Category: Outdoor Activities
Episodes of deceptive flattery and testing irritation
2nd September 2009 My recollections of day one of my Aviemore escapade contain more greyness and rain than was actually the case. The skies may have been grey with a certain cool feel pervading the air on my arrival at the place's train station on the Caledonian Sleeper, but it wasn't all thus. Awaiting the bus to Glenmore allowed me the time to both set myself up for a spot of hiking and feel any chilliness; the bus was a few minutes late, so a little more time was available than planned. After the five-mile bus journey, further organisation and orientation followed before I got to striking off up the road towards Glenmore Lodge.
Mercifully, the Forestry Commission saw fit to have a walking and cycling track shadowing the road, so any traffic going to or coming from Scotland's national outdoor training centre could not perturb me once I found the start of the thing. After some uneventful progress, I passed the said outdoor centre to reach Scotways' signage for rights of way to Nethy Bridge and Braemar. There were no plans in my head for going as far as either of those destinations on the day, though I was set for the Ryvoan Pass and would pass the bothy that's there. Being around at an early around meant that I was far from surrounded by hoards, with only a few fellow walkers going their merry way.
If you weren't aware of the forecast, you'd have been tempted to assume that the day was set to remain fair and even get better and better based on the appearances that being put on at the time. This certainly was how it was starting to look around An Lochan Uaine and the pass itself. With the pleasant conditions and lack of midges, I lingered around Ryvoan Bothy for a while and pondered the possibility of using it on an excursion at some unknown point in the future. I still have nothing definite in mind, but it's good what's there all the same.
From the bothy, I set off up the slopes of Meall a' Bhuachaille with things starting to become greyer again. The uphill path is well engineered, but there's nothing more that it can do to ease what is a hefty workout for any pair of legs, especially those carrying everything for a multi-day trip like mine was (a possible disadvantage of using an overnight service when some items cannot be dropped off somewhere). There was nothing for it but to take my time and go at a sensible and steady pace. Time often passes slower than you think on uphill stretches, and you have got to watch that it doesn't skew your judgement of height too. My ascent of Meall a' Bhuachaille had the same ingredients, so that was further encouragement not to go rushing at anything that might turn out to be a false summit. The real summit was to be reached in its own good time, so there was no need to hurry; allowing plenty of time is essential for this type of thing.
Thankfully, the gradients eased as I neared the summit cairn and I paused a while and noted the coming predicted dampness elsewhere around and, as it was soon to turn out to be the case, coming my way. On the descent, doubts were bubbling up regarding the inclusion of further summits on my trot. After having the 810 metres summit to myself, there were a few groups coming up against me, some clad in t-shirts and shorts or tracksuit bottoms, a definite contrast to what I normally use and possibly foolhardy with the weather predictions. After all, some passing dampness had frequented the hill while I was on it.
The path down Coire Chondlaich offered an escape route but, thinking that spells of lighter rain might be what we'd get, I continued to Creagan Gorm on a clear if rougher path. There were still views round about me to be had, with the rolling hills of Abernethy and Cromdale to my north, along with the more dramatic craggy affairs of Cairngorm and Braeriach to my south. After this point, the weather very definitely deteriorated, and I was glad of the waterproofs that I had with me. The wind-pelted rain was one matter, but the loss of visibility was another, and retention of one's wits was mandated by the conditions. One good thing was that the path remained clear, and I could see enough to avoid any calamity. The hills that I was traversing may have been humpy, but rolling or sliding down a steep slope in error does not appeal to me one bit. Patience was another necessity, with plenty of ups and downs that could so easily deceive, as I passed over Creag a' Chaillich on the way to Craiggowrie; there definitely seemed to be more summits than were on my usefully waterproofed Explorer map. The conditions that I met certainly weren't fair, and I hope that the lightly clad brigade made it down in time.
Craiggowrie identified itself both by a definite left-hand turn in the path and a clear if broken down fence. The loss of height helped to inspire confidence too, as did the improving visibility. Though conditions underfoot were understandably boggy, the forest that I intended to enter came into view and the transmitter-topped of Creag a' Ghreusaichie could be picked out from across An Slugan. The air remained damp, but the wetness was less windblown, and a sodden but not soggy Irishman made his way in among the trees.
