Linda had a meeting on Bute, I had gear to test and photograph so I used that as an excuse and we booked a ferry trip for two. I’ve been in Wemyss Bay more in the last couple of years than in the whole of my life to that point, but I’ve not been down the slip to the ferry since the 70’s.
We were in good time, got a good queue spot and got on the boat fast. We also got up the stairs to the lounge fast and nabbed the last two hot rolls in the cafe.

We enjoyed our wee breakfast then took to the deck to enjoy the clear skies and cool sea breeze. A fine start to the day.
We were soon spinning expertly into the berth at Rothesay and once we hit the tarmac I left Linda to walk up and out of town solo to look for some adventure for a few hours.

I followed the roads right and left until a nice long stretch took me from the streets and into the fields and trees where I found a junction I’d seen on Geograph so I knew I was going in the right direction. Geograph is still the best planning tool, so many times it’s got better information than a map.

That was proven right when I took a well used and established track with gates into the trees that isn’t on the map. But the track was going my way, so I followed it up towards the sunshine.

Clear of the trees a wee herd of Heilan Coos snacked happily and didn’t bat an eyelid at my presence. This lovely beastie was snacking with purpose and I could have hung out all day and watched them. But the modest skyline was calling from not too much further away and I did have one eye on the time, so I reluctantly wandered uphill again.

It was lovely, bright and sunny but cold enough in the breeze for me to keep my jacket on. Perfect walking weather really, so walk I did. I climbed the stile just below Barone Hill where I’d planned to go but there were other inviting shapes nearby so I headed over to a little 140m-ish hump for cracking views out to sea over the bays on the west of the island. It would have been so easy to walk coast to coast here, that’s definitely on for another time.

I headed further over to Craw Hill, a lump of gorse, heather and rock with fantastic views over to Arran. This is a magic spot, you could spend time here, it’s a place I’d come back to regularly if I lived on the island. Here’s the thing though, there are almost no tracks up here. Those that are established are obviously very lightly used too. Why aren’t folk walking these lovely wee hills?

I was bemused more than I was complaining because I happily had the whole wee range to myself. Despite the beautiful day and the easy accessibility I never saw a soul from the fringes of Rothesay until I was down at the standing stone later.

Peace.

There are lovely old walls all over and they’re mostly in a good state of repair. Much easier to shin one of them than get through the gorse which is rampant, but very pretty too.
There was some meandering around the clumps of it to get a clear route back and onto the wee top of Barone Hill.

There was a fort here they say in prehistory and there’s some evidence of it slipping under the heather, but I wonder how much of it ended up as part of these walls a few hundred years ago.

I took a proper break here, pack off, arse on a rock and I sat back and listened to buzzing and chirping for a while. Beep, beep… I looked at the notification – “I’ll be another couple of hours”
I sat back with a grin. Oh the hardship.

I took a northerly-ish line towards what looked like the thinnest part of the trees skirting the hill. It was steep and rough the whole way down and I was overjoyed not to have decked it on the way as my knees seemed to be improving recently and I really didn’t want to do the twist again, like we did last summer. Yeah…
However that thin line was gorse over bog and I really thought I was going have to re-ascend and have another go from a different angle. However a patch of some funny looking trees with small widely splaying branches broke through the line of gorse so I climbed into the them and tarzaned my way though with much chuckling and no possibility of recording it in any way with the bog below me waiting to permanently claim my phone.

I fell out into a field grinning to the sound of the pipes floating across to me from the ruined farm I was heading for. I had seen some coloured dots heading in from the road to the west from the top and with pipes I was thinking maybe ashes being scattered? There was no “Flowers of the Forest” being played, but not everyone is a traditionalist.

I climbed onto a giant fallen tree to wait for a while, let the folk have some peace without my intrusion. I pulled my brim down and let the day edge ahead without me.

It had been quiet for a while when I walked into the farm and I found it as ruined as they say. It has tangible marks of life though, the window and doors frames had once been carefully painted, fireplaces still help long cold ashes and the animal sheds had drinking wells for the beasts waiting to be cleaned and filled. Atmospheric, but melancholy.

I saw figures shift through the glassless windows, I heard rustling in the bushes on the other side of tumbling stonework. My heart raced, my breathing stopped, I was suddenly in a Hammer Horror, I was in a 70s telly drama that scarred my generation for life, I was in a… group of hippies sleeping around the standing stone?

I picked my way quietly and I hope respectfully around the various figures to get some shots of the very thing I’d climbed through the trees for, the wonderfully impressive stone.
I was as ignored by those who were still awake as I was by those asleep and I followed the GPS to the nearby burial cist where I met two lovely ladies with whom I had a long and interesting conversation with.

I had already realised this wasn’t an ashes scattering: “Are you having a gathering today?” I ventured. I’d forgotten it was Earth Day as we had been wrapped up in our mission from early that morning, but these folks were indeed there for reasons that could be aligned with that, but also along with their more esoteric aims.
The want to bring back the power to the stone they said, we touched on lay lines, physical history, social issues and much more, I was even treated to Gaelic song.
You don’t have to believe to appreciate and you don’t have to understand to empathise. If you think a better world can be made by lying in the grass by a standing stone rather than bombing children to make a profit on the markets, I’ll give you a listen.

