April 2011 - Walking - Sodden Munros and the Crazy Bridge, Loch Monar

I put a message on facebook to ask people to get in touch if they fancied a bit of Munro bagging with me, and Jen was one of those who replied, although it took us a couple of months to find a suitable weekend. Jen said she's not currently very hill fit but that was fine as I want to spend the early part of the year ticking off some single or double Munros rather than the bigger circuits. I fancied heading to an area I've not been to before, and I wanted to make use of my new MBA membership, so set about finding some hills the other side of the Inverness/Fort William divide that are near a bothy. It seems that most bothies up there aren't actually that convenient for Munros, but one stood out and was mentioned in the guidebook, although the more I looked into it the more crazy the plan seemed - it involved a night in the bothy and one or two wild camps in order to bag some of the most remote Munros, so we'd have to carry all our kit. Jen is used to that sort of thing though, and thought it sounded feasible, and since neither of us had much time to find an alternative the plan stuck.

After work on Thursday 31st March I picked Jen up from Stockport station, and after a brief detour to pick up a belt sander we made our way up to Scotland to gratefully stay overnight with some friends. It was a smooth journey but we arrived at midnight which was after all of our bedtimes so we quickly hit the sack. On Friday we travelled the same distance again up to the Northwest Highlands, and parked up in Craig, a little village in the middle of nowhere midway between Inverness and Skye. I just about managed to cram part of the tent into my teensy rucksack, whilst Jen hauled the lion's share in her monster pack. I later decided I could strap the poles to the outside of mine, but she refused to let me take them, and it transpired that she'd brought a few extra items like knitting, so the balance of shared kit wasn't too unfair. Thankfully the mountains were pretty devoid of snow so we could leave the winter kit in the car. By 1:15 am we were strutting off along the well made track up the Allt a' Chonais.



Me on the bridge of Instability, photo by Jen



Jen off the Bridge of Instability

At the point where we were to leave the big track and take a footpath up the Allt Leathad an Tobair, the map showed a bridge. After one uneccessary bit of path and just after some rapids we found it - two cables strung across the stream, the top one worryingly floppy. This flouted entry into the accepted classification of walkers footbriges (bridge of Mild Peril, Peril, Doom then Death), and became dubbed the Bridge of Instability. After a few tentative steps I decided that it actually worked, as long as you pressed down on the handline and leant forward, and after a disorientating section over a fast flowing section of stream at the far side, I was across. Perhaps my balance made up for my ineptness in all other areas, for example the new found ability to look at the map and think we were in a completely different spot to where we actually were. Jen was very unsure of the bridge, but valiantly gave it a try, however whereas I'd felt surprisingly stable, she looked rather wild as the handline swung worryingly from side to side. Deciding either way would end up in a dunking, she went for the deliberate one and stepped down into the river, wading rapidly to join me on the far bank, somewhat the wetter. The first river crossing of the trip, although not the last! From here we started ascending, following a path up the banks of a fast flowing mountain stream.

In the Bearnais bothy

The forecast for the weekend had been full of challenges, the first being the wind. It didn't *feel* too strong, but it really was especially after being channelled down the valley, as for the first time ever I was knocked over - it swept my feet out backwards and unceremoniously faceplanted me onto the path. And kept trying for a repeat. Often you had to walk with body horizontal when you felt a gust hit you, and brace against walking poles. But eventually we crested the valley at a bealach (saddle) and began to gradually descend down the mirror valley on the other side, where it was a little less strong. Here there was no path and we began the tedium of bog hopping and stream straddling as various tributaties headed down to join the main stream. Such is the way of Scottish hills though and we had a little sing song to aid us on our journey. Boots were wet by now and the moss under foot was unstable, so we started slipping frequently, but our souls were further lifted when we caught sight of the bothy at the head of the loch and half an hour later we'd arrived - after 12km and 6 hours from the car.

Being a remote bothy and a Friday night the place was desserted, but we connected with previous travellers by reading through the logbook and adding our own entry. We had enough daylight to settle in, toilet and change and get the dinner on, and just dug out the headtorches in order to eat it. A nice early night was earnt, and by 9pm we were head to head on the little bench bed, fed, warm and dry, and hoping not to topple onto the floor and that the moose could not work the door latches.

River crossing, day 2, photo by Jen

River crossing, day 2

We got up with the light (ish) and then didn't really keep track of time, and were ready for the off by 8:45, although had plenty of time as we had 15km to cover which we'd anticipated would take 10 hours. After a river crossing (I took my boots off and Jen just waded through given that she was wet enough already) we picked up some landrover trails round the lochan, and then a path heading to the western shoulder of Bidein a' Choire Sheasgaich ('Cheesecake'). The ground was still pretty damp underfoot and it wasn't long before I was also wet through again, but visibility was fine and we plodded our way steadily upwards, with a fairly rapid height gain (in terms of steepness, not our actual speed). There had been a little dusting of snow overnight but it melted as we ascended, receding away from us. Once we reach the intermediate summit of Sail Riabhach it seemed to take forever to encounter the small lochan just before the final slopes of Cheesecake, but there wasn't really much room for error given we were on a ridge, so just carried on and finally there it was. There the ground steepened and we caught up with the snow and kicked steps up to the summit arriving 24 hours after leaving the car. Due to the cold and the wind we only paused to take a quick photo and check for a phone and internet signal so we could get an up to date forecast for tomorrow - success.



On the lower slopes of Bidein a' Choire Sheasgaich,
the bothy is at the head of the lochain



Summit of Bidein a' Choire Sheasgaich

The wind was still fairly strong so with heads down and little conversation we descended to the col inbetween this and the next Munro, and thankfully soon found ourselves out of the wind and cloud and able to see where we were going again. It was nice that we didn't actually need much conversation between us, every time there was a decision to be made we seemed to be on the same wavelength and were thinking the same thing. Although it was also nice that we found plenty to natter about when the weather allowed! We passed 3 RAF blokes whose friendly hello seemed a little like the third degree, then continued up Lurg Mhor. This meant another 250m of ascent but it seemed a lot quicker and easier with a path the whole way and no snow. Then back down to the col, then we picked our way down the steep slopes to the north which levelled off as the cloud lifted yet further and actually allowed us to see the summits we had just bagged, and prompted smiles to spread across our faces. Then with one further rain shower came a beautiful full double rainbow.



Beautiful rainbow



We continued descending then found ourself amidst an array of granite slabs and cascading waterfalls, but fortuitously we had landed ourselves on top of a grassy rake which gave us a way through. The ground levelled off which meant more bog wading, then we rounded a rib and started heading up a different valley that leads up to the saddle we crossed over yesterday, from the side. We were becoming quite familiar with the classification of streams you are likely to encounter - wide streams, roaring streams with waterfalls (some with piles of rocks dumped when the water lost power and making useful bridges), boggy streams (some strewn with rocks to use at stepping stones, some not), streams that blend in with the grass and have it flowing in the current, and one lowly but pretty awesome stream that surged round the bottom part of a sloping granite slab. Part way up this valley we pick a slighly raised spot by a fast flowing stream that made a rather appealing wild camping spot. We managed to come in on schedule again as it was only 6pm, and had a leisurely hour or two pitching the tent and making dinner. Of course as soon as we'd put the tent up it rained (thankfully not before) so we ate dinner (crunchie macaronie and lumps of cheese, which was DELICIOUS) in the damp, but it dried off before bed allowing us a little time to air dry. We put our heads down just before 9 again, and had another proper night's sleep, although had to curl round the odd tuft of grass underneath our sleeping mats.