From there on, continuous improvement was the order of things. Having been out for a few hours, with a goodly number of ups and downs along the way, fatigue was beginning to make its presence felt. Nevertheless, I was by now on good forestry tracks though forestry operations (a fellow walker had forewarned me of these when we met on high in the murk, and it was well signed in any case) meant that one's guard could not be dropped just yet. Though it may not have felt that way at the time, progress was steady with Badaguish Outdoor Centre being passed in good time with not much more time being needed to return to Glenmore from where I had started earlier in the day. The prospect of making my way back to Aviemore on foot did enter my mind, but the encountered wetness meant that it had no staying power.
The by then glorious conditions had me tempted with the idea of extending my walk but, even though it was only about 14:30, I decided to listen to my body and recognise my need for the services of a drying room. That had me returning to Aviemore by bus to book in at its SYHA. Somehow, the option of the SYHA in Glenmore never came to my attention until I went there this time around! It's an accommodation option that I'll be keeping in mind for a future visit.
Back in Aviemore, I duly tidied myself up and placed whatever needed drying into the drying room. After a spot of shopping and obtaining sustenance, I decided to potter into the Craigellachie NNR for a short wander that took me up high enough to gain me some decent views towards the Cairngorms on an otherwise sunny evening beset with light showers; two came upon me while I was out. Even so, it was a good way to walk off some of the evening meal, and I settled down for an early night. It had been a day when the weather both flattered to deceive and, at times, tested to the point of irritation. Only for the photos that I had made, I may well have recalled the discomfiture more clearly than the pleasant interludes, something that the day wouldn't have deserved.
Retracing old steps and making some new ones
31st August 2009 A weekend promising mixed weather saw me head north to Edinburgh. There is a quote somewhere about the place never truly leaving you, and that seems to be the way with me after living there for a few years before coming south to earn my crust. The Festival Fringe was coming to its annual close, but an old habit of mine is not to get too involved with it, and that seems to have been continued this turn. Saturday started with a mixture of sunshine and clouds and I got to wander about Holyrood Park until I passed through the heart of the city to catch a bus to the Pentland Hills, where I spent the afternoon before returning to reprise more old steps across Bruntsfield Links and the Meadows. There were showers around but also plenty of the sort of light that showed things at their finest, all thanks to the sun coming out between any wettings and the brisk breezy freshness of the day. The walking had been a mixture of urban landmark spotting, even reprising a few photographic opportunities in the spirit of that Cheshire project that I have going, and hill country savouring.
The previous day's exertions certainly led to some fatigue, so Sunday ended up being an easy Edinburgh day, the sort that I used to enjoy when I still lived there. Admittedly, the idea of popping down to Melrose to admire and ascend the nearby Eildon Hills cam to mind, but the weather forecast wasn't so inspiring, and I prefer to see things in the weather that best shows their charms. So, the Melrose option makes its way onto the ideas shelf for future reference. In fairness, yesterday started well and stayed dry until a spell of light rain turned up around 18:00 only to move away to leave a dry night and a bright, cheery start to today. Saying that, the rain didn't take long to come either, with it having arrived by the time of my early departure from Waverly station.
The reason for that early departure was that there were things that needed doing, and I would have wanted to get going before the southbound bank holiday rush really got going in earnest after an experience that I had last year. Speaking of things to do, I realise that I promised to say more about my Aviemore trip and I also want to expand on my Pentlands escapade too. For now, the real-world to-do list will be taking precedence, but I hope to get things moving again on the trip report front in the not too distant future.
If it were done when it were done…
20th August 2009 An alternative title for this piece would be "You always can return and perhaps even should...". It might be the dawning of a realisation as regards how much time has passed but my previously shared assertion that you can always find a different side to any location that you've already visited has been joined by the idea that it's never any harm seeing the same things again. The provocation for this course of thought has been the passing earlier this year of the tenth birthday of the online photo gallery that you find on here. That milestone, a perhaps sobering one for me, has had me casting my eye back over the photos contained therein with some ideas coming to light.
