Saturday: Ben Macdui to Glen Luibeg

I awoke to glorious sunshine that quickly warmed the inner of the tent. Opening up the door to the Akto I could see a herd of slow moving deer crossing the steep slopes of Derry Cairngorm opposite and enjoying their morning feed. It was going to be a great day but there was no mad urgency to move. I somehow managed to lose the top to my water bottle which was annoying but could have been a real problem elsewhere in the world. I spent a rather futile half an hour searching in the water for a small, black plastic bottle base. No chance!

Eventually I packed up and strolled back up the path to enter Glen Etchachan. A reasonably easy climb takes you quickly up to small mountain refuge, erected in memory of a man named Hutchinson who died in 1947. It is a good spot to be remembered. A lovely poetic quotation remembers Hutchinson but to my shame I couldn't recall the poem. The hut is small but comfortable. Inside there's a table, a drying rack hanging from the ceiling and bench running along one side, which could probably sleep two or three nose to tail. The Bothy book showed that a couple had taken refuge there only a couple of nights ago after making a quick descent off the mountain. The winds were too great to pitch the tent and so the shelter was more than welcome! Ronald Turnball recalls that the hut was bare when he was last here but since then the MBA have obviously fitted it out a bit.

Looking down Glen Ethechan (Hutchinson hut at right)

Past the hut the route begins to climb more steeply. I met a lovely couple Fiona and Davey coming down from Derry Cairngorm. They were tackling the munros and had done 17 this trip. Davey was a maintenance engineer working 24 hour shifts. But every few weeks he had a solid 8 days off and he and Fiona took off in their camper van. Their system was honed to a fine art. The van was left at the Linn of Dee. They'd made 'base camp' and Derry Lodge by pitching a tent. And they were taking day packs up and onto the hills. We chatted for quite a while and even recorded a podcast interview - sadly the podcast was never finished, so apologies Fiona! Fiona and Davey headed south to climb Beinn Mheadhoin which is reached from the Loch Etchachan. This Loch is a lovely place and - so I believe - the highest Loch of this size in the Cairngorms. It's a calm and tranquil place, with god grassy banks all around and fields of snow still lingering up above.

The weather began to close in b ut the summit was reached without any difficulty. The stony plateau of Macduiu looks rather spooky in the grey mist. And then, of course, there is the Old Grey Man of Macdui who -it is rumoured - comes out of the mists screaming at walkers in the most horrific of ways, so horrific indeed that they throw themselves of the cliffs to their death. Obviously there have been few witnesses to the Old Grey Man but he can sometimes be heard from a distance. Ronald Turnball assures me that the Grey man hasn't been seen for some time now. But in these kind of mists, in these kinds of places? Well anything could be plausible.

The summit was quite busy. A young guy was hauling his mountain bike onto the summit stone/trig point. A group of young lads were having some fun to the west of the summit. I don't know what they were doing but they were all wearing pretty garish clothes. One seemed to be dressed as Nelson. I leant against the summit shelter wall. On the other side a guy was on his mobile phone, dealing with messages and arranging work meetings for the next week! I took a series of photos for groups who all wanted to stand together on the summit. While I was resting I thought I caught a glance - through the corner of my eye - of a man skiing down the mountain. I did a double take and he was gone. I was seeing things. Time to move on.

Up that high the full topography of the mountains reveals itself and the routes of Ronald's book leapt to life. I'd thought of descending to Corrour by the Tailer Burn or the Alt Caichads Tailean (I think). But this would have taken me to the Lairig s day too early. The walk that caught my eye was the ridge walk over Carn a Maim which would have landed me at the Fords of Lairig. But I was put off by having no water even though I knew there was little chance of being dehydrated up here. As I descended to look at the plateau that led the the Carn the weather began to draw in and it got colder and I simply descended, retracing my route of the morning. I then decided to nip up Beinn Mheadhoin but but the time I got to the path the wind was picking up and a thought 'What the hell'. I'll do it properly another time - preferably with a day pack!

On the way down I met Davey and Fiona again they'd made the top but it was very cold and windy. We discovered we were all from Birmingham. The waved me off cheerfully hoping they'd see me that evening in Derry Lodge.

As the afternoon began to stretch out I just took pleasure in walking down along Glen Derry. After an hour or so I saw a figure in the distance, playing with some kind of equipment at the side of the path. He looked as if he might have been playing with fishing equipment, though he as a long way from water. As I got closer the reality was even weirder. He had a large pack on the back of which were attached two skis! Perhaps I wasn't that mad after all.

My new walking companion had started walking from Derry Lodge at 5 that morning, searching for patches of snow that hung in the darker places of the mountains. He was doing this for fun. He wanted to tell his friends that he'd been skiing on Ben Macdui on the longest day! Evidently he'd succeeded and he'd whizzed down a field of snow just short of the summit.

Glen Derry is a beautiful place to walk down, the path eventually entering into more, delightful woodland. I could immediately see the attraction of Derry Lodge as a camp spot but wanted to keep walking. My alpine companion reckoned that the weather was turning and that I'd be better off walking another couple of kilometres to be better placed for the Lairig Ghru next morning. There were, he assured me, some good pitches up around the Fords of Lairig. I'd met many folks during the day, Scots, who predicted dire, dire weather the next day. I thought I'd walk on.

Except there are no pitches around the Fords of Lairig, well very few. The path from Derry Lodge works its way high across the valley floor, well away from the river, obviously to avoid the damp ground. A fenced piece of reclamation woodland came into view. Maybe there would be a place to pitch on the other side. A couple of walkers coming the other way looked doubtful. Maybe I would find something in there they said, pointing to the wood. By now I was getting tired and hungry and there obviously were few pitches. I did find a clearing at one point, under an old pine tree but the ground looked hard and uninviting. On the other side of the water I saw a man and his son pitching a small tent. I shouted across to see if there was room for one other. They looked doubtful. I crossed anyway and found room for another couple of tents. They weren't best pleased. I pitched facing away from them and assured them I'd not disturb them.

I pitched not a minute too soon. The heavens opened and rain continued to fall in deluges all through the night. It was this point I decided to abandon the podcast. I figured it not neighbourly to spend the evening talking to myself in company!

On to Day 3