Clunking Springs and Misty Munros
Six Munros, One Broken Spring, woken to birdsong - a hill walking adventure.
Great excitement in the house for a long weekend, the sort where you plan a quick getaway to beat the traffic. Keen to make a 3-hour journey and meet the campsite check-in time by 8pm. We were just waiting on the final remote meeting to conclude so we could jump in the van with the bikes on the back and the usual walking gear.
Barely 300m down the road, we drove over a pothole and then started to hear a clunking sound with every kind of bump in the road. Yet on the straight and narrow, not a whisper. I pulled in, checked it wasn't the bike rack, and that I'd not done something stupid. Checked the underside to see if the exhaust was in a bad way. Nothing. Checked inside, we are use to the odd pan rattling. Drove a bit further, windows down, definitely something wrong. I felt precious minutes slipping away as I pulled in again. The thoughts running through my head of whether I should even be driving now versus would the van even make the 3-hour trip. At this point, it had gone 4, and in my head I thought the last thing the garage wants at this time of day is me turning up. However, it needed to be done and the decision to phone our local garage was made. See if they could squeeze us in if we pulled up on spec.
I'd been given a heads-up about one of the coiled springs being corroded at the MOT in February. Something I'd shrugged off and would fix in the summer. I'd hardly done any miles in it, and to be honest, it had slipped my mind. Then one of the guys sticks his hands up the side and immediately finds the problem....a coiled spring! But not the one we'd been alerted to! We were given the signal that the guys would get it on the ramp now and would have it sorted in the morning. So, leaving the fridge full and our bedding, we were given the optimistic signals that the trip would still be on.
Bikes off, a few toiletries, etc, an hour and a half later we arrived home wondering what we were going to do with ourselves and that promise of fish and chips at our favourite stop on the A9 was blown.
Friday morning, and the hours rolled by. Tried to strike a balance of not pestering the garage to let them do their thing versus getting an update. 10:30am arrived, and essentially, I caved and called. I was assured they were on the case and they'd give me a call to update me shortly. Noon came and nothing. I decided to nip to the library1, a book I'd reserved had come in, so on my bike I popped into the garage as I was passing, as you do....not pestering at all! I found them working on it, and slightly annoyed with myself for bothering them on the job. I'd also gone to see if I could get our lunch out of the fridge. Not possible, given it was a couple of feet in the air.
Just as I was sitting down for a cup of coffee, the call came in, like the Bat signal! I left my coffee to go cold, and we ended up getting down the road for 3pm. Thankfully missing the slow traffic that usually appears on the bridge of a Friday evening when folks are heading north......and we made it to Bruar perfectly timed for a fish supper.
Arrived at the Roy Bridge campsite just before 7. The smell of BBQ thick in the air with the backdrop sounds of air beds being pumped up.
Saturday morning, and I come to about 5:45am, a chorus of sound I don't think I've heard the like of before, despite my many years of camping. A cacophony of life embracing the day. It's like the orchestra is warming up at the start of a performance, at the same time, the performance is live, never to be repeated again. Beautiful sounds with distinct voices.
I remember that there was an App (Mermaid) that could tell me what I was hearing. I download it, plug in my details and then press record. The names of birds are reeled off in quick succession. I'm filled with wonder and awe, and what a way to embrace the day.
This was the recording, not sure it does the sound justice, you might need to turn up the speakers!
Also wasn’t sure at the time if I could get the recording back so did a seperate voice recording: a minute of highland bird song!
It's an early start for us, we want to cover off some hills (Munros2) whilst the weather holds. The sky is broody and grey, anything might happen. The Easains are calling.
The car park is empty, distinctly different from the blue sky day a fortnight ago, where we left from the same spot for different hills. A sign that nobody wants to be caught in the rain? We try and cut some of the time out by cycling a mile down the track, we have the bikes anyway, why not use them? They will be welcome for our return, a warm down on the achy muscles that are likely.
The hike is hard, our muscles aching, visibility poor, albeit we can see snow in the gullies, the last signs of winter. We made it to the top mostly in the dry, even managing our two-day-old smoked mackerel rolls that had been sitting in the fridge since Thursday.
With no campsite booked for the night, we were undecided on where to head. The plan was to get up to Skye with time on our hands and not needing to be back home until Wednesday. No matter which website we checked, we couldn't get a predicted Sunny day. Midway on the journey, I pulled into a lay-by where we formulated a plan. The kind of plan where one person would like to carry on and the other is thinking this is crazy, heading into the rain, which is forecast for the west in the next few days versus the chance of some sun in the east.
So, with the re-plan in place, we headed back to Roy Bridge with the intent of tackling the short single Munro close by and then we would head east.
Directly across the road, I also spotted a local brewery shop. The kind that you have to screech the brakes on if you didn’t know about it. Normally, I’d keep driving. In this case, already stopped and were changing our plans, so it was no biggie to pop in and say hello. Discovered a beautiful crisp lager that I wish I hadn't!
Sunday morning, we head off in the rain, and it's uphill from the off. We'd been led to believe that it was an easy Munro to tick off! The track is mean, geared up for 4x4's with chunky boulders. It takes us an hour and thirty minutes to get to the bothy. Then a boggy and wet adventure ensues, it's a steep one, and just adds to the fact that these mountains are hard. Visibility is poor, but the egg sandwiches we brought have never tasted as good! The cycle back, only 30 minutes, with mud on our faces and wet boots, we are pleased with our achievement. It was not an easy Munro!
