Scottish Adventures

Cairngorms Loop ITT

The mist swirls in a damp mass, my light bounces back at me, the ground a veiled blur, as though looking through a shower curtain. My gpx track is taking me on a weird dog leg to the ruins of Bynack Lodge, an old shooting lodge, long ruined. Its an atmospheric place on a nice evening, but now the dancing mists make ghosts seem real, in this type of weather it easy to imagine them taking on a solid form. I can see the vague line of a tyre track in the wet grass, but it disappears in the low heather. I dismount and stumble in circles trying to find the trail. I’m freaking out a little, the outline of the lodge off to my left is felt rather than seen, A darker shadow, thicker air. I’m wasting time and eventually I give up and push down the burn line until I’m back on the actual trail.  

I try to ride out the rest of the rough quad track, but the thick mist is coating my eyelashes in huge water droplets and I cant see. Like windscreen wipers, I’m blinking fast to try and shed the water, I hit an unseen rock and nearly go over the bars. I’m not yet on the technical section along the ravine, a trail I normally love, and I’m already afraid of crashing. Its 3 am and I’ve been riding for nearly 22 hours. I’m reaching that vulnerable, emotion stage of the night. After another near miss, I have to reason with myself, its faster to walk than to crash and get hurt. Frustrated I push most of the way to the turn up to Fealar lodge. I’m moving slow and time is slipping by.  

We started at 5am yesterday. A small group, six riders. All with different aims, but here for the same reason. A love of riding bikes a long way, and to enjoy a challenge. We were all aiming to ride the loop as fast as we possibly could. The Cairngorms loop is a 185 mile route around and through the big mountains of the Cairngorms National Park. It covers very mixed terrain, rough land rover tracks, smooth tarmac and awkward slow singletrack. Numerous river crossings pepper the route, often making it impassable after heavy rain or snowmelt. We have lucked out with our weather, morning mists clearing into warm, bluebird days. The early wind died off and it was just a joy to be out.  

Id started off riding with El, as we cruised through the dark and mist of the morning. The gradually climbing cycle path proving a good warm up. We turned onto the land rover track that cuts through Gaicks pass as the sun began to rise. Bathed in pink light, our route stretched ahead and we shared excited, delighted looks. What a place to be. Reaching loch an Dun as the mist was lifting with the warmer air, rising faster as it reached the sunlit hillside. With the mist heavy on the glen Tromie side, it was a cold descent. Droplets encrusting the vegetation and spiders webs looking like huge pearled necklaces.  My Garmin battery died and I stopped in the warmest spot I could find to change it, annoyed it had already run down. We climbed out of the mist again, relieved to be in warmer air. The beautiful meadow singletrack along the river Feshie was delightful and the grass sparkled in the sun. I stopped to get water and have a wee, whilst El carried on. From this point we would both be alone until the finish.  

Tha Gaicks pass in mid winter

Unaware El had made a wrong turn as the inner and outer tracks cross on the gpx, I pushed on to bynack stables in the hopes of catching her. Eventually I realised she was either way faster or had gone wrong somewhere. The climb up onto the shoulder of bynack more is punctuated with water bars and big steps. Normally I enjoy the challenge in riding it, but today, with miles to go, I got off and pushed up whilst trying to eat. At the high point, the trail stretches away, with the huge rounded mass of Beinn a Bhuird in the distance. I love the descent down, rocky, technical, engaging and fast, it always entertains and delights me. Today was no exception, although I tried to ride with more caution than normal. I did not want to deal with a puncture from miss timing a water bar. The trail remains at around 700m for a long way. Often a brutal wind fires through the glen, with heavy rain showers close behind. Today though it was completely still. I stopped to absorb the silence, not caring if it wasted a precious minute. The warm air seemed to shimmer and I breathed deep, clean air filling my lungs and gratitude in my heart. A lot of folks will tell you riding ultra-distance is all about being able to suffer, in my mind it’s about being grateful for life, place and finding joy in every moment. To me these rides are about being at peace and meditation in movement.  

The normally awkward trail flowed seamlessly and before long I arrived at the fords of Avon River crossing. I stopped to chat with a walker, he also delighted with the weather and having a big day out. Leaving him I boulder hopped over the river with dry feet. This can be a very scary and consequential crossing when high, and I’ve had a moment here before, with the powerful water grabbing at my bike and pushing my legs. Today though its easy and gentle. After the crossing is a section with a couple of kilometres of pushing amongst boulders before cresting the top of the Lairig an laoigh.  

Fords of Avon crossing back in spring

Frogs are abundant as I push over the wet ground, springs bursting to the surface everywhere. I felt great as I rolled down into Glen Derry, happy to be greeted by its small but expanding forest. Lower down, the old granny pines dance and pull wild shapes, today in the sun they smell amazing. I’m looking forward to the Feshie Moor, it took me a while to find enjoyment in the exposed and often boggy section, but today in the sun I know it will ride well. I love the open views and the loops and twists of the endlessly wandering Geldie Burn. After the crossing at the Eidart, I go carefully, I’ve often met adders out sunbathing on this bit of trail, and today seems perfect snake weather.   

No snakes and a few kilometres later I arrive at the double crossing of the river feshie. There will be no more dry feet from here on, but the river is refreshing and I debate stripping off for a quick dip. Deciding against it I ride down the glen, the juniper, heather and pines filling the air with thick scents. I can imagine I’m in Europe as I weave along the dry singletrack, breathing in the heady perfume. The routes spits me out onto a long road section. Knowing I will find it hard, I focus on refuelling, eat and drink and just spin away for the next 30 km. Its feeling like early autumn and huge mushrooms sprout all along the road, distracting me from the dull miles. The birch are starting to go gold, tendrils of leaves shining gold in a green background.  

Eventually the track takes me off the road and into Abernethy forest. I normally find this a confusing maze of tracks and am grateful for my gpx to follow. As I pop out of the forest, im blown away by the view over Loch a Chnuic. The sun is low and the water is completely still. The pink light stretches all the way to the high cairngorms, back to where I was riding hours earlier. Through the delightful Eag pass to dorbach and the sun is setting properly. The heather is on fire in the deep orange light and I drink it all in before dusk descends. Id hoped to be through glen brown before dark, the trail crosses the river around six times, and its easier to find a rideable line in the light. I make it through and up the short climb after. Here I pull all my layers on for the next fast descent and get all my lights on.  

Its around 10 and fully dark as I ride through a deserted Tomintoul. The next section is a long land rover track that follows the river Avon up into the hills before turning off to take us past Loch Builg and then up the big climb over Culardoch pass. In my head it’s a fairly dull section, but tonight I pass what looks suspiciously like a wild cat and then have to slam on my brakes not to hit a hedgehog. Its cold and windy once I leave the trees behind, I’m glad I’m not planning to sleep. Just past loch Builg, the moon pops up over the hills. Its huge bright glow feels welcoming, like a friendly presence to join my ride. The mist is starting to form in the cooler air and tendrils rise and sway over every pool in the boggy ground.   

Midnight exactly as I crest the pass. I pause here to throw on my puffy jacket and look around. I can see mist below and know I will be descending back into cold damp air. The moon floats above, watching my progress. Riding into Braemar, I’m confused by bright multi-coloured lights in the castle grounds. As I ride past I stop to read the sign “Everything will be alright”. Its 1am and closing time in town. The streets are full of stragglers meandering around. They seem entertained by my presence and I enjoy the heckles. The road to Linn of Dee is full of both mist and deer. Its not a great combination and I take to shouting as soon as I catch the reflection of eyes in my lights. Shouting means they run earlier and we are less likely to collide, although I later round a bend to find around 10 deer lying lazily in the road and have to emergency stop to avoid them.  

After the mists of Glen Tilt I enjoy the warm air from Felar lodge. This is the “sting in the tail” section of the route. Id totally underestimated the amount of climbing to come, and time seems to fly by out of all proportion to the distance I’m covering. Id been ignoring pain in my bits, thinking id be home sooner, but now, as the light seeped back into the world, the pain became unbearable. For a while hopping off to push helped, but eventually even walking was causing me to yelp out loud. I stopped to laugh/cry, less than 5 miles to go, and I couldn’t move. Stripping off in a stream, I cooled down the fiery parts. Shoving my chamois into a bag, I was able to move in much more comfort without it.  

Id hoped to finish around sunrise, but I felt grateful to be watching it rise whislt still in the hills. The gentle light hitting the summit of beinn a Ghlo and slowly travelling along its flanks. From the final high point before Blair Athol, I stopped to look down on the inversion below and drink in the final moments of my ride. Id be glad to finish, but at the same time felt like I could keep riding forever. I wanted to stay out here in the mountains, with the amazing light and warm sun.  

Predictably I missed the turn off whilst flying down the road and gave myself some extra climbing back up. But then it was down into the mist, to Blair Athol and the official finish by the clock in the train station.  

Scottish Adventures

Highland Trail 550

  • by Annie le
My Spearfish set up

Saturday-Tyndrum to past Corrimony Bothy. Around 116 miles. 