Wild camping spot

My big toes had felt rather sore when I'd removed my boots, but they magically restored themselves overnight, and instead I woke up with agonisingly painful neck and shoulders from too much rucksack carrying. Much stretching and ibuprofen ensued then I was mostly fit to continue. The forecast for today had fairly insistent that there was a risk of thunder and lightning, although that was for the whole of the Northwest Highlands so we hatched a cunning plan to walk up to the saddle and at that point make a decision whether to head down back to the car, or up to the next couple of Munros (Sgurr Choinnich and Sgurr a Chaorachain). The weather so far had not been brilliant, but had been only what you'd expect in the mountains, and didn't detract from our enjoyment of the adventure. Today however, we were attacked by hail, in an ever changing wind direction that we concluded was playing games just to make sure we were soaked from all angles. We were both travelling at rather a crawl today, my third day pace being a little more of a match for Jen's slow but steady plod. The wind got stronger as the slope steepened and by the time we reached the top it was hard to know whether to find shelter to have a little chat about plans, or to just find the path down. We were both 60% sold on going down (30% up and 10% minds elsewhere) and the cloud was too low to see what the weather was actually doing in the bigger picture, so after a little zigzagging back and forth we dropped over onto the other side and carried on down, down out of the wind. Not out of the rain though, so it was a bit of a heads-down auto-pilot descent.

Two of the many deer

Back at the Bridge of Instability we passed in the same manner as on the way in - me on and Jen off - then had a brief pause in order to stuff ourselves with pork pies. Then things went a little weird, my hands were getting pretty cold thanks to being damp, but my warm gloves, although at the top of my dry bag, were buried under the tent which had been the last thing back into my bag, and extracting them would be a bit of an ordeal. As we rejoined the big track I had an epiphany that I really needed to try, so unclipped the rucksack, and set down my rollmat, and undid the pack and pulled out the tent, and opened the dry bag, and extracted the wet gloves off my fingers. As I used my teeth to remove my liner gloves the chinese finger trick effect of the the wet fabric gave me the sensation that I was popping each of my fingers in its socket, and suddenly the onset of hot aches turned into full blown 'screaming barfies' - I felt sick and couldn't help but moan audibly, which lead to a rather taken aback and increasingly worried Jen. I've had hot aches plenty of times before and they're not pleasant, but this took it up another notch, and I'm fairly sure this was due to the additional bonus of wet feet. I stood there with my fingers of one hand sheltered inside the warm dry fabric of my winter gloves, and could last out just long enough to do one task like pull off my other wet glove before I felt dizzy again. Jen started to help me pack my bag saying we needed to get going, and I knew we had to, but everything was overcome by the surreal all-over-body ache emanating from my hands. Somehow we got the bag clipped back up, me with gloves dangling off my hands as my fingers were so numb I couldn't get my fingers into their little slots. I felt neauseous so I dropped to my knees with my head down for a little bit. Jen said we needed to get going so I stood back up, and she asked if I felt dizzy. 'I feel really light-headed' was my best verbal approximation for feeling a hair's breadth away from fainting for the first time in my life and she told me to get back down. 'But you said we needed to get going!' I half protested as I sat down. The thing with hot aches is that you always know that no matter how bad you feel, you know it's only temporary and that allows you to wade back out of the wooziness. A second epiphany told me that if I stood up and started walking immediately then the motion would prevent the dizziness from taking hold. Thankfully it worked and I began the hardest bit of walking I can remember, asking Jen to hold one of my poles so that I could get the most blood flow round my fingers and concentrating on each footstep. I desperately wanted to either empty the water out of my boots, or get out my scarf, or eat a mars bar, but I couldn't do either of those without removing my gloves and undergoing a repeat performance, so just had to trust that by keeping moving my feet would warm up and that would thrust some life back in to me - which it did, and after another half an hour or so I felt right as rain, especially when the sun came out. When Jen stopped for a photo I did too, choosing that over those other options. Then also squeezed one sock and ate a mars bar ayway. We finished the walk out back to the car at an absolutely stonking pace, making up for our snail like crawl up the hills.

Looking down towards the car in the sunshine

On the way back to the car we discussed various plans, such as heading South and ticking off Loch Lomond or similar the next morning before driving home, but once we reached the car and got changed into dry clothes, we felt rather complete, and felt as if we had achieved the mission we set out on and drawn a line under it. It had been a 48 hour epic adventure almost exactly to the minute, and we concluded that would do us. So we decided return home (with socks drying out the window and making the car look as if it had ears), in what was now glorious sunshine which continued for the entire journey. My fingers felt sore and beaten, and I felt a little knocked for six after the enforced recovery from the dizziness, and it is a very long drive, but with a hot chocolate stop in Aviemore, a haggis supper stop just south of Perth, and a photograpy stop at Southwaite servies as the sun set, the drive went without event. The last part of the journey round Manchester and down the snake pass to Sheffield was passed with Jen and I bawling out every word to an entire album of Bon Jovi with great gusto.



March 2011 - Caving - Knotlow / Hillocks exchange

I set off with a mixture of trepidation, nerves, and fear. Okay, and a degree of excitement too. 18 months ago I did a Hillocks to Whalf exchange with some friends, and before ascending Steve and I went exploring for something he'd heard of called Meccano passage. After a couple of dead ends we found it, and went down a little way until coming to a body sized tube at the bottom of a short drop in the floor. I tried to look in head first but dropped myself on my neck which hurt. Steve went in foot first for a body length but came back when he hit water, then we left it for a future day since the others would probably have finished prusikking out by now.

A bit of reading up on the internet told us it was the connection to Knotlow, and it sounded scary but interesting without being dangerous, so it prompty got added to the wishlist. Steve has been back to do the trip another time but I wasn't available, so I jumped(ish) at the chance when I heard of a TSG/KCC trip this week.

Sitting at the top of Knotlow climbing shaft, feeling the fresh air as the beautiful day dropped into night, I watched down the Chapel Dale engine shaft as Wayne rigged a rebelay at Chain Passage, while out of the corner of my eye Glyn, John and Eszter disappeared one by one down the climbing shaft. I bounced down the springy new 9mm rope towards the sound of whooping, and we reconvened in the start of Meccano passage. A couple of short sections led to a downwards slope to a lowering in the roof, which was the start of the flooded coffin level. Wayne went first having been here before, and after a short while sounds emitting back down the passage that sounded like he was being attacked by some kind of sea creature. Thankfully this was followed by a shout of "I'm out of the water", and John followed on down. Some mumbled voices, some more splashing, then the splashing appeared to be getting louder, and John popped back out again. It turns out the dry end of the passage is a little restrictive to get through with SRT kit, so John came back to take his off in the larger passage, and somehow Wayne stripped off in situ. I felt glad I'd anticipated this and had already stuffed my kit into a bag, although unfortunately this meant I was instructed to head down the passage next while John de-kitted!

