I have a history of lower back problems — a life sitting in an office — culminating in a successful operation 12 years ago to insert two titanium discs. It flares up now and then — this time due to excessive weeding on my hands and knees and a six-hour car drive to pick up my youngest son, Max, from university. Simply putting on a sock requires acrobatic contortions. The best treatment is constant movement. Hiking is a release.
Max asked to join me on this trip, so the plan is to spend a few days together in the Cairngorms before he returns home and I continue north to fill in some gaps on the East Coast between Inverness and Wick. Sitting is painful, so the eight-hour train journey to Blair Atholl is a challenge, not helped by the usual delays and missed connections.
The woman sitting behind is an event organiser and, irritatingly, spends most of the journey talking loudly into her phone on mundane matters, giving instructions for hanging an item in a hall.
“I can’t say the word on the train, but will type it in an email.”
What is this taboo item? A swastika? A baby-Trump blimp? A banner promotion for The Salt Path?
It’s around 10 pm before we reach our campsite, where we have a pod for two nights, followed by two nights camping.
Thursday
Carn Liath is the first of three Munros spanning a ridge walk across Bienn a’Ghlo. As we have a three-mile road walk to the start of the trail, the plan is to only hike to the first summit. The path is clear, and Max strides ahead, just like Hayley on our New Zealand trip. I’m built for endurance, not sprinting. At least, that’s what I kid myself.
It’s a hot day, and there is no water on the mountainside to replenish our supplies. I find Max at the summit enjoying an early lunch. The bad news is that his water bottle has fallen out of his backpack and lies somewhere below.
The tempting ridge walk to the other Munros can wait for another time.
Descending, about a third of the way down, by some miracle, we find the missing water bottle. I thought the strong wind would carry it away.
Hot, tired and hungry, we retire to the Atholl Arms, where the barman informs us they are not serving food outside.
“It’s going to rain in a minute.”
That makes me smile. You don’t get weather forecasting at my local. We clear a small table and play the new game that the children bought me for my birthday — Sail — a two-player cooperative game. We smash the introductory level, avoiding the deadly kraken and reaching the safety of port.
Friday
A recovery day, with a gentle walk down by the River Tilt, searching in vain for red squirrels.
We transfer from the pod to our tents. Max has my trusty Zpacks Duplex, so I’m finally forced to try my Durston X-Mid Pro 1 tent. Zpacks and Durston are fierce rivals in the top-end ultra-lightweight hiking world, both founded by serious long-distance hikers, Joe Valesko and Dan Durston. Both are friendly, and I’ve discussed hiking matters with them via email over the years. Dan sold me an early release of the Pro 1 so I could do a comparison against the Duplex over thousands of miles. I had to confess to him that I waited almost two years to take it out on the trail, for various good reasons.
The tent has a novel asymmetric pole design that requires practice to pitch properly. I’m delighted with this pitch as the previous attempts in the garden were less successful. It’s a smaller one-man tent — the Duplex is a two-man — but pitches lower to the ground and has a zipper to secure the vestibule flaps rather than a toogle. I’m hoping both factors will make it a little more stormproof than the Duplex as I head into wilder landscapes. Not that the Duplex has let me down unless I’ve pitched in a bad spot.
Around 7 pm, a hundred crows and jackdaws swoop low across the campsite and take up residence in a rookery in the tall trees above our heads. The noise is deafening. Max is pitched closer to the trees and receives a few gifts from above, splattering over the tarp. Ah, the camping life.
Saturday
We go hunting for wild boar in Glenn Tilt.
It’s a pretty seven-mile hike up and back down both sides of the valley, catching the rain on our return.
Passing through Blair Castle Estate to our tents, we pass marshals for the Highlander Last One Standing ultra run. Runners have one hour to complete the four-mile forest circuit and be at the start line ready to go on the hour, every hour. Any runner not back at the start line is disqualified. This continues until only one runner remains. They run through the night as we doze in our tents, rain lulling us to sleep.
Sunday
The water level rose overnight, powering the watermill that grinds wheat and oats for flour, baked daily for fresh bread served at the super cafe, our regular first stop for breakfast pastries.
At the station, waiting for trains to carry us in opposite directions, retired runners from the ongoing Highlander event are recovering on the platform. Around 20 runners are still going after 23 hours. Good luck with that.
I’ve enjoyed my days with Max — times we remember.
What a wonderful bonding experience that must be to walk with your children. Yes, movement is definitely a cure for aches and pains, of which there are many when you get to my age. Good luck with the new tent. 🙄
By the last day of hiking my back was almost back to normal. The trick is to stop it getting worse when I’m home. Maybe I should spend five months on the trail, like the Continental Divide Trail. 😉
Sounds wonderful
Interested to here how the Durston holds up, nearly bought one for the CWT
I need to be brave and not revert to the known reliability of my Duplex at the first sign of bad weather! 😬