Glen Derry Redux

It was all a bit last minute but, nearly a year to the day since the last time, me and The Boy headed to Braemar for a wee overnighter. We stopped off at Braemar Mountain Sports, stocked up on Honey Stingers and hit the road again. It's a nice wee drive up the glen wi' some splendid views.


Passing the Aktomobile at Inverey, we turned into the Linn o' Dee car park in no time at all. Packs on, it was a long, hot walk up to Derry Lodge but we passed the time talking about Geography no less :o)

There were a few folk about but we'd got the Ignorant Bastards out the way less than 10 minutes from the car park and everybody else was all happy and smiley.

I counted 11 tents dotted about the lodge but our pitch from last year was free so we bagged it again.


Tea, brews, banter and a wander up to the wee metal bridge followed. We hung about there for a bit and then walked back down on the opposite side of the river, spotting a deer, the only one we saw the whole trip.


It was all very relaxing until The Boy turned his ankle less than 20 feet from the tents. A short period of parental panic followed. I was running thru' various scenarios including how to explain to the MRT why it was that my child was wearing glorified trainers out here in the wilderness. Happily, a platy of cold water wrapped round it seemed to work and the swelling wisnae too bad.

We turned in late and slept late. No rush. Breakfast was taken on the riverbank, in warm sunshine. Magic :o)


The walk back was a tad on the hot side to say the least but it was enjoyable in a slightly masochistic way. Sad to say, it was way too hot for me to even consider a burger from The Hungry Highlander but a can of cold Irn Bru and some of The Boy's Chips'n'cheese hit the spot.

We were home less than 2 hours later and my beloved, bless her, had organised a wee barbie for our homecoming. What a crackin' weekend :o)

Double-bagged

With a proposed overnighter in the offing, I've had a look in the armoury and there's a sleeping bag-shaped gap in the weapons rack. I'm covered for 3 season stuff but with The Boy getting the Alpkit AlpineDream 700, I'm left out in the cold, so to speak. I could throw money at the problem by heading over to PHD but then I'd have to decide what, or who, gets sold to raise the money.

I'm wondering if a combination of bags might be the answer? The first 2 that came to mind were the Rab Quantum and the Snugpak Merlin, both "summer" bags on their own but possibly capable of delivering a bit more when combined. Factor in clothing eg PHD Minimus and it could be a go-er.

They both fit loosely, one inside the other, so that's a good start. A bit of experimentation is called for but what's the worst that can happen? I get to be cold and uncomfortable for a night? Pah! Been there, done that.

We're talking low-level camp in the CGNP. Worst case, we bug out to Bob Scott's or back to the car.

It's no' The Yukon FFS.

Father & Son

Outfitting The Boy for a night in "the wilderness" was never going to be hard; he's as tall as me and has the same "built for speed" physique. If nothing else, he would at least look the part.
Gear was selected for maximum comfort but the ruckies, although bulky, were re-assuringly light. A good thing as I wanted to make this as enjoyable as possible and he'd be carrying all his own gear in.

We arrived at The Linn of Dee car park at 5pm, after a mooch around Braemar Mountain Sports (energy gel shots for him and a Thermarest Ridgerest for me), where my usual fannying about was cut short by his desire to be off.

Son & Father

The walk out to Derry Lodge was a warm one, stopping every now and again to take in the views fore and aft. "Hiya's" and "Hello's" were exchanged with everyone we met along the way. Passing Derry Lodge, I tactfully ignored the wifie having a pee behind the rescue hut (The Boy never noticed). He liked the look of the pitch I'd used last week and had pre-selected it for occupation again. I'd warned him that it might be busy but, despite the weather, there were no tents on our side of the river and only three on the other.

He was keen to get a brew on so clearing the site of pine cones and sticks and getting the tents up took maybe half an hour, if that. A quick demo of how to set his stove up and he was away. In fact, he was sitting down to a cuppa before I was.

Windshields configured for fickle breeze

The Red & The Green

He'd previously poured scorn on the idea of eating dehydrated food but he set about his Chicken Korma and rice like a man possessed, declaring it "tasty" between mouthfuls.

Eating al fresco (with added midgies)

The rest of the evening was passed wandering around looking at stuff, snacking and drinking hot chocolate. A couple of deer being weird was the only distraction. We turned in at around 11.

I had a pish night's sleep and, as I lay there for the umpteenth time, listening to the deep breathing of The Boy next door, I resolved to a) research bigger one-man tents, b) buy an inflatable pillow and c) invest in a warmer "summer" bag. 12 feathers wrapped in Quantum doth not a sleeping bag make. When the birds started singing at 3:30, I knew I was on a hiding to nothing. I finally declared the game a bogie at 6:00.

Worth getting up for

I spent the next couple of hours drinking coffee and watching the wildlife, finally rousing The Boy at 8:00. He immediately set to breakfast like an old hand; stove on, drink selected and muesli prepared in 5 minutes flat.