As i make my way up the hill to the start line, every fibre of me is saying “don’t do this” “turn around” “you can still bail”. Did i really want to put my body through 550 miles of rough Scottish terrain and sleep deprivation? Did i want the expense (and difficulty in the current component market) of replacing the inevitable wear on my bike? Id taken a week off unpaid for this, as a freelancer that means it was already an expensive event. Right now, minutes before the start, i could think of a whole lot of ways to spend this week or that money, that would be more fun. 

But… I remembered my motivations for being here. Covid had left me unemployed, living with my mum through lockdown one. Applying for hundreds of jobs i did not want, my escape from crushing anxiety and worry had been to ride my bike. Alot. Fife is not known for its mountain biking, so i had made my peace with pedalling. Gravel and road became my friends, and 50km became 100 and then some. Cycling had gotten me though not only the first lockdown, but it was my survival tool through all the subsequent lockdowns and uncertainty. And in another year of not traveling abroad, it was the Highland Trail that was giving me that tingling feeling of adventure, the nervous excitement of the unknown i crave. To drop out now would leave me feeling empty, i wanted a challenge and it was here and now.  

Ladys group start.

Due to covid we had a staggard start and Alan had grouped all the women together for an 8.10 lift-off. We chatted nervously, running through quick introductions before Alan shouted at us to Go! The first few minutes we rode as a group, keen to talk to everyone before we settled into our own paces. It wasn’t long though before competition set in and the racing snakes disappeared. Catching up with Dawn, who i rode with this winter, i was happy to take it easy. My aims for the event were simple, 1-Finish. 2-Finish in under 6 days. 3- Get pie at Lochinvar (Strawberry and Rhubarb in case you are wondering). And to me, to achieve that finish i was going to ride easy and smoothly, with as much fun as possible. I had the added pressure of returning to work the following Monday, as an outdoor education instructor in a school. I had to be both physically and mentally capable of having a group on the hill or in the gorge. I was not here for a full blown suffer fest. 

Dawn had been working on the hill right up to the Friday before the ride started and was planning on taking day one easy to recover. So i found myself alone from the start of Loch Lyon. By and large i would stay alone for the next 5 days, with only the odd spell of company as i was passed, or passed other riders. It was also at loch Lyon that I noticed my Garmin base map, which only showed big bodies of water and main roads, was way off from the purple line of the gpx track. According to my map, we were going to be doing a lot of swimming! This offset between map and track would haunt me through the race, leading to lots of mis turns and riding in circles to find which path i was meant to choose. Learning point: Get a good base map and practice! 

Although I’m confident in my pacing ability, it was unsettling to have the majority of the field fly past me over the next few hours. I started to wonder if i had misjudged my fitness or been overly optimistic about my goal of finishing in under 6 days. I reminded myself that i was here to enjoy the route, and my ride was my own. Maybe i would see some of these riders again, maybe not. I convinced myself it was irrelevant. As i made my way along the loch side, all the tension of the build to the ride evaporated. I felt a sense of joy overwhelm me and felt utterly free. For the next week, all i had to do was ride my bike, as long or little as i wished each day, eat and occasionally sleep. I felt selfishly free of responsibility, had my phone turned off and no camera to distract me. Bliss! 

Several hours in, i past Ruth, who had a puncture. Her choice of skinny gravel bike was brave, but she seemed super strong and I wasn’t surprised when she breezed past me a short while later. A bit further and i waved at Iwona, who had stopped for a chilled lunch break. It was a relief to find i hadn’t been completely dropped! These first few hours were fairly uninspiring, fast rolling with the odd steep climb. It was great to leave Loch Rannoch behind and head towards Ben Alder. The Ben Alder area is one of my favourite places in Scotland and I’ve bike packed round and through in all weathers. I was excited for the climb and fast descent down to Laggan. Iwona caught me up as we reached the boggy push to Ben Alder Cottage and it was nice to chat. I find it really interesting what motivates other people, and what in life had brought them to the start line. As we made our way up the singletrack, i got the impression Iwona was way more competitive than me. She told me off for letting her past “We are in a race you know, don’t let me through!”.  

Culra in different conditions

My family is the least competitive i know, so when i meet people for whom its a big motivator, i find it fascinating and sometimes amusing. I have wished it was more a driver for me, im sure id have had greater success in races if i cared more about getting on the podium, but having seen the shouting and crying of those who care too much, id rather be on my side of the spectrum. I used the climb to try and define how i viewed the other riders in the event. I failed to come up with a less cheesy answer, so apologies. Imagine a multi player computer game where you are all individuals trying to complete the level. If you complete it, you win a gold coin. However, there is not only one coin, but rather everyone who completes the level gets one. I felt the other riders, rather than being competition, were friends who might, through mutual encouragement, help each other succeed. I felt a warmth and companionship with them, all here to challenge ourselves and suffer the same trail and weather. Not that i think being motivated by beating others is wrong, its just different to the way my head works.  

Finally cresting the Bealch Dubh, I dropped my seat an inch, let off the brakes and felt like i was flying. My spearfish floated over water bars id never hopped before and I felt solid and strong. Giggling all the way to Culra bothy I was treated to a stunning rainbow, slung low over the meadow. It seemed to hover just a few meters above the riders in front, sunlight glistening off the rain wet grass. It was a moment of utter bliss and awe.  

Leaving the road at Laggan for the next steep up and over, i caught a glimpse of red. It couldn’t be! But it was, Id finally found Emma again. She had spent all winter on big ski missions, and judging by the speed she set off at, was feeling super fit. We rode together up the road, passing Alan, who was sensibly fuelling before the next big climb. He soon joined us for a quick chat before disappearing again. Leaving Emma to eat at the base of the coriarick, i trundled slowly upwards. Having never ridden it before the previous Autumn, a winter renting in Newtonmore had forced me to become friends with the pass in all weathers. Today i knew it would be a benign beast and let me over in plenty of time to get chips in Fort Augustus. 

Descending the Corrieyairck pass. Pic Beccy Waters/@dotwatcher.cc

Turning my light on as i left The Moorings, i mused over what I was doing wrong. An hour spent staring at chips rather than eating them left me feeling disheartened. I was however, powered by caffeine from three cups of tea and a pint of coke and excited to get up to Loch ma stac. Riding into darkness, with uncertainty over where to camp used to terrify me. Id worked on this fear over the winter, lots of long solo rides ending in darkness, and overnighters to new places, deliberately camping well after sunset. Tonight was going to be beautiful, clear and still. I was excited to be heading up into the hills again. Loch ma Stac was incredible, lit by a frosted moon, the rocky shore sparkled with frost. I had to keep stopping to look around and breathe in the serentity. I love the ride over the shore, technical, absorbing and interesting. All too soon i was on the horrible, slippery, bog rut death descent to corrimony bothy. Glancing at my watch i was shocked to see it was already 1.30 am. Time to call it a night. As id left the Mooring restaurant, I promised Emma id save her a bivi space next to me. I wasn’t really expecting her to follow me over the hill, but was delighted as she pulled up just as i was pitching my tent. Her stubbornness and utter determination was already impressive, and would be hugely inspiring to me over the coming days.  

Sunday- Corrimony to Merkland Lodge. Around 114miles.  

A cold night, shivering, watching condensation form and wondering whether to just get up. We set an alarm for 4.30 and grumbled as we rolled out. With a bit of downhill left, the frosty morning was bitterly cold. I was very grateful for my neoprene overshoes and puffy jacket. We spun easily and fast up the road to Struy where we began another steep climb to the infamous track of 1000 puddles. Id heard lots about this section, and had assumed everyone was over exaggerating the puddles. I can now tell you, having ridden it in VERY dry conditions, that they were not. Progress is frustrating, the fast track is lined with puddles deep enough to hide your granny in. Your choice is to ride though and hope you survive, ride around and hope you don’t sink in the sphagnum bog, or get off and walk. We chose a mixture of tactics, sometimes regretting our decisions as out cassettes crunched and brake pads shrieked from the muddy water. This route does not like your bike.  

After an age i hit the tarmac at Orrin and swooshed down to Contin. This was the only resupply on route I was stressed about making, as they shut early on Sundays and its a long way to the next shop. I cheered as Emma rolled in, we could now relax a bit having stocked up for the Northern Loop. More good news had come from Alan, the Oykel Bridge hotel was under new management and was happy to serve smelly, hungry riders again. It provided a very welcome food stop that we would pass twice on route.  

