Jings!!!

Bags packed and ready for the the off. Again. A return to Glen Derry or thereabouts. That'll be twice in the space of a week. Unreal.

The long walk in, and out again - Part 2

It was only when I'd thrown my arms out a few times, searching in vain for The Future Mrs D', that I remembered where I was and how narrow the Laserlite is. (Note to self: Research wider tentage) TFMD and I have only spent a handful of nights apart in the last 5 years and her warm, wee bod' was sorely missed. I made a half-hearted attempt to snuggle down in the bag but the day was brightening and the thought of coffee finally got me moving.

I'd no sooner packed up the tent when the sun broke through the low cloud and I was able to finish off my brew, with my back against an old Scot's Pine, taking in some rays. Magic.

I'd no clear plan for the day but I knew that both Duncan and George would be in the vicinity of White Bridge around lunchtime and, after a quick look at the map, opted for a wander up Glen Luibeg towards Corrour and then out to White Bridge via Glen Dee.

I don't know who built the path up Luibeg but they deserve a hearty clap on the back cos' it's a cracker. The path, sunshine, trees, water and wildlife had me beaming like a madman by the time I reached the Luibeg bridge. Seriously. My face was aching. Everybody that passed by was happy with not an Ignorant Bastard among them. I think that might be a first.

Following the path round, The Devil's Boabie* hoaves into view and stays there. Every ounce of energy spent getting there is repaid a thousand fold. I felt immediately sorry for the many thousands of folk who must have passed by here in the clag and no' seen it.

Fertile imaginations, the Gaels had.

I loitered a bit, taking it all in while having “Elevenses” (Beef Jerky) and slurping from the Aquagear Filter Bottle. It took a supreme effort of will to get up and tear myself away, heading directly downhill to pick up the Glen Dee track.

It was at this point that I noticed how warm the day was getting. Higher up, there'd been a cool breeze but that died away as I got lower. The path was lot rougher as well which made for hard-going. My enthusiasm had got the better of me and I was moving quite quickly which is probably why my left knee, which I've had bother with over the last few years, decided it was time to complain. The low grumble built to a throb and on to a steady scream. Not to be left out, my head started to pound, a million sweat glands went on strike and every alarm light went to red. Bugger! Skipping breakfast and no' drinking enough had caught up wi' me, big time. (5 hours+ since my last pee. “Well, hello there Mr Dehydration”) I'd “bonked”, and not in a good way.

So it was down to the river and some handy slabs where the next hour was passed eating and drinking like the proverbial horse; Jerky, Honey Stingers, oatcakes and Primula all washed down with copious quantities of Nuun-infused Highland water. A Buff, soaked in the Dee and wrapped around the offending joint sealed the deal. Sweet, blessed relief.

I was a new man by the time I set off, water bottles topped up and snacks to hand in the OMM chest pouch, and it seemed like no time when I arrived at the Chest Of Dee.

A quick photie and then the camera died. Again.

I could see a few figures milling about at White Bridge and, by the time I'd finished swearing at the camera, 2 of them had broken away and were heading towards me. My eyes were streaming a bit on account of the wind but I could just make out that one of them was wearing a light-coloured Tilley and sporting shades. “'allo. You Big Kev? Big Galloot?”. It was George, aka The London Backpacker, and his walking buddy Keith looking fresh and cheery after their long walk up from Blair Atholl. We passed a good few minutes blethering about the scenery, weather, the path conditions ahead and likely bothy population before exchanging “Cheerio's”, “All the best”'s and me promising to look out for Duncan and let him know they were just up ahead. Nice blokes, both.

George and Keith, heading North and barely visible as a wee, dark speck. Seriously.

Almost exactly half an hour later, I was on the landrover track back to Linn of Dee, texting an ETA to TFMD when I noticed a familiar figure approaching; Duncan aka Aktoman. More handshakes and an impromtu Scottish Outdoors Bloggers mini-meet was in full-swing. More blethering about this and that and the next thing. I could've stood there all day, really I could but I was acutely aware that I was a) holding Duncan back when he still had a long way to go and b) stalling for time on account of an aching knee, the weather, and the track which looked like it went on forever. And so we went our separate ways; me heading for the car and Duncan to Corrour and what looked like a fantastic Sunday. (Full write-up here.) He's a good lad btw and every bit as tall as he looks on his blog :o)

Less than an hour later, I was in the car and heading for the Hungry Highlander and a portion of Whale** and Chips, washed down by a cold can of Irn Bru. Champing at the bit to get home to my honey, I only ate half, saving the rest for later. (Sorry dugs, way too nice to be classed as “leftovers”)

Heading back to Braemar

The old Mojo was there. I could feel it and F**k me if it didn't feel good.

