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Rain hammered the tent for most of the night but by morning things had begun to dry off. My vestibule had been invaded by huge, long, black, slugs. Hostile Habitats identifies these as seilcheag mhor dhub, which certainly sounds nicer that the English translation - "large black slug". (For Latin lovers it is Arion Ater). Anyhow, they obviously found it comfortable in the outer tent. A couple the slugs had formed a slightly disturbing affection for a Platypus bottle. According to HH they were adults.
We packed up quickly and headed on our way to Cougie Lodge. Cougie is one of those places that is airily described as offering "legendary hospitality to Challengers". I'm not sure what this really means, but I suspect that the bar is open late.
Cougie Lodge revealed itself to be a large, timber structure, surrounded by a series of log cabins. The place is being refurbished and a couple of large digger machines dominated surroundings. A few signs suggested that there had once been a vegetable garden. But all that could be seen now was mud. And some pigs who were having a great time. The only human life we saw were two very small children, staying at one of the cabins, who'd managed to slip away from their mother for a few minutes. Cougie also has a fascinating collection of vintage, rotting, motor trucks. Maybe you need legendary hospitality to blot the surroundings out of your memory. I've heard several stories about the folks that own Cougie. They're hippies from Mid Wales. They're Trotskyists from London. The old owners have just sold out. As ever, with the Challenge, just take your pick!
Cougie Pig!
I was just thinking to myself that this was an easy navigation day when the inevitable happened and we got lost. Our small track led up a hillside through some woodland, but the trees had been felled. After checking position over and over again I decided to simply climb the ridge to the South West of Cougie Lodge and take my bearings from the top. This is a tried and tested technique of mine. It never fails. But the climb up such ridges also never fails to be a killer!
Still, over the top of the ridge all was revealed and we descended a little to another high, remote, lochan, which would make a great camping spot if anyone was daft enough to climb up here at the end of a long day. We tacked East a little until we reached the track that must have come from somewhere down below near Cougie. The track took us safely onto.., yep, another peat bog.
Now the tracks disappeared but we spent a happy hour or so following a tiny stream that became the Alt na Muic (I think), climbing up and down small hillocks as the growing river descended. Eventually our path entered a small piece of forest but the peaty mud stubbornly refused to disappear. It's easy to lose track of time with this kind of walking but it must have taken us the best part of two hours to get down from the top of the small ridge.
Eventually we found ourselves on the road heading East along Glen Moriston, cutting through the lovely little hamlet of Dalchreichart. It was a Sunday and a nice afternoon. The locals were all chatting to each other in their front gardens. Most of them were expecting us and they cheered us up with hearty shouts of "You'll be in Fort Augustus tonight; just go straight over the top".
Glen Moriston
"Straight over the top" confirmed my route planning. At Torgyle Bridge we crossed to the other side of the Glen, from where we had to navigate the Inchnacardoch Forest before descending to Fort Augustus.
Navigating forests always bothers me as I inevitably get lost. But here there was a simple option; follow the power cables up and over the top and eventually we would join Wade's Military Road as it dropped down the other side. Not exactly wilderness walking and I suspected that my route would have been frowned upon by Cameron McNeish and his pals!
Look at the map and you too may be tempted by the power cable route. I won't put you off. Except to say that it is very steep; very muddy; involves hacking your way through dense undergrowth; and there are deer fences to cross. But eventually we found a forest track (not marked on the 1:50 map) which followed the line of the power cables. They may be hideous but I was rather reassured by the idea that I could simply follow the cables all the way to Kingussie.
Following the Power Cables
At the top of the climb we began to meet other walker coming up a rather indistinct looking track which must have been Wade's Road; they joined our rather more splendid path. "Was the power cable track as bad as people say?". Hmm.
Our first group comprised of Ian Gillies Snr, Ian Gillie Jnr and Johnny Watson. Rather mysteriously these nice lads were carrying walkie-talkies. Apparently, on a previous Challenge, Ian Jnr (being a somewhat faster walker than his dad) had shot off, missed a critical turn and had been lost for three days! He wasn't carrying any maps. I wondered if simply getting Ian to carry his own set of maps might have been easier, but the walkie-talkies looked fun.
Young Ian, Kate, Old Ian & Johnny - all down hill now!
Next we caught up with Christine Crawford and Margaret Wilson. Margaret was having a hard time of it and was struggling through what was evidently a very painful, bad back. But she was struggling on. It is amazing how determined people are to ensure that the Challenge doesn't beat them when things are going badly.
Eventually we all came together at an important bend in Wade's Road and, after some collective discussion, we all decided to take a grassy path downwards which became the zig zag route down into Fort Augustus. If you come this way research your route carefully; the last thing you want to do is to stay on Wade's Road, as it takes you miles out of your way before doubling back towards FA.
Christine and Margaret were booked into Morag's Lodge which, rather conveniently, was the first building we saw at the end of the zig zags. Johnny and the two Ians had planned to stay at the campsite along with us, but they decided to take their chance with Morag. It never ceases to amaze me how rejuvenating the end of a walk can be. We left our fellow travellers and hobbled into Fort Augustus, crossed the bridge and were just setting ourselves for the walk to the campsite when the Ians and Johnny bounced past on their way to the pub. Fifteen minutes before they had been wrecked. But space at Morag's - and the prospect of a good pint - saw them completely re-born.
We, on the other hand, still had to walk to the Campsite. I've only ever stayed at the campsite in Fort Augustus. And every time I've entered the campsite it has been on my hands and knees! I must do it the easy way some time. Still, the campsite is gorgeous and welcoming, our food drop parcel proudly presented to us as we signed in.
As I hobbled across the grass I heard a voice welcoming me by name. It was Ant Cathcart and his mate Maurice. I'd spent a happy couple of days walking with them last year and Ant had kept up a rather nice - if ancient - mode of communication by letter and post!
Soon the tent was up and we availed ourselves of the wonderful camper's kitchen. We ate along with Peter Goodwin and Ursula Woodhouse and a few others. We were all late and the kitchen closed soon. We sat, cooking and eating in deepening darkness. Eventually, the site manager appeared and - just as we thought we'd have to make a plea not to be shut out - she enquired why we were sitting in the dark, switched on the light and gave us the OK to finish our meal in comfort. We were all good, shy, little Challengers.