My early forays armed with a 35 mm Ricoh compact camera were made in search of things to see and places to go while also capturing whatever landmark came my way. Living in Edinburgh meant that there were plenty on my doorstep and Cheshire is not bereft of them either. In these DSLR-equipped days, it is immersion in countryside of varying wildness that has held my attention with (hopefully) pleasing landscape photos resulting from those efforts. However, looking at the older photos has been revealing to me how my appraisal of photographic quality has changed over time. A big factor in that is the digital onslaught and the shot in the arm that is the digital darkroom. While sceptical at first, I have been won over by the vibrancy of colours and the crispness of results though I continue to use film from time to time. Speaking of film, I never did make the jump from negative to slide film and so had to put up with printing decisions made by someone else unless I took to scanning negatives and any attempts at that endeavour did leave me dissatisfied; it might have been the technology that I was using. The appeal of the digital darkroom might be small wonder then with all of the control that is on offer.
The conclusion where all of this is leading is towards my engaging in something of a photography project that causes me to revisit old haunts and have another go at recreating some of those earlier images albeit with a spot more success. Cheshire comes to mind as an obvious place to start and that is opportune given that the nights are now drawing in ahead of the shorter days of winter when it is so easy to hibernate. Local escapades that either use my bike (the appeal of cycling is becoming more resurgent within me for some reason or other) or other means of transport sound like good ways to keep active when time for a longer excursion isn't always available. That never is to say that I will not be exploring wondrous countryside for its own sake but savouring the more pleasing examples of what humanity has built in the countryside is no bad thing either, for a bit of variety if nothing else.
Looks like I got away in time
14th August 2009 The weather prospects may have been uneven, if anything, but I grabbed a few days away in Aviemore this week. The Caledonian Sleeper conveyed me there and away again overnight before today's heavy rain ensconced itself over Scotland. Tuesday saw me trot over Meall a' Bhuachaille, Creagan Gorm, Creag a' Chaillich and Craiggowrie in ever deteriorating conditions (eventually leading to wind blown rain and poor visibility) that left me needing the services of a drying room afterwards. Ironically and maybe irritatingly, the weather improved in leaps and bounds after my descent until the sun appeared on my return to Glenmore. Never let it be said that the Scottish weather doesn't appear to have a sense of humour, but it was decent walking, nonetheless, and I later got in a shower dampened yomp around Craigellachie after an early evening meal.
A mix of sunshine and light showers was what awaited me on Wednesday when I went poking around Inshriach. Whatever sights I might have set on reaching the summit of Creag Dhubh were given something of a cold bath when I saw the thickness of the heathery carpet that I would need to cross and ascend. After the previous day's exertions, I very sensibly thought better of it but have noted the opportunities for a first Munro hereabouts but reckon that more low-level explorations are in order first. I may not have made it to a summit, but a circumnavigation of Loch Gamhna and Loch an Eilean more than made up for that, even if that meant contending with other holidaymakers. More poking followed my evening meal when I got to seek out the Speyside Way, only to note that the route has changed since 2007 when my OS Explorer map was published.
As if to prove that mountain weather has a mind all of its own, Thursday started out damp, so damp that I retreated indoors to the comfort of a return journey along the Strathspey Railway. The dampness hadn't been predicted, but the weather started to turn for the better as I got back to Aviemore again, and a spot of wandering was in order for the afternoon and early evening ahead of my overnight trip south. In short, the steam railway trip had made good use of an otherwise uninspiring morning, and it doesn't take you through ugly surroundings either.
A bus journey conveyed me to Glenmore again, from where I ventured over the Ryvoan Pass on my way to Strath Nethy, where views towards Bynack More and Bynack Beg distracted. In fact, the sight of a good path towards Bynack More has me wondering about doing a trek to its 1090-metre-high summit sometime; having more time available may have seen me make an attempt on the day. As if that weren't enough, there are far too many other options to considered for the same small area, never a complaint. Sun was in short supply, but it stayed dry, and that state of affairs was well appreciated after Tuesday's dousing. Saying that, it was still midge weather, so stopping places needed careful selection so as not to be overrun by the infamous irritants.
Returning to Glenmore meant reprising the outbound journey until after An Lochan Uaine where I selected a forestry path climbing the lower slopes of Meall a' Bhuachaille more enthusiastically than I might have liked at this point. However, I didn't go unrewarded, with the sun coming out to enliven the vistas that opened out before me at the top of the path. Kinder gradients awaited me on the way down a forestry vehicle track.