Craigberoch has been long abandoned and the plan is to reinstate it using the farm buildings as the foundation for a bigger building and to use it for various business and group purposes.
It’s the kind of scheme that rings as many alarm bells as it does release balloons of hope.

I’m atheist, I’m an engineer, I’m pragmatic in so many ways. I’m also a dreamer and prone to daily flights of fancy. I want peace, I want security, I want fresh running water to feed the unicorns, not for me but for my daughter’s future.
As I left the burial cist and my new friends behind I had lots to think about as I tried to get over an electric fence without landing square on it crotch-first and get back down to the road.

I followed a path that cut east from the road with what looks more like an aqueduct than a burn and it took me to the top end of Rothesay where Linda was waiting at the end of the road by the waterfront.
I just caught a heron taking off before I circled the church and walked between buildings for the first time an a while, ah, that’s what shade feels like.

There was no ferry leaving for an hour so we grabbed some food and enjoyed the view from under the palm trees. We walked around the shops too, lots of independents here and many will absolutely need visited when we have more time on the next visit. But although most were shutting by now, ice cream was acquired and enjoyed on the walk back the motor parked at the front of the ferry queue an hour ago.

The Victorian toilets on the pier were visited and they’re genuinely brilliant, the original fixtures are a joy to see and use.

A fancy French cruise ship had been ferrying it’s passengers across in a red coloured launch to take guided tours while we were waiting, it all felt just a little Star Wars imperial-esque to me, I was playing the music in my head the whole time I was watching them.
I guess I don’t get as many Black Sabbath album cover visions when I’m out and about in the summer so I have to replace that with something equally weird.

We sat down on the way back, a little less energy to burn than on the way over earlier. The Arrochar Alps were looking blurry but fine to the north.

I had the best time exploring a beautiful bit of the island, I met interesting folk and I got to hang out with my wee wife on a school day which doesn’t happen so much these days.

Happy times.

Lots of things kept getting in the way but the chat was always soon, and what if, or maybe we could… Then an email from Scotrail came in, a flash sale, any return ticket in Scotland for £20.
Linda had always wanted to come back to Loch Ossian so tickets to Corrour were the first thought, then camping while we were there looked like a no-brainer. I know the trails round there, some nice manageable loops and point-to-points. Tickets were bought, maps were perused, weather watching became an instant obsession.

Gear for Linda was the next task. I’d just done some down bags for TGO and I knew they were warm and light, then I put together the rest of a loadout from stock with a few new bits and pieces to hopefully make it easier.  That included the only pack I could get to fit Linda’s 4’11” frame, a Karrimor X-Lite 45 that I had long forgotten about but had begrudgingly came to think of positively.

It was fun, looking at it all fresh instead of autopiloting for solo trips. The night before we were completely packed and in the morning we made a nice lunch for the train. The sun shone and our seats were waiting for us on the Mallaig train which we caught at Dumbarton Central, two stops down the track from home.

We were off.

We spent half the time running across the carriage to see what was happening outside the other windows like kids on a school trip. It’s such a wonderful railway and there’s so much joy at not driving it.
We thought we were derailing near Inveruglas which was an icebreaker with our fellow travellers and the lassie on the trolley was a cheerful, chatty soul. The guard (?) made sure everyone for Corrour was on the first carriage to suit the short platform and a surprising amount a folk go off into the sunshine, including a 50th birthday party heading for the hostel with kids and trollies of supplies in tow.

I love when the train leaves you here. It’s silent and beautiful. Our grins were wide and feet eager to get going.

The track is easy going and the views are wonderful. A cool breeze and bright sun both soothed as we walked. In usual current form, no cameras were deployed so we snapped away on our phones which was fun. Although a full 5G signal was present the whole time which was a wee bit disheartening, I used to enjoy being completely cut off.

We missed the trail junction as we wandered which meant a bit of a back track but we still had plenty time. It was a later train we had to book to get the cheap tickets on a Friday but sunset was still a couple of hours away and I was optimistic of getting somewhere nice to camp.

Beinn na Lap rises bluntly all along our left horizon. It looks so plain but I think of it fondly as the destination of my first summit camp something near 20 years ago when I walked in from Fersit to the north. A brand new Laserlite tent and a borrowed camera, different days indeed.

It wasn’t too warm, we both kept our jackets on. But it was pleasant, nice walking conditions. The light was warm too, the horizon had a haze and the sun was heading towards it.
I looked ahead, I looked around, I looked for water. Not yet, keep going Linda. I wasn’t sure about our potential water usage and so we were carrying some, not something I’d usually do but I wanted it safe and comfortable for Linda. It meant extra weight though and it was probably the wrong call for my wee wife, but I literally couldn’t get any more stuff into my pack.

Linda started pointing at flat spots, I kept saying just a little further… It worked out though, there’s a fast flowing burn south of Peter’s Rock and I saw a flat heathery knoll a short climb from the track close to the burn.
The sun was sinking, Linda needed her dinner, I needed to mess with this unfamiliar tent with energy and daylight, we clambered up to our home for the night.

What a spot. Perfect.

There was good space, it was dead flat and with a few places to set up the stove nearby. A few friendly rocks silently shared our space too and I could pick up water easily from the ice cold tumble over the rocks in the burn nearby.
The burn spoke to us til we left the next day with a hissy gurgle whispered from nearby and low rumble echoed from a little further away. I suppose it was quite loud, but it was just so soothing.