Shortly after leaving Contin, Emma decided to slow a bit and I was alone again. This whole section to Lochinver was new to me, i was looking forward to seeing the famous Alladale estate, a leader of rewilding and land stewardship in Scotland. The miles flew by, the going mainly fast land rover track. It was considerably flatter than the day before and progress felt easy and good. Aside from the steep hills, i had a rule of riding at a pace where i wasn’t sweaty or out of breath. Thats about as technical as i get. I was enjoying looking around and day dreaming, seeing new parts of the Highlands. In no time, i was through Alladale in a heavy rain shower and heading up past Croick farm. Phil Clark, on his beautiful green Jones singlespeed, glided past as the mighty outline of Suilven came into view. We were to yo yo with each other till the very end of the route, he much faster, but liked his sit down food and sleep. I preferred chugging away slowly. Having completed the route several times, he was an amazing source of information and seemed to know every possible distance and timing. It was always a highlight as he and Mike past me and gave me a few minutes of company every day.  

After another failed eating attempt at Oykel bridge hotel, this time macaroni cheese, i set off up Glen Cassely. With a stonking tail wind, it wasn’t long before the steep climb up and over the Loch Shin. As i crested the climb, the sky looked apocalyptical. Hues of purple and maroon highlighted by huge dark clouds. Something was coming our way, and in the gale force winds, fast. I layered up in all my clothes for the screaming descent to the loch. Again, i was very grateful for my conservative clothing choices as the wind chill was immense. The rain started properly at dusk and any thoughts i had of pushing on over the Bealach Horn dissolved. I pulled off the road around 11pm at Merkland Lodge, glad for a sheltered spot to sleep. I woke in a panic at midnight. Someone was shining a light right into my tent. Although im never outwardly nervous as a solo female, im usually very fussy about where i camp. A roadside spot was low down my list and i thought it was a drunk driver messing with me. Instead it turned out to be a fellow rider, in his tired state hadn’t realised he was disturbing me. I was quite rude and grumpy with him. If you read this, i apologise.  

Monday-Merkland lodge to a few km past Oykel bridge. Around 84 miles. 

Up At 4 am again, the rain still patterning away. Here, in my sheltered spot it was gentle, but i suspected once higher it might have a stronger edge. As i spun up the road in the murky dawn, deer lined both sides of the road. I watched as they jumped barbed wire fences, terrified one might get stuck. Turning off towards Gobernuisgach lodge, i stopped and huddled behind a building to eat an egg roll. I was right, the rain was pelting here, driven into my cheeks by the strong wind. The stark beauty made up for the fierce weather, bedrock mounds and cliffs making the land feel untamed and unwelcoming. I was glad to turn at the lodge and pick up a tail wind again. The Bealch Horn was another section of route id heard lots about. I had hoped to be going over in good weather, but it wasn’t to be. The hill tops shrouded by misty veils, occasionally shifting to offer me a glimpse of their majesty. The track dropped steeply into a tiny hidden meadow and i wished id know about it to camp at the night before. I filled my bottle here, the water sweet and delicious. The best tasting on route. All the way up Glen Golly i was impressed with the quality of the track. The wind helped my legs and i enjoyed the climb. All too soon i began the squishy ride down into An Dubh Loch, soon giving up riding after washing my front wheel out in the mud. This was no place to crash. The trail was running with water now and faded in huge peat hags. I lowered my bike carefully down, scared of catching my mech. Then scrabbled down after. Huge sheets of rain were now rushing over the loch. A solitary tent was holding its own against the weather. A beautiful spot to return to in better conditions. The hike up the steep, wet grass left my calves burning. Worried about pushing too hard my mantra was a steady count to 20, then stop, breathe and snack. Mike had passed me before the peat hags and was already well out of sight. I assumed he was thinking of a hot lunch at Kylesku.  

The mist closed in at the summit, the way behind me gone in a wall of white. The way ahead was now a mystery, i could only see about twenty meters ahead. i struggled to get my warm layers on without soaking them and switched out my sodden gloves for new ones. By now i was wearing both my waterproof trousers and waterproof shorts in the hopes they would keep me dry on the way down. The trail was a stream, and the stream crossings had become torrents. I picked my way down, not wanting to risk a puncture or crash up here. I was still plenty warm when i passed the split rock at the Lone, but grateful to be over without incident. Alan arrived as i was pushing up from Achfarry. He had scratched at Loch Shin, not being in the mood to embrace the Horn in the storm. He helpfully informed me Huw, my partner, had scratched and did i know why? 

A panic came over me. I think its really hard doing these races when your SO is also in them. Added stress in the build up as you both prep and try get bikes ready. Added stress as you each want the other to do well. Huw had picked up a vomiting bug on his last HT550 and had been rescued from the Bealach Horn by Scott, the only rider to stop and fully check on him. Emotions from that late night Raigmore visit came back to me and i turned my phone on for the first time since starting. Nothing from Huw. Great. Helpful. I decided to push on to Drumbeg, where i might find shelter and work out what was going on.  

Oblivious to the chaos he had caused in my head, Alan disappeared on up the climb. I carried on wondering if i would scratch to, if Huw was hurt or ill. I reassured myself that we have lots of friends in the highlands and someone would have come to help him. I later found out that our good friend Andy had picked him up, but of course, out in the rain and wind, my imagination did its worst.  

The relief of hitting the coast road was tempered by the realisation i was struggling to breathe. Was it the cold? Was it anxiousness over Huw? Either way by the time i passed Kylesku i was having to stop and force air in, my breath whistling and wheezing. I took the coast road slow, the tailwind helping, but having to stop on the climbs to suck in air. I started coughing uncontrollably, trying to drink water to calm things down. Eventually i remembered i had antihistamines with me and took one. By the time i arrived at Drumbeg i was much better. I sent Huw a message before stocking up on warm samosas and hummus rolls.  

Stephen and his wife who run the shop are an absolute delight. They fussed around us riders, offering us hot water bottles as we packed our food. I eventually accepted it as i tried (and failed) to change my brake pads. My hands were too cold and i figured there were no big descents for a while. Eventually id change them over a mug of tea in Ullapool. With no reply from Huw, i carried on to Lochinver. By the time i arrived at the Spar, my breathing issue was back and i was also suffering from heartburn, probably from existing mainly on coke, having struggled to eat so far. According to my research, the pie shop should have been open, but a big Closed sign hung in the door. As i was attempting to stuff a giant chocolate muffin in my mouth, Phil rolled up. He was carrying a bag that look like it might well contain pie! I could have hugged him as he informed it was indeed pie, the new set up hidden from the road. Phil told me he was aiming for dinner at Oykel Bridge, followed by a night in a cow shed. He gave me directions to it that i only half listened to, not dreaming id make it that far tonight.  

Burning my mouth on a flaming hot, delicious pie, i started the ride into Suileg Bothy. Another infamous bit of trail, it gradually fades out and leaves you with around a 4 hour push. Id thought at least i would watch the light change on suilven, the North Wests most iconic mountain, but it turns out from this angle its nothing special. Riding became pushing, some easy, some slow and frustrating. At the high point the bedrock was a really cool conglomerate, and made me pause to think about the complicated geology of Scotland. Soon after the rock would become sharp, slippery quartzite, hard under foot and tyre. Id thought the push was nearly over as I got a view of houses and the road. As the hill in front fell away, it became clear there was a long way yet, navigating around Cam Loch. I felt slow, my lungs still felt funny, and it looked like id be heading back into the rain as I went East. The lochside had several beautiful grassy meadows to pitch up in, and i imagined stopping to watch the sunset.  

I eventually hit the road and decided to use the tailwind to get a shimmy on. I miiight make the hotel in time for a brew. The light gradually faded as i rode east, the clouds darker and the air temperature dropped with every mile. A few km from Oykel bridge, lights on, i was joined by a barn owl. Like a beautiful white ghost, it flitted alongside, presumably hunting in my lights. It left me shortly before the hotel, where i had just missed out on that tea. The rain was back, my waterproofs soaking again. I tried to remember where the cow shed was, but didn’t want to waste time looking, or risk waking up any resident riders. I found myself a miserable spot of wet grass, under wet trees, in a sodden dark forest.  

Tuesday- Oykel Bride to Tollie Path. Around 70 miles. 

Today was going to be hard. Id barley slept, cold from my limp quilt, damp from the slow moisture ingress of the last few nights. Every time I lay flat, a coughing outbreak would force me upright. More antihistamines. How many is too many? I gladly got up around 4, happy to be leaving this dismal campsite. The sky was clearing as i left the forest and an hour later i was watching a Black Grouse Lek, four males leaping and shouting at each other. Lunging with legs outstretched and plumage fluffed. I watched for an incredible 15 minutes before they noticed their voyeur and took off, cackling to each other. Another absolute gem of a moment id never have experienced without the event.  

I passed my boss a short while later, he was camping out with a group on a bike exped. Unfortunately he was still asleep, no chance of a tea then! Ullapool was a welcome sight, i arrived before the croissants were out of the oven at Tesco. Popping to the loo whilst i waited, i discovered, to my absolute disgust, that my body was reminding me im female. Id started my period a week before the HT550 start, delighted it would be out the way for the event. It seemed however, my body, in protest to the long hours, was fighting my ride. Another bleed was well under way. How that’s even possible im not sure. I felt anger, i felt sabotaged. Why add extra discomfort to make a hard thing even tougher? I felt gross enough at three days in, i did not need any addition yucks. I tidied up as best i could and went to rummage in the feminine hygiene aisle. I’ve been a moon cup user since i was about 14. It struck me i have no idea what products were available, nor what might work for me. Lesson learnt, always be prepared. Grabbing the cheapest box of tampons and some hot croissants, i headed back out to my bike.  