Being with strangers I didn't really have the option to procrastinate while composing myself like I usually do, so I posted myself head first into the passage and just started crawling, one hand and one elbow in the water, with head just clear of the ceiling. After not very far my bag started to get jammed between my thigh and the wall, so I hooked it over my bent knee and dragged it along behind me. Then the roof lowered and I transitioned automatically to lying flat out, and the bag strap went sliding down my leg, and I just had to hope it stayed hooked over my welly. What with the weighlessness of my body in the water negating any need to crawl, my legs motionless in order that I didn't lose my bag, and enough room to turn my head and look around me, my elbows propelled me down the passage with very little effort and surprisingly little fear. It was quite peaceful in there and I relished my unique situation. I think it would be a different story if I'd been first down, as most of my feeling of being at-ease came from Wayne waiting at the end and reassuring me that I was nearly there, and that despite the fact that the roof was still lowering it was always possible to breathe.

The lowest part comes when you still can't see the end, with a smooth flat block of rock forming the ceiling meaning you have to turn your head, but that's the end and then the whole passage tilts up a little taking you out of the water, and kinks to the left which helps you to turn onto your back for the exit. Fortunately when I dragged myself out of the water like the dinosaur crocodiles that beached up to land and stood up as humans (that's how we evolved, isn't it?) I could feel the weight of my SRT kit hanging off my foot so didn't have to worry that someone else would end up crawling over it and getting stuck. When exiting the passage on your back you have to lie in all the water you've acumulated and you realise how cold it is - I hadn't noticed when entering the passage as I had been so absorbed by the situation. On exiting into the larger passage I felt a little sick (strange how one's throat can dry out so much with so much water around) but happy, and I knew from here I'd done the rest so there were no surprises. I had to just trust that the CO2 problems in this area are no longer an issue, as I'd remembered to bring a lighter for the first time, but the pocket I'd put it in had filled with water rendering it useless. The other three popped through with no fuss and we started working our way back to the surface. Despite thinking I'd remember the way back to the main chamber I didn't, in fact I was convinced it went up a gravel slope rather than through the crawl to the left, so Wayne had to put up with a succession of calls of "are you sure it's this way?", "are you sure you're sure?", "are you really sure, because i'm positive it's… oh sod it, I'm coming".

I must say the company was great - despite only having met Glyn before and none of the others they always seemed to be there when you needed them, either when you wanted a bit of reassurance or when you weren't sure of the way. I couldn't remember much of Hillocks at all (18 months seems to be enough to wipe the memory) but did manage to recall the location of the parallel passage so we could climb out in tandem (although later on I encouraged John down an incorrect squeeze). Back at the surface I volunteered to go back down the Knotlow engine shaft and de-rig Chain passage as nobody had come out that way. I wanted to try out my footloop as I've recently shortened it and wanted to see if it's better like that - it isn't (if it ain't broke, don't fix it, should be my motto next time). Then all that was left to do was debried liquidly at the Bulls Head and say a longer hello to the group we'd passed in Hillocks travelling in the opposite direction.

December 2010 - Walking - Munros, South West

Dan on the footbridge of doom

A persistant flat tyre and a resultant trip to the garage delayed our Saturday start somewhat, and what with the Gleenshee road being dodgy near Blairgowrie, we decided by the time we got there we wouldn't really be rested for an early morning so a change of plans was in order.

Beautiful sunrise

We stayed with friends in Glasgow Saturday night and headed to Tyndrum next morning planning to tick Beinn Dubhcraig and Ben Oss. Due to the woods being very icy, my friend being unfitter than he thought, and me being a little slow on the shoulder while I got used to the snow and ice (we countoured left to go up the shoulder as there was a cat 3 avalanche risk that would have got one side of the coire... and the shoulder looked easier because I'm a steep snow scaredy cat), we were going very slowly and it took us 4 hours to summit (6.5k). Given that due to the drive up from Glasgow and a supermarket stop we hadn't started until 9:10, we decided that it would be wise to sack off Ben Oss and start to descend. We didn't fancy reversing the way we'd come so decided to countour round to the other rib, but had a look down the coire on the way as there didn't actually look to be enough snow to avalanche. It looked fairly amenable so off we set, and it was fine - nice solid snow/neve only getting powdery if you came too far round, and steep enough to make me think but not enough to terrify me, could pretty much walk straight down with a little zigzagging. That was probably the highlight of the day - Dan got to play on the snow, and I felt empowered as I did something I was nervous of which actually went perfectly fine, making it fun. Since we had a bit of time in hand we dug an avalanche pit, hitting ground at the length of an axe and finding not a single layer, all well bonded. Somehow the entire descent took us the same as the ascent, but the ground was steep and the woods just as icy, so guess that's understandable. We got back to the car at 7pm, not needing to crack out the headtorches.

Bit steep for me without a rope but I managed to contour round.

Sunday the avalanche risk had dropped down to cat 2, so we went to tick Beinn Narnain and Beinn Ime. We started at 8 and zigzagged up the forest enjoying the most beautiful sunset I think I've ever seen, then watching a fireball of a sun shining over to Ben Lomond. From the Narnain boulders we struck up the coire to the saddle, which got quite steep near the top. Then scrambled up to the Spearhead and climbed the gully. Due to it being fairly technical it took a whopping 4 1/4 hours to reach the summit (5km). There was still potentially time to get the other summit especially since the foresty track would be trivial to follow by headtorch so continued down to the Bealach a' Mhaim. We made a mutual decision as time was short I'd carry on up Beinn Ime at my own speed as would Dan and I'd meet him on the way down. I managed the 1.6km and 374m of ascent from the bealach to the summit in 56 mins, which meant we were back at the boulders by sunset and back at the car at 5:30 without needing headtorches again.

Both days were amazing days in the hills, and for me personally I felt a great sense of achievement as we bit off exactly the right amount of challenge.

Summit ridge of Beinn Narnain, Loch Lomond behind

My 15th Munro, Beinn Narnain

November 2010 - Holiday - Thailand and Cambodia

A trip report to accompany my photos, which can be found here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=304422&id=618910497&l=0a7a03980e

If I look back on various holidays I've been on I have very definite images and vibes. California, Christmas 1997 - seeing reindeer on the golf course on Christmas Eve, sunbathing on New Year's Day and beautiful coastal scenery; Climbing in Sardinia - camping on a pebbly campsite, picture perfect turquoise blue sea and pocketed grey rock; Climbing in Red Rocks - the consistency of the routes over many pitches, the spring-like weather although throat-hacking dusty dry air, and the craziness of Las Vegas. I've only been back from Cambodia a couple of weeks and already I have a vivid memory of the place in my mind - the continuous stretches of lush paddy fields and rural houses on stilts, with extended families, cattle and chickens wandering around the front yard, clay ovens and plentiful fresh fruit. And in the city the constant offerings from tuk-tuks and market vendors, and everywhere the way the people are so helpful and you only have to smile at someone to find them smile back and you’ve made a connection. It's a beautiful place. It's a world away from UK, but I felt very at home there, and very safe, and by the end of the week I even felt like I was getting a little used to the heat and humidity.

