Stile to nowhere

      On the col the path climbs an impressively constructed stile over a nonexistent fence then deserts us. Below lies Loch Beoraid. Jack Addison's warnings of the horrors of a direct descent ring in our ears.  He describes the route through the woods as "the black hole of Beoraid".  Sue has been this way before in thick weather and also remembers a torrid descent.  We keep high above the trees as advised.  Blessed with good weather and dry ground we reach the glen without incident or injury.

 

    Loch Beoraid

      "Might catch you on Gulvain tomorrow," says Sue as she heads off along the Loch Beoraid path towards for the Glenfinnan Munros.

"If not I'll see you in Spean Bridge", I reply trying to sound nonchalant and confident as I take the Meoble track. I look back but she's already out of sight. 

Usually I love to walk alone particularly for the first few days of the Challenge. It clears my mind and helps me rediscover a positive perspective on life. I start to take pleasure in small things that would normally pass me by. After a few days I'm ready for human contact again. But not this time. Standing on the landrover track I feel utterly and uncomfortably alone and scurry towards the security of Meoble. The estate manager comes out to meet me and I pounce on the chance to have some company, be it only for a few minutes.

"We don't see many walkers here. Six or eight a year at most. Where are you heading?" he asks.

"Over to Oban then along to Glen Pean, if I can, tonight. The TGO Challenge started today. You might get a few more along this way," I add hopefully though in truth I know of only one other Challenger following my route.

"I always make a point of knowing where people are going. Just in case . . . ." he adds.

And therein lies my problem. Last year the "just in case" happened. A momentary lapse in concentration and I was lying on the ground in severe pain seven miles from the nearest road. Thankfully Sue was with me. Her level headed calm approach quelled my rising panic. She established I could put a little weight through the rapidly swelling ankle and we decided I'd try to walk out. Sue's steely grit and quiet encouragement got me through to Kingussie. I was so, so glad I hadn't been alone.

Throughout my ankle's five month rehabilitation "what if I had been alone" regularly ran through my mind. Solo training walks in Derbyshire have been eased by thoughts of "someone would soon come along" but out here that would be a forlorn hope.  If I did the same today it would be another three days before Challenge control or Adrian realized I was in trouble.

I'd contemplating changing my route to mirror Sue's but we walk well together precisely because we are independent. There is no sense of reliance on each other. To follow Sue today would change that relationship - and besides I don't think I had eighteen miles and two tough Munros in my legs!

 

Allt Slaite Coire

  I continue on a good path beside the Allt Slaite Coire which runs in a birch lined ravine. Above it meanders in a grassy bowl where I startle a dog fox in fantastic condition. Still higher up I stop for lunch. I have a panoramic view back down and every few minutes I scan the river banks for signs of Graham Brookes who should be behind me, but I have the coire to myself. I'm alone with my thoughts which returned once again to the Monadliath.

"Don't let it put you off walking alone." When I hopped into the Laird's Bothy in Kingussie that was the first thing John Manning had said to me. "There is something very special about walking alone. Don't lose that." He wasn't entirely sober at the time but he was entirely right. With his words ringing in my ears I pack up and don't look back again until I reach the col. 

 Clouds are building now and an eerie light and increasing humidity bring fears of thunderstorms. A brief shower forces me into sticky waterproofs. As I swing my pack on my back I notice a hint of a path. It may be no more than a deer trod but I follow my hunch and though at times indistinct at others it appears man made, even constructed. It takes an easy line across the rocky hillside and through birch woods depositing me by the Allt Taodhail and the clear path to Oban.

 

   It's been a long held ambition to visit Oban and it doesn't disappoint.  A stunning location nestled at the head of Loch Morar and a comfortable well maintained bothy.  Outside are three men, not Challengers, but old university friends on an annual reunion. They had left their tent on the Oban half of the train and had to resort to bothies. There are far worse places to have to stay.  It's too delightful a place to pass by and though I am still intent on making Glen Pean I stop and brew.  I try to sound confident as I talk to the guys and by the time Graham Brookes arrive I almost believe my own spin. 