A brake pad change with that long awaited tea at the garage, then heading out on the road. Two acquaintances stopped to say hi, again asking about Huw. All id had was in response to my text was “Don’t worry, I’m fine”. Thanks. That made me feel better. Feeling like a bad girlfriend, i told them i had no idea and carried on. In 2019 we had attempted to race the Colorado Trail. Huw had crashed early, and, thinking he had broken his wrist, i happily dropped out to help. I had a tent and he didn’t, it made sense. We had a great week hitchhiking back to Denver, meeting some of the most amazing folk along the way, stopping in beautiful places, and cheering Emma on as she smashed her first ultra. But Huw felt guilty id scratched and he clearly did not want me to do the same again. A whirlwind of emotion hit, worry and sadness that he wasn’t to get the ride he had hoped for. Emotions coupled with the busy road and close passes and i was in a bit of a low point as i turned off at Inverbroom Lodge.  

A crash on a greasy wooden bridge did not help, and as i started up the next climb, i fought to find a good head space. I feel like in ultras, I’m a bit like a spacewomen. Instead of oxygen flowing into my helmet, its positivity. And no negative thoughts are allowed to penetrate my bubble. I focussed on the scenery, the stunning gorge, the improving weather. I stopped to eat and fill my bottle. Another antihistamine. Something smelled sickly sweet, possible the bunches of light yellow Ash flowers. About ten minutes after smelling it, my throat would close and coughing would start again. The yellow mucus pellets were more common and i was worried. My nose was filled with gluey, bloody bogies, i couldn’t breathe, my butt was sore and i was worried about my boyfriend. Eventually i had to laugh. Only a few days ago, i was feeling strong, fit and super healthy. It hadn’t taken much to turn me into a 70yr old chain smoker. Finding the humour in those tough moments helps to see me onwards and with improved mood, even the boggy, pathless terrain didn’t phase me.  

Into Fisherfield, i place i adore, just not with a bike. I had ridden the classic ride through these amazing mountains about 6 years previously. Id never bothered coming back with a bike, but rather chose a packraft and feet for subsequent visits. Ive never understood why people like it so much. The scenery is spectacular, but the fun ride to push ratio is way off. Huge showers were running in from Loch na Sealga and it wasn’t long before the waterproofs wee firmly back on. Phil and Mike passed me as the pushing started, again amazing me with the speed they moved through the rough terrain. They were long gone as I arrived at the river crossing. I was grateful as i stripped off completely, the dark peaty water at belly button height. I crossed over, balancing on my tip toes and hoping i wouldn’t drop my bike. Safely over, i finished yesterdays pie and then went back in for a wash and a cool down.  

I knew the next section would be hard, a steep physical push followed by rideable but technical trail all the way to poolewe. I wasn’t prepared for just how slow i would feel. I had to accept my lungs just weren’t working properly, any deep breath resulted in wheezing and coughing. I couldn’t exert even the tiniest amount. At some points i was simply taking one step, rest, step, rest. The sunset was slow, beautiful and blinding. I was relieved to drop down into the woods and to be able to see again. Unfortunately whatever was causing my hay fever was around in large numbers. By poolewe i simply got off, and began pushing up the road to the Tollie path. I could not breath deeply enough to ride anymore.  

Wednesday- Tollie path to Fort Augustus. Around 113 miles. 

I had allowed myself a generous five hour lie down, as the shop in kinlochewe didnt open till after eight and i didn’t want to be hanging around. Sleep hadn’t been forthcoming, a cold mist had enveloped my tent and the coughing had kept me awake. I was not looking forward to another night like it. The tollie path is another trail id taken my bike on many years back, and not bothered with since. The top is fun, slabby rocks to play on, but it quickly deteriorates into a jumble of ruts and loose rock, before just becoming a stream bed. Cursing Alan for sending us here i pushed as fast as i could, keen to get it over with. Eventually i met the road again and cruised into kinlochewe half an hour before the shop opened. Hopping on the Wifi whilst i waited, i saw Emma was only an hour and a bit back. Delighted, i thought she must be feeling good and decided to wait and see her through. Several teas and croissants later and Emma rolled in. Instead of the strong, happy rider i was expecting, she was wild eyed and slightly confused. It turned out due to damp kit, she had chosen to keep moving rather then sleep and had pulled an all nighter. We swopped stories and compared sore bums before Emma told me to get on with it.  

Having eaten a lot whilst waiting, i found myself feeling significantly better. The road to Torridon went fast and soon i was flying down the Achneshellach descent. I kept having to remind myself i was tired and my decision making would be slow, but it felt amazing playing on the rocky slabs and techy corners. I met Emmas dad along the trail, he was so proud of her it made me tear up . He was worried about her lack of sleep, but i assured him she was plenty stubborn and would be fine. It warmed up as i started the climb from attadale to dornie and i paused for a quick wash in a stream. This was another new section for me, and my initial optimism over how fast it would be, was soon dampened when i hit the grassy singletrack of misery in Glen Ling. A few more km of pushing before finally hitting the road. Out of Dornie is an amazing switchback climb, it shoots you up above Loch Duich. I felt like i was in the alps, warm sunlight, steep tarmac and good views. My breathing was finally getting easier and i started to enjoy the ride again.  

The wind shot me up glen Licht, towards the steep climb into glen Affric. I was worried about this section, but looking forward to it, another new place. Steep wet cobble stones and dramatic waterfalls accompanied the hard push up into the hills. Mist again shrouded the mountains and it felt like it might pour at any minute. The chimney was smoking at camban bothy as i passed and i soon reached Altbeaithe hostel. From here the track is formed of mostly river rocks, and is harsh on hands and bum. I was relieved to reach the better track along Loch Affric. The section from here to Tomich passed slowly, lots of fire roads weaving through commercial plantation. I arrived at Tomich in time to put my lights on and start the next big climb up the powerline track. I had ridden this in the winter, into a gale force headwind. It had felt intimidating and i was a bit nervous. Tonight it was calm and i was surprised how easy it felt. The summit was in drizzly mist, so i pulled my jacket back on for the descent. One more climb before Fort Augustus.  

The old military road is is overgrown and slippery. Numerous stream crossing line the route. I was glad id been over before, because its a much slower frustrating route than it looks on the map. The descent starts on fast double track, before you peel off onto a horrible bit of singletrack into F.A. Having missed the turning onto the singletrack over winter, i rode slowly till i found it. As wet and unpleasant as the last time i rode it, it soon spits you out on the edge of the village.  

Thursday- Fort Augustus to Tyndrum, around 75 miles. 

I love being awake when the world is sleeping. Arriving into Fort Augustus at 3 am, the streets empty of the normal tourist chaos, felt special. I passed a group of riders tucked up on the great glen, the air was much colder down here and i was glad i was not going to stop. This was one of my least favourite parts of the route, flat, dull and longer than you expect. Around dawn my feet, which had gradually been getting more painful, started to become unbearable. I stopped to take my shoes off and massage then. Horrible, white, swollen stumps greeted me. I took off my liner socks to give a bit more room in the shoes, and the pain relief was wonderful. Arriving in fort william around 7, desperate for food, i headed to the garage closest to the route. Id run out of food apart from shortbread, so the last 6 hours id been trying to eat the dry sweet biscuits and struggling. Reluctantly the lady in the garage served me, asking if the hot drinks machine had any tea, she told me i had to buy an entire bag of 80 bags if i wanted a brew. That’d be a no then! downing yet more coke and an egg sandwich, i felt ready for the next undulating section to Kinlochleven.  

10am was a bad time to be dropping into Larig Mor. The west highland way, busiest section of the entire route was heaving with walkers. Id been riding solidly for over 24hrs, my feet and butt were agony, my hands were swelling up, i was dressed for the winter conditions we had started in, now it was sunny and mid teens. I was as uncomfortable as id ever been, yet feeling proud of my ride and strong. And those walkers, well, large groups of laddy men out for a hike, they decided to make comments about my appearance, my lack of a bra (despite everything being tucked away under a T shirt and insulated gilet), the fact i was a women alone, the fact i had a bike and clearly needed a man to help me with it. I think if you ever wonder why women don’t want to do things alone, follow a lady biker on the westie way on a busy weekend. You will understand why so many of us are tired and fed up. All my good mood dissolved as i heard “all right love, you need a man to help push that” “where’s your boyfriend, left you behind has he?” “Ill be your knight in shining armour” (yes, really). I am honestly so fed up of male “banter” and especially so when I’m in the hills, trying to mind my own business and do what i love. Please tell your mates to shut the F up if they think they are being funny. Its not, it makes us feel self conscious and vulnerable, and can ruin a brilliant day out. If i ever ride the HT550 again, i will be timing my ride to finish in the dark. 