It's hard to define when our holiday began, as there were various stages involved in actually getting to Cambodia, but that was all part of the experience so all part of the holiday too. On Thursday 11th November, Mo picked me up after work and we headed to my parents house for a lovely dinner. An early start on Friday saw us at Heathrow for our 17 hour flight to Bangkok, changing at Mumbai. We flew with Jet airways with whom I was very impressed: personal entertainment consoles giving you the option to choose your own film from a sizeable list (although unfortunately unchanged on the way home), very nice authentic Indian food especially breakfast (curry in a bread roll), and helpful staff and crew who actually bothered to tell you whenever there was turbulence. The security in India were a little scary with rifles slung over their shoulders, and everybody was being frisked despite only transferring flights. They didn’t tell us we got our boarding cards stamped as proof we had been searched so had to sheepishly go and dig them out of our bags once they'd been scanned, and there was minor chaos when they started searching people who had seemingly already gone through. I was happy though when they were unfazed by the presence of knitting needles in my bag, and we relaxed a little then and swung by the noodle bar to grab some food. Which we were still waiting for when we realised our flight was boarding. We panicked until the food was ready, then ran to the gate, then sat on the floor scoffing our snack while the queue rapidly decreased, then it turned out we were allowed to take it onto the fight anyway, and they also fed us soon afterwards!

The approach to the water taxi port

We arrived at Bangkok in the early hours of Saturday 13th, and took the BTS (elevated rail link) to Phaya Thai station, and jumped in a taxi to our hotel. We were instantly struck by the craziness of the Asian traffic that I've heard so much about - mopedders with monks riding side saddle on the back or children hanging on the front and hardly anybody wearing a helmet, vying for space with the ubiquitous 'taxi-meter' or tuk-tuk. But somehow it seems to work and it doesn't seem quite as dangerous as you expect it to. We dumped our bags next to a stack of backpacker rucksacks in the 'too early to check in but leave kit here' room, grabbed a taxi to the station as a test run for the next morning, then started our exploration of the city. Bangkok is a real assault on the senses - sounds, sights and smells. There are always toots of horns, and aromas wafting around from the ever present market vendors. It's a mixture of old and new, run down and modern. There are people sleeping in the street (presumably homeless, although it's hard to be sure without the mass of warm blankets you expect in the UK), and every new building seems to be built next to a dilapidated old one. We headed off down the canal, crossing arched bridges without edges, passing hanging creepers, and eventually made it to a river-taxi port in spite of one man's advice and thanks to two others (everybody wants to help). The boat took us to a naval restaurant where we had dinner for 65 baht each (about £1.20), and checked out the market. We viewed the Grand Palace and Emerald Buddha from the road as weren't suitably attired for visiting temples (you have to have your shoulders covered and we didn't fancy borrowing the clothes on offer), then risked our lives crossing a couple of major roads (there are pedestrian crossing, but they might as well not be there), and walked back to the hotel for a super early night with the air-conditioning blasting.

We arose around 3am and took a taxi to the station in time for its opening at 4am. We managed to avoid minibus touts and purchased two train tickets at £1 each, and carefully selected seats on the 5:55am, 3rd class only train for our impending 6 hour ride to Aranyaprathet. We then proceeded to spend the next 6 hours staring out the window transfixed by the scenery - first the shanty towns that cram up against the railway line which were coming alive with spicy food being cooked on woks, and then paddy fields, and birds, and butterflies, and people working in the fields, and buffalo, and irrigation channels, and more mopeds. It could be straight out of a film, and it’s very picturesque.

From Aranyaprathet we made our way with a little confusion to Poipet, kept our heads down to avoid any scams and almost walked straight past the customs official (cue more sheepishness), and queued in the apathying heat to be stamped across the border. From there it was a free shuttle bus to the transport depot, then some very helpful government officials sorted us out with a taxi to Siem Reap. 2 1/2 hours later we were at the edge of Siem Reap, then in a free tuk-tuk to what we thought was the correct address for our hostel, then walking 1km down the road towards the actual location of our hostel (Aqua) in the dying light (6pm), then finally jumping in another tuk-tuk for what turned out to be the remaining 100m. John the owner showed us the way through the dark fern fronds and decking to our room, and then to the bar. Mo headed to bed shortly after that but I found the beer was going down supremely well and since that's unusual for me I decided to capitalise on it, which meant I was still about when Jess unexpectedly appeared. Catching up with old friends is always nice but it has an added significance when it's been 6 years and you're a long way from home.

On Monday morning we arose with the heat at around 6:15 am (Aqua is a Cambodia style hostel without western conveniences like air-con or warm shower/water) to became well acquainted with the place as it turned out we were locked in and it was the only morning John has slept in in years, so had to wait 2 1/2 hours to escape. By the time we made it to town we were desperate for food and found a nice little Khmer place where we had fruit shakes (very refreshing in the heat) and an omelette baguette (their national bread has a rather French influence). We spent the rest of the day exploring Siem Reap city and running away from tuk-tuk drivers and market vendors who persistently offered to show us their wares. Back at Aqua later on we cooled off in the pool and giggled at ourselves doing pull ups on and traversing the bar, then sheltered from a bit of a monsoon under straw umbrellas, then headed to Red Chilli for dinner with Jess and John. Jess whooped me at pool just like the old days, although I claim mitigating circumstances since the pool queue stuck to my hot clammy hand.

Bayon

On Tuesday we began our assault on the temples with Angkor Thom ('Great City', 1100s). Jess hooked us up with a tuk-tuk driver for the week, the quiet but helpful Teewon (sp). Bayon was first, with its many towering, smiling faces and extensive bas reliefs. What a place, everywhere you stand you are surrounded by levels of steps and corridors and giant carved faces, it's very absorbing. The next stop, Baphuon, was also captivating - a temple that was taken to pieces then all the records destroyed so the EFEO have been reassembling it by guesswork since 1995. We were wilting in the heat by this point and possibly led by our subconscious or some other force, we found ourselves wandering off the beaten track under trees to a shady hidden temple called Preah Prahilay. There was not a soul around and we clambered up the fallen rubble into the inner sanctum to momentarily enjoy the serenity. We then headed back out to the Terrace of the Elephants and the Terrace of the Leper King before heading back to Teewon, and were confounded by the signs marking 'no exit' and 'way of visit', becoming rather hot and bothered again. We'd finished our tour of Angkor Thom's main temples quite early, so decided to move on to Ta Phrom, the temple returning to nature and smothered by strangler fig trees (also where part of Tomb Raider was filmed). I have seen pictures of this place before but it didn't lessen the impact - the trees are immense and entwine round the masonry in an almost symbiotic way, one depending on the other, integrally linked.