:o)

Coming soon: Gear – the Good and the, well....Good, really.

*Penis

**Calm it, Hippy. It was Haddock.

The long walk in, and out again - Part 1

Friday's trip up to the Cairngorms NP wasn't going to be an exercise in peak-bagging but rather a recce mission. I asked The Boy a couple of weeks ago if he'd like to come "camping" with his old man and, to my surprise, he said "Aye". To my further delight, he insisted that it not be on an organised campsite but out in the hills somewhere.

Derry Lodge was the first thought that popped into my head but it's been a long time since I've been up that way so I decided to nip up and check it out.

Packing for an overnighter took a while (out of practice, you see?) but I got there in the end; packing and re-packing, refining and rejecting. I should point out that one of the other things I wanted to do this weekend was try out some newish kit, chief among them the OMM Mountain Mover. It wasn't until I was unpacking yesterday that I realised I'd taken the OMM Villain instead. Och well, the MM can come along next time.

A couple of things, namely the Berghaus Sac Liner and the Big Agnes Air Core Pad, didn't make the final cut. The Frosts Mora Knife came along for "whittling" purposes :o)

So, with bag packed it was off to Braemar and a quick mootch around Braemar Mountain Sports. Some nice stuff in there and definitely worth a re-visit.

Eventually got to Linn of Dee at around 5pm and, after buying a ticket (£2 (coins only), thanks to Duncan for the heads-up) hoisted the pack, took a quick photie or 2 and then set off up the signposted path for Glen Lui.

Self-portrait, with partial bonnet of my motor

The track up Glen Lui is a good one, speeding you away from the car park and on towards the hills. Loads of really good spots in the glen for a tent if you don't fancy walking very far.

In nae time, I'd reached Bob Scott's, but as bothies give me the "heebies", I moved quickly on.

Pure Evil. "Aaaargh! Run away! Run away!"

Passing Derry Lodge, I could see there was a big group of kids at the bridge so, after exchanging cheery "Hiya"'s, I decided to seek out a relatively secluded wee spot away from any likely looking "D of E Here" pitches. At this point, my natural "I wonder what's up here" curiosity got the better of me and I started up the path on the left side of the river. Before I knew where I was, I was out of the trees and looking up a big, wide, empty glen. I knew there was a wee flat bit of grass near the bridge but, right on cue, some kids appeared. Sure enough, there were 3 tents there already. I walked up the glen a bit but it didn't look promising.

The world's best wild-camp is probably just around the corner

The wind was picking up and it was getting late so I turned round and headed back, passing the same group I'd seen at Derry so no prizes for guessing where they were going.

Half an hour later, I'd selected and cleared a pitch, set up the tent and had water on for a brew.

A sight I don't often see. Note use of TN Carbon Nails as windshield supports.

As I was sitting waiting for the water to boil, 2 young stags appeared about 50m away. It was, of course, at this point that the camera packed in.

10 seconds after I took this, 2 deer walked out of the trees in the middle foreground. Honest.

The rest of the evening passed quickly; brews were drunk, tea was eaten (Expedition Foods Chicken Tikka which I turned into soup by adding too much water. Still tasty tho'), wandering about was done and entertainment provided by the 4 yahoos on the other side of the river with their big fire, a saw and copious amounts of alcohol. Idiots.

I slept well considering this was my first night in a tent in long, long time. I woke up at one point to what I thought was thunder but sounded to my sleepy brain like lots of hooves going past at the run. Could've been deer or just a dream. I went back out like a light regardless.

Coming up in Part 2; a day of happiness, deep joy, pain, exhuastion and a meeting of the real and virtual worlds.

Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned

When you're outnumbered 2 to 1, superior firepower is the key. A chain-gun, weilded in a Blain (Predator) style, is a great leveller. Quite literally.

Me, resplendent in Red, laying down some fire

And when the ammo runs out or the enemy grow weary of the carnage, it's time to bring out the long gun, find a quiet spot and seek victory, one carefully placed round at a time.