By the time I was over the Devils Staircase i was raging. Unfortunately for El, Liam and Huw, who were out to see riders through, all my internal exasperation flowed out and i subjected them to a massive man rant. I’m so sorry! Seeing them also burst my little bubble of self containment and suddenly the pain hit me. The next few miles were absolute agony, unable to sit down on my arse, unable to stand on my feet. My knee was screaming at me too and my shifting thumb was so swollen i could barely use it. It was a good moment to realise how powerful the mind is, that id been feeling mostly ok until my positive bubble had burst. Now i wondered how I was going to finish. Any thoughts of flying through the last section past the kings house were gone. “What’s the point of bringing a bike if you can even ride it” Thanks lad, super helpful, think i passed your dad up ahead.. 

Just as my wheels were falling off, Mike and Phil came alongside. We were on the endless, torturous cobbles just passed the ski centre. Attempting to keep up with Phil and make conversation helped me focus again, along to the sneaky new push Alan had added for our entertainment this year. There’s a perfectly ridable road, but no, we need to push up another 100m, for a short and meh descent right back down. In the grand scheme of the race its nothing, but right then, so close to the finish and in my negative space, it really felt like a huge deal. Then the final hurdle on the course, lifting the bike over the stile to cross under the rail bridge and a short push up some single-track. I kid you not, three different men told me i wouldn’t be able to do it, that i should go back to the road and ride tarmac instead. Resisting the urge to shove thier walking poles up somewhere, I slowly pushed up onto the track. From here it was 5 minutes to the finish line.  

The finish. Pic Beccy Waters/ @dotwatcher.cc
  • Beautiful feet. Pic Beccy waters/@dotwatcher.cc
  • My yoyo buddy Phil at the finish. Pic Beccy Waters/@dotwatcher.cc
Scottish Adventures

Fat Tyres and Snowy Summits

  • by Annie le

What makes winter special? Is it the change of a landscape, from its familliar curves and creases? Or is it the challenge, staying comfortable, warm and orientated in a world of white? Or simply the fun of fresh tracks in a newly surfaced playground?

Whatever the reason, I look forward to the first dusting of snow over the mountains, and of heading up into that new world to explore. Scottish winter is a fleeting beast. We may get snow, but it’s often combined with such bad weather that accessing it is hard. Then it can all melt in a day or so. This can repeat from late October all the way till the end of April, and any slight lull, of good snow and calm is a priceless day, to be cherished and utilised fully.

Imagine then, my delight and excitement when some early season snow combined with a slight lull and some free time. Plans were swiftly made, as usual here, with A,B and C options. None of the forecasts agreed on what was actually going to happen, some suggesting bluebird conditions and minus 3, others spke of misty murk, wind and rising temperatures. In the end the murk won, so I ended up on a much shortened version of plan A.

It was a sweaty pedal up the road to the ski station and start of the trail. A temperature inversion meant I had overdressed and had to strip to my baselayer as I ground up past some misty reindeer. Finally, on hitting the trail the fun began, as climbing steadily, mist blowing around in huge veils, I made my way closer to the looming mountains.

Being October break, the trail i had chosen was busier than anticipated. I often try to avoid other hill users, as there seems to be something about the combination of Girl+bike+Solo that outrages a certain type of person so much, that the normal social boundaries of keeping thoughts to themselves get switched off. Over the years I have had numerous tellings off, from the common “thats impossible, you wont be able to do that”, to “Where’s your boyfriend, why isn’t he looking after you?”, and one particualy offended gentleman who told me he was going to call mountain rescue, as I was so clearly incompetent that I was going to need them, and that I should think about what a waste of taxpayer’s money I was. Fortunatly he never made the call, and I did not come close to needing assistance. Whilst it is easy to laugh about these encounters later, at the time they can chip away at your self confidence and suck all the fun out of the day.

However, on this Tuesday only reasonable humans seemed to be around. Maybe it was due to unexpected snowy conditions, or finding their nav skills tested in the clag, but the people I met were really friendly and keen to ask me advice ( Not even my bright pink jacket put them off 😉 ) on snow conditions, crampons and navigation. I’m no expert, but I’m always happy to help and it was nice to be able to chat without being accused of idiocy.

The riding was great as soon as I hit the snow line. Crunchy crisp snow provided a great surface for the huge tires to grip and trundle though. There is an amazing bit of traversing trail, which banks out with snow later in the season but today was just under 5 or 6 inches deep. I followed it along the edge of the mountain with the steep side of the Lairig Grhu just off to my right. My favourite view is from along here, looking across into Lochan Uaine, the dark, turquoise pool that sits under Angel’s Peak. The mists parted for just long enough to give me a glimpse of the cold water and craggy cliffs before closing back up.

All the way to Beinn MacDhui the sun threatened to break through, but every time the clouds fought back, and swallowed up the light. The wind had dropped by now, and the hill was as peacefull as I’ve ever seen it. Voices drifted, but everyone remained hidden from sight in the clouds. At the top I lingered, hoping that the Met Office forecast might have it right, and that the veil might lift. Of course, it only got worse and I headed off on a bearing to take me to my campsite for the night, 400m further down the mountain.

After a bit of faff having to stop and recheck my navigation bearing (it’s pretty hard riding over snow covered boulders while following one) The line of the trail down became clear. The snow had filled in many of the cracks and holes between the big granite rocks, so brakes off and flying into the snowdrifts.

Loch Etchachan was mirror-like, the crags surrounding it reflected perfectly. The sun appeared for a moment and the whole world sparkled. I felt like the luckiest person alive to be able to call this spot my home for the night. A busy place in summer, now in the winter chill, it was mine alone.

I love camping, getting to sit with a cup of hot tea and absorb the land around me. The silence of being alone allows me to tune into the small sounds from every direction. The waterfall on the opposite side of the corrie, or the tiny stream trickling to my right; the stag away up the hill, that ptarmigan grumbling over there. I Watch the light fade from the sky and the change shadow brings. These are things you only get from camping out, that whole immersion in the mountain.

The night passed in stillness. Cold condensation crstallised in the tent and snow gently pattered on the outside. I’d set my alarm for pre-dawn in case of good weather and a big day ahead. Instead, I poked my head out into the swirling snow and settled back for an extra hour’s sleep. A lazy morning of tea drinking and photo-taking followed, enjoying the last solitude before heading down into the busier glen below.

Scottish Adventures

Girls bothy night out

  • by Annie le

Time, its often the hardest thing to find. Fortunately one of my freinds, Emma, is great at organising people, and persistant enough to make things happen. As so often, with plans made way in advance, the weather decided not to play nice for the weekend. So we scaled back our plans, loaded up with as much wood as we could carry and heaved our bikes and bodies up a pretty big hill to find a secluded bothy.

Im not a massive fan of bothys, so often they just feel cold, damp and lonely. However for a very wet november night, in the pouring rain and filled with friends they can be transformed into the most welcoming and homely space around.

Nicky, one of my friends who never lets simple things, like practicalitys, get in the way of her ideas, volunteered to cook for all seven of us. I carried the food (massive bag of vegtables, chickpeas and halloumi) in and she prepared the most delicous feast.

Saturday being Josies birthday, Jenny had carried in an entire, homebaked cake! She even managed without squishing it too much. Josie is Irish and had been hoping for a Guinness cake, but it had all been sold out, so Jenny used a great local ale instead to make a Black Gold cake. Yum!

And then all that was left of the night was warmth and laughter around the fire before a cosy night sleep.

Waking in a bothy, the heat of last night fire long seeped through the stone walls, grey light peering in through the windows is hard. Motivating yourself to get up and get out there in the rain and to put on those wet shoes and finally shut the door behind.

Once we were finally out and riding, despite the headwind and persistant rain it was fine. Bikes are always good, and bikes with friends even better!

Scottish Adventures

Of Eagles and Adders

  • by Annie le

A warm winters Cairngorm bikepack

Ive been here before, riding up this long glen into a mighty headwind. That day was almost exactly a year ago, but that is where the similarity’s end. Today the wind is coming from the south, its venturing from hot, exotic countries, the track is dry, fast. The rivers however are high, as the last of the snow in the hills melts before the hairdryer winds and rushes away, on a long journey to the sea. Last year i peddled slowly over two foot of neve and crust, the snow deep and refrozen, wheel ruts from the estate vehicle proving hard work. I crossed big chunks of ice, avalanche debris from a few days before and was glad of deep footsteps to follow over the steep hillside, comforted that some else had been here. The wind although also southerly, was spinning round from the cold north, and brought with it frozen noses and hot aches. The land felt bleak, inhospitable and lifeless.

Today it feels like a warm April spring, looking around there is life crawling out from where its hidden all winter. Caterpillars cross the trail, and i have to make drunken wiggles to avoid them. A few bugs drift in the yellow grass, the light glinting off their wings. The birds swoop about and call to each other, sounding delighted as the low sun warms their feathers. A large solitary frog hops slowly along on his own journey. Riding past the hazel, catkins appearing, and the birch, twigs turning deep purple as they start to bud it feels like everything is on the brink of bursting into life. Summer could be just days away. Yet it is only mid February.