Ta Prohm, with its strangler fig trees

Wednesday morning dawned in a rather disturbing way. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that what had been a small, innocuous mess of brown tissue on the bathroom wall the night before, had grown exponentially into a crucifix of brown eggs expanding in all four directions like some rapidly spawning monster, like in Godzilla where all those thousands of eggs are poised about to hatch. We left a note for the staff and quickly scarpered off to Angkor Wat, dreading a mass of scurrying creatures on our return. We'd arisen pre-dawn to watch the sunrise over the temple which is a very popular thing to do (although for good reason), and soon we were in a queue of tuk-tuks up to the west gate. Most temples face East but Angkor Wat (one of the seven wonders of the world) faces West which has left scholars to believe it was built as a tomb. That means you get a view of the sun rising over it, and if you stand by the north pool (which we didn't, as it was rammed), you get to see it all doubled up with the reflection in the water. Once the day had dawned we explored parts of the 1km of bas relief, not all as we were a little saturated from the day before but the 'Churning of Ocean Milk' was worthwhile – this is a representation of the mythical scene where demigods (devas) and demons (asuras) pull alternately on Vasuki (the kind of serpents), who is wrapped round Mount Mandaranchal which is in the ocean supported by Vishnu in his turtle form. The resultant churning produced the nectar of immortality (Amrita). We also had a look around the central temple (Bakon), and the grounds of the neighbouring Wat where there were many butterflies, and children playing the drums and raising money for the orphanage. Teewon was a little miffed that it had taken us 5 hours to return, but we elected not to go anywhere else that day, and returned to town for a coconut shake and to try out one of the many ‘fish foot massage’ tanks where the fish nibble the dead skin off your feet. I didn’t get on with it and just squealed whenever their rough lips grazed against my skin, but Mo admirably sat for the full 10 minutes with hundreds of fish swarming round her. Back at Aqua the eggs were still there (thankfully unhatched) so we watched with disgust as Romania squidged them with a finger then washed them off, before heading to the butterfly restaurant for dinner, although hadn't considered that, being after sunset, the butterflies would be sleeping. Back at Aqua we dozed off listening to the countless frogs croaking in the thrall of another atmospheric downpour.

People working in the fields

Thursday was the final day of our three day temple pass, so we headed further out of town to Kbal Spean and Banteay Srei. Once more we were fascinated by the ride itself and the beautiful countryside, and even got to meet a couple of the country folk when Teewon's moped overheated and needed a breather. Kbal Spean is a series of riverbed carvings 2km up a hill 25km from the main Angkor group, that I wanted to go and see after having the idea put in my head by a friend. The carvings were made to fertilise the water of the East Baray (a now-dry artificial body of water near Angkor Wat) and irrigate the rice fields in Cambodia, and there are reckoned to be 1000 carved Lingas (fertility symbols) here. We were struggling to work out which carving was which when a guide popped up and welcomely reeled us in by pointing out a dangerous snake (live not carved). He led us round rocks and across the river showing us carvings of Vishnu (a god), Shiva (another god), Yonis (ladies genitalia), Lingas, a crocodile (a carved one this time), a bull and a frog. It's inspiring that this kind of thing lies hidden away in the middle of nowhere, the carvings seemingly as clear as the day they were carved. Banteay Srei is a small but intricate temple carved by women. The temple dates from the late 8th century, but they think the carvings were more recent as temples were often stripped and re-done. It was another wiltingly hot day so we had a little wander around the shaded outer perimeter as well, then hopped back in the tuk-tuk and enjoyed the 30mph breeze. Our final stop on the way back was the landmine museum, which is a bit of an eye opener, not least because it hits you how crucial it is for a member of society to have 4 working limbs, because as soon as they lose that they cannot earn their keep and are cast into a life as a beggar. Thankfully things are changing and the museum provides awareness, as well as a home for injured children to provide them a better life.

Pulling up water at Kompong Phluk

Unfortunately on Friday Mo was feeling quite poorly with suspected food poisoning, so we took a divide and conquer approach where she would hold the fort at Aqua and ensure that nobody stole the beds or the wooden bench loungers, while I'd go and check out the floating villages on Tonlé Sap lake. Tonlé Sap provides fish to most of South East Asia, so floating villages have sprung up all along the edge of the lake. Whether it was because I was on my own, or because there were no vendors, or because the villages are quite off the beaten track with the access being down a skiddy mud road, or because the boatman didn't speak any English, or because I was laughed at as I was the only one in a boat for 10, or whether a combination of all of that, I found the floating villages a very eerie place. I expected them to be colourful and vibrant, and some of the houses are (my photos are mostly of those ones), but mostly it was a dark and almost forbidding place. It was fascinating to travel past on the boat and just watch - children no more than 3 climbing steep wooden ladders up from the water with the rungs as far apart as the length of their legs, boats passing laden with fresh fruit, people extracting fish from fishing nets, pigs (and possibly crocodiles) in floating cages, young girls lowering pales to bring up water and villagers sitting on boards underneath their houses extracting fish from nets. Kombong Phluk isn't truly floating like Chong Kneas (which I didn't get to) as the houses are on stilts, but it was the end of the rainy season and the water levels are still high. The guide books tells how they embalm their dead bodies in the rainy season and store them in trees until they can give them a land burial, and I wonder if the prongs I saw sticking out of a couple of trees was one of the places they store them. I had dinner in a floating restaurant then jumped back on the boat, I didn't quite see the sunset over the water as planned, but I was quite happy to finish the boat ride and the muddy tuk-tuk ride before darkness really struck. Thankfully Mo was still alive on my return, although still bedridden so I headed out to the ex-pat-run quiz night (in aid of a local orphanage) with John where we came 3rd out of 7, no thanks to me.

Boat races at the water festival in Siem Reap

I'd hoped to go to Phnom Penh today to see the genocide museum and the water festival, but logistically it wasn't looking possible (expensive to reach and slower than normal due to the festival), so I stayed in Siem Reap to view their local celebrations instead. Mo was feeling up to joining me on Saturday morning so we started the day with another omelette baguette, then had an hour long traditional Khmer style full body massage for the grand total of $3.30 each. The massage wasn't particularly soothing, but the general vibe of it had me intoxicated - a darkened room, the unfamiliar clothes they get you to change into and a young girl sitting on me and manipulating my various limbs and saying "sleep lady". Once again like something plucked from a film. We tried the butterfly restaurant again for lunch and sure enough the butterflies were awake this time but in a rather sorry state - some bedraggled and missing part of a wing, and the odd crumpled specimen on the floor, slightly sorrowful. The festival provided a welcome distraction at 3pm, with boats racing in heats, manned by the staff of local businesses and restaurants. Market vendors selling an even wider variety of fresh produce than usual were out in force (so I braved a few, the soya beans really didn’t go down well), and residents were out in their pyjamas, their Sunday best. We experienced a slightly different view of Cambodia here, with the beggars that we had been informed about but not until then seen. One elderly lady was holding out a tin, and a stick with which she poked two young children along so that they could collect the money. On the other side of the coin, a pleasant lad with very good English came to speak to us about how he is at the University and wants to go abroad to study so he can come back and help his country. The trip out had exhausted a nutrition-deficient Mo so after returning with her to Aqua and having a cool off swim (32 lengths this time to work off my gluttony, rather than the daily 10 I had been doing as a token nod to exercise), I headed back in to town for my final meal in Siem Reap, this time the local speciality of Amok fish in a spicy coconut sauce with rice. I found a nice little Khmer place to eat at, and also worked my way through three more coconut shakes (which we had become quite partial to by now, an effective way to cool down). Before heading back I had a quick wander round the night market to complete my tour of the town. By now I had mastered the art of 'Ot te Or Kun' (no thank you) with eye contact and a smile to dispel the various vendors, so could wander round in peace. The traffic was starting to make sense too - it works because the majority of the transport is slow (tuk-tuks, mopeds and bicycles), and they don't bib because they're angry (I didn't see a single angry Cambodian) but to alert people in front of their presence lest they swerve to avoid a pothole.

