Alltbeithe YH to River Loyne
(12.7 miles/578 metres ascent)
Jean and I lay happily chatting in the bunk until about 7.30am. It turned out that we were both planning to walk down towards Cluanie Inn, and so we decided we'd walk down together. I had fun experimenting with mirror pics, trying to get a photo of both of us in our bunks, but unfortunately I couldn't work out how to turn off the flash. I'm not quite sure what Jean made of all this, but she was very patient about it!
About 7.30am we got up, got washed and went to the kitchen for breakfast. The conservation blokes were packing all their kit away for the long journey out of the glenn, and Peter and Bryan were enjoying some breakfast. I'd already seen Lawrence, Ken, Malcolm and Roy leaving at what looked like the crack of dawn, as Jean and I chatted away in our bunks, and Craig was not yet up.
Jean and I had tea, and Jean had some museli. I don't generally eat brekkie, and didn't feel like anything yet. We adopted a very relaxed approach, and spent a happy time chatting with others whilst all the packing up went on around us. It was after 10am by the time we actually got away, but quite a pleasant morning was waiting for us outside. We could see from the tops of surrounding hills that quite a lot of snow had fallen in the night, and the chill of snow was still in the air.
We stopped to look back at the hostel after crossing the river...
...and then pressed on and over the shoulder down towards Cluanie.
I'd been warned that this section was likely to be just about as boggy as boggy can be, and so I'd put on my waterproof socks, gaiters and waterproof trousers, in anticipation. The views were stunning right from the start, and we stopped to take a picture of the route we'd followed the day before.
The ground was certainly boggy, but it wasn't as boggy as I'd feared it might be. My trail shoes were soon soaked, but thanks to my Sealskinz socks my feet stayed warm, dry and comfortable. The weather was changeable, and at times we had exciting little flurries of snow as we made our way over the highest points. It was generally quite bright, though, and exhilaratingly cold to walk in.
I'd been expecting it to take us only a couple of hours to get down to Cluanie from the hostel, but in the event it was further than I'd realised and took longer than that. It was about 2.30pm by the time we got there, and rarely has a hotel provided such a welcome sight! We took off our wet things and left them in the porch, and then we went in and settled down to cullen skink with (in my case) a glass of cider, and then a cup of coffee.
There were 3 motorbiking blokes also sharing the small room at the back, and Jean, who has experience of motorbikes, struck up a converation with them while I nipped out to the bathroom, to try to make myself look slightly less horrific. They were travelling vast distances, very quickly. In fact, they were planning to go further in that single day than Jean and I were planning to walk in the whole of the fortnight! They were friendly, and fun to talk to, but eventually they got back into their leathers and helmets and set off on the next leg of their journey.
Again there was a seductive fire, and it was coming up to 3.30pm before Jean and I began to make a move. At that stage I realised I still had my room key from the Kintail Lodge Hotel in my trouser pocket, but the proprietor of the Cluanie Inn kindly agreed to ferry it back on his way over in that direction the following day.
Jean and I also began to wonder whether we'd be able to get to Tomdoun, which was my destination for that night, in time to find a decent camping spot and make our way to the excellent Tomdoun Hotel for something to eat and drink. Jean hadn't quite decided whether to go on to Tomdoun herself, or whether to strike back to the west after rounding Creag Liathtais. She was planning to be guided by the weather, but given the uncertain state of conditions outside we also wondered whether it might be worth looking into the possiblity of sharing a room at the hotel, and so we decided to ring. The public phone was occupied, but again the proprietor was enormously helpful, and allowed us to ring from his office. There was no room at the Tomdoun Hotel, but there was room in their bunkhouse, and so I booked two spaces and we set off at more or less 4pm.
Just before leaving the Cluanie Inn we spoke to 4 Dutch walkers in the bar, who had just walked over from Tomdoun. They gave us some advice about the best route to take, and so we set off in high spirits.
The walk towards Tomdoun from Cluanie was very beautiful, and the mixed damp air and sunshine produced some lovely sights along the way.
In accordance with the instructions we'd been given, we ignored the obvious path to the River Loyne marked on the map and visible on the ground, and pressed on instead in search of a more direct way down, starting at a small pile of cut logs.
It began to seem that we must have missed the logs, but just as we were about to turn back for the path we spotted them just ahead, and so stopped for a breather before commencing our journey down.
There was a bit of a landrover track down the side of the hill, but it was so incredibly boggy - swimming deeply in water in many places - that we had to proceed slowly, and sideways, in order to avoid slipping backwards onto our bums. After that the water abated a little, but the grass was very tussocky and steep, and from time to time there were little patches of incredibly slippery surface muddy stuff, that just shot away underfoot in really quite a lethal sort of fashion! We both slipped over several times, but fortunately we managed to avoid any serious injury.
By now we could see the river down below us, and from up here it didn't look as though crossing would present any sort of difficulty. I'd been given the GR of the usual crossing spot by my vetter, Colin, and we planned to aim for that first. It took us quite a long time to get down the hill, but eventually we were off the slippery part and able to start aiming for the river. Along the way we were presented with a number of feeder streams of differing widths, though, which slowed us down even further.
By the time we arrived at the river, it looked deeper and faster than it had appeared from the top. No surprises there, then! :-)
We scouted around fairly carefully, but it was soon clear that we wouldn't be able to get over where we were.