I head through the Gaicks pass in the afternoon light, a bit of ice still clinging to the edge of Loch an Duin. The singletrack is a delight to ride, dry, challenging, cut into the steep hillside, it is beautiful. The remaining ice falls on the far side crash down every so often, emitting a loud booming that reverberates off the steep scree sides. As i head past the old, crumbing lodge over the watershed, the sun is starting to sink and my thoughts turn to camp.

I find a small flat spot, perched high above the river, just below the track. The hills stretch endlessly, brown moor, rolling and falling away like a gentle ocean swell. I sit and drink tea as the light fades, enjoying every colour change as the shadows deepen and gradually immerse the detail in gloom. At around 450m the temperature drops with the light and soon I take to my sleeping bag, to read away the time until bed. A thick, heavy mist encompasses the tent, and soon everything is damp. The moon, about three quarters full, occasionally shines brightly through, casting everything in a beautiful silvery light. Its not so cold that i shiver, but too cold for sleep. I lie, listen and watch the moon track its gentle arch over the tent.

By morning this has turned to solid ice, coating both sides of the outer and to my dismay and amusement, both shoes and socks are firmly frozen, having been saturated during the river crossings of the day before. Ive camped on the wrong side of the glen for the early sun, and so i sit and wait as it creeps slowly closer, rising up towards me, until it eventually hits the tent and brings some much desired warmth to help defrost. I’m only a couple hours ride from where i will meet a friend in Blair Athol early afternoon, so there’s plenty of time for my foot wear to warm, drink many cups of tea and snooze in the now warm sunny tent.

After meeting Iona, we ride up glen tilt, the sun coating everything with its warmth. We can almost smell those mid summer bbqs and sweat in our thin fleeces. With a light tail wind we make good time up the double track, passing endless good camp spots. The single track, sometimes flowing, sometimes awkward, but always enjoyable speeds by. As we start it we cross the beautiful bridge over the falls of tarf, the sign, saying donated by the Rights of Way society, reminds us that we are lucky to have passage through this land. In fact Glen Tilt was involved in one of the first and most historic battles for land access way back in 1847. John Balfour, a botanist from Edinburgh and his students, were denied access to the glen by the Lord Athol and his ghillies. the following skirmish resulted in a court case and eventual recognition of the glen as a right of way. I always give thanks as i pass this spot, access to the land is one of things i value most highly and one of the best things about living in Scotland is our access code.

Looking back into the sinking sun

We reach the headwaters and drop out of the narrow section of the glen as dusk starts to descend. Deciding to push on with the rising winds we eventually pitch up in the lee of one of the remaining walls of Bynack Lodge. Iona has brought along some top class reading material, Geographer magazine, and we go to bed much better educated. The night is wild, even in the shelter of the ruin, wind crashes into the tent, and roars through the old larch trees. Rain pelts the tent with big heavy drops. Another sleepless night, with a midnight trip to tighten the guy lines, at least much warmer than the last.

Up early, we are relieved to find the big ford over the Geldie is passable with only a few face pulls and screaming hot aches. Then we set out for the long journey over the moor. We pass through the new deer fences that Mar estate have put up to protect the new plantings and then out onto the single track. Usually passing along this bog pitted trail late in the day and tired, its a nice surprise to find how ride able and flowy it can be. Iona spots a lone golden eagle about half way along, and we stop to admire its graceful circles high above. In the browns and yellows up here, it is clear that true spring is still a long way off, despite the balmy temperature. The Eidart is running high and plumes of spray rise up and sprinkle us as we cross the narrow bridge, its an impressive sight with the snow melt. Riding the narrow trail down to the broken shelter, i spot an adder in the way, somehow avoiding it by inches, i stop and shout for Iona to slow down. This is only the second of these beautiful snakes Ive ever seen. This one is sluggish, they don’t usually emerge till March, and we were able to have a close look before leaving it in peace.

I love descending off the moor into Glen Feshie, this beautiful glen is one of the few places in Scotland that feels like the glaciers left it recently. The river is turbulent, always changing course and cutting new lines, the result is a big gravel out wash that can make you feel like you are in Canada or Patagonia. This feeling is compounded by the lush vegetation, even in February, every shade of green is here, the deep underwater hue of the Gnarled Scots pine grannies, the bright Junipers and the rich greens of the blaeberry. Every fallen tree is covered in a vibrant array of lichens, moss and tiny new saplings. This, due to a lot of hard work by the estate, is an ecosystem in recovery. Those who don’t see the value and joy in forests, and who believe Scotland is more beautiful for the barren moors, should visit. I cant imagine they would remain unmoved by their time here.


Devils matchsticks looking spectacular

From here it is a short spin, via a few favorite places, back to Aviemore. This was not the weekend id expected, having been hoping for some good winter to play on the hills, but as ever, there’s never anything to be lost by being out, there will always be joy to be found, and unexpected sights to take inspiration into the next week of work.

Scottish Adventures

A (nearly) winter solstice micro adventure.

  • by Annie le

Winter solstice isn’t a particularly significant date for me, but i feel its worth heading out into the dark, if only to remind myself that its not that bad, and that the worst of it has passed. The 21st came and went this year with me unable to make it out. Fortunately both circumstance and weather linked up for a wild night out on the 23rd instead.

Pushing my bike up the mountain in fine drizzle, no sign of the freezing level and i questioned my motives. Why was i pushing up into the clag and impending dark on my own? Was there really some fun to be found up there among the puddles of thawing snow and wet brown moor? An older couple emerged out of the clouds on their way back down too a hot meal, bright lights and warm bed. They clearly questioned my motives too, subtly suggesting they thought i was better off turning back, i might get lost in the mist, that there was no snow pack to pitch a tent on and that my bike would be a cumbersome lump. Its a good thing im used to ignoring advice from strangers.

You see, its a rare event to get a forecast of low winds and the promise of a clear dawn and sunrise, so this was too good an opportunity to turn down. Although with the continuing rain and map and compass nav, i was wondering if it was in fact going to clear and be worth it. Cresting the brow, surrounded by greyness, only clumps of brown grass poking through the damp snow i started searching for a possible camp. The much depleted snow offered little base to pitch on, but after searching out a re entrant, a change in shape on the hillside that had trapped the windblown snow, i found a good patch. Pitching the tent in the gloaming, the temperature dropped and my wet waterproofs started to freeze into a crisp shell. To get the pegs to hold required stamping the snow, and waiting for it to consolidate hard before tensioning the guylines. The next job was filling in all the gaps around the base of the tent to prevent drafts and spin drift blowing through in the night. Eventually i was able to fling in all my kit and get about the serious business of trying to get warm and dry.

  • Tent up just before dark!

The freezing rain continued into the night, coating everything in an icy tomb. The night was wild, long, dark. A few times i stuck my head out to see if it had cleared, but until shortly before dawn, the murk lurked, the full moon peering down through frosted glass.

The following morning as i lay in the still dark tent, the overwhelming pressure of silence. Absolute stillness.

This is the reason to endure a cold night, to open the tent and find yourself alone with the mountain in all its beauty. To welcome in the new day with such a deep peace and happiness, to watch the light grow and slowly, gently illuminate the world.

Frozen
A cold dawn

There is no glamour up here, none is needed as the setting moon is slowly devoured by the light. Shivering to get the stove on for a much needed brew, the only thing to do is sit and watch, absorbing every shape revealed by the changing light. Watch the colours change, the deep purples warming into streaks of gold, too bright to look into as the sun emerges above the horizon. The first ray of sun hitting your frozen cheeks is the biggest joy and its the best tasting tea that warms your insides. For me there is no greater happiness than the freedom of a calm, sunlight mountain, and when its all yours to enjoy..

  • Life is better with sunshine and tea.

In the light it becomes clear the extent of the freezing rain, and it takes a long time to shatter the cold clear frosting to get packed up.

  • ice coating every surface
  • double spokes
  • a solid mag tank!

A bit of defrosting later and Madame Beargrease was ready to roll over the crunchy snow. We made it to the munro summit for a mince pie breakfast and admire the view, looking straight down into a deep, mist filled glen, before bouncing and swooshing our way back into the glen far below and home in time for Christmas eve.

Scottish Adventures

Wild night out

  • by Annie le

The forecast has lied to me today. It was meant to be clear, sunny, one of those rare Scottish bluebird days when anything is possible. Not that id planned on being very ambitious, but id hoped at least for the chance of a winter tan! Instead I find myself being chased down, and inevitably caught by endless snow showers. The gusting wind, at least is pushing me in the right direction. The loch is dark, broody water frozen along the edge, waves preventing ice coating the entire surface.

Id planned on a couple of nights out, two days biking in one of my favorite places to access a fairly remote munro. As it was, packing the bike in a heavy snow shower, i decided to remove my hill kit as it seemed less likely id make it that far with all the extra white stuff.