Evening up the score

Halo 3 iz teh shiz. Taht is true. As the young people might say.

Oh, and we won.

Forward Planning?

Sometimes I surprise even myself. I've been mentally inventorying everything I'll need for this weekend but there were a couple of things that I didn't exactly know where they were. I knew roughly but "roughly" was the big pile of gear up in the loft.

I knew the Laserlite was tucked in at the bottom of my gear cupboard and I could feel the poles in the bag but of the pegs there was no sign. "Must be in the loft", I thought. "Balls!", I thought again.

So up I went. Tucked in at the side of the pile were 3 big storage boxes. The top one contained 2 Pro Action Tiger Paws. No pegs in there.

The middle box sounded more promising. It rattled for one thing. Opening the lid, it was a bit like the end of Raiders Of The Lost Ark; it was like peering into a wee bit of Heaven but without the scary ghosties. The pegs were there. All of them. Carbon, Titan and Alu. So was the MSR Titan Kettle, the Vargo Jet Ti, folding titan spork, gas, fire steel and indeed everything I needed for the upcoming (and perfectly legal) adventure. Such organisation. I can scarcely believe it was me that did it. The grin near split my face in twa.

Ne'er cast a cloot, 'til May is oot

I've often wondered what that meant. I thought it was something to do with spring cleaning and perhaps it is. An alternative was suggested today; Don't cast off your Winter clothing until June.

This was proferred as I chittered away in shorts and t-shirt. The sun was out right enough but that North Easterly blowing through knew that this was Scotland and that Summer was last week.

Fine walking weather, though I elected to stay home, cut the grass and start pulling stuff together for next weekend's first wild camp of the year.

I know. I can't believe it either.

Update: Jerky, snacks and hydration stuff ordered. Dehydrated meals selected.

3 Strikes

3 times in the last few months. That's how many times I've walked into an actual gear shop and made enquiries about specific bits of kit.

3 times I've had the "No, we don't have it but we can get it in for you. Leave your name and number and we'll call you when it comes in."

3 times I've heard nothing. Nada. F**k all.

3 times they could've had a sale but, for whatever reason, chose not to.

The Arab people have a saying; "Trick me once, shame on you. Trick me twice, shame on me." To that I'd add, "Trick me three times, then F**k you, pal. I'll do my shopping somewhere else."

Much has been said about the rise in internet retail and its' ability to kill off "bricks & mortar" outfits but sometimes the B&M boys do themselves no favours.

Fannies.

Spam Shortage

Don't know about anybody else but I've been getting a lot less spam over the last couple of weeks. Maybe the spammers think I'm down the online casino, checking the time on my fake Rolex whilst in a state of advanced priapism?

If, on the other hand, Google have ramped up their spam filters then I must applaud them. The list of things I hate is a short one but spammers are right up there with wasps and thieves. Having the bastards dragged out into the street and beaten around the legs with a large stick would be a fine start.

Note to self: check for anti-spammer e-petitions.

Y'all have a nice day.

Trail and Tribulation

Well, they've lured me back; I've just signed up for a year. The Markill stove offer was what finally won me over. That, and the fact that I'd bought the last few issues and not been that disappointed.

I've been a subscriber before, a long time ago, but gave up when the endless recycling of articles and features became all too apparent. The puerile "look what I'm eating" photies of the staffers in every issue didnae help either.

So, we'll see how it goes.

I may as well sign up for TGO while I'm at it. The April 2008 issue was one of the best I'd seen and trying to buy a copy round here is nigh on impossible.

Both their forums are still rubbish tho'.

Idle Hands

I'm tinkering again. Just ignore me.

1,2,3,4...........

"What are we campaigning for?"

There's the beginnings of a chant right there. Current e-petition signatures stand at 1,233 at time of writing. Somebody's gonnae get a nicely rounded number if they get off their arse and spend the whole 2 minutes it takes to sign up.

I could use a "ghost" account and bag it myself but that would make a mockery of the democratic process and, as we've already got a Scot or 2 in the door doon South, it's probably best not to rock the boat.

I've been busy and lost track of how things were going. I expected the number to be much higher. Just shows my faith in human nature and how often it leads to disappointment.

But hey, I'm on holiday and have a whole country to gallavant around if I so choose.

I love being Scottish, I do.

