Day 7 - The new A9 and a relaxing afternoon
I sleep well and wake late but I'm not refreshed. My legs are leaden and my mind is weary. I look at my watch. 8.30. I know Sue will probably be on top of Geal-charn by now but I've no appetite for hills today. I need to rest. Thankfully I only have nine flat miles between me and the comforts of the Dalwhinnie Inn.
I pack slowly. Ann and Alvar are heading my way and company would be good. Four walkers stride confidently towards us. They are first time Challengers on a fearsomely long convoluted route but seem to be enjoying themselves. Indeed they plan to walk back to the West coast immediately after the Challenge. They were one of the Thorn's first vettees. A long conversation ensues about details of their route while I snatch a few minutes more rest.
I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to crossing water. I'd rather have 2000ft of air below me than a foot of fast flowing water and if the bridge moves it's my idea of walking hell. Suspension bridges are therefore not on my list of favourite things! I contemplate fording the river again but I don't fancy wet feet this early on in the day. Ann confides to similar fears and we approach the bridge with increasing anxieties tempered by a sense of companionship. Besides the bridge is a man on a JCB and in the river is a concrete pillar. A new and potentially solid structure stored in the memory banks for future crossings but no comfort to us now. Alvar strides confidently across making us both feel inadequate.
"Do you want to go first?" asks Ann.
"I'll let you join Alvar!" I reply throwing the ball back in her court. She takes a deep breath and a long stride. Other than a brief teeter at the low point she walks confidently and is soon on the other bank. Her broad smile is back in its usual place as she reaches for her camera.
Crossing the Allt a'Chaoil-reidhe
courtesy of Ann Thorn
I've nowhere to hide now. I close my eyes, dream of the Dalwhinnie Hotel and step on the bridge. All goes well to the low point then the bridge sways sideways. I grip the wire hand rails firmly but as I swing laterally I am mesmerised by the fast flowing water. I close my eyes again, fix a grimace on my face which I hope will pass as a smile on Ann's photo, and all but run to the far side and a cheer from Ann.
Ann and Alvar set a cracking pace. They are both giving me twenty years but, now retired, they walk whenever the weather allows and have climbed sixty Munros in the last year. It shows. They appear to be ambling whist I toil hard. Soon the new Munroists catch us. I hope as the five of us hit the estate road I'll get into a rhythm but it's a vain hope. I find myself tailing off behind Ann and Alvar even after the Munroists have sped into the distance. To add to my discomfort the sun burns though the morning cloud and I develop a pain in my right foot. Mentally I wilt. By the time the Disney style Ben Alder Lodge comes into view I know I can't maintain this pace.
"I'm going to stop for a break," I say. "You two go on. I'll see you in Dalwhinnie."
They nod recognising my discomfort and the fact that I'll find it easier to suffer alone. I sit down by a large rock take off my boots, massage my feet and sulk. I have walked Loch Erict before. In 2000 I came this way with Kate. Then, like this year, we had an early finish at Culra the previous day and then a morning walk to Dalwhinnie in time for Kate to catch the early train. It had been cool and dry and we sped along the track at almost six kilometres an hour, largely because Kate was determined to outpace a bothymate she found distinctly irritating. I hadn't minded, indeed I had enjoyed the feeling of a good fluid rhythm on an easy track. It felt like we floated to Dalwhinnie.
Why is it so different today? I fear the extra eight years and stone and a half in weight may provide the answer but try to pin the blame on the hot sultry weather. I look despondently at my feet noticing three ticks heading towards my ankles. I shake them off violently and at the same time try to shake some sense into myself. Boots are rapidly donned and I jump back on the track. Feeling sorry for myself isn't going to get me to Dalwhinnie and the longer I linger the hotter it will get. I've got eight kilometres to go. Even at a conservative pace I can be sinking into a sofa with a drink in my hand in two hours.
The long road by Loch Ericht
It's still hard to get a rhythm especial as construction work near the lodge makes the road seems busier than the A9. I lost count after twenty cars, van and lorries forced me to step aside. Thankfully no-one offers me a lift. The dust they churn up sticks to my sweaty skin making me feel even dirtier than after my bath in the bog. For once I am glad to see dense forestry as the track briefly diverted away from the shore. The tall pines shade the road giving me blessed relief from the sun.
On schedule I reach the firebreak coming down from the Fara. I think of Sue and switch on my phone. "Summit Geal-charn another inversion. Probs with cornices, not sure how I'll get down" is the message sent at eight but her phone isn't on now. I linger a few moments squinting up the slope looking for a pair of plats and a red pack but no-one is in sight. This steep rough descent isn't one her knee is going to enjoy.
As I move on I catch Ann and Alvar again. They are talking to an elderly couple who had done the first three Challenges in the early eighties. They are keen to hear of the event and glad to see it continues to flourish. I fear if I stop I will cease up. I make polite apologies and move on. Ann and Alvar soon follow suit and we walk the final mile together, spirits lifting once the dam and then the hotel come into sight.
Oh what relief! A comfy chair, a glass of wine and a hearty sandwich made with real fresh bread. A pleasant hour is spent with Joy Thompson whilst we wait for our rooms. Like Ann and Alvar our paths have never crossed despite having done multiple Challenges. She is taking a rest day and looks wonderfully fresh.
The afternoon is passed soaking in a bath, delving into my resupply box then luxuriating once more in the squidgy sofas this time in the company of first timers Richard Jeffcoate and Jeff Reid. They seem to be enjoying themselves though finding it much harder than they anticipated. I am just beginning to get anxious about Sue and her cornices when Ann and Alvar's vettees arrive. They have met her on the Fara. The women had won the day persuading their husbands that diverting to the true top was beyond the call of duty and had left Sue heading for the summit.
Half an hour later she arrives looking weary and dusty. A glass of red wine starts to revive her. Her penalty for adding in extra hills is a cold shower - it appears I used the last of the hotel's hot water.
More Challengers arrive. Alan Jordan, John and Sue Plume and Heather carrying Sue's second resupply parcel. Plans for an early night are put to bed without me. I've been physically refreshed by an afternoons rest but am mentally refreshed by the company of Challengers.
A well earned drink in the Dalwhinnie Inn