This looped tree with its icicles caught my eye.

I follow a snowy track, driven a day ago the estate. The compact snow feels amazing under my big tires, smooth and almost silent. The white surface is marred here and there by spots of red. It was obviously a successful stalk, although with the huge number of deer tracks around, its no surprise.

Given the conditions, im unsure of how far I will make it. Im a bit apprehensive of heading too far into the hills in the deteriorating conditions. Im all too aware of the limitations of my bike, and also my body, currently full of cold and not entirely recovered from the Strathpuffer two weeks ago. Its a worry, with all the dry powder being blown around that the tracks fill in and become un rideable. It would be an embarrassing call to work, to say im snowed in up a remote glen..

The desire to reach the Hills, the stark beauty i crave drives me on. There is a spot by the loch that Ive always wanted to camp at, just removed from the hills, but with the looming peaks as an incredible back drop. Eventually the track runs out as I leave one estate and cross the no mans land to the next. The snow, deeper here, hides thick bog and wheel swallowing ruts. My progress slows and I pause at an old bridge, admiring the last blast of sun, before it is swallowed for the day by the snow.

  • I love the shape in the old bridge
  • lichen encrusted, wind scoured wood.

As I approach my longed for camp site, the weather really turns. Snow blasts horizontally, exfoliating my exposed cheeks and flying across the frozen loch surface. This is no place to camp tonight. I cross the narrow bridge, its missing a few more slats since the last time i was here. It hangs from chains, just a foot wide, and swings and creaks ominously as i cross. The river here, ice covered, is over waist deep, not a spot to fall in, alone, in a blizzard. It with relief i leave the icy slats behind and pick up the track again.

  • The frozen loch
  • Bridge over frozen water.

Up ahead, nestled between the hills is an old bothy. It was one of my favorites, unfortunately it has been shut since asbestos was discovered in the roof. It remains unlocked however and although id rather camp, its a comfort knowing it there as darkness curls around me.


Its a lonely and bleak sight, the hills obscured by snow and the fading light casting everything in a blueness, i could be under water. The wind has strengthened and the temperature is plummeting. I make the decision to stay in the bothy. Its not recommended and not what i had planned, but then, the weather wasn’t what i had planned either. As the wind gusts harder through the night im glad of my choice, spin drift is flung hard at the windows and the wind whooshes down the old chimney. I go out for a final wee before bed, and gaze upwards. The sky has cleared to reveal an infinite expanse of stars, dark, free of any pollution. In the lee of the hut I gaze for what feels like an eternity, shooting stars plummet silently and satellites rush on their endless journey. The power of the night, it humbles us, strips us of any pretense of greatness, or human arrogance. We are laid bare under it, vulnerable. A pile of spin drift is flung over the bothy and down my neck, raising me, and i head inside for sleep.

Suddenly im awake. Im convinced there is someone here with me, in this small room. Panicking i sit up and peer round. Nothing. In the cold light drifting through the window, everything is as it was, just the empty wooden platforms, the candlesticks still line the mantle piece and my bags still hanging out of reach of the mice. I was dreaming of an old man, sat on the bench at my feet, offering to share a sandwich. But neither he, nor any demons are with me. I lie back and listen to the sounds, the chap of the door latch in the wind, the woomph as it rushes down the fireplace, the creak of the old roof. Nothing out of place. And yet im convinced there are shadows outside the frosted window and i still feel a strong presence.

In the morning I find deer tracks all around the hut, they must have sought shelter from the storm, and it was likely their presence i felt in the night. The good weather seems to have arrived, and the mountains, hidden the night before stand in all their glory. The sunrises slowly over the horizon, catching the peaks and ridges of the mountains. I stay out and watch and wait, not wanting to miss a second of the changing light. Finally once the sun has hit the bothy, i head inside for breakfast.

The ride out, tracing my route of the day before reveals how tired I am. The drifted snow makes for hard work and i have to stop often to catch my breath. Surrounded by so much beauty though my tiredness does not matter. Everything glistens, sparkles, like a sequin spangled dress.

Theres always a sadness when leaving the hills behind, a kind of grieving, like parting with a loved one. Every moment of freedom I have in them is precious, it never feels like enough time. Never long enough to sit and absorb.

Scottish Adventures

Bikerafting the edge of Scotland

  • by Annie le

Sometimes I get envious looking at friends photos from their homelands: vast countries, with huge tracks of real wilderness and endless mountains to explore. It seems like real adventure is just around the corner for them and makes our small island shrink even more into a man managed country park. In summer just trying to find a bit of peace can be hard let alone a multi day journey. But in July that’s exactly what we managed.

we made a furry friend!

It started as all the best plans do, over lemonade in the quiet corner of a pub. An idea I wrote off as being not gnarly enough, possibly a bit pedestrian. However the seed grew and sprouted, and then Huw decided he fancied it. A chance meeting with Sarah and Thor from Alpacka Raft, and the offer of two beautiful boats meant like it or not, I was now committed. Our plan: to circumnavigate the outer Hebridean islands of North Uist and Benbecula using fatbikes and packrafts.

paddling between skerries

Fast forward to the first morning, on the sea in what should be a very sheltered piece of water; full of skerries, seals and turquoise sand. Instead we are ferry gliding across the wind to hop from eddy to eddy as a force 4 wind races over the water, dark sullen waves beginning to break over our decks. Trying to paddle into the wind is impossible, working flat out, sweat running down my shoulder blades as the rain smashes into my face. After ten minutes I’ve gone two metres. Downwind. Time to give up, we let the wind carry us into the flanks of an island where we quickly jump out and get the boats packed up onto the bikes. With the tide low, there’s a chance we can hop between skerries back to the mainland. Small causeways have been built to allow passage of sheep between the tiny blobs of grazing that speckle the bay here. It is with delight that we can navigate these with only wet feet to the mainland. It wasn’t the start to our trip that we had hoped but at least we had a big reality check on what is possible in these boats.

First class camping

We had fallen asleep under a still, shimmering, deep orange sky, but in true Scottish style, awoke to horizontal rain battering the tent. Packrafts, if you haven’t been lucky enough to come across them yet, are a lightweight inflatable kayak. Whilst their high volume and low draft makes them excellent for navigating shallow waterways, it does mean that they are a plaything to the wind. Stick an extra two feet of bicycle on the front and you have to go with the whim of the wind.

Back on solid land we pedalled a section of tarmac to keep our journey going. Then, once further round we skipped off onto the rain pockmarked sands of the west. This would be another test of the kit: this time the fatbikes’ turn. Whilst we have used them extensively on the snow, sand was an unknown and we hoped their performance would live up to expectations. The first few kilometres we sped along on firm white sands with dark streaks running through. The tidal ripples added interesting corrugations and the sound the huge rubber tyres threw up was immense. Rounding a point and hitting soft, windblown sand slowed progress slightly, but the wheels kept turning and tyres floated over surfaces that would have mired feet.

huge empty spaces
Endless sands
crossing the tidal channels
Transitioning

The Outer Hebrides, especially the Uists, are home to one of the rarest habitats on earth, the Machair. Found only along the western coast of Scotland and Ireland, it is as fragile as it is beautiful. A combination of crushed shell sands, wind, rainfall and human practices turns these barren looking coastlines into huge wildflower meadows during July. Every area of machair will vary slightly to the next depending on how the crofters have grazed or cultivated the land, so the flowers vary from place to place. At its richest around forty different species can be found per square meter and the air around filled with a variety of insects. Our favourite was to become the great yellow bumblebee that bounced from flower to flower in a comical way, more of a blimp than a concord.

Stopping early to enjoy the beautiful buttercup meadow we set up camp and spent the rest of our evening exploring the dunes and beaches between the huge rain showers still sweeping in from the Atlantic. In between we were rewarded with that very intense golden Hebridean light, as though the sun is trying to make the most of its rare appearances.

Are we really in scotland?
All the small things
some pushing through the marram grass

The following day whizzed by in a blaze of empty endless sand. The feeling of remoteness was unexpected on an island so small. Our only company the odd fishing boat bobbing in the still churning seas just off the coast. The local crofters presumably too busy with more important things than beach walks, the tourists too far as the road cuts inland, never suggesting the amazing coast only a miles walk away. Although the Uists are only a fragment of the Scottish coastline, they in turn have their own chain of mini peninsular and islands, separated even at low tide by deep fast tidal drainages.