In Da Club

Back in my teenage years, I was in the school hillwalking club. We didn't have much in the way of kit at first; it was all jeans, wooly jumpers, bobble hats, anoraks and DMs. What we had in spades was enthusiasm and, more importantly, teachers that were happy to give up the odd weekend to drive a minibus full of teenagers the length and breadth of Scotland. (We made one foray to The Ponds, thought “Aye, it's quite nice” but decided the hills in our own back yard were much finer and never returned).

Hillwalking - 70's Style

There was nothing methodical about planning our hill days. Somebody would make a suggestion and, if met with general approval, that's where we went. We could be on The Lowthers one weekend and gallumphing across the Cairngorm plateau the next.


No such thing as risk assessment in those days either. The school were told we were going away for the weekend and we're taking the minibus and that was it. We knew what we needed to carry on our backs and were actively encouraged to be independent. We'd pile out of the bus, somebody would ask “Where we goin', Sir?” and a finger would be pointed in response. Wee groups would form up and away we'd go, bantering back and forth and generally having a jolly time of it. Nobody ever got lost and, only the once, did anybody get hurt; a turned ankle within sight of the car park. The casualty was evacuated on the back of Big Gordon. No helicopters required.

Happy days.

Fast forward 30 years and you find a man with an aversion to clubs of any kind but hillwalking clubs in particular. I'm no' sure why but I think what I get from being in the hills these days is a lot different to what I got out of it back then. These days I like my own company, the solitude and the freedom to make my own decisions; where to go and when and for how long. It's good. It'd be nice to share it
with someone now and again but it's not the end of the world.

Maybe it's the thought of sharing it with a bunch of relative strangers, hee-hawing about the place and crowding folk. I've had a few peaceful moments shattered by big groups and it's no' something I'd wish on others.


So, whenever I see a club diary on the interweb, I don't think “Ooo, that sounds good. I wonder if they'd let me join?”, it's more “Well, I know where I won't be going this weekend”.


Anti-social? Not at all. Grumpy old man? I'm working on it.

Hold the middle

This is me, as I appear on the killing grounds of Halo 3. I've spent a lot of time there recently, mostly in what are called Big Team Battles. 16 players, 8 to a side, fighting it out across maps that once existed solely in the minds of those magnificent people at Bungie and now brought stunningly to life on my telly-box.

It's marvellous. Technology aside, I love the spontaneous camaraderie of 8 people, who may never have met in the real world, banding together to strive for a common goal. Or, as can happen, 8 people running around, getting in each other's way and just having a blast.

"Hold the middle" Copyright El Burrhito at TTL.

The picture above is an un-retouched, hi-def, screen grab. It reminds me of 80's sci-fi paperback cover art. Stunning, if you like that kind of thing. Which I do.

It's been Team Swat this weekend. Teams of 4, limited weapons and instant-kill headshots. It's fast and furious and just so much gosh-darn fun. Ach, it's not for everybody but whatever gets you through the day, right?

BST

A lot of folk think it stands for British Summer Time. I don't. I think it's the short form for Bullshit. I mean, I feel bad enough as it is without them nicking an hour off me and screwing wi' my body-clock. I need my sleep, Goddamit!!!

The war's over.

Bastards.

We are 1 (and a bit)

I missed it by just over three weeks. Disnae seem like a year since I first decided to put my inane witterings on the interweb for all to see. A year of haphazard postings, dodgy photies and a smidgen of hill days.

Och well, there's always this year even tho' it hasnae exactly gotten off tae a flyer.

Please note the lack of a year's worth of stats btw. I rarely look at them. Wouldnae want to be accused of being a "Stat Hoor"* or a "Stat Tart".**

As for it being an ego-trip...... you be the judge.

Thanks for stopping by. Again.

*Statistics Whore - one who is more concerned with visitor numbers than content

**Statistics Tart - as above

The Dreaded Lurgey

The New Guy didn't know what The Lurgey was. He'd never heard of it. I tried to explain, it's not a cold and it's not the flu' but something in-between. A general feeling of not-wellness, often manifesting as snotters and croaky voice, a cough that can be "productive" but also dry. Aching bones, zero energy and a desire to crawl back into bed and stay there. It ebbs and flows like a pestilential (is that even a word?) tide. You think you're on the mend and then it's back.

That's two weeks now and I still feel crap. It's rubbish.

Photo of the week

Holly the SARDA dog. Glencoe 14/03/08. Copyright Getty Images.