From Glenmore, I followed the "Old Logging Way", a new off-road cycle and walking track shadowing the road back to Aviemore without appearing on my 2007 OS map. Catching the bus back might have been the less tiring option, but I wasn't going to leave even an ever cloudier evening go to waste. In fact, I was back in Aviemore without feeling too shabby after my exertions and with ample time ahead of my train for getting some food. Whatever doubts surfaced in my mind about the sense of my decision proved groundless.
Looking back at it now, imperfect weather failed to put paid to a well-packed and well-used few days. A trip to Aviemore may not be as attention grabbing as one to the Western Isles like mine last year, but it was a break from the daily hurly-burly and that was what was really needed. Mallaig may have surfaced as an option for a multi-trip this so-called summer, in line with my usual drift to the West Highlands, but the prevailing weather sent me east to follow up on my April excursion and more can follow from this one again. That western drift has left much unfinished business in the east, always a shot in the arm for when it is needed. This posting itself is, as long as it is, the start of an unfinished business with my intending to elaborate in the fullness of time. In a way, it's like the trip itself: a lot done, but more to do.
A Cwm Cau Horseshoe
7th August 2009 A circular walk wasn't what I had in mind, let alone some sort of horseshoe itinerary. The original idea had been to walk from Minffordd to Dolgellau by way of Cadair Idris. It simply was to be a case of following the Minffordd Path up and the Pony Path down before making for my destination either by road or a mixture of tarmac bashing and traversal over rights of way through fields. However, I changed my mind along the way because the distance between Cadair Idris and Dolgellau can be deceptive and the time that I had until my bus to Machynlleth looked more limited on the top of Penygadair, a summit that I wasn't so bothered about reaching after managing the feat next to three years ago. Minffordd looked the nearer and I wanted to make sure of my way home, not at all a problem on the day.
My choice of Wales was because an east moving rain belt might leave earlier to afford a drier day's walking than might be had further east. It appears that I made the right decision, and especially so when you consider that a rain belt was ensconced over Ireland during their August bank holiday weekend, not at all what they need right now. The Cadair Idris idea was in mind for a while after a previous attempt came to naught, and less involved transport arrangements only added to its appeal.
The trouble with both Cadair Idris and the Rhinogau is that they are great collectors of clag whenever there is any uncertainty regarding the weather conditions. Their proximity to the Irish Sea is what I think to be the cause, and I seem to have made more visits when the tops were shrouded than when they were clear. However, a Spring Bank Holiday weekend "invasion", made trickier by the Cadair Idris hill race when it came to accommodation, a few years back, proved that there are days when air clarity reigns supreme. Saturday's incursion wasn't to be one of those, with low clouds smothering the summits from time to time. Even so, that reduction in visibility never obscured the presence of those fearsome inland cliff faces that surround Cwm Cau, so all was safe.
Apart from safety concerns, the presence of so much cloud didn't bother me so much because its absence could make for the sort of day when lazing rather than more strenuous activity would be the more tempting. So, while temperatures weren't what they might have been, it was still hot, sweaty work on the way uphill from Minffordd. In hindsight, my starting point probably should have been the car park at the junction of the B4405 and the A487, but I pottered down the former to following my intended right of way as the map showed it. You could say that I was taking a safety first approach on my first visit to the locality, yet it offered the opportunity to find my bearings and that can never be a bad thing, even if road traffic required a little negotiation.
My route away from tarmac was soon located, and a mental note made of the off-road alternative. The path underfoot was well-made with plenty of steps easing the way uphill through the woodland with waterfalls to my right. It was also quiet, an undeniable bonus when steep inclines are to be negotiated; there's nothing like the freedom to determine your pace and rest stops without the nuisance of leap frogging that blights so many popular tracks through upland areas. Views of the hills surrounding Llyn Mwyngil (also known as Tal-y-llyn Lake) took up the time spent stationary. Cloud denied opportunities for photography, but you can't knock beauty when there's no sun.