The tent went up easy and we were set up for dinner pretty quick. I inflated the mats with much comedy afterwards as Linda refused to listen to my instruction to let air out til it was comfortable and stable, she prefered instead to roll off constantly and berate me for it. Eventually I got to the valve when she wasn’t looking…
Dinner was fine, Summit to Eat dehydrated meals, mac ‘n’ cheese for the win for me every time and Linda enjoyed her chicken and fried rice. A pastry, some cuppas and a view with along contented sigh afterwards.

Peace and quiet. Briefly some stars too, and as I found out later the odd colouring was the aurora. Jeezo. It clouded over and the temperature dropped, but there was some sound sleeping to be had.

Cuppas and porridge to start the day is perfect, the mist and low cloud didn’t dent that feeling at all. There might even have been some extra napping which was only curtailed by thoughts of a bit of a walk down to Rannoch for the train home later.
You have to have another cuppa first though, I mean it’s traditional if not an actual law.

The packs were much lighter now, that was a relief. I should just have brought my regular cooking kit and no water. Never thought I’d be over cautious, maybe I’m finally growing up?

The trail is easy going and the views are fine. Nevis never came out of the murk but as we got closer to the tail of Blackwater, Glen Coe and it’s neighbours were clear and visible under a very dramatic sky. The sky was often dark and even stormy looking but all we even got was a cold breeze a few spits of rain. It was perfectly lovely for the walk out.

It’s an odd shot that, it looks like I’m carrying paraglider kit or something. I love that pack, and it’s getting old and a little worn now. Deary me.

We cut off the track to visit the old lodge and it’s definitely in worse shape than last I saw it, a few more collapses here and there. It’s excellent for shelter though and snack and a drink were had out of the wind and shower.

It’s very wet underfoot in here too. I wonder if the lodge was damp, not a the best for a sanatorium.
There were some frogs, and some of them were becoming very close friends too. Linda is still traumatised by this.

Stops were the order of the day. Views and snacks, chat and photies. Here it really felt like it was going to downpour but the darkness came to nothing and light started to break through in patches.

I looked at the time, I looked at our progress on the map. Hmm, we really had to keep going. But we really could have just sat on those rocks. The freedom of not driving comes at the cost of timetable adherence.

The next sitting attempt resulted in a poor landing. At least it wasn’t an aircraft carrier she was aiming for.
Lots of new track here from the hydro works, definitely easier getting onto Carn Dearg now, but it’s just a little less wild than I remember it.

I think the contractors made themselves a wee stone circle too.

We caught up with a couple with a dog on the last endless straight out to the road and as we got to the end of it they asked if we wanted a lift to the station.
Oh happy day. Bless you wonderful people. 2.5km of tarmac avoided.

Rather than rushing over the bridge to the platform while looking at the time we now sauntered into the visitor centre room and popped on the kettle at the honesty box table to make some dinner.
The lassie was setting up the kitchen ready to open the cafe for the new season the next day while the ASDA delivery fella (who was from Stockholm interestingly) struggled over the bridge with a sack barrow stacked with boxes of stock one after the other.

We had plenty of chat with them and I got to read the displays too. It’s a proper oasis and we were ever so happy to be sitting there. The lassie has taken over the cafe for this year, I hope she does well.

The train was on time, our seats were waiting and we rumbled home in comfort and darkness, tired and so very happy with the experience.

After showers and sleeps...

Linda loved it despite my patchy packing choices and wants to go again. Gear, logistics and tickets are being discussed. It was good for me in unexpected ways, I’m feeling enthused from being a part of Linda’s fun, sharing it all does add another dimension.
Happy times indeed.

We’ve booked a train north with the flash sale Scotrail had this week, we saved around £70 on the tickets and there’ll be some trekking and a wild camp between the out and back journeys.
Some miles were needed to see how we were feeling about the mileage I’ve planned for us and get us in the right mood. Linda’s health and fitness stuff is her story to tell, but mine has been a simple mechanical: my right knee on descents and it’s really screwed up my plans the past few weeks.
I needed an easy descent, Linda needed distance, the Greenock Cut then?

It was frosty as we stopped by the Tesco in Port Glasgow and still no warmer as we claimed a spot in the surprisingly nearly empty and always tiny Overtun car park. Leaving early ftw? Who’d have thought.
I was wearing my just-washed vintage-ish Buffalo Mountain Shirt that had arrived the day before from a nicely friendly eBay seller and I was feeling just-right. Worn over bare skin as designed and with a beanie and liner gloves on I was set.

It was bright enough but to the north it was hazy, the cloud looked to be down to 600-700m and that robbed us of the views we get when cutting over the hills that rise in the middle of the Cut.
We stopped for a cuppa and I gauged the misses’ mood, she seemed happy and had energy to spare. Linda doesn’t not like a change of plan though, I mean at all, but I risked it, I mean we’re best pals after all.
“How do you fancy taking a detour? We won’t get the views today, we could walk to Wemyss Bay and get the train back for the car, maybe catch the butcher/deli place…”

We had a new plan. It was brighter but not much warmer as we swung round to the visitor centre where getting another cuppa and some hot food was a necessity. It was still morning, just, so this was breakfast, pre-lunch maybe?
It’s nice in the wee cafe at Cornalees, the lassie is always friendly and grub’s good.
After a wee sit down wee took to the road briefly and started on the Kelly Cut which I walked for the first time last year. It starts well, smooth paths well maintained, but that doesn’t last.