Sunday morning we packed up our stuff with a mixture of regret and relief. It's amazing place, but there becomes a point on holiday where you would be relieved to return to the familiarity of your own country, house and bed. We stood outside to await a tuk-tuk and of course when you want one there are none around and we waited an amazing 15 minutes for one to materialise, perhaps they didn't want us to leave. Siem Reap airport is sweet and efficient and more importantly air-conditioned, and the flight back to Bangkok was lightning quick at 40 minutes - as soon as we'd gained altitude we began to descend again. We checked back in to our friendly hotel Penpark Place, then went for a wander to find Khao San road, having missed it on the way back. It's a perturbing mix of various influences, seeming neither natural nor like it would belong anywhere else. To fit in with the vibe I had pizza at an Italian restaurant while Mo had a few chips, and we watched the ladies in traditional headdresses trying to sell the same wooden croaking frogs that you see in the discover shop over here. On the way back to the hotel we took a little deviation and snuck into a riverside restaurant to see more water festival celebrations - fireworks, ferris wheels and floating lanterns, before having a much welcome warm shower (or unbearably hot for Mo just because she could), then hitting the sack... and proceeding to sleep not a wink due to all the crashes and bangs, which woke Mo up, who then moved, which woke me up (we were sharing a double bed as they'd run out of twin rooms that also had air-con and a private bathroom). The air-con was actually a mixed blessing as we woke with sore throats which turned into phlegmy colds (made worse by the long plane journeys).

Monday was a long day, but an insignificant one in my memory as it was just a necessity of a taxi ride followed two flights (the knitting needles once again made it through without event), then a quick reunitement with Mum and Dad who sent us away with a gorgeous packed dinner for the tiring final car journey home.

Coming back to the UK was odd in that it was spookily familiar but everything was momentarily odd as you rediscovered it, all the things you usually take for granted are suddenly significant - the crisp air on your skin, the taste of your mum's cooking, English roads with their rules and anger, the feeling of a cosy winter duvet weighing down on you, the click of a key in your own door, and not feeling the need to check under the toilet seat for dangerous spiders before sitting on it. I woke in the middle of the night feeling that I had just woken up in a strange ramshackle building in Asia, feeling alarmed that I'd been tired enough to fall asleep in such a place. The light was dim (and blurry, as I'd taken my contact lenses out!), but I scanned the perimeter of the room to assess whether I was in any danger from people or animals, before allowing myself to panic. Slowly the room took on familiar dimensions and became my own, and I settled back into deep sleep again.

November 2010 - Walking - Munros, Carn Mairg group and Ptarmigan Ridge

Summit of Carn Gorm

Munro trip number 3 on my '31 before I'm 31' plan!



I took upon the choosing of the Munros myself this time, without consulting friends or UKC for advice. The reasoning was to pick some hills that were reachable in a weekend, but not in the major climbing areas as I want to save those should I find myself in the area with friends another time. The Loch Tay to Rannoch Mor area seemed to fit the bill, in particular the Carn Mairg group for the first day as it was described as broad grassy slopes (not too scary if it snowed) without too much rise and fall (easy on the knees), just made challenging by the distance of 17.5km (a proper day out, nearly 8 hours which as it happens just tied in with a sunrise of 7:30 and sunset of 16:25, with contingency time). Sunday would be a shorter day, maybe the 'Ptarmigan Ridge' (13km) or Schiehallion (9km).

Mimicing the funeral pyre on Meall Garbh, tongue out in concentration

On Friday 5th November I loaded up my trusty steed Nyx, went to work for half an day then rode to Andy's (my first Munro trip not partnered by a 'John'!) to transfer into the more practical Ford Focus. We set off up the motorway and arrived at the Fortingall Hotel at around 20:30, in time for some local live music session, a tot of whisky, and to probe the staff and locals for suggestions of somewhere to pitch camp for the night. We ended up at the car park at Invervar, our start point for the morning. After snapping a tent pole and also snapping our cunning repair of a dismantled umbrella, we hit the sack a little later than planned in a wonky 3-poled tent which help up surprisingly well.



We just about made our intended start time of 7:30 (7:46) and set off eagerly up Invervar burn. A little bit too eagerly perhaps meaning we overheated and the first hill was somewhat of an effort for one of us. That same person (and it actually wasn't the blonde one!) missed a footbridge and killed a few minutes finding an appropriate place to cross the third of three sections of the burn!

Looking back down to the SE top of Meall nan Tarmachan

Another notable moment came just after the first summit when I commented how nice it would be to see a Ptarmigan, given our top route choice for the next day. A very short while later Andy said "what are those?", pointing to one side. Sure enough, two strong contenders for Ptarmigan (later confirmed) were pacing around - the only real wildlife we saw all weekend too except for some crows, one kestrel, and a mouse - see later). We were pretty lucky with the weather, sunshine all day and reasonable views, and unusually for Scotland there was a defined path all day, so with that and the excellent visibility we barely used the map and compass. We could have done with taking a bearing off the last peak, but we noticed before too long that we were heading down the wrong shoulder and it only took a few minutes to traverse back across to the correct one.



The descent and re-ascent between the four summits was a little greater than the book made out, but we maintained a steady plod and actually completed the day slightly faster than expected at 15:30, giving my normal average hill pace of 2.3km/h, which takes into account photo stops including the obligatory one or two silly ones.

On Meall Garbh

We headed back into the hotel where we were entertained by a bunch of rowdy but polite game shooters on a stag do, and had a most satisfying three course dinner including spicy parsnip soup and Dunkeld smoked salmon, and a melt in the middle chocolate pudding, mmm. Then it was time to head off out into the cold again and headed down the road towards hills for day two. Accommodation proved to be a little more challenging - the campsite was close for the season, and the head of Lochan na Lairige had an argument with the bottom of Andy's car, so we decided the best option was to hole up in the car in the car park. Apart from a frozen windscreen (on the inside) and a bit of cramp, it served the purpose and it was nice to have instant heat in the morning before having to extract ourselves from our toasty down bags. The day dawned bright again albeit a little colder than the day before, and by 8:55 we were off.

Meall Garbh, Beinn nan Eachan behind

We continued with a system that worked fairly well - Andy led on the uphills and I led on the down, that way the slowest was always in front and we stayed together for a nice natter. The Ptarmigan Ridge, despite containing only one Munro (Meall nan Tarmachan) has beautifully shaped peaks with very little ascent and descent inbetween them, and the day seemed to fly by. It was icy in parts and we were given advice by a couple of other parties about an alternative path to avoid a treacherous icy gully. The 'easier' path looked a little unlikely at first, dropping straight down a steep grassy flank, but we didn't have a choice as people were yelling at us from below and wouldn't stop until we went the safe way, it was actually reassuringly straightforward. I may have accidentally left all in the surrounding area of the opinion that I'd plummeted to my death though, as towards the middle I was completely caught by surprise by a rather squat mouse that unexpectedly appeared from a hole near my foot (and swiftly ran back down it), and I let out an involuntarily scream that curdled down the slope and echoed off all the surrounding slopes.

