After our camp in a forest, not the best, not the worst, but woken by a dog and walker; pleased to say Nick smelt more than me as the dog made a be-line (sp?) to him.
It’s insane; yesterday morning I was sat on a rock, it seems so long ago. It feels the challenge is no longer a challenge and that has led to complacency. And we cock up. But cocking up is fine as we know how to deal with it. And that leads to more complacency like wet down sleeping bags which is dumb.
Anyway; a day of joy and a very friendly farmer and dog, until we hit the West Highland Way for two hours: ye gods… culture shock. So many people. Shit scenery (well, the forest had been cut down).
Oh yes, we took a short cut and it was a bit hard. Some trees seemed to have fallen over. A lot of trees.
Oh, took a shower in the Hostel; we had both failed to see the women’s sign. A woman was showering but we both naively thought ‘how cosmopolitan’.
And then we sat in the sun and drank beer and partook, watching the clouds gather over Ben Nevis and the Grey Corries.
Glen Gour is chuffing ace and to be returned to. A big glacieted valley with beautiful trees, huge pools, drama everywhere. It was a joyous journey. I had tea and Nick had something else.
Then it rained and we walked a lot of miles and camped somewhere odd and one of these photos is the view from my tent door. But good day, very chilled, low mileage. Whisky weed and pork pies.
Oh and I look deep and meaningful but don’t worry, I’m not, as you all know I’m a shallow git.
Oh and we are camping immediately beneath the loudest owl on the planet. Ye gods.
A good start, a fantastic breakfast with the best granola ever (lots of nuts and sticky oats), and off, on a road, through a beautiful wood, up a hill, down a hill, up a hill and down a hill then a rather shite experience trying to get through myriads of fences into Scotstown which resulted in knee deep bog action and pretty blue air.
I met Nick at a very nice spot 2 miles from camp and we had a lot of unplanned food and a couple of beers before heading of to camp. We bypassed some TGO wankers who I’d sort of met the night before but hadn’t really as they were too busy telling each other how great whoever was speaking was.
A fine first day with no tales of depravity… but with a pork pie finale.
Once I got to the Loch Shiel Hotel I set off for the coast blessed with sunshine and more importantly two tins of Stone IPA, brewed in Berlin, a fine city.
Anyway it took longer than I thought but I dipped my toes and drank my beer and retreated for a night of what I thought would be faffing. But I couldn’t be arsed faffing so it was more beer and a lovely three bean spicy casserole with possibly the best chips I’ve ever had. And the best sleep in ages: for the first time in a week I didn’t wake at 5 thinking about what to pack for this trip in minute ridiculous detail.
My road to the coast at Kentra Bay:
And a bit earlier in the day, from the Corran Ferry terminal, if it can be described as a terminal:
And me in my room looking sexy:
Owing to complications I will be going solo on day zero. I like solo action and am very familiar with it. Nick will be joining me a day late. Nuff said.
I felt nervous this morning, I’m not sure why, you worry about the little things… like what have I forgotten and why is my bag so light and this tends to be a cycle, one being the result of the other.
Anyway, here is the beauty that will be my sweaty companion for 2 weeks.
And that phalic shaped thing you can see through the bag is sadly something to do with my arse.
29th March 2017
1. The result as viewed by the Germans (and me)
2. The wankers who did it
3. My mood
4. My aspiration
5. The long term result
Glen Tarff, a cracking find; we lost half a day here playing with our cameras.
From our day of glue and whisky at Derry Lodge
A bit more Glen Tarff action.
Probably the poorest part of the walk (farms near the end excepted) heading to Invergarry.
And a slightly re-tweaked view from the top of Lochnagar.