We stopped to talk to some volunteers fixing the nature trail which is good news. It’s a raised wooden walkway through the heather and woodland which has been shut for repairs for years. Looking forward to trying it for the first time.
Soon we’re into bog, haphazard floating bridges and a wilder trail with different views. It’s lovely going this way.

We stopped for a rest and what remained of our snacks with patches of sun flitting by. It was beautiful light through the day, the hills this fat south got the best of it and it was lovely.
It was windy all day but I was comfy, I used the vents now and then to keep cool and found that maybe a single garment can work. More testing needed of course, but that’ll be no hardship.
After around 13km there’s a sign bolted to a rock that says “Half Way to Weymss Bay” but it means from Cornalees of course, it’s just 3 miles to the trail end. But the look on Linda’s face…

We sat in the sun at the Kelly Reservoir for a wee while as ferries criss-cossed the Firth of Clyde below, What a busy wee stretch that is, Rothesay still pulling in the punters for a day trip.
The walk down is pleasant at first, a farm track through moor and then woodland with a short quiet road section before a dark wooded, steep sided gorge that felt a lot more sinister than last time took us out onto the main road just as the butchers audibly pulled down their shutters. Good grief.
The cafe in the station was shut half an hour early too. The toilets were open though, yay. We caught the next train to Drumfochar where a shin up the brae found the car and a quick run up the road for home made dinner and getting our feet up in a bath.

19km or so and not a whisper from my knee which is good. The Buffalo shirt was something of a revelation which was also good. Linda had no trouble with the miles either, the good kept on coming.

I was packed in plenty of time, despite the last minute crampons switch which I’ll be talking about in detail another time. But for some unknowable reason, by some undecipherable cause, despite only having to fill a flask, it was late when I left.
It was bright though, and very cold. The road was okay too, light traffic and a 57mph average which was fine for a boy from 1968. Ben Lomond looked like it had icing the snow cover was so thick and grinned all the way to Arrochar.
The car park of course is where things took a sinister turn with a few folk wandering around gazing to the sky like electronic disciples holding their phones closer to the satellite god to get a better reception as the sole ticket machine was gubbed.
Unexpectedly I had useable O2 4G and had to use of all of it’s sauce to download the parking app (the one that isn’t RingGo, green coloured, the name escapes me) to pay for my parking because I knew I’d be there until dark time. In the time I was doing this two council vans had visited the car park, I think it’s probably best to pay these days. I have an old personal beef with Argyle and Bute Council, but this isn’t the field to fight them on.

I was bitterly cold by the way, I had got back in the van and restarted the engine and heater while doing my parking penance. I was then away quickly to get some heat in me and soon enough I was in the sun and there was no escaping the heat in those rays.
I had my vents open and my zips undone to keep cool and a mug of coffee to sip and warm me up, it was a metaphor for the rest of my life. It was a lovely walk up on the recently remodelled path which now feels steeper and longer despite following the same lines, maybe it’s just me. The works on the lower part up to the forest road are delight to walk on but it still looks pretty rough in a few places higher up, time will diminish the impact and the surface grading and drainage looks like it’ll do the job, but it’s freshly sewn wound material right now.

Lomond shone like it’s name depicts and one clear of the trees the familiar points of the Cobbler and Narnain sparkled back and white above the golden grass of the wide shallow coire. It’s like coming up for air arriving here, every time is better than the last.
The track is lovely all the way to the Narnain Boulders, twisty turny, up and down and always with some of the best scenery you’ll find. I know The Cobbler is the star, the pin-up, but Beinn Narnain just draws my eye and my feet follow on nine times out of ten.

I took a different line in the southern coire, I went high to the right with a view to circling below the big crags near the bealach. The terrain is as fun and funky higher up as it is down the middle and I was very much watching every single foot placement in case I lost a leg down the gaps between the jumble of rock that is this whole coire. It’s the standard approach here which is always exacerbated by heather growing over the gaps but with height I also had pristine snow filling every gap and hollow I wanted to step on.
It’s tiring and getting it wrong is a nerve sharpener, I have a couple of cracking bruises today from getting it a wee bit wrong on my climb up.

The terrain is rough and many rest stops cooled me and let me gaze around this wonderful wee place. Not a soul to be seen near me but there was a couple crossing the bealach above and a few folk by the Cobbler’s summit, obviously thinking about whether to chance the clamber up or not. I looked ahead, those big crags were pretty close and it looked like it would be better to circle onto the top of them. Easier and safer ground for sure, but also there’s view waiting for me that I’d never had.
I was soon sitting on dry rock with my pack leaning on a boulder with a hot cuppa in my hand. It is a glorious spot and I’ll be back next time, I think I’ve found a new favourite corner on a hill of favourite corners.