Descending Meall Garbh

We only made one slight directional error, again at the end where we were heading for a hut out of sight, but the visibility was once again so good we had decided we were happy to correct if necessary, than to stop in the icy wind to take a bearing. I was very pleased with my route choices - they seemed to be appropriate for our ability and motivation, and gave plenty of photographic opportunities and nice views. We finished at 3:20pm, just under 6.5 hours. Slightly slower overall than Saturday (2km/h) but more than acceptable for day 2.



Sunday night saw us visiting friends John and Jacqui in Glasgow and sampling the delights of the Ichiban noodle bar, and we made the rest of the journey South on Monday morning, eagerly making plans for the next trip, even if it may have to involve axes and crampons.

July 2010 - Walking - Munros, Ben Alder group

(Please excuse the inconsistency between between km and miles)

My first experience of Munros (except bagging the summit of Aonach Mor after an abortive attempt at winter climbing on its crags, which I don't count as we took the gondola up), was in January this year with John Cox. I had been hoping that winter walking would be more my cup of tea than winter climbing, but it turned out I'm still not confident on my feet in crampons on steep icy ground. However the views were fantastic and the hills spectacular so the seed was sown to tick off some more of them. I decided to come back in summer, and in order not to forget I set myself an aim of ticking off 31 Munros by the time I'm 31 (February 2011). Come the end of June I realised I had quite a busy few months coming up and hadn't set aside any time for meeting this target, so I found my next free weekend and started making plans.

I decided that taking a Friday afternoon and Monday morning off work would allow time for stress-free travelling and give me two full days on the hills (my first trip to Scotland that wouldn't involve rocking up at 1 o'clock in the morning), whilst still keeping my leave application at work to a minimum. UKClimbing.com helped me pick a suitable location from my criteria (basically a two day trip with no cows!), and by chance also found me a walking partner. So the plan was set. Leave work at 12:15 on Friday 16th July, pick up John from Crewe, and drive to Dalwhinnie. Cycle into Culra bothy and spend the night there. Walk up 4 of the 6 local Munros the first day (Carg Dearg 1034m, Geal-Chàrn 1132m, Aonach Beag 1116 and Beinn Eibhinn 1102m), stay in the bothy again then bag the remaining 2 the next day (Ben Alder 1148m and Beinn Bheoil 1019m). Cycle straight out and drive to Glasgow and spend Sunday night there with a friend, then face the rest of the drive the next morning, making it back to work for 13:15 on Monday.

Crossing the suspension bridge

The drive went smoothly and we arrived at 19:30, so cooked up some dinner and were ready to set off by 20:20. The first challenge was 10.75 miles by pedal power from Dalwhinnie Station to Culra bothy. I expected the bike ride to be either easy or tough, I didn't expect it to be exciting and memorable. Even to start with it was quite special - there were startled red deer running across our path as we whizzed alongside the impressive Loch Ericht, followed by a little animal I couldn't identify, a stoat or pine marten, cute fluffy brown fellow with a white face. We did the 5.7 miles to Ben Alder lodge in 45 minutes, 7.6mpg average which wasn't too bad with heavy sacks on, mine with a plank of wood against my back slowly bruising my spine and John with two carrier bags of firewood swinging off his handlebars.

Wading the loch edge

We turned off toward Loch Pattack and reached the choice of paths. Our slick and semi-slick tyres didn't take well to our intended option across 'level wet moorland' so we quickly chose the other option, which turned out to be a continuation of the good track, which seemed great... until we reached the suspension bridge. That was quite novel, although fairly straightforward. Then there was a beach, which tyres wouldn't grip on again so we pushed the bikes. Until there was a large puddle to ford, so we took our boots off and waded (the alternative seemed to be cycle through, and given the bikes wouldn't grip on the gravelly sand we didn't think they'd grip on gravelly sand underwater either). Phew, obstacle course completed.

Me at Culra bothy

All that was left was to cycle up a bit of a hill, then follow a loose track which contoured round the hill and went on forever, straight into the wind which caused me to explore the full width of a path every time a gust caught me. My sense of humour had failed by now and I was pretty glad I wasn't on my own, it was quite lonely out there especially as it was starting to get dark by then. We were so glad to see a little white roof pop onto sight round the corner. We arrived at the bothy at 10:25pm having averaged only 4.8mph on the bikes. I was even more joyous when I saw two other bikes propped up against the wall - company! I was quite surprised to find 10 other people in there. It's incredible that you can cycle for 2 hours 11 minutes into the Scottish wilderness, arrive at a dark hut and find 10 like minded companions. Fantastic. After a brief natter (in the process discovering that we weren't the only ones to find the ride adventurous and slow) and unpacking, we got straight into our luxury beds - wooden plinths, I'd expected a damp concrete floor! Fortunately there was plenty of space for us still as Culra bothy sleeps 22.

I didn't actually sleep that well, nor fall asleep particularly fast - in the room next door it sounded like they were constantly stomping up and down the stairs - only there were no stairs! I popped round in the morning curious to find out whether they'd been dancing or something. Yep, two standing on each bed throwing shapes until 2am! And I think they were all in their 40s and 50s, cracking.

River split in front of Ben Alder

They recommended a different route to us for the day than the one we'd planned, which sounded sensible, so off we set right on schedule (9am). Up Lancet edge onto Geal-chàrn, across the ridge to Aonach Beag then Beinn Eibhinn, then back the same way as far as Geal-chàrn and onto Carn Dearg via Diollaird a' Chairn. Lancet Edge took us some time but we knew that was the only substantial ascent of the day so it was easy to cope with. It all felt very much the way walks in the hills 'should' be - no big path, no directional cairns, no obvious way on, a bit of nouse required to get anywhere. The weather was quite cloudy but we could always see far enough to get a sight of the next thing we were aiming for. We could sometimes see only 100m, sometimes down to the valley floor. We had to take constant bearings, and followed standard practice of finding something on that bearing to walk to, walking to it, then doing the same again. With distances we allowed about 10 mins per km adjusted with Naismiths, and if we felt like we'd reached the next change of course we'd checked the watch to confirm whether we had or not. This worked spot on... until we were looking for the spur down Geal-chàrn towards the end. This was the point I had been nervous of all the way through the day as the book had said to be careful to take an exact bearing in poor visibility. So we did, and we walked on it methodically (picking things to aim at one at a time again), and it brought us almost right to a spur. We couldn't tell if it was the right one as could only see one lochan below us, there was meant to be one each side of and where the other one would be was shrouded in cloud, but our choice to descend there was sealed by the fact that even if it was the wrong spur we could still get round to Carg Dearg. So we started down and it quickly became apparent that it wasn't the right one as it was obvious no-one went that way, it was rocky scrambly ground covered with green vegetation. Fortunately the mist cleared then and we could quite clearly see the ridge we were meant to be on so reversed and adjusted course for that and it turned out to be about a km away, which is about as far as we'd walked on our bearing for! How could we have been 60 degrees out?! I later checked the bearing (still on the compass) and found it to be quite wrong even though I'd taken it very carefully, the only thing that I could think was that I must have knocked the compass. School boy error. Still navigation is as much about correcting mistakes as about not making them and we corrected fine. The ridge down gave us nice views of the waterfalls above Loch an Sgòir. Unfortunately at this point my knees, which has been niggling since the half way point, started to hurt as badly as they ever do, despite dosing up on the ibuprofen before descending, but I gritted my teeth against the pain as that was the only option. After summit number 4 we dropped right off the steep edge of Carg Dearg straight towards the bothy as directed. We rapidly lost height down steep scree and soft ground coverted in heather and bilberry bushes, using a kind of crab walk then bouncing gait respectively, which were surprisingly healthy on the knee with no pain whatsoever. Total distance covered was 19km in 8.5 hours.

