Day 3 - a very long glen, a missing tea room and a reunion
I open the tent to find low cloud obscuring the summit of Meall a'Phubhuill. I smile. That's all the excuse I need to use my foul weather alternative. Just a wander down Glen Mallie, I think, a cup of tea in the Gairlochy tea room and an early shower in Spean Bridge. I peruse the map over my morning cuppa and my smile fades. My "easy" day is a mere eighteen miles!
Camp at head of Glen Mallie
The burbling infant Mallie soon turns into a forceful river and we both head down the Glen as fast as we can. I'm sure the Glen is lovely but under grey threatening skies I fail to appreciate it. I'm vaguely aware of stunted birches in its upper reaches and predominantly dead Caledonian pines lower down but what I notice most is that it is incredibly long. By the time I see Loch Arkaig my legs already feel like they've had a full day's walk. I plan to stop in the bothy for a brew but a new bridge and landrover track now bypass it. I haven't the energy to make a detour so I make do with a cereal bar on a log.
Lower Glen Mallie
The walk along wooded Loch Arkaig is beautiful. Sunlight filters through the almost luminous fresh green canopy. Leafy lanes through manicured Achnasheen then bring me to the shores of Loch Lochy. White horses chase each other across the water. The Great Glen Way follows a winding path along the shore but it is closed due to "forestry operations". It means more tarmac but at least I'm shielded from the wind and after yesterday's pathless plod it's almost pleasant underfoot.
Woods by Loch Arkaig
I pass several walkers heading north. All are well groomed with clean, smart, top of the range walking gear. I'd love a chat, even a hello would do. I've not spoken to anyone for a day and a half. Most ignore me but eventually a man nods at me. I return a big broad, beaming smile and as a result his wife shoots him a dubious look and they scuttle away. I'd always thought there was camaraderie amongst all walkers but Great Glen Wayers are obviously exempt. In their defence the only bath I've had in three days was in a peat bog and even I think I pong a bit.
I'm ready for a decent cup of tea made with real milk, a sandwich made with fresh bread and I could force down a piece of moist homemade chocolate cake. The thought of the Gairlochy tea room spurs me on. The Caledonian Canal is awash with sightseers, cyclists and more grumpy Great Glen Wayers. A great spot for a tea room, just a shame it closed down last year. I sit at a picnic table picking over the remains of my food. As always by day three I'm left with all the bits I didn't fancy on days one and two. I make do with squashed raisins and Bombay mix.
Caledonian Canal at Gairlochy I presume Sue, with her super woman tendencies, will be striding over the two tedious looking Corbetts I'd forgone this morning. "Where r u?" I text. "Tourist watching commando memorial FWA" Good to know it's not just me who wimped out. "U get 1st shower then!" We're sharing a room in Spean Bridge. "No clean clothes till 2nite." Heather Scott-Thomas is joining us later and bringing Sue's resupplies. I'm spurred on by the thought of a wash but the road walking is now getting to me. "I hate tarmac" I text. Then I round a corner and see a dispiritingly long, straight stretch of road "I hate straight roads even more!" The sun comes out and I feel it burning my neck "Why does the sun come out going uphill?" Whinging by text is a great way to relieve the monotony of road walking but a smiling Sue sitting under the Commando memorial is even better. On the way from Gairlochy I'd been puzzled by black bin liners every few hundred yards along the road. My over active imagination conjured up dismembered bodies but by the time I'd counted eight that would have amounted to a full blown massacre. I plucked up the nerve to look into one but only found rubbish. Outside Spean Bridge we get an explanation in the shape of a middle aged man with a pair of litter pickers. He and several other locals regularly give up their time to pick up the road side litter. It astonishes us that 300 Challengers can walk across Scotland carrying all their litter with them but tourists in cars can't drive their litter to the nearest bin. Our B&B is pristine. We sit in a wonderfully squidgy sofa sipping tea (with real milk!) from bone china cups, eating homemade shortbread painfully aware that we are both somewhat less than pristine. I fear if I sit still for too long I will be placed in a bin liner and disposed of along with the rest of Spean Bridges unwanted detritus! Heather soon arrives with Sue's re-supply parcel. Sadly she has had to withdraw this year as she is recuperating from a broken foot. I fear we add further to her frustrations. It must be like Chinese torture to hear of our adventures so far. She smiles bravely and talks of next year. Now both in possession of clean clothes we celebrate with an excellent meal and several glasses of wine. As we sink into yet another comfy sofa at the Old Stationhouse Phil Dowrick arrives. A slightly mad glint in his eye and a broad grin confirm, in three days his transformation from nervous first timer to Challenge addict.