I sat and time ticked past me. I stretched my legs out, I was a wee bit stiff and the stumble had given me a few niggles and I will not hide it, my nerves were rattled. Had I jarred my neck again? This is my single biggest fear, the recent six months of limited feeling and mobility in my right hand is not something I will forget quickly.
Ach, I could go back down. I had a wee photo job to do while I was out and I’d done it, I’d be home for dinner time. Narnain will always be there.
Whoop whoop whoop whoop
A raven rose from the coire and passed close over my head, it circled below Cruach nam Miseag and flew back over my head
Whoop whoop whoop whoop
It flew across the coire and its graceful black wings carried it to the tip of the spearhead buttress where it landed deftly on an iced rock just off the top.
Raawwrrrkkk

I know it’s stupid, I’m a science and dinosaur guy remember, but that was as plain an invitation as I’ve ever had. Okay pal, wait for me there, I’m on my way.

The bealach was close and was the first place I felt that my Kahtoola spikes were too short, the second place was on the first short iced scramble. But what a place to be, the crags towering over me with teeth of ice bristling on every surface, the blue sky above and the wind trying to cut through me and failing on my multi coloured shield of invincibility.
I was soon swinging my pick into the neve ahead of me as I scrambled over the steep iced terrain, my spikes didn’t bring me enough confidence to feel like they were enough so I was making it safe and having the best time doing it.
I passed old camping spots, I took in the views, I looked down at the sunshine on snow between my feet as my ice axe leash took a little weight and I pulled myself up with the gripless shaft.

The final scramble is in darkness between crags covered in white teeth and then I was in bright sunshine on top of the spearhead. Where’s my pal? Ah, gone till next time, eh?
The summit plateau was deserted but not empty, it was full of colour and light and joy and then the wind tore it to shreds and weaved back it into that rarest of moments where everything is just fine.
It’s funny how you can sweat and swear yourself into a place of peace and contentment.

I wandered around, crunching from view to view. It’s such a wonderful place to be, to spend some time. I started to descend, planning on taking the long slope through the boulder field and picking up the main track for a less complicated way home. But the light changed and I was back at the trig point again in case I missed something, just for a second the thought “What if I never come back?” flitted from ear to ear. Age brings so many previously unknown concepts with it.
But oh, to have had a tent.
I meant it the next time, an hour in the top is plenty in that temperature and I walked confidently west again only to meet a smiling Italian fella, who too was full of the joy of what we’d discovered.
It was lovely, we had a long chat, I passed some descent advice his way which I saw very happily that he’d followed and I pointed out a nice wee bit of trivia for him – “See that little dark pyramid on the horizon? All of the curling stones being used back home at the Olympics come from there”. Ailsa Craig.

 

We parted and with now extremely cold hands because I’d stopped for so long I descended into glorious colours on steep snow. The Cobbler looked ten times it’s height, Beinn Ime reclined muscularly as it’s snowy flanks burned pink into the night.
My hands eventually warmed to match my heart and soul. One little hill, one big day.

I walked out in darkness as the green coloured parking app weakly implored me to top it up. The sky was black, the stars twinkled and my breath obscured my headtorch beam.
Haggis neeps and tattie were waiting for me and I was buying new crampons as soon as I could get to a shop.

The story doesn’t end here.

 

My sciatica has had me out of bed in the early hours for several nights in a row. I make a cuppas, sit on the couch in the dark with the hot bean bag at my hip and gaze out of the window as the occasional motor screams past in a blur of LED’s.

 

Today is merged into breakfast with the girls and then picking at the laptop keyboard. Linda said “It’s nice out there. why don’t we go?” and since walking is a pain free endeavour, I packed us up some essentials and off we went to the Greenock Cut via Tesco’s in Port Glasgow for a couple of meal deals.

Linda was quite taken with the middle route over the hills we took last time so after a late lunch in a corner out of the wind we took a left onto the rougher track into the quieter centre of the loop.
We’d seen a handful of walkers on the Cut loop but it was delightfully deserted here and the views were magic with the Luss hills streaked with snow before their modest tops nudged into the ribbons of cloud being dragged across us by the pretty nippy wind.

The light was lovely as the dipping sun found gaps in the clouds out to see and shone golden across us and the hills to the north. It had been warm enough at the start but it was cold now and we ended up wrapped up after we decided to cut off the track and explore a bit we hadn’t seen yet.
There was no continuous noted track on the map but I could could see a line working it’s way towards the little hidden reservoirs so we strode off in pursuit of this new stuff with confidence.

It was a great trail, nicely rough throughout and designed to repel the wary with some inescapable bog hopping here and there. And great views north again. I’m frequently thankful that I sucked in my misplaced mountaineering pride and started going to all these local spots. It’s just so much fun.

We caught up with the regular route as the sun went down and were soon glad of a quickly warming car. More joy was to come though, there was a brand new toastie maker in the boot. Oh, what dinner delights we had.

 

We had a wedding/birthday/christmas present of a couple of nights in an eco hut at Loch Katrine. We’d been by them many times and thought “they look nice” and as the nice lassie showed us to the door we were pleased to discover that they were.
We turned on the heating, unpacked, set up all our kit and looked back outside. Ben Venue’s snow streaked slopes rose into the clouds and there was still some light left.

We stuck our jackets back on and went to see what was happening outside.

