Day 10 - tramway 2, a kitch lunch and lost in Glen Shee
It's a cold, cold night. I intermittently wake and add more layers but even when I'm wearing everything bar my waterproofs I'm still cold.
Cold camp under Carn an Righ This year I've left my trusty old sleeping bag at home in favour of a lighter weight new bag. Reputedly it is comfortable to minus five Celsius but I've been chilly on a few nights and I'm not convinced. Ann and Alvar have given me some light insulated matting but I'm still perished. I unzip the tent to see a brittle blue sky over Carn an Righ, tents thick with frost and Sue trying to flex boots that are frozen solid. I pick up one of mine and find it is in a similar state. It takes an age to force my feet inside and we are almost at the col before my toes defrost.
Defrosting boots If Ben Alder has been Sue's "must have" hill of this Challenge then Carn an Righ is mine. Admittedly it's not a Scottish classic like Ben Alder. I suspect only Munrobaggers and Challengers will know its name but it has eluded me on two previous Challenges. On each occasion it's been omitted due to tiredness and a need for company rather than through bad weather. Plans were hatched last night for a packless ascent from its northern col. Neither of us like out and back ascents but after yesterdays pathless struggles the thought of a good stalker's path to the col then a Munrobagger's path to the summit is too appealing. We bid farewell to Alan, drop our packs and "float" upwards. For such a remote spot so early in the morning it's remarkably busy. Two lads are camped on the col having bagged a bunch of Munros and as we climb upwards we meet Roger Boston descending. As ever he's climbed a mind boggling number of hills and I lose count of how many more he has planned for today. "How far to the top," I ask. "You've a way to go yet," he warns. Either he's trying some reverse psychology or he thinks we're travelling exceptionally slowly for five minutes later we reach a large cairn and shelter. We can't quite believe we're on the summit. Even though there is clearly no higher ground I check the GPS just to be sure!
Carn an Righ The usual summit rituals ensue. Layers put on, food nibbled and phones switched on. For the first time since Dalwhinnie we have a signal and receive news that Steve Smith has completed all but one of the Welsh 2000 footers. I know how disappointed he has been to miss out on this year's Challenge and hope this achievement is adequate compensation. He asks if I can join him for the final one in the autumn but for now I can't think further than Montose on Thursday.
Maggie Hems We are now under a blanket of cloud blown in on a cold easterly wind. Snow showers are visible on the horizon. Back at the col a familiar figure is coming up the stalker's path. Maggie Hems joins us. She's as cheery as ever but brings bad news of Phylis La Bowrit withdrawing through a knee injury. We spread out as we climb over easy grass slopes on Glas Tulaichean. Sue as ever is ahead but waits by the summit cairn where the 2008 solo female Challengers convention is officially convened! A day walker arrives looking somewhat astonished to find the three of us there at such an early hour. His jaw drops even further when he hears about the Challenge and hits the floor when Maggie lets slip her sixty-four years. A landrover track reaches almost to the summit of Glas Tulaichean doubling as a Munrobaggers highway. A brief smattering of snow sends Sue and me scurrying down it while Maggie opts for a slower descent. Coming up is a stream of day walkers brought out for a Sunday walk by the clear morning. They vary from the wildly fit and enthusiastic to disenchanted teenagers trailing behind their parents. It's a fine way to descend but I suspect the long gentle approach is a tedious way to go up and maybe not the best way to persuade them of the joys of hillwalking. Their two labradors however are having a whale of a time. Glen Lochsie Soon a fine view opens up of ruined Glenlochsie Lodge at the head of a long glen leading to distant Spittal of Glenshee. We push on eager for a civilized lunch. The track fords the fast flowing river so we take to our second disused tramway of the Challenge. This one was built to bring Victorian gentry to the lodge. Though older than the Puggy line it is much better preserved. The bridges and many of the timbers are still in place making for easy walking. Even the buffers on the zigzags that bring us back to the track are still present.
Tramway to Glenlochsie Lodge By Dalmuzie Hotel we are beginning to flag. I harbour hopes of an early cup of tea but it looks uninviting and a sign at the front sending guests one way and pointing walkers away from the grounds seems distinctly unfriendly. Two hard miles of tarmac bring us to the Spittal. Outside is a collection of bikers, Japanese tourists and blue rinsed ladies. Clearly this hotel aims to cater for all. As long as you can take the kitsch tartan interior it largely succeeds. For us it provides a large pot of tea, an excellent brie and bacon sandwich at a very reasonable price an extremely squidgy sofa. As a bonus the kilt of the eastern European gentleman who serves us allows us to admire his fine musculature. We're in heaven. We succumb to a second pot of tea and a piece of cake. We hope Maggie will catch us up but there is still no sign of her when we reluctantly pick up our packs and leaves. She is staying here tonight and we're both sorely tempted. But to stay would leave an impossibly long day to reach Clova tomorrow.
The Cateran Trail We contemplate walking down the main road but there are sparkly new signs marking the Cateran trail on the north side of the glen. It's well waymarked with impressively built bridges. It leads through pastures giving a feel more of Lakeland than the Highlands. Above us plover and lapwings call trying to distract us from their nests. It makes for pleasant walking until a herd of frisky bullocks start to follow us. I'm quite convinced they're friendly but Sue, though a farmer's daughter has had a bad experience with cattle and is distinctly uncomfortable. She picks up a large stone and all but drags me to the next gate. Around Westerton on Runavey we aim to leave the Cateran trail and head back into the hills. We find the ruin where we should head north but the tracks on the ground bear little relationship to those on the map. We stumble over rutted ground covered in slurry through yet more cattle to a gate on the horizon. The GPS implies we're going the right way even though the map still doesn't fit. Another five minutes and we're breathing joint sighs of relief as we break out onto open moorland. For most walkers wild places are more feared than farmland but I suspect the average Challenger finds navigation easier on a mountainside than in a field. An hour on a gently inclined track brings us to a high grassy bowl under Cairn an Ait just as a few spot of rain fall. Our now familiar routine takes over. Tents are pitched, supper cooked then I join Sue in her tent. Sadly the wine has run out but we have other things on our mind. "We need to be in Clova in time for tea," says Sue. I nod agreement. An abiding memory of 2006 for both of us is the delectable scones with lashings of jam and cream eaten whilst slouching in the hotels sofas. "We'd better be there by four so we still have space for supper," I add almost smelling the superb food and tasting sticky toffee pudding. "We need to be walking by seven then," pronounce Sue after perusing the map and with that we turn in for yet another early night. 
