Sunday: Through the Ghru

The rain finally ceased at about six thirty in the morning. I quickly set about having breakfast and brewing coffee. There was no sign of life when I broke camp and started walking about 7.30. I felt a little happier knowing that my enforced companions would awake to an empty pitch.

As I walked the rain returned but in truth it was never that bad. At least there was no wind. The Devil Point and other mountains looked very spooky, all shrouded in brooding mist. But it was good walking the path climbed at a very comfortable rate. At Corrour I met a group who'd spent the night camped on the other side of the burn, not a good place they said as the ground was waterlogged. They'd avoided the bothy because they'd heard too many bad stories about it. But they'd visited during the evening and found only a man and son there although there had been six others the night before! This group were walking south but I soon met the man and son from the bothy and they joined me strolling north, me heading for the Rothimurcus forest and they for their car at Glenmore.

On a lovely day I think I would have enjoyed the Lairig. As it was I could see very little, certainly not anything of those dramatic pass walls. I approached the summit stone about midday and the sun actually tried to break through! But by the time I'd crossed the watershed the rain came down again, not dramatically, but it wad that constant Scottish rain that seems to be able to permeate even the best of waterproofs.

The descent I found cold and miserable, the path becoming muddier and peatier. It was not nice walking. Occasionally I glanced up to spot lovely green banks below and what would probably have been good pitches. But the rain was getting me down and I kept hoping to see a pine tree sticking out of the mist. I met a group of about 10 lads about to climb up the Lairig. They were making for Derry Lodge and asking what the path was like above. I got the impression they'd not done any research. Would they make it that day? Yep, but it would be a long walk. As ever their sacks were huge concealing, I've no doubt, a not insignificant stash of Tennants lager.

Just when I was getting really fed up the magic of the forest returned to greet me. It may have been cold and I was soaked through but the place I was walking through still enchanted. My spirits rose as I skipped down the trail, as fast as I could to generate heat. I was at the clearing in the forest at about three, far too early to stop for the day, so despite my aching feet I pushed on. At a junction where the path turns left towards the footbridge I met a couple who were quite distraught. They'd been coming to the forest for years but this was their first visit for four years. During their absence the forest authorities had decided to make good all of the racks and they were appalled, "it's ruined the place". I could see their point. I was just about to set out on a carpet-smooth track of fine gravel. It somehow didn't seem right, not at all natural. "It's all for those mountain bikes" she said. We parted, they continuing through the woods grieving for some past magic.

I decided to spend the night at Coylumbridge campsite and what a fine site it was too. Here the pitches are between pine trees and I plumped for one on the middle of a small island. There was a bar and place to eat at the Hilton over the road. After pitching it was time for a brew and a siesta. I awoke to find that it was dinner time, well on hiking time. I abandoned the idea of the bar, cracked open some dehydrated Chicken and Spinach Curry and decided to spend another 'night in'. I found myself settling down to plan the route of my next TGO Challenge.

Night fell, kind of. The rains returned but the site was silent and I slept like a baby.

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