 Oban bothy (R) at the head of Loch Morar 

"Are you stopping here tonight?" I enquire as my fragility resurfaces.

"Maybe or I'll go up the glen a little.  I'm heading up that Corbett tomorrow."  He points at an impregnable looking wall of broken rock. The last hope of company on the walk to Glen Pean evaporates.

"You must tread very lightly," he adds as I prepare to leave. "I followed you here and saw only a few bootprints."

I take this as a compliment especially as I am a little under-height for my weight and with small feet I have a tendancy to sink in bog. I must therefore be placing my feet very carefully.  They say pride comes before a fall. . . . .

 

Leaving Oban

The walk to Glen Pean is one I've coverted for years, though with a egree of trepidation.  Though not a high pass it is rocky and narrow and in two places lochans fill the floor and are tricky to pass.  I walk nervously towards the jaw like opening to the glen.  Coming down is a man and a terrier.

"Are you on the Challenge?" he asks. I nod.  "I met a woman, whos on it too.  Se was on her own near the summit of Sgurr Thuilm. She was travelling pretty fast considering the size of her pack."

"What did she look like?" I ask though I can guess the answer.

"Blond hair in platts and a red pack."  It's good to know Sue is on course.

Rockfall      

 

 It's hard to describe the scenery as beautiful but it's quite magnificent. The glen floor is littered with huge boulders, some the size of a small houses. Looking up it is possible to pick the rock face from which they fell. I shudder at the thought of such a huge rockfall. It's an impressive but dark place. The heat, humidity and leaden skies add to sense of claustrophobia making it feel just a little scary. Thankfully there is a narrow path clinging high on the south side above the boulders and the vividly green Lochan Dubh. 

 

 Lochan Dubh

 

   The path takes me over the watershed and deposits me beside the infant River Pean. The glen sides are still steep but the floor is about ten metres wide and boulder free. Instead there is copious bog. My "light feet" swing into action and as I bog hop.  I begin to relax until Loch Leum an't Saigairt comes into view, hemmed in by steep rocks on both sides. The guide books say stick to the south side so I dutifully climb up twenty metres to where I see a broad terrace. My instincts say stick high but by the shore I see a rough path. It's too tempting so I descend to spend a frustrating twenty minutes battling tree roots, mud and midges on an uncomfortably steep slope above deep water. It then abandons me by an impassable rock. The only way to avoid it is to climb back up to the ledge I previously abandoned. The thought of the wasted energy only adds to my sense of frustration.  Suddenly I feel overwhelmingly tired. My legs jellify as I scramble upwards but at least the obstacles are over. Once I can get over the river I should have a clear path to Glen Pean bothy, or so I think . . . .

I can see the path on the other side a few metres away from the river. It makes sense to cross lower down where the path comes close to the bank.  But I'm so tired. All I want to do is get to the bothy, eat and then sleep and this is the path that takes me there. 

I splash through the river. Before me is flat boggy ground.  I could go along the river bank and eventually I'll pick up the path but I can see it . . .   Once I'm on it I'm as good as home. I head straight for it.  One vividly green patch briefly un-nerves me.  I test it.  It seems firm enough.  The path is only a few feet away now . . .   A millisecond later I'm thigh deep in bog, water is seeping into my boots and the air is blue with expletives I've never previously uttered.

Anger produces adrenaline which hauls me out of the bog but it is a very, very despondent, wet, sullen walker who walks through the door of Glen Pean bothy.  I'm in no better mood even once fed and dry but I've calmed down enough to reflect.

Whenever we walk we make choices. Mainly little ones; which side of a rock to pass, where to cross a stream, where the easiest ground lies.  When we are fresh these choices are effortless and largely un-noticed but when we're tired these decisions are harder.  The desire to finish the day becomes overwhelming.  Decisions are hurried and judgement is impaired.  On fresh legs I'd have easily passed Loch Leum an t'Saigart and with a fresh mind I would never have put my full weight on bright green bog. 

 In future stop, rest and then decide. Tomorrow, weather willing, will be a tough predominantly pathless day. It's a lesson I'd better learn fast. 

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