John heading back down Beinn Eibhinn

The bothy had got even busier with the exterior littered with bikes. We washed in the stream, wolfed down our pasta and sauce, then lit the fire as entertainment and chatted to various other walkers. Just as our donation to the firewood cause had depleted two Scots dropped down a couple of bags of coal so we were kept luxuriously warm all evening, and my sodden boots had a chance to lose perhaps a quarter of their liquid, enough that dry socks wouldn't get instantly soaked at least. I hadn't taken any spare shoes and whilst waiting for my boots to dry I was desperate for the toilet, but was already wearing my second (and last) pair of socks which I didn't want to get wet. (A trick I learnt on a snowboarding holiday - after showering after a day out on the hills, change into your socks for the next day as you're not going to get them very soiled over the course of an evening. That way you don't need to take 2 pairs per day). Eventually I couldn't wait any longer so borrowed some shoes from someone in order that I could take the shovel for a walk. Unfortunately though they were Crocs which aren't designed for damp moorland and I got wet socks anyway... typical.

I finished off the evening with a few sips of some 10 year old Glenfarclas, all I drunk between when I left the van to when we returned to it was whisky and burn water. Then I put my head down before 10 as we were planning a slightly earlier start the next day - I don't normally like to be the first to bed in case I miss anything interesting but you can't miss much in a bothy, you're no more than 2 metres from all the action. This time I slept like a log and was up and ready for 8am raring to go.

Bunny rabbit

It was another day with poor visibility, but I knew I wanted to carry on with the plan regardless, even though when we started walking my back and right shin muscle were vying with my left knee for the title of most troublesome pain. The back and shin weren't too worrying though, and as far as my knees were concerned I knew I could get up the hill without any trouble so I figured I'd just do that then cross the bridge of excrutiating pain if I encountered it later. We walked in enforced silence though persistant wind and rain, and when we reached Loch a Bhealaich Bheithe there was nowhere to cross the stream without getting wet feet (an experience I didn't intend to have so soon in the day). We retracted along the stream looking for rocks that spanned it entirely. Most people I know would have jumped from boulder to boulder leaving me standing on the bank worrying about my lack of balance and inability to jump but John seemed even less happy with the steppingstone experience than me! Fortunately we finally found somewhere feasible and were then able to start off up the scramble ridge onto the Ben Alder pleateau. I just kept telling myself that there was always the possibility that the visibility would improve and the sun would come out, and if not we'd still have done the walk. The scramble was fun with the occasional technical move, and at the top we got a few temporary glimpses of the way on while I stopped to wring out my socks, now sodden by the rain which was soaking straight into my sponge-like boots (so much for staying dry).

Summit no. 5, Ben Alder

We found the summit without too much trouble, but didn't want to hang around in the wind and rain so after the obligatory summit photo (and a trig point pose too, the first and only of the trip!) we took our bearing and set about attempting to find where we were meant to 'descend steeply to the South West over bouldery ground' to Bealach Breabag (bealach = pass). We mistakenly walked along the ridge too far (I think we were distracted by the fact that the steep drop away to the east was the only thing we could confidently identify). We picked a point to descend then started to worry about dropping over the top of a waterfall, so countoured rightwards to compensate for having overshot, still losing height fairly rapidly whenever we could do so safely. It was quite mentally challenging - we were unsure of the terrain and had to just trust our intuition and judgement to carry us on safely. The further you went the more you felt like you were taking a leap of faith rather than an educated choice. Our commitment paid off, as the clouds lifted just enough for us to orient ourselves when we needed it... We could see a mirage-like lock inlet so we grabbed the map and while were were panicking to locate it the clouds continued to clear and we could see more and more objects in every direction. It was like a divine event and I felt giddy as not only we were in exactly the right place but we could see a feasible way down, then the entire of the extensive saddle we were aiming for, and also we realised the big bulk of mountain that suddenly loomed ahead of us with a amenable looking path leading up its back was our Beinn Bheoil, our final Munro.

Ben Alder

We walked to a pond at the point where the path started to ascent again (less we lost clarity again) and had our lunch feeling considerably calmed. The weather seemed to have decided to stop testing us now and for the first time we were able to put away the map and compass and we strolled to the Top then all the way along the 3km long ridge (all above 800m) to the summit with horizon to horizon views. It was quite spectacular - we could see all the way to Dalwhinnie station to our front, down to Loch Ericht on our right with countless nameless peaks behind, and left to yesterday's peaks. My knees were once again agonisingly painful on the gentle descent off the summit, but yet again once it steepened and we could bound down damp springy ground they were thankfully pain free. The approach of the Scots to descents seems to be 'right, you've ticked all the Munros, now just find the bothy and head straight to it', so we did. Day total this time was 16km in 7 1/4 hours, almost exactly the same speed as yesterday. I was especially proud that we'd managed to find our way with just map and compass, especially as every one else we met seemed to be devotees of GPS.

The better track back

The rest of the day went without a hitch. We packed and were on our bikes again by 4pm. We took the alternative path and although I'm not experienced at mountain biking so was concentrating 100% and emitting squeals and squawks every time there was mud or stones or my pedals caught in the grass, it was a fantastic path considering the alternative and we flew along it. We then zipped along the bigger track as before and made it back to the van in exactly half the time of the cycle out (9.8mph average). The roads were clear on the drive to Glasgow and we were an hour early to meet Fiend so we followed up on his recommendation of Di Maggio's in Shawlands and tucked into very welcome pizzas (cajun chicken for me) followed by luscious desserts. Fiend joined us and squeezed two courses in in the time we ate our desserts, then we nipped round the corner to his, had a good catch up fuelled by a little more whisky, then put our heads down onto the soft, soft bedding. We slept a bit too well and failed to hear either alarm but I guess my subconscious heard it as it eventually relented and released me from the grip of deep slumber, and I woke me up three minutes before we wanted to be walking out the door. Traffic was quiet again though and even travelling at the speed limit we made up time, and I was back at work at 1:15 as planned.

My dessert!

What a weekend. The plan had seemed amibitous but it *worked*. We were tired but not shattered, navigation was hard but successful, the distance was taxing but possible. My injuries didn't cause me to abort or making driving back an ordeal. Even my packing choices proved successful as I used everything I took (bar midge spray and midge hat - one advantage of the grey weather was no midges but wouldn't have dared leave those behind). I could have done with more things (I forgot a hat, scarf and gloves for example) but they weren't essential and I had no room for them anyway.

I wonder if I've found my real passion in hillwalking. I love the mountains in this format. Winter climbing didn't float my boat (too cold) and in my climbing days even though my year wasn't complete without a multi-pitch, single pitch cragging was my main love... but the prospect of plodding up mountains in summer seems to bring out a real determination in me. When I used to go out climbing, I'd find any excuse to back off ('I've done one hard route, I can leave the rest for another day, another visit'), but not here, every challenge is something to overcome - the river crossings, the navigation, the rain. I certainly can't wait to get back.