The gradients took to being kinder after the treeline was crossed, and I was presented with a choice: staying with the Minffordd Path as planned or diverting around by Mynydd Moel instead. Having seen an information board before the uphill action commenced, the latter was tempting, but I decided to keep with the original course and continued towards Llyn Cau on a path that was at times boggy and unclear. That may have been the cause of my approaching the corrie rather nearer than might have been intended, but it was nothing that a spot of doubling back couldn't fix, and it was on open access land after all. In fact, I could have continued around the lake to embark on a steep ascent that reminds me of the Devil's Kitchen path in the Ogwen Valley. Some might find its kind exhilarating, but there are times too when making it harder for yourself than it needs to be is not in order.
The slopes of Craig Lwyd saw my footfall instead of the above more adventurous alternative, whose presence hadn't come to my notice by then, anyway. There were a goodly number of folk plying the way hereabouts, yet not so many as to make it feel like the walking equivalent of the M6 or the M25. The gradient was energetic, but the coolness at above 600 metres in height kept the sweating in check. An extra layer was needed when things levelled off; steeper gradients never last. Airy ground became the order of things with views down to the lakes beneath competing with the slopes, craggy or not, for attention. Still, the ridge-like feel wasn't sufficient to scare, though it did provide every encouragement for keeping away from sharp steep stony deathly drops.
Craig-Cwm Amarch looked quite impressive when it came into view. Low clouds were wont to envelop me and anyone at this ca. 700 metres height sporadically, and the 791 metres summit in question got cloaked too; the accompanying decline in temperature was the reason for my wrapping up warmer. Keeping a respectable distance from the edge, I left the peopled Craig-Cwm Amarch to cross Craig Cau for Penygadair. This may have meant a very noticeable height loss and subsequent regain, but my legs weren't complaining too much as Cadair Idris' highest point came quickly enough.
Like many others there at the time, I lingered on the summit for a while. On my visit in August 2006, it was a breezy spot that felt more exposed than it felt on the return trip. Higher clouds abounded that day, but with no sign of blue sky to complement it. For the second visit, the low cloud stayed away for long enough to allow glimpses of Barmouth and the mouth of the Mawddach Estuary from on high. In fact, there were decent views all around, yet the sense that you were under a cap of cloud that wasn't everywhere was inescapable. It was a reminder of Kerry folk and their saying that Brandon on the Dingle peninsula has "his" cap on. The cause would be the same: moist, unstable sea forming into wisps and clots as it rose in height.
It was a look at my watch that put me off the idea of continuing to Dolgellau, despite the attractions of following a known path in conditions with occasional lack of air clarity. Thoughts of rushing things overpowered any such advantages, so I opted for a shorter option that took in more summits, one of them being Mynydd Moel, and returning by the path that tempted me earlier. Along the way, I crossed nameless tops with ample views to the north. Whatever numbers of people had accumulated dissipated quickly as I continued to the east. While I questioned the sanity of the enterprise, the easy slopes to the top of Mynydd Moel were surmounted with one last look around before I started to pick my way down.
Looking at the map now, following the fence that I crossed to reach the said summit downhill wouldn't have been so foolhardy if mapping could be trusted not to hide some unpleasant obstacle among the otherwise none too frightening slopes. On the day, I went down the hill's eastern slopes on a well-defined if occasionally challenging path to reach an informal one going south along the eastern bank of a watercourse. The down-slopes didn't look so threatening from then on, and I crossed the Nant Caenewydd near a wall that I followed west to pick up a maintained path taking me back towards the junction where I had that earlier quandary. My old Explorer OL23 showed the course of the formal Mynydd Moel path, but that seems to be omitted from the Quo data that I have. That makes me wonder what a newer map might be missing, but it's all access land, so no one should be hollering at any devil-may-care cross-country wanderers like myself.
The way down steepened, but it was known to me from earlier in the day and I knew that no rushing was needed. It still wasn't busy and took me back to level ground in good time. This time, I followed the path to the car park that I had rejected earlier and reached my waiting point for the bus with time to spare, never a cause for complaint. However, your brain really doesn't need to take to wandering into questions like whether you are at the right place to stop a bus when it is unmarked and whether the bus would be excessively delayed on its way south from Caernarfon. All such concerns turned out to be unfounded, a good way of ensuring that they didn't sully a fabulous day out.
Travel arrangements:
Return train journey from Macclesfield to Machynlleth and 32/X32 return bus trip from Machynlleth to Minffordd.