Across the deserted, blustery and sleety car park was the stone stepped access to the Loch Katrine’s Roderick Dhu Viewpoint which was happily grippy enough in my worn-out Converse.
It really is a lovely job what they’ve done here. The track fits into the contours pretty well, even incorporating a boulder and living tree into its lines rather than shift them and the tower and walkways at the top are brilliant. The design lets light through, so while it’s a substantial installation it isn’t solid, the world is visible through all of it’s walls. It’s fun too, Scotts’ Lady of the Lake poem is written across it here and there and there are many viewpoints that give changing perspectives and there’ll be room for plenty visitors too.
Even in the wet wintery gloom, it was magic.

We got back to the hut in the dark for dinner and a low-res movie before slipping into some test sleeping bags and setting an alarm for mountain fun.

The weather was actually worse in the morning, but that was fine. We’d adjust our activity to suit. Porridge, packed and off we went.
We’ve been to Bracklinn Falls a few times and although the new bridge is a bit underwhelming it’s a lovely spot. There’s a walking loop that goes up river from the bridge to the next crossing which goes high on the hillside and through the forest and that looked like it would be fun to do regardless of the weather.

It’s a popular place this, but deserted today. We put on over trousers and shell jackets, hats and gloves, the camera went in a dry bag and stayed there. With hoods up and grins fixed, off we went.

The falls were epic, dark brown and angry white water thundered through the deep, sheer split in the hillside as the rain pattered onto our hoods and ran off of our peaks. We crossed over and followed the trail into the trees where the rain still found its way onto us through the gap in the trees.
Higher up we entered the mist and left all our colours behind. It was cold but there was no wind in here, the sound of it was all around us though, the trees were telling us what to expect. And indeed the trees eventually thinned and we were thrown back into the weather.
But what a fine wee place to find ourselves with glimpses of the hills that lead up to the tail of the Loch Earn Munros. It’s moments like that that make me think “need to come back and see what’s up there…”

The river was charging under the wee low bridge as we stood on it giggling at each other as the rain lashed our faces and rendered our glasses useless.
From here the walk is on an empty road to some farm buildings and fully in the weather the while time. Water poured from my gloves with every hand movement I made as I squished them and when I stopped to examine the old nuclear bunker high on the hillside I could feel the cold creeping up on me really fast and thought it best to explore it more thoroughly on another day.

The car heated up fast and we skipped into Callander having thought better of having our cold pieces in the carpark and to our joy the Tasty Fry chippy was open and we came out with sausage suppers and curry sauce.
We sat in the flooded car park with the ducks and gulls sailing past as happy as we could be. Half an hour away was a warm hut, cozy sleeping bags, snacks and another low-res movie with another day for exploring to come.

Tell you though, it’s been years, maybe decades since I’ve been out on the hills in such consistently heavy rain. And it was fine, we both had a great time.
A lovely wee trip, just our kind of thing, our mini-moon.

The day before was magic, ice cold air between blue skies and fresh snow. I could go, I was ready to go, but circumstance took me elsewhere.
It did mean I was ready the next morning and after dropping Holly off for here early shift I drove north until something pulled at me enough to park.
Beinn Dorain did it surprisingly, always had nice times here and it was time to have more.

I was dull, it was snowing lightly and the tops were in cloud. The ground was grass sticking through water ice until the snow covered it all. I could have worn crampons from the roadside but put it off until I could no further, even then they had to bite hard to keep me upright.

There were a handful of others through the day, all friendly, all kitted out properly for the day which so lovely to see. One fella caught the bottle I’d let slip as it hurtled downhill and brought it to me as he passed. headed to the RAF he was. What a time to be looking to defend your country eh.

 

I was slow and taking lots of photies for a wee piece that’s coming up in. I was warm and comfy and head to toe in 90s gear which I absolutely loved.
But near the top my knee was squealing on every foot placement. Deep soft snow and crampons on for hours will do that.

I had lunch on a crag, watched the ravens and then headed back. I wore crampons to the railway station. I could have used them to the car park. Oh I hope it’s not the last of it.

 

 

Two days on and news years day dinner is still weighing heavy on mind and body. The traditional easy walk on the 2nd or 3rd was never more welcome. Holly had an early shift serving breakfast to “ignorant bastards in SUVs” through a window in McDonalds so we dropped her off and headed to a local favourite trail in the frozen darkness.
We sailed down empty roads with a the moon looking straight at us like a searchlight trained on Nakatomi Plaza. It was very pleasant but the cold reached right through our layers when we parked up high above Greenock and pulled on our packs at the boot of the motor.
As we we crunched away on the heavy frost zips were pulled as high as they could go, hoods were pulled up, then double hoods, hats and buffs over our faces. I was still cold too.

It was beautiful though. The moon was yellow on a pink canvas with dark ground and streets everywhere between as the high ground to the south blocked the glow of the sun as it crawled towards the horizon. Even when the sun broke through and lit up the tops across the firth and picked out the snow on Beinn Ime and beyond there was no warmth in the light.
I was too cold, I needed fed and (hot) watered. Coffee and possible the last of the Christmas themed sandwich fillings saves my day. We set off again under brighter skies with lighter feet to match.
The hoods stayed up though, no chances were taken, we were taking the wind full-on here and the comment “It’s like arctic daggers” was delivered without humour, I could feel the cold reaching through my layers like they weren’t there and I had all the best gear on today.

We took a detour off the Cut track to cross the hills in the middle. It’s fun, the views are brilliant and we wanted some sunshine on us, not just the scenery across the Clyde. It was a good call, it was lovely once we gained a bit of height, The sun actually had some warmth in it too once we got out of the wind.