Afterwards, a cup of tea, a piece of halva flapjack at the van, its time for a change of tack. We head east. Back on ourselves and a little south to the campsite we know really well at Blair Athol. A pivot point and an attempt for us to dry out and get ourselves ready for a couple of hills on the east side of the Cairngorms.
Monday, again another cycle in, we'd thought (I thought) we could cycle round the back, do the walk in reverse, so to speak. Another not-so-nice track, undulating and bumpy. The walk is long, and a little boggy in places. Thankful for some of the sights on the way. Loch Nan Eun for example:
Reserves mentally needing to be tapped into with the steep inclines. Busier on the hill though, these couple of Munros seemed to be a little more popular. We though, are the only folk doing them in reverse! Need to dig deeper to do the 2nd one and come back on ourselves. Moments of dry, moments of wet, very atmospheric views. The cycle back is okay as we pass through beautiful farm land, and the weather is starting to brighten.
We hit Braemar just after 6, damp and bedraggled. The campsite warden had already shut up shop. Fortunately, on-site and just a phone call away. A warm shower and a lamb stew put us right, and the promise of a sunny day for our last full day.
Woken to the sound of a pheasant, and a level of brightness through the canvas we'd not seen for the last few days. Camping aligns the body’s rhythm to the ebb and flow of the sunset and sunrise, and despite my body longing to lie in some more, getting up was a must to make the most of the day. Even so, it takes a while to come too. The body complains that it's not ready to go yet. Still healing to be done. Today however, might be that day, a crack in the clouds and the sun might be making an appearance. After three days of damp and wet it's welcome. We've a long day ahead if we can get past a certain river.
The drive down to the Linn of Dee in itself is beautiful, we pass a herd of wild deer almost invisible against the bracken. The trees are soaking up the sun and, in return, glow with a green that only comes from ancient pine forests. The cycle has its moments of difficulty as we go through the track made for the management of the land rather than the casual bike and hiker. We make it to the ford, the place that the book is quite adamant shouldn't be attempted if the river is in spate. We are pleased to find we've made a good call season-wise and are able to cycle through the river even though I'd packed a towel in case we had to wade across. It's all good. We leave our bikes on the edge of the forest just as the track ends and becomes a path. I can see some folk have cycled on, but for me, the pain of cycling the path versus the reward of walking it wins. Compared to the last few days, this path is a joy. Long and gradual, if it wasn't for the aching muscles from the previous days, we'd be skipping up. It's a beast of a hill though, rather than sharp and steep. It's a gradual incline, giving one a chance to breathe in the awe-inspiring landscape. We pause at the top for a change, eat our lunch in the sun and absorb the moment of achievement of covering 6 munros in 4 days.
Tuesday evening, and it’s the chef’s night off. Braemar offers a few places to get a bite to eat. A local pub offering a good selection of food. I went for the highlander burger. Angus beef, haggis, bacon and a whisky sauce. The kind where the layers are stacked high and the soft bun is unable to support the weight. My wife tackles the chicken supreme.
We’ve made it to Wednesday, and unfortunately, the journey home.
The morning is calm and relaxed, with no rush or demands required. We steal a moment in the rising sun. That pheasant is squaking in the background. A number of the self-catering huts are empty on the hill overlooking the glen. We borrow a bench on one of their picnic tables and listen to the day waking. The air is a mixture of cool and that feeling of warmth as the sun touches your skin. Today is our drive back home, and we are in no hurry to get to any car park or a layby that generally starts a long day’s hike. Our bodies wouldn't thank us for it anyway. Happy that they finally get that rest. Although each bend, task, and the lifting of the bikes on the back of the van test the muscles that just want to be left alone. They have done their bit over the last few days, covering 100km of hard mountainous terrain. It's time to breathe.
The smell of bacon wafts in the air, and we hatch a plan to visit the Glenshee ski centre on the road back down for breakfast number two!
On the last day, it always seems to take longer to pack up the van and move. Perhaps it's the brain asking to stay. But as a wise old lady used to say nice to get away, but always good to get back home.
The book I fetched from the library: a change of appetite - where health meets delicious by Diana Henry. I have to say at the end of each walk I was too tired to read it! Flicking through and reading the introduction, as we head into May I can really relate to trying to eat differently.
A Munro is a Scottish mountain that's over 3,000 feet (914 meters) tall and is recognised by the Scottish Mountaineering Club. The list is named after Sir Hugh Munro, who compiled the first catalogue of Scottish mountains over that height in 1891. Munro-bagging: the act of climbing these mountains with a view of completing the list. I’d be lost without this book by Paul and Helen Webster.
What a cracking adventure, Alex! 😲 I did read the local’s name as Stan Bob before realising 😂
Those photos look stunning - makes all the pain getting up there worth it I’m sure 😊 (Easy for me to say, sat munching on a bacon sarnie whilst reading this!)
Great story Alex. Like we always say when we’re hiking in the rain remember it’s just water…very very cold water. ☔️