Although the winds were still strong, the packrafts came into their own, allowing us to stay out on the fringes of the land by crossing these channels rather than heading back inland.
We planned to camp on Kirkibost island but with a big swell and running tide, we decided to wait a while and get a bit of food in the only real pub on north Uist. Here we met local fisherman, who, amused by our kit, warned, of sinking sands and dangerous currents. Never wanting to disregard local knowledge we headed out into the sunset to check for ourselves. With the tide out the channel was down to a hundred meters or so with only a remnant of the earlier swell. Setting sail across, glancing back we caught a glimpse of one of the shadowy men, watching us depart.

another stunning camp

Kirkibost is a small machair island, once connected to the main island, until a storm in the 17 century it has the ruins of a farmstead, but is now uninhabited apart from the cows that graze it seasonally. Camping tucked out of the winds, in the dunes we could look back on the dots of light showing the indoor comforts but neither of us would swap our wildflower bed for theirs. Here the machair was less yellow, big white daisies reared up above, sheltering tiny purple orchids. We were settling into the rhythms of a trip: ride, paddle, eat, sleep. Relishing every moment of freedom, from the still frequent rain showers to our sand entrenched toes. Waking to a dry tent for once, we were up and away early as there are several large tidal crossing to be done. Although the winds had dropped slightly, we still wanted to catch them at their narrowest, and preferably before the tides began running too strong. A short push through the sharp marram dunes and we were onto the first, over to Baleshare island.

Riding the 7km beach along the island, most notable for not achieving a single contour line on an OS 1:50000 map, with only the gentle hum of our tires and the endless crash of the atlantic surf for company. The sands stretched away for what seemed like forever, the tide lines marked with giant kelps and the odd jewel of jellyfish. The endless horizon to our right and sands infront made this small island a giant universe with us as its only inhabitants. All too soon we reach the next tidal crossing, the packrafts allowing us to jump straight over to Benbecula island without having to make a big detour over the chain of causeways that link the land. A few more sandy kilometres and we descended into the local supermarket in Balivanich for pastries and giant reduced price cookies. The excitement of a shop and lots of delicious food countered the joy of having been self suffient, no need of any human trappings for the past few days. Checking the forecast here, signal being a rare commodity on the islands, we realized that we had a two day window of lower winds to do as much of the east coast paddling before the next big frontal system hit.

Looking at a map of Benbecula and North Uist, it is a packrafters paradise, lots of very sheltered broken sea, and where the Minch becomes too scary, a landscape filled with a complex system of lochs that we would use to link us all the way back to Loch Maddy. Following an old track we cut across the middle of Benbecula, sad to leave behind the machair meadows and white sands for the blanket bogs and seaweed of the east.

skerries

In the end the magic low winds never arrived but we enjoyed a day nipping in and out of eddies, sheltered between the islands of Grimsay and Ronay, always followed by the ubiquitous ‘rons’ (the gaelic word for seal). Drifting over the clear water, looking down into the damp world below, filled with beautiful kelps, sparkling fish and clear sands is wonderful. It might not have been adrenaline fuelled fun but worth so much more. Deciding against our more ambitious plan to carry on round the coast, we opted to hop onto the fresh water system where strong winds would be less serious.
The great thing about a boat the weights just a couple of kilos is its very easy to carry. Portages that would be a pain with another craft become fluid parts of the journey. Two short portages later and we made camp under the mighty Eaval, north Uists highest peak at an airy 341m.

One of my favourite things about an OS map, is the names found on them can go back centuries and lead clues to the past, like the Norse name Eaval, possibly dating back as far as 800ad when the Vikings attacked, or translating the Gaelic words, gaelic still being the first language of the islands, can give clues about the landscape. One such word we became acquainted with a little too late.

Delighted to be camped by fresh water for the first time in days, we swiftly set about rinsing the salt crystals from our kit. Then, a tiny jellyfish drifted by in the shallow water. After a short debate about the existence of a freshwater jelly, Huw sampled the water, and quickly spat it out. Here, surrounded by land, in the middle of north Uist, is a saltwater loch. Careful checking of the map later and we discovered a tiny channel marked where the sea flows in. But the name, Loch Obasaraigh, is a give away, Ob, in gaelic meaning a tidal inlet. Not a mistake we will make again.

Loch Obasaraigh
Inflation

Camped in this landscape, we can see no people, yet we are surrounded by the remains of them, and signs that the land, even in this remote corner, is still heavily used by them. Down in the loch stand the remains of two duns, a Neolithic fort built on an artificial island often connected by a rocky causeway. High above on the hill, the land has the signs of old drainage channels and peat cutting, looking closer the ruined foundations of a series of old cottages remain. Often the only giveaway being a mound of rock and a change in vegetation, nettles, honeysuckle and brambles have long outlived their human counterparts.

Our last evening of freedom, as tomorrow we would arrive back in bustling lochmaddy. Climbing Eaval for sunset the views opened up the island, revealing all the waterways, hundreds of sparkling lochs and channels. In the low light the land glittered like a giant chanderlier. As darkness lowered we made our way back down the steep hill, watched by the rugged sheep and deer.

The view from Eaval

Our final day started with some short fresh water paddling where, too lazy to dismantle the boats we dumped them wheels still in place, on our bows and paddled awkwardly. A short portage took us to our final sea passage, crossing loch Euphort. Timing it with the tides we drifted inland, peace interrupted by sparing seals before crossing back past a local lady gathering whelks to sell and onto the next chain of inland lochs that would transport us back to town. Finally with a tail wind, we finished our final portage, put on next to some beautiful lily pads decorated by metallic damsels, got sails up and were away. Eventually bumping into the road, we packed up the boats for the final time and peddled the old road back to Loch Maddy. Passing stacks of drying peat we were left to consider what an amazing journey we had been on, in a very small part of a very small country, but feeling as though we had been to the other end of the world.

Waiting for the ferry home
Scottish Adventures

Strathpuffer 2019

  • by Annie le

It took me a long time to adjust to moving to the uk from south africa, but one trait of Britishness that ive come to really love, is the joy of a good old ridiculous sufferfest. Take the Strathpuffer, a 24 hour mountain bike race, but, not content with that being hard enough, they decided to hold it in January, arguably one of the worst weather months in the uk and boasting around 17 hours of dark. This, ladies and gentlemen, is an event that sells out within hours.

The waiting game, shortly followed by the parking game

This year I only put myself on the waiting list at the end of October, having been injured. Id reconciled myself to the fact i wasn’t going to get an entry when, with two weeks to go, i got offered a place! A lot of last minute bike fettling and baking saw me head up the road to join the long cold queue to gain the all important parking pass to allow entry to the site.

Another great British tradition that fits perfectly with the Strathpuffer is weather forecast watching. Everyone has their favorite forecast and the debate in the build up to the event is often highly entertaining. Will it be icy, will it snow, should i bring ice spikers, will i need every set of water proofs i own and several sets of spare brake pads? In the end the weather has a funny way of changing at the last minute and catching everyone off guard. This year was no exception with snowfall two days before and temperatures dropping way below forecast (at least my favorite forecast 😉 )

Riding hard, like my “team” name suggests 😉

Unsupported soloing comes with all the challenges of self sufficiency. In previous years the challenge has been keeping drive trains and brakes working. This year, for me it was staying hydrated. A few cold nights in the van and most of my water was well on its way to freezing. Filling my flasks before the start and thinking I was being really clever by adding isotonic energy drink to my bottles in the hopes it wouldn’t freeze, I wasn’t too worried. At 4am id used all my flask water and everything else was frozen solid. Working out id peed twice in the last 30hours, I was sat on the step of my van chipping ice from my jetboil to try and melt some water to drink. Possibly not the most efficient way to race!

The cold had a big impact in other ways, food that seemed so tasty and had been selected as easy to eat with a high moisture content froze. Try eating solid boiled potatoes at two in the morning. My rice balls followed suit and even pizza developed a certain crunch.

my Revelate mag tank filled with bite sized tasties.

The course in a 24 develops and changes as hundreds of tires fly over the same lines. Each lap is different and this year about 70% of the course required a lot of concentration just to stay rubberside down, never mind go fast. Thing improved after those with ice spikers put them on as this seemed to break up the ice and rough things up. The course improved further after the usual night time exodus, only the most determined riders sitting turning circles through the darkness. The night was stunning, it sparkled, crisp, glittering, crunchy under the moon. The riding became fluid and sublime, dont touch your brakes and it will be fine.

When the night looks like this, why wouldn’t you be riding?

The dawn lap arrived with a flurry of emotions. To survive the night, to have made it through, intact, mentally and physically is one of the best feelings. Now you know you will finish, you have seen it through. You have fought the demons and won. That positivity marred as the beautiful peace and anonymity of the dark is shattered as the course wakes up, and those who have slept through, arrive for a few aggressive final laps. It often these last hours where i find the overtaking deteriorates and the riding becomes scary. Bars clipped, tempers fray, the mud becomes polished as folk start skidding about everywhere. This year the rain on ice added a spiciness that, 22 hours in, we could have all done without. Testing to the end.

This was my third solo, my first truly unsupported. However between friends cheering me on as they sped past and the wonderful, amazing, incredible marshals it never felt lonely or got too tough out there. Thank you to everyone who offered support, who had a chat on their way past or just past nicely. And well done to all those solos who survived the night with me.

podium girls

Results are here . One day i will make top 10, this year i was happy with a chilled ride to second place female and 19th solo overall.

The best post race dinner!

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