Met some mountain bikers, first folk we’d seen all day. I say all day, we’d been out for hours and it was still breakfast time, so it’s kinda relative. We had a wee explore and decided against the big knee annoying descent from Dunrod Hill to the visitor centre and instead ambled to the radio towers to find a windless nook for breakfast part 2.
From here it was negotiating iced puddles which reminded us of what we did at school (we had proper winters when we were young) and I only needed minor encouragement to try and pick out big sheets of ice and break them over my head.
Ah those were the days.

The wind picked up a jaunty pace again, the temperature dropped to match its mischief and by the time we got back to the motor I was frozen once more. The higher hills looked lovely but I’ve never been so glad to be stuck at the 300m contour.
The sound of the kettle very soon after was music, music I tell you.

All my kit was laid out, it had been for a while, but bad luck and bad timing were driving the bus and they just weren’t legging me off at my stop.
But today it looked good, mid morning and nothing was grabbing my by the ankles yet, maybe… ring ring, ring ring
Aye, I’ll come in and fix it, I don’t have my keys, are you… Magic, see you soon.
I went dressed for the hills, I went with a rucksack and no tools. I fixed it anyway. I was off to the hills.

Of course it was late when I left and sunset was about three hours away now, so I slung a right at Balloch and headed to Rowardennan. Tradition says I have to top and tail the year with Ben Lomond and I hadn’t been back over the summer, plus it had been looking glorious all week.
I missed all the potholes and the stupids in SUV’s coming the other way. I had to squeeze into the car park because of an arsehole with a £40K motor had jammed it between a tree and a gate post at the entrance rather than pay the £5.40 day charge. Fuck off.

But I wasn’t perturbed, my joy wasn’t dampened, the blue sky and white peeking through was all I knew. Well, apart from the ducks on the loch, those wee guys were awesome and demanded some attention on my way to Ptarmigan ridge.
It was warm and my pace was slow. I’ve been getting the miles in but not so many big ascents the past few weeks so I went with how I was feeling rather than push it and it was okay. Lots of sips from my bottle, many stops to enjoy the view and to my delight lots of lovely folk who wanted to stop and chat. I didn’t even have to trap any of them.
People were a big feature of the day, the antipodean rugby player with the broken wrist, the boy in the mirror shades who agreed with that the two lassies in trainers and hoodies were going to die, the fella who agreed that the already weathered rocks in the bags have been stolen from somewhere that might miss them and Gordon who wandered over as I poured a cuppa on a sun-warmed boulder to chat about many things mountain and life related.
It was lovely to connect to so many folk today.

I was on my own from here though and as I got to the base of the climb to the summit the sun hit a thick band of cloud and everything went dark. I’d missed it I thought, but it’s still lovely although getting colder, it’s fine, it’s still good day whatever.
I dropped my pack onto a convenient flat spot by the icy track and swapped poles for crampons and ice axe. I pulled the pack back on as the sun burst around the ridge behind me into clear air again.
My frozen beard split with the hugest of grins as I climbed up and round the frozen rocks into the warm golden glare of a winter sunset.

It’s always wise to look the other way too, the blue, purple and pink alpenglow to the east was as vivid as I’ve seen.

I love this ridge. It’s broken into wee sections, all quite steep and while not exactly exposed there are wee bits where you have to watch your step. It’s fun, that’s the best way to describe it.
I dillydallied and took some timer photies, I soaked in the views of the snow capped tops to the north and watched the silent headlight crawl home on the dark A82 below. Any shred of building tiredness blew away in the cold wind as I skipped around for ages before hitting the summit and it’s dark northern coire.

The colours around me were rust and navy now, the contours softened and I crunched down the tourist path into the darkness. A cuppa and buttered gingerbread were a mighty prize as I sat on a rock stowing the metal work and fitting my headtorch.
It was a happy descent to an empty car park, only one slip on tired knees that I caught pretty well.

I drank my can of Winter Bru and put on Black Sabbath’s Sabotage album for the spin home. Was home before the album was done which was the only bummer of the day.

I used to drop everything and run when the weather looked good, this was a big reminder of why.
Must try harder.

Don’t moo(k) back in anger?

I said recently I was going to carry my camera more. Well, that got it broken last time out so I was back on the phone for this wee jaunt which I had mixed emotions about as there was some lovely weather. But it was fine, as Linda dumped me at Overtoun high above Greenock to go to her meeting I walked up into the clouds a very happy boy indeed with a plan of sorts, a route in mind and a time window I was happily overlooking.

We never go this way, the Greenock Cut is an anticlockwise activity, the best views etc, so going straight up instead of hard right felt a wee bit odd. Familiar but strange, like a friend who has shaved their eyebrows off and you didn’t notice at first.
It was also freezing with frost across the grass and gravel and I quickly got condensation on the outside of my fleece. Beaitiful views north with snow on the higher tops and strips of cloud in the glens. I was walking into some of the cloud though and after a few flashes of telecoms mast and turbine blade in the the thinner air above I was in the murk for a good few km’s.

That was fine though, I was taking a quicker line to get across the hills to Cornalees and the start of somewhere I hadn’t been yet, the Kelly Cut. It was a later extension to feed extra water into Loch Thom as demand increased on the Greenock Cut’s water supply to the town. I’ve been ignoring it for years but I saw someone say it was “impassable in the middle” so I just had to go and see. Beside it looked like a good walk whatever.

