So far navigation on this trip had been a breeze. But it a trek there's always - at least - one bad day; this was it.
Everything started well enough. I was walking at 8.30, pleased to be back on the trail again. The only thing was bugging me was my obsessive singing, and humming, of Eurovision songs (something that had become quite obsessive since I'd watched that documentary in Kingussie). I skirted a small hill, which avoided some of the road, and headed off in the direction of Ballater. At the Invercauld Bridge I took a track into the Ballochbuie Forest. Officially the entry to this track is from the old bridge, but you come to a gated track entrance first. This is locked but walkers just nip in from the road a few feet further on, as a well worn path suggested. The forest is part of the Balmoral Estate, the seat of the Royal Family in Scotland and of which they are very fond. I'm no Royalist but I did rather approve of the sign that announced that the forest had been bought by Queen Victoria to save it from being cleared; this is one of the largest stretches of Caledonian forest left in Scotland today.
I followed along the path, checking junctions carefully with the compass. I began to feel that I was going wrong but, rather annoyingly, the compass was jumping all over the place. Soon I came to a log cabin, at the foot of a small dam which I didn't see on my track. The cabin was all locked-up and looked pretty spartan inside. I've read about these log cabins; I think they may be where the Queen and Phil the Greek (as he is affectionately known) come for quiet days out in the forest. I followed the track up to a higher vantage point and could see that I was beginning to turn back on myself. I returned to the cabin, rested on the porch and studied the map. There it was; I'd made a completely wrong turn. I re-traced my steps carefully and then turned onto my chosen path at what seemed the right place.
Only it wasn't. After a while walking I came to a small lake or reservoir. This shouldn't have been here. I was on a path that had initially run parallel to the one I had chosen but was closer down in the valley. The forest tracks had obviously shifted their alignment since the map had been made. I could walk on, towards the castle, through some monuments and then turn south and out onto the hills (this was, in fact, the way everyone else went). But I saw a small track coming up from the reservoir, crossing my path and heading up and over a shard climb. This seemed a good idea, and far more interesting than staying on these forest paths.
I retraced my steps a little, found the path and struck on up the hill. Rather inevitably, the path vanished after a couple of hundred metres. I strode on up the hill, following the line of the compass. The going was hard, rough heather tore at my soft trail shoes, and I had to clamber over all kinds of difficult, hidden, rocks. It was very wet. On and on I went, adjusting my line a little to take the most gentle route up to the col. I frightened quite a lot of dear on the way up. This was hard and steep and I began to curse the route; why on earth was I doing this with a full pack? Several times I seriously considered going back down, returning to Braemar and setting out for Jock's Road the next day. But, of course, I ploughed on. At the top I found a hill with the most ornate cairn on the top. If I walked, west, along a small ridge I'd pick up the path as it began to descend. I quickly found the path and - rather relieved - began to follow it down. Blow me, but a couple of hundred yards further on and the path vanished again. This was not a path that was used a great deal. I could see a track far ahead of me and decided to just descend in the most direct way possible. Of course, this was just like the climb and - conscious of travelling alone on a path nobody else was daft enough to take - I decided to slide down on my bum for added safety. It took a long time; there was a lot of sliding.
Towards Gelder Shiel
Eventually, the slope evened out and I crossed through some clear forest into an area that had recently been felled. After a romp across the debris I hit a track. Looking around, I found my bearings and turned right in the vague direction of Lochnagar. I had intended to go on, through the Spittle of Glenmuick and onto the Shiel of Mark Bothy. I suppose there was still enough time, but the weather was now cold and dark and I was in no mood for walking further than I needed too. So, I set my sites on the Gelder Shiel Bothy. I seemed to remember that the Royal Estate had asked us to avoid wild camping here but I couldn't remember whether this was OK in the vicinity of the bothy or whether I would have to stay in it.
After what seemed like a very long day I came to the Gelder Shiel house and bothy. The building is a rather solid looking house used by the Royals; some say that Charles took his inspiration for the 'Old Man of Lochnagar' from here. The house was very well secured, with solid, locked doors, and heavily shuttered windows. Somebody had tried to force one of the windows a little and had succeeded in opening up a few millimetres; but the shutters looked a formidable obstacle. It was now very cold and quite lonely. The bothy is at the back of the house, a stone construction that looks as if it was once a barn or animal shed. All was silent. I opened the door and there was one resident, warm jacket, balaclava and head torch, sitting there on his own.
Gelder Shiel:Royal house on the left, bothy on the right
This was Julian who I came to like a great deal over the next couple of days. Despite being a solo walker, Julian's remarkable collection of gear was spread all over the bothy. We both brewed up some tea and begun to create something of our own atmosphere. The bothy is quite comfortable save for the absence of a fire place. Julian had heard of my wondering in that general direction. Geoff and Sandra Yarnell had walked some of the way from Braemar with me, leaving me at the bridge; they had intended to spend the night here. But they had gone on the the Spittle where they met a taxi to find a B & B in Ballater. They had said that Andy from Birmingham was headed this way. Julian was confused as to why I had arrived so far behind them instead of ahead of them. I had to confess to my strange route.
Soon we were joined by two older walkers, Maurice and Ant, who had been pitched next to me in Braemar (in the long line of Aktos). They un-packed, we all cooked up our evening meal and we had a great evening. All of us were a little wary of the binge-evening in Braemar and we'd all wanted to leave before it. we reckoned out evening could start a new trend - Saturday night at Gelder Shiel.
Saturday night at Gelder Shiel
Maurice and Ant were great company, both possessing a fine, dry, sense of humour. Julian kept us laughing all evening. Firstly, Julian was forty and he'd had planned this trip to commemorate the passing of his birthday. Being forty was obviously praying on his mind a lot - he referred to it all the way through the rest of the challenge (the three of us kept telling him that you were as young as you felt, but somehow I don't think we were reassuring him that much). Julian is a veteran of two rounds of the Munros; he'd also completed many Corbetts and was hoping to climb some Graham's (or Fred's or George's or something). Julian had a huge, heavy pack, seventy litres plus pocket space. He was carrying only a bivy tent; yet the pack was full. I can't begin to describe everything that was in that bag but I reckon he could have survived, in bothys, for weeks. Despite having the bivy Julian was staying mainly in bothys; for the rest of us, this was our first. There was a lot of lovely banter - mainly at the expense of Julian's gear but - fair play - illuminated by the rather large candles that emerged from the bottom of his pack. Ant and I tried to promote the cause of going Lightweight. I showed Julian the contents of my pack - the contrast couldn't have been greater.
This was a great evening; great humour; lovely company. The camaraderie of the Challenge suddenly seemed real for the first time. The trudge and trauma of the day were quickly forgotten. I climbed into my bag with nothing but heightened expectations of tomorrow's walking.