I'm writing this a few days after the event - I've been a bit of out of contact recently. But I'm currently based in Braemar, working my way through the Grampians between Blair Atholl and Lochnagar.
After the insanity of the Rush gig, (some gig, whoa!), I got home late and didn't get to bed till early. The next morning, Neil arrived at 7am as planned and we left mine two hours later, which tells you everything! We headed to Blair Atholl where I had five Munros on the radar for the next two days, a plan chopped down a bit because Steve asked if I would be able to make his birthday on 1 June. Although I'd first thought it couldn't happen, altered plans made it a possibility at the expense of two Munros; An Sgarsoch and Carn an Fhidhlier. They'd have to be done later.
Neil dropped me at Loch Moraig, and I set off for Beinn a' Ghlo. I think if I'd stayed with my original plan (4 big days away from a road), I might have had a reluctance about setting off. But since it was cut down to two sets of two days, I was quite happy with the situation. Neil and I had arranged to meet at the Tarf Hotel later on - I'd get there over Beinn a' Ghlo, he'd cycle up Glen Tilt and walk in across the moors. (I should point out that the Tarf Hotel isn't actually a hotel, it's just a bothy.)
Beinn a' Ghlo gave me a brilliant crossing, even though the weather wasn't as good as it could be. I always thought it was about to rain, but I got just brief showers. Even with the extra weight of sleeping and cooking gear on my back, I made it to Munro #3, Carn nan Gabhar, in three and a half hours - a good time, all in. There were lots of people doing the round, although I left them when I headed north from Carn nan Gabhar, back down to the gentle slopes of Glen Tilt and across to the moors on the other side. The main feeling was one of being really fit.
From Glen Tilt at 300m, I headed up onto a big rounded hill called Braigh Coire na Conlaich, over 800m high. This area is all huge, rounded heathery hills with streams cutting into the peat. It is quite unique in that it's actually less effort to go over the summits rather than through the watercourses between them. The whole area has got an enormous emptiness and the Tarf Hotel sits square in the middle of it all. For some reason I really felt the isolation this time around. In more remote places, like Fisherfield say, there are towering mountains, lochs and cliffs to give character to the remote peaks. The mountains surrounding the Tarf Water have none of that, just sweeping miles of trackless empty moor, all heather and bog which makes walking those long miles even longer than they would otherwise be. It feels quite enclosed.
When I finally got to the bothy, I had a moment of panic. Neil hadn't arrived, I wondered if anything had happened and I had no signal to find out. I fully expected him to arrive before me by a good margin. But our timing was almost spot on because ten minutes after my arrival, I looked out the front door to see him coming around a bend in the river. Phew!
The bothy was a good night, we got the fire working (for a while...) and I put on a much-needed curry. It was the first bothy of the trip and first of many more.
The following day would take me over two Munros: Carn a' Chalamain and Beinn Dearg. The former was Neil's second Munro. After a reasonably early start, we wandered up the bogs on Chalmain's northern slopes to the summit. The sun was out and it was a good day to be high, which was just as well. I wouldn't enjoy these hills in the damp grey that was so common on the first days of the Munro Round. We chatted to a guy on the summit, and then Neil headed back down to Glen Tilt for his car. I headed off to Beinn Dearg, under time pressure because Steve was having a birthday party back in Glasgow at 5pm.
For the following two hours, I steamed across heather moors and bog of every variety. I was familiar with the route, having done it a couple of winters ago, and I enjoyed seeing the place in summer condition when it had been so inhospitable before.
Beinn Dearg is a big granite hump-back, and it's typical of this area: the hills all rise so gradually that it seems to take aeons to actually get anywhere. At least I was walking on stone this time as opposed to the normal heather, which is nothing but frustrating. Once on it's summit, I got a great view, took 5 minutes breather and a 360 panorama. (I beat my two-hour time limit from Chalamain to Dearg by a few minutes)
Now for the long march back to Blair Atholl...
It's long, at least without a bike. I'd been here before, again in winter and I just forgot how long it took to get Beinn Dearg to Blair Atholl. Even the bothy at the foot of the hill seemed to take time. As showers approached over the horizon, I scooted as fast as I could and put on some Iron Maiden which helped keep the feet spinning at a rate.
All in all, it wasn't too bad. Neil was waiting for me in the car back at Old Blair and I collapsed into the passenger seat very glad to stop walking at a million miles an hour. We got on the road south, and I got to Steve's birthday dinner half an hour late - not too bad, they'd just ordered drinks anyway.
When I got home afterwards, I was gently shocked to see I'd gone 26km, a good notch higher than I'd expected. That's some solid mileage for 6 or 7 hours work.
After much hilarity at Steve's party, I got to sleep. Admittedly I'm sure much of the fun probably happened after I turned in, but I was really glad to have made it. The next day, I was back up the road to continue the great bagging campaign at Glen Shee.
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