far on but I am confused and shocked by the estate signs banning camping. How would I get permission? Why is this necessary?

Oh well the ban is only a problem if Someone enforces it and rest is more important.

Midges biting all over, not a cloud just an annoying amount t. Blood spots on my arm. Itching everywhere. What to do? What to do?

The time is almost here. To turn for home. Somehow I know though that it is not here just yet. I must go a little further, endure it if I have to, before the time is right. How much further though? Is Morvich far enough? That village beginning with K- Kinlochewe, do I have enough food to get there? Or does it have to be Ullapool?

Home is behind , the world ahead

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of might

Until the stars are all alight

Then world behind and home ahead

We’ll wander back to home and bed

I turn to my poetry book, which I have not often got out this trip. As always I find solace in the ‘luck’ of the poems to which I turn pages at random.

Staring at the maps, I think I can stretch my food to reach Kinlochewe where there is a small shop (and buses?). If I can make it there that is what I would be happy with. After that is, as I like to stay, future problems.

I find calm in running my evening routine systematically, with everything dry and fresh smelling, my pyjamas soft once again, my hair silky once again (conditioner <3)

Though it rains not, and the sounds about are the pretty dribble of the stream over rocks beside my tent and far wind, Edward Thomas’ poem is in my head, where there is rain and wind indeed

The rain and wind, the rain and wind, raved endlessly.

On me the Summer storm, and fever, and melancholy

Wrought magic, so that if I feared the solitude

Far more I feared all company: too sharp, too rude,

Had been the wisest or the dearest human voice.

What I desired I knew not, but whate'er my choice

Vain it must be, I knew. Yet naught did my despair

But sweeten the strange sweetness, while through the wild air

All day long I heard a distant cuckoo calling

And, soft as dulcimers, sounds of near water falling,

And, softer, and remote as if in history,

Rumours of what had touched my friends, my foes, or me.

Phone only down to 73%. Not bad. Could do better.

Today I did 23 km. not much but had boggy terrain, and started an hour later. 26 necessary tommorrow, possibly 29 if I want to get to Camban bothy, with some big climbs, but I don’t think the bog will be too bad at least not for the first bit. And I am looking forward to Glen Affric

Day 30 - behind Poulary to Camban bothy <3

Well there we go, 30 days. I am settled now on reaching Kinlochewe But I do have to manage that, which is not a small task

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,

Nor the furious winter’s rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

I throw away the rest of my water. I’ve been silly carrying 2l at the start of the day simply because I find collecting water annoying. There is so much water about and I shouldn’t be carrying that much.

I may not like overclouded days but I love clouded nights. Not a drop of condensation, or dew to soak my trousers.

The landscape behind is scarred with forestry tracks, but before is the wild climb.

If there is a path I can’t find it. I head straight up the heather moor.

A view of a Loch appears, with a white rim about the edge, you’d almost think it were snow, if that were surly not impossible. I can’t imagine anyone would be spraying lime (that’s probably not. Thing that happens still!), and it hardly looks like rock, what is it?

Some shafts of light shine on valleys hiddenfrom the eye. Hill tops still buried in cloud. A cold breeze blows

A high Loch glimmers on another distant pass.

Then suddenly: I climb the top of the pass. an increadible view of wildness beyond and the Glen Shiel mountains. Huge craggy hillls covered in outcropped rock, high saddles, distant ridges lit by far off sun. A tiny path wiggling over a pass. It has a completely different mood to the Glen of long dark hills I leave behind. Huge striated rocks dwarf me and make me feel small. This feels truly inhuman. It’s not of course, the plant life would be very different before, or after us*, but one feels the glaciers could still be up there, in those high valleys, wolves prowling the hills, great beasts wandering the land.

Into Glen Loyne I go. But first ‘elevenes’ (at 10). I also realise I have to climb that huge hill ahead to exit Glen Loyne. Rather than the gentler path I can see

*like in ‘departing for Europe’ poem’ ….

….

Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest--fair,

But different--everywhere the trace of men,

Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen

To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air,

Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,

But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.

…

The descent is on a clear path but it still requires intense focus, and I too often lose my footing.

I sing I'm a survivor, I'm not gon' give up

I'm will work harder that they played for Simone biles in the olympics.

The bottom of the Glen is full of cotton grass

The river Loyne which according to my guide ‘always requires a wade and is impassable in spate’ is easily crossed dry shod. I m so lucky with these conditions - to think what Lisa the train lady faced!

I walk up into the Glen constantly looking to my right and going ahhh I have to climb that. In my head the image of Cape Wrath keeps popping up. I try to quiet it. Why is ‘finish’ such an important concept. But oh it would be so nice. If only it was at Ullapool… that is a distance I can defeat, but Cape Wrath? It is twice the time again.

