The Tarfside magic cast its spell, again, over the breakfast table. The hostel had been arranged so that its kitchen table was at its heart; what worked for God also worked for the Challenge. I ate more bacon butties with Rose and Bob Cartwight, Julian, The Thorn family, Barbara and Vicky, Tim and Kate and more besides. Quite a few were taking my original route, through Char and the Fettereso Forest. I played around with the notion of joining them. But I found I had mentally shut down already. The foot was OK now and I reckoned that it was sensible not to push it too much.
Alvar, Ann, Simon, Kate & Tim; Bob & Rose Carrtwight ; 'The Tarfside Ladies'
I left the hostel in blustery, but sunny weather and continued down Glen Esk; the rather lovely Tarfside camping area (the local playing field) was clearing fast. I looked to cross a bridge just out of the village. On one side of bridge entry the usual sign said something like, "Cross this bridge at own risk". A notice on the other side exclaimed, "Dangerous bridge. Bridge closed". The bridge did look a bit rickety, and without maintenance for some time, but it seemed in far better condition than many of those I'd crossed in the North west. Still, I'd got this far without serious mishap and I wasn't going to chance my luck now. I continued on down the to where there was a substantial bridge.
At the bridge crossing I met another lovely couple, John and Elaine Elkin from Congelton. We nattered as we walked. We were quite animated really. I suspect because I knew where Congelton was! This was the first time that John and Elaine had done anything like this, and the first time that they had wild camped; they were really enjoying themselves. We talked about many things, not least the possibilities of camping in warmer climes. The Pyrenees, with their mixture of French hospitality, warm weather, great mountains and wonderful wild camping, seem to attract them a lot. During a rest stop we met two Dutch walkers who I had last seen debating whether to cross the closed bridge. They had managed to cross in one piece. Apparently, this sign has been on the bridge for over ten years, the work of some farmer wanting to keep walkers off his land; we certainly were in another country now.
On to Edzell
The sun continued to shine but the wind blew very strongly, so much so that at a climb I strode off the hill only to find - at the top - that John and Elaine had stopped at the bottom. They had shouted to me - and were only a few yards away - but I'd not heard them above the wind and I continued on alone. The track turned to tarmac; this was it now, all road walking until the coast. Still, it wasn't all bad. At the main road I turned right for Edzell and found some long stretches of grassed walkway at the side of the road.
Lower land and bluebell woods
Before long I was at the lovely Edzell café, tucking into a great home-made, seafood pie (with chips - heaven!). Most of the people I'd had breakfast with had made it to the café. I left them lounging in luxury and set off for the last leg of road, on towards the North water Bridge campsite. A number of people had told me this was a dreadful piece of road. True, it was dead straight, but I'd walked on far worse during this trip. I was joined for the last section by another Andy, an RAF engineer from the North East of Scotland.
North Water Bridge is another lovely sight, despite it being next to the main road and mainly aimed at Caravans. The tent pitches were flat and grassy and the facilities as good as I had come to expect. Over the next couple of hours my Akto, and Andy's Laserlite, were joined by the café folk, Super Legend and Keith and a number of others. I settled in to cook my evening meal and - almost on cue - came the evening deluge.