I wandered through a group of cows in the mist by the reservoir who were loudly chomping on the verge and it wasn’t until I was in the middle of them that they decided to walk with me. I wasn’t sure if I was being marched or accompanied as they all gave me looks with conflicting expressions which meant I swung from amusement to alarm after each interaction. However once we got in sight of the visitor centre they all cut across to the grassy stretch below Dunrod Hill, and gracefully too for such big beasties as they had to skip over a deep ditch. One stood though, it waited in the middle of the road until the mist eventually parted our gaze. I waved back at here though, once I was at what felt a safe distance. Just in case.

I saw the single human that I encountered on my walk here too, someone scuttling through the mist from car to cafe with big bags in hand. The cafe door was shut quickly and by the time I got level with it there was no sign of life inside. It was early I suppose, but a wee cuppa would have been nice. Wee roll on square sausage maybe? Aw man.
However it was nicely atmospheric here as the sun tried to push through and once I crossed the bridge over the reservoir overflow waterfall to reach the Kelly Cut gate I was walking into brighter weather. Walking into unfamiliar territory too. Magic.

The initial stretch is possibly restored, but definitely maintained as it’s part of nature trail loop, that slightly scary raised wooden walkway can be seen slinking down into the glen a little way onwards. It’s easy going and lots of industrial artefacts to marvel over too. I love this stuff.
Less than a kilometre in and the path gets rougher by the step and the cut, which is really an aqueduct, itself soon becomes a deep abandoned ditch full to the brim with water.
The atmosphere changes subtly here too, the hills stretch out to the south with mist still lying in the dips as the sun tries its best to burn it off and instead just splashes soft light across the Clyde to Dunoon, which does look very picturesque from here. Low ribbons of cloud still cling on over there and I actually said out loud “Ooh, this is lovely”. Probably because I had no one to accost on my journey yet and I just had to talk to to someone, even if it’s myself.

While not “impassable” as advertised the overflowing cut has made some impromptu unmapped lochans here and there which have been bridged to varying degrees of success with pallets, planks and matts. I thank you whoever did this, I would have been much wetter with out it.
There was no hassle though and I found a spot to sit for breakfast a little out of the wind. It was getting duller again and colder, insulation on and hood up I unwrapped my peppered beef, tomato, cheese and peri peri mayo salt-n-pepper rolls and poured a cuppa. Oh what joy.

The condition of the cut deteriorates from here, large sections of bank are burst and the water flows out into the the landscape as the path finds a way around it. It’s not new damage, might even be deliberate to divert the water and doesn’t impede your passage any. There’s also handy sign on a rock, you’re halfway way it says. How did it know where I was going?
While ahead was grey, behind was sunlight and the cut was now a deep concrete-shuttered channel protected by fencing to keep the sheep out. This was a more recent construction compared the the Victorian works I’d been following and there were a few very new looking concrete sections too. I guess this close to the Kelly Reservoir that’re looking after the waterflow.

The reservoir itself was dark and windswept. There’s current infrastructure around as well as rusted remains and a tower that immediately reminded me of the submarine coming through the ice in Ice Station Zebra which them remined me that Rock Hudson was six five and that Patrick McGoohan took time out from filming The Prisoner to do the movie and the covered his absence by doing an episode pretty much without him and that I should probably watch both the movie and the series because I haven’t seen either in years.
By this time I’d walked round the reservoir and found the track downwards towards the the Firth of Clyde where Rothesay on the Isle of Bute was about to get a ferry load of day trippers and sour faced delivery drivers.

From heathery hillside to woodland to a dark glen of autumn leaves and waterfalls. It’s a lovely walk down and on a nice day would be a nice wee hour walking up from Wemyss Bay I think. But do avoid the monstrous caravan park, take a hard left onto the roughest path I’ve seen in a long time into the glen.
It all ends quite abruptly too as you fall out of the trees onto the road opposite the train station. Even better is the butchers right next to you, it has a deli counter I couldn’t resist.
I came out with a box of season and exotic beef and chicken delights for the girls and me, the folks would have to wait though, I’d phoned and they’d already taken mince out of the freezer. Bummer.

 

I sat in the beautiful curved station/ferry terminal building and waiting for the train with a cuppa. I was warm enough in here too away from the wind. It would have been jumping in here back in the day with a fast train from Glasgow straight to the boarding ramp of a steamer to Bute and beyond.
That fast train arrived and I boarded for a window seat which my nose was stuck to the whole way to Port Glasgow where I hoped to catch a ride home with Linda at some point. There was a Costa nearby, I wasn’t worried.
The journey had interest with abandoned railway tunnels (that the conductor had never seen before…), a farm with a waterwheel and cars on the road parallel to us going much slower than us. I’m loving using the trains so much to get out.

Port Glasgow had a wonderful tribute to its shipbuilding heritage in the pond on display and Linda was on the phone too…
“Where are you?”
Just walking towards Tesco, going for a cuppa maybe.
“Ah, me too, parked at the front door”
Now, there’s a nice wee surprise.

I jumped in the car and as we pulled out of the car park the rain came on. Timing is absolutely everything it seems.