Friday: Walking on From Glenmore

I awoke quite late. The joy of the sleeper is to pull back the blinds and to drink in the fabulous mountain horizon that greets you. Crew in the dark to Blair Athol in the morning is quite a fabulous transformation.

I was not still quite awake when a nock on the door bought me coffee and a little tray of min croissant, muffin and a creme and oats thing - a bit like the desert Cranicken (which is how it might be spelt!).

Soon as I was lugging my pack off the train and stepping into Aviemore's main street. Aveimore at 7.30 in the morning is not really a place you want to be. Nothing moved. I strolled over to the bus stop and I was was gazing, confused, at the timetable a taxi swung around and took pity on me. Ten quid seemed to secure a trip up the road to Glenmore village. Where did I want to go? I'd no idea. Rather nicely he dropped me outside of the Glenmore shop which had a nice little sign announcing a café with famous food.

I really was on holiday now. I was early for the café but bought a newspaper and sat down to read it while the women struggled to open up. The café is built on a slope and from the windows you can gaze - at eye level - to a series of feed boxed for red squirrels and all manner of birds. The squirrels were also up early and also hungry. Pure entertainment. I was soon joined by another small group who were half way through an early morning nature walk. Their guide talked knowledgeably about the otters they'd been up for, about the squirrels and of the wild life that they were going to encounter during the rest of the morning.

The bacon sandwiches were announced as being 'famous'; they were certainly very good. When you do find a café in Scotland they tend to be good. This one had character. It was obviously used to visitors from the USA. They were even catered for in the small book section. Here Bill Clinton's memoirs sat next to Michael Moore's "Dude, Where's My Country?" and "Stupid White Men". Any visitor from across the pond would surely think about expressing any pro Bush comment. Rather touchingly the last edition of Tony Benn's memoirs kept them company. It was another reminder that Scotland is another country. I don't suppose there is any bookshop in, say, the Cotswolds that would be so brave.

It was still early when I started walking, talking a forest track that snaked around Reindeer House and headed North East towards Lochan Uraine. Soon the track was path and I was strolling through some wonderful Caledonian Forest. If you've not walked through these forests then it's almost a good enough reason to come to Scotland just to do so. These are nothing like the Forestry Commission plantations that we see in England and Wales. Here the native pines have lots of space, there are wonderful beech trees as well and oak. And because sunlight can get the forest floor there's an abundance of flora on the ground. Welsh forests tend to be dead of bird life, there being little space for them and little food. But here the bird song is simply astonishing. Several times I stopped, put own my pack, and simply spent a few minutes listening to the birds.

Eventually the track climbs up into open country and begins to curve South Eastwards to make its way down towards the Fords of Avon. Only a few minutes from Glenmore and you're out, alone, n the heart of the 'big country'.

Heading out into the big country

While taking photographs I was caught by another walker, Pat from Inverness out for a day to climb Bynack More. We chatted for a while about working in Africa and about eventually coming to settle in Inverness, which had obviously been a good move. Pat was worried about the wind and was happy to turn back if it became over powering. Me, well I could go anywhere. I thought I caught her looking suspiciously at my small pack; was this guy really camping out alone, high in the mountains? A hiker came down the track walking towards us. He'd come from Derry Lodge by way of the Fords. The Fords were in over a foot in water and this had led him to change his route. It struck me he wouldn't last long on the Challenge. We wished each other well for the rest of the trip. He told me the weather forecast for Sunday was bad. And like all Scotsmen he seemed to positively enjoy the telling of poor weather to come.

As I reached the footpath up to the summit of Bynack More the skies were clear. Up I went. This munro is only 1090 metres high but like many lesser summits it offers the best views, the mountains of Cairn Gorm and Ben Macdui stretching out along the horizon. This was wonderful walking. It had been a good choice.

Pat was right the wind did pick up as I got near the summit. I caught a couple of folks rushing down, it was a bit exposed up there but passable. The summit of the mountain is long and almost ridge like. The winds became stronger and stronger. On top of the plateau stinging hail began to make its way to my face. I looked to shelter in the strange, weathered, limestone shapes of the Barns of Bynack but I could find to real shelter. The wind and the hail intensified. Suddenly my intended route - turning South West to A Choinneach didn't seem that attractive. I decided to get out of the wind and off the hill. I followed a little saddle from the Barns and found myself climbing down next to a small burn. The slopes were steep and difficult but the heather young and strong. I went down on my bum, sliding and skidding over the heather. This is my preferred way of getting down a hill; it never ceases to provide some excitement. I suspect the health and safety brigade might disapprove but this slippery descent gave me half an hour of real entertainment.

Soon I was back on the peaty, muddy floor of a glen. Originally I would descend to Loch Avon and then walk back to visit the Fords of Avon. But now I was on the main track to the Fords.

This was my first time at the Fords of Avon. My mate - TGO Challenger - Humphrey Weightman is a great fan of the Fords, he feels he's "irresistibly drawn to the Fords". It is quite a magical place, the confluence of four water courses. I instantly understood Humph's attraction for the place. The sun was now out and - of course - the summit of Bynack More was cloudless. From every direction sun rippled off water. The land was lush and green. A small, tin, shelter must have been the Fords of Avon Refuge. The wind was calm, the sun warmed my face. And I was all alone. If I'd had more time I'd have felt drawn to explore Glen Avon running off to the East. I had intended to go west, along side Loch Avon before pitching for the night. But the road south, towards Glen Derry just looked nicer. And so I struck out south. That's the beauty of hiking alone, being your own boss, able to simply follow a whim and striking out in any or either direction.

So, I waded across the stones of Avon and headed south and into the Lairig Laoigh. like the more famous Lairig Ghru, Laoigh was gauged out of the ground by a retreating glacier leaving behind a lovely, lush valley floor. I thoroughly enjoyed myself ambling along this ancient track. It was a perfect compliment to the excitement and drama of the tops earlier in the day.

I love these old hill tracks. I like the idea that people of been walking these routes for thousands of years. These rights of way have connected communities - in this case those of the Spey Valley and Braemar - for generations, way back before living memory began. Drovers once relied on them to move their cattle. Now they're mostly left for those of us who like the solitude and the chance to connect to the past. I never feel truly alone when walking them.

After a mile or so the track begins its descent down into Glen Derry. The Glen is wonderful and enticing. Trees could be seen beginning to assert their influence over the valley floor and a beautiful forest beckoned. To the West the route up to Ben Macdui began to reveal itself in the form of the small Glen Etchachan, which was to be my route next morning. I continued to drop down and at the side of a fast running burn, Glas Alit Mor I find a lovely pitch, grassy and flat, close to the stream, way above the tree line and midge free. The grid reference is NO 035 986. Just in case you're ever passing this way with a tent!

I settled down for a lovely evening. The skies were overcast now but the rain had held off. I entertained myself with Ronald Turnball's 'Walking in the Cairngorms" for he never really writes a simple guidebook. Apparently both Queen Victoria and Gladstone ascended Ben Macdui along the route that I was taking in the morning. No doubt I'd be following in the footprints of other, equally illustrious walkers.