Jean took a look at the map, and suggested that we might actually be quite a long way east of the point at which we had hoped to cross. A quick GR culled from my little Geko confirmed that that was so, and therefore we set off back up the river in an attempt to find a place to get over.
By now the rain had started again, it was windy and the ground was very difficult. On a regular basis our way was blocked by feeder streams so wide and deep that we had to track half way back up towards the foot of the hills again, to find a place to pass. It became very frustrating, and I was increasingly worried that we were not going to be able to make it to Tomdoun that night, and that we'd have to start thinking about a wild camp. That wasn't any sort of a problem in itself, but I was worried about dropping too far behind my schedule, as my proposed walk from Tomdoun to Spean Bridge the following day was already 22.5 miles long, and I'd been planning a very early start from Tomdoun.
20 minutes or so after starting up the river we noticed something red far away in the distance, and eventually it became clear that it was someone in a jacket. As we continued our attempt to find a crossing place we eventually worked out that the person in red was camping further up the river, and, as all our attempts to find a place shallow enough for a safe crossing came to nothing, we advanced inexorably closer.
Eventually we were close enough to see that there were actually two people with a Nallo on the other side of the river, and just as I was planning to yell over to ask them where they'd crossed one of them trotted along, asked if we were trying to cross and pointed just a little bit further up the stream. Enormously relieved, we made our way there, and the bloke stood on the other side to point out the best way over. I didn't mind getting my boots wet - they were already soaking, after all, and would dry out quickly enough once the wet ground stopped - but I didn't want my Sealskinz socks to fill up with water, so I took them off, put my boots back on and rolled up my trousers and waterproofs. Meanwhile, Jean started over the river, and with some guidance from the bloke on the other side she got over. Then it was my turn, so I undid the waist band on my rucksack, checked my Pacerpoles were locked firmly into place and waded into the river.
Before I'd tried it I simply would not have believed the force of a river filled with freezing, knee-deep water! I'd realised that the crossing was going to be uncomfortable because it was windy and raining, and the water was cold, but I hadn't begun to realise how very difficult it would be simply to keep my footing in water of that depth, travelling that quickly. I'm glad I've been able to learn the lesson in a river no more than knee deep! The temperature of the water went way beyond simply taking my breath away, and the cold caused a pain in my legs and feet so acute that I actually stopped in the middle just to catch my breath and shuffle, gasping, from foot to foot. I pressed on, though, moving slowly and carefully sideways, using my poles for support: I've no idea how it would be possible to make such a crossing without them! Jean and the helpful bloke called directions when I couldn't see which was the best way to go, and eventually I was able to climb out.
By the time we were both over I was absolutely freezing, and if I hadn't realised it took longer than 90 seconds for hypothermia to set in, I might have thought I'd developed it! It was also raining quite heavily, it was very windy and it was after 8pm. Tomdoun was still getting on for 5 miles away, and I was afraid that we were going to lose the light. The ground at the side of the river was grassy and flat, and it seemed to me that our best option would be to camp there. I asked Jean and she agreed, and so we put down our packs, pulled out our tents and embarked upon our first camp of the crossing!
Getting the tent up was a bit of a nightmare. I always prefer not to put the tent up in the rain, but obviously it's not always possible to avoid that, and so I just had to get on with it. Jean's Akto unzips down the left hand side, whereas my ME Dragonfly has its opening in the front porch. I therefore pitched next to the river, and Jean went to my right, in the hope that we might be able to see each other to chat later from our respective tents.
The only problem in getting the Dragonfly up was with the ground, which was incredibly stony. It was impossible to get a single peg in all the way to the floor, but I managed to get most of them in just over half way and by the time I'd finished the tent seemed pretty stable. I opened the porch, undid the inner and chucked everything in from my rucksack as quickly as I could, in the hope that none of it would get wet. After that I put the pack in the porch and climbed in after it.
As I zipped up the outer and inner I was immediately absorbed into a much warmer, drier, quieter and more welcoming environment than that raging outside the door. It's amazing just how much warmth and comfort a little lightweight tent can offer to a tired, wet backpacker in the middle of nowhere :-) I pulled off my waterproofs, trousers and baselayer, and got into dry kit. Then I inflated my lovely mattress, pulled my sleeping bag out of its sack and crawled in. At that stage I should really have cooked, but I still had half a flask of coffee and a supply of cheese & onion pasties and flapjacks, as well as a large bag of GORP, so I decided to be lazy and stick with them instead.
By now Jean was nestled in her Akto, cooking cous cous. She very kindly offered me some, but I was already happily munching GORP. The wind continued to blow strongly for quite some time, and the rain rattled against the tent like a shower of small gravel blown out of the river. Eventually I got my book out, though, and snuggled down in my bag.
By some miracle, there was mobile phone reception there, and so Jean was able to let the Tomdoun Hotel know that we wouldn't be at the bunk house that night. I sent a couple of texts, one to home and the other to another Challenger, Bob, with whom I'd been chatting in email since prior to Christmas, in anticipation of the trip. Bob had bravely decided to do the crossing with a tarp and a bivvy bag - I hoped he'd found somewhere to keep him warm and dry, if he was encountering conditions anything like those near Loch Loyne! Jean and I exchanged some desultory conversation, and eventually we both dropped off to sleep, planning a very early start...
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