Another couple of hours mooching around, enjoying the morning and finally packing up at around 10:00.

Happy Bunnies

The only plan for the day was head for the car and get to Braemar in time for lunch. The plan was a good one and went well. We bounced back along the track, stopping frequently to watch the herds of deer, exchange greetings with smiley people and generally having a great time.

Deer cooling off (The Right Eye Deer Gang?)

I'd explained the concept of The Ignorant Bastard to The Boy beforehand and I feared we might not find one but then, only 10 minutes from the car park, there she was. The body language gave her away; shades on, head down and striding out with a purpose. Sure enough, our "Hiya" and "Hello" were ignored and much hee-hawing and sniggering followed. Her lugs must've been burning. Our grins outshone the sun.

Still laughing yet

No fannying about in the car park this time either and we were at the Hungry Highlander by 12:30. Food selection was easy; beefburger for him, Venison burger for me. All those deer had put ideas in my head.


On the way back, I asked him how many marks out of ten he'd give our trip. "10", he replied. Excellent :o)

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.

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.

Breaking The Law - Update

The campaign to free our Wild Camping Southern cousins from the bonds of oppression continues apace with 540 signatures, last time I checked. Updates are available over at www.outdoorbloggers.com where various folk are working their arses off to push this through. They deserve your support so, if you're a British Citizen & haven't signed, please do so now. It takes 2 minutes. 2 minutes to dispel the FUD* surrounding the activity that hunners, if not thoosands, of folk enjoy.


You too can be like us Scots, and you know you want to, and enjoy the freedom of an overnight in the hills without fear of being moved on.

*FUD - Fear Uncertainty Doubt
Or, a Scots term for those who want to keep things as they are. ie a fanny.

Edited to add tip o' the hat to Duncan for the graphic. Nice one.

"It's criminal. There ought to be a law..."

...As Bon Scott once sang. Actually, there is. Our wild-camping English cousins are breaking the law every time they pitch their tents anywhere other than their gardens. If you want to save them from a life of crime, Darren has started an e-petition here.

I get the distinct impression tho' that some of them don't want to be saved. Tough titties. It's a rubbish law and should be scrapped in favour of something along the lines of our Scottish model. (There we go, leading the world again).

The Boy Hope is offering a Buy One, Get One Free on beers for anyone that signs*.



*There's small print, naturally enough.

Go wild in the country

I've just watched Landward (Fri 7pm BBC2 Scotland) for the first time in ages. (Thanks to the "heads-up" from Aktoman). I used to watch it on a fairly regular basis when it was transmitted on a Sunday and I enjoyed the mix of farming and general outdoors stuff that they put out.

I was particularly interested in Friday's show because they were going to cover the "contentious issue of wild-camping" here in Scotland. No surprises then that their idea of wild-camping and mine are vastly different.

The wild-campers in question are the folk who pull up their cars on, for example, Loch Lomond-side, unpack their Tesco tent, barbecue and carry-out and proceed to have a jolly old time around the camp fire (fuelled by whatever they can cut, break or otherwise get from the nearest available trees) and, when nature calls, either pish in the loch or take a dump behind the nearest available bush. (Providing it hasn't already been used for firewood, that is).

In the morning, if they can be arsed, they pack up their tent and go home, leaving their mess for someone else to clear up. That's what Park Rangers are for, right? Otherwise, they just get in the car and leave everything; tents, chairs, sleeping bags and rubbish, behind.

The really worrying thing is, Landward never interviewed what I would call a real, low impact, never-know-I'd-been-there wild camper or even gave a proper definition of wild-camping. Instead they talked to some fishermen, complete with massive tent and a cheery fire going, on the shores of Loch Earn. They claimed to leave the place as they found it, the inference being that they are proper wild campers.

The talking heads included somebody from the Ardvorlich Estate (Loch Earn, see above) and Fergus Wood of Ledard Farm. This last fellow was interesting in that Ledard Farm offers, among other things, "bothy-style" accomodation, at a price. Hmmmm.......

Hebe Carus, the Mountaineering Council Of Scotland's Access and Conservation Officer also had a say. Unfortunately, she didn't exactly put them straight on their definition of what is or isn't wild-camping. Instead she suggested that taking your litter home and burying your jobbies* was the way forward. Oh aye, and that we need a "camping code" and that perhaps we should be made to take our jobbies home with us, like they do in "other countries".

I feel an email to the MCofS and Landward coming on. They need to be put straight on what the difference is between a real a wild-camper and what I shall henceforth refer to as a Townie With A Tent, or T.W.A.T. for short.

If we're not careful, we could find ourselves staring down the barrel of access reforms and the kind of legislation that wild-campers in England and Wales currently "enjoy".

*Poo, crap, s**t etc