I saw this on the Beeb's Scotland page. It made me smile and, if I'm being honest, brought a wee lump to my throat. Apart from the brown markings, that could be oor Meg.

I'll have another wee hill dug one of these days, just not right now. Three's quite enough, thank you. Oh aye, and not forgetting the two step-dugs.

Pitlochry Redux - Part II

So Saturday was spent wandering the main drag for one end to the other. At the Southern end lies Escape Route, a bike shop but with plenty of other stuff to interest the likes of me. The lads in the shop were clearly enthusiastic and much banter was exchanged. I left with a "Life is Good" long-sleeve tee, a handful of Power Bars and a couple of Honey Stingers. I also put my name down for a pair of Haglos Rugged Mountain Pants. It would've been rude not to. It wasn't 'til I looked at the receipt later that I saw the 10% discount. They're good lads right enough.

Up the other end of town there's a coffee shop, Cafe Chocolate, if I remember correctly. Their cake selection is enormous and, I suspect, made on the premises. I can recommend the Caramel Shortcake and the Carrot Cake. Their coffee's no' bad either. I was positively vibrating from the sugar and caffiene by the time we left.

The rest of the day was spent loafing about our room, snacking and watching telly. Zulu Dawn, which I'd never seen, was surprisingly good.

After an expensive, but superb meal in the hotel, we crashed.

On Sunday, we packed up early and left but nipped up to Loch Faskally to get some photies. Ben Vrackie had had a wee dusting of snow overnight and looked great. We decided tho' that discretion was the better part of valour and voted to leave it for another day.

Ben Vrackie, looking grand.

There were ducks aplenty and we were therefore heavily outnumbered. I don't trust ducks;they have beady little eyes so I stayed by the car. Just in case.

Keep the car running.

Pitlochry Redux - Part 1

Two years. That's how long it is since we were last up this way. Oh, we'd whizzed by on the way to points further North and West but this was to be the first time we'd actually stopped in Pitlochry in an age.

We needed some downtime, a break from the daily grind of the 9 to 5'er and so a weekend away was proposed. After much searching (Scotland's pretty much shut until April) we settled on Pitlochry as a reasonable choice. It's only an hours drive away, there are hills and, just as importantly, shops if it's raining.

Some luxury was called for and so we took lodgings at the Pine Trees Hotel, a fine old Victorian pile, situated up on the hill above the toon.
The drive up was "interesting"; pitch dark, gale force winds and lashing rain. Apart from nearly ending up in the Tummel (damn those shitty road markings) and getting lost (damn those shitty directions) we got there in pretty good time.

I'm no' a big fan of hotels but this one had a nice atmosphere, relaxed and no' too up itsel'. The staff, mostly Eastern European, were smiley, polite and attentive. Our famous Heelan Hospitality is imported these days, it seems.

We'd taken some basic walking gear on the premise that we'd have a dander up Ben Vrackie if the weather was reasonable but Saturday was a mixture of sunshine, freezing wind and showers. And so to Plan B, a wander round the shops. The only ones I was interested in were the pie shop and the gear shop. Or MacDonalds Brothers and Escape Route, respectively.

Macdonald's Steak Pies are superb and buying one while I was there was always part of the plan. They're no' exactly cheap but they're worth it. And you can even order online. Sometimes, I really, really love the internet.A Macdonald's Steak Pie in all its' glory

An empty Macdonald's Steak Pie Dish in all its' glory. Photo taken on Sunday, just after tea time.

Coming next, "Killer Ducks and Gear Shops".

Weapon of Mass Distraction

Aye well, it had to happen sooner or later. I thought I did quite well, lasting a whole 2 months before signing up to Xbox Live. It's now a week later. A week of playing Halo3 and rising to the rank of Sergeant - Grade 2.

Xbox Live is great. It's like Web 2.0 with guns. You get to meet people from many different countries and cultures and then engage them in battle. Or, and this is my favourite bit, team up and fight alongside them against complete strangers.

And it's only £5 a month. A fiver to kick whiney, American teenagers' asses for hours on end*. What's not to like?

It's a terrible distraction tho' and I can only apologise for the lack of any activity on the blogging front. Normal service will be resumed shortly.

Coming soon, "Pitlochry Redux - A tale of hills unclimbed, pies and killer ducks".

*Or, by turns, have your ass kicked by little girls with too much time on their hands.