I finally reach the small cairn and begin the climb. On the other side the rocks are beautiful, dipping steeply up the Glen with a strike perpendicular to it so that their smooth exposed faces leave vertical Iines

Views change so slowly travelling horizontally that it is easy to be struck by the speed with which the scene changes as you ascend

…

If you want to see another mountain

Go another floor up

My friend, always up

The phrase basket of eggs always seemed strange to me till now. But this Corrie is so full of drumlins it is the perfect phrase. A basket full of eggs.

I reached the top and glory be, the sun shines out on me. Maybe I can, maybe I can.

There are incredible views of the shining Loch Loyne as I descend to the old road I saw from the other side of the Glen. And I wave to two Munro baggers climbing the rest of Creag a mhain. The first people I’ve seen out here.

I finally make it to the Cluanie Inn. Had been worried because of bad things id heard on other hiker’s blogs but it was open and friendly. I had a really nice, if expensive, big lunch and gf desert and got phone charge. This means I can safely get to Kinlochewe without having to detour.

The busy road and civilised inn are so strange after the remotness of Glen Loyne.

I spent 2 hours there which is a blow to my schedule. Up I head into another Glen, to reach Glen Affric far away

The sun has decided to come out properly, and though I am of course thankful (in case the weather is listening) It is uncomfortable to be walking in the heat.

The ‘extremely boggy going’ the guide talks of is thankfully fine. And the path is well walked so the way is obvious and the way is surprising easy going l. At least comparatively to yesterday - 15 days ago this would have been ‘hard’

But for the last few kms I do start to struggle. The uneven ground brings out knee pain and the heat brings a headache. I run out of water.

I get out my second pole to help. I become a four legged creature, weight on my arms, as I attempt to move quickly. Just as it feels like I’ll never get there I see some bilberries. They’re some help.

Finally - having been singing loudly and jollily to try and feel some of the spirit in me (and going a bit into a mad heat daze) I rise a shoulder and see Glen Affric youth hostel. Singing’ I, I, I keep on walking …’ to a sea shanty like tune.

Finally i reach the suspension bridge over

:///

Nooo a section deleted here and I couldn’t recover it … but when I got to the most remote youth hostel in Britain it was all shut up due to COVID. There was a lovely old man camping outside, he had the same tiny Firefox tent I used to have, and had to lean horizontally out the door to chat to me in the warm evening light, a Munro bagger. I collected water from an outside tap and left him to camp in peace (after sadly having to turn down the offer of biscuits!) to head on to Camban bothy

…

///:

And the route becomes an easy flat track and the sun is still above the hills.

They say don’t look directly at the sun - but it it’s hard not to, setting so prettily just before me. Lighting up the cotton grass And then the sun is gone. The track may be much of an improvement but it is still not easy as I tire. I am thankful though for the big lunch. I am still not hungry as I would normally be by now.

Nearly two hours after I got to camp yesterday but I’ve done 29km which some really tough climbs and terrain and taken a two hour break. The sun lights the heavy clouds pink that are rising over the hills.

A plane flies high above. Where to? where from? What escape in the air

I catch sight of a red roof. Rest.

I reach it, two men stand outside. They welcome me, happy for me to share and actually there’s two separate rooms so I have my own space. I’m so glad. I’m far too tired to set up camp tonight. There is stuff left that I can use,, gas - I’ll treat myself to lots of hot chocolates then

It is dark in here though

I never knew when my candle on my kit list would come in handy. Today’s the day

I sit drinking hot chocolates and reading the log book by candlelight. What could be more wonderful - I think the ‘cottage core’ aesthetic needs to catch up and become bothy core

My entry in the log book I title ‘reflections on candle light’. Oh she burns down so quickly. Time runs and all passes

What could be more special than this. To sit by the light of a single flame guarded from the world and wind and bugs by thick walls and all to be quiet. I give thanks that I can experience this.

I set up on the high bunk. Looking down on the shadow cast by my candle. Safe on the air. So sheltered. So easy is this time. No cold tent sights, or wet walls or haste.

I leave the bothy to search a toilet spot. And the stars! The stars! A sky full of summer stars, and the bothy with its two windows one mine one theirs glowing a soft soft glow. Ahh this is the most romantic scene paintable. If I can have every night in a bothy then doing the cape wrath trail oughtnt be hard at all

Crystals in the stone of which this hut is built glitter in the firelight as if to become there own stars.

When I go out again the Milly way is in the sky, running the length of the Glen as the mirror to the river below.