Sometimes season slide in gently, gradually, almost unnoticeable,
until one day you realise it’s not winter or spring anymore. Not this year. This
year the change from summer to autumn has felt sudden, abrupt. Sunny and dry to
cool and wet just like that.
Sunshine & cool winds - autumn!
Having felt puzzlingly chilly at home, the thin shirts of
summer suddenly inadequate, I pulled out a long-sleeved base layer, a garment I
hadn’t worn for many months, for a mid-September overnight trip. A warmer top
over it too. Summer had gone. Just like that.
View over Rothiemurchus Forest to Creag an Leth-choin and the Lairig Ghru
The forecast was for showery weather with strong winds high
up, so I didn’t plan on a mountain camp. I didn’t plan on spending much time on
the tops either. A forest camp sounded a good idea, especially as the first
autumn colours were starting to appear, so one afternoon I ambled through the Rothiemurchus woods past Loch an Eilein and into the Inshriach Nature Reserve. Here I found a
pleasant camp site in a small grassy meadow surrounded big by juniper bushes.
Not far away bright red leaves shone startlingly amidst dark green pines. Wild
and remote. Well, it was the first, and felt the second.
Autumn colour in the forest
Gusts of wind swept the meadow, interspersed with stillness
that brought out the midges. Not that far into autumn yet! Dawn came with
sunshine and a dew-soaked tent. Any hope it would dry before I packed up was
ended with a shower just as I was stuffing my sleeping bag away.
Sunshine in the trees
The sun soon returned and shone for most of the steep climb up
through the magnificent forest onto the open hillside on a rough, narrow path
that for some reason doesn’t appear on some maps. Blasts of wind prevented it being
hot though. Above the trees I could see dark clouds massing to the south. I didn’t
think the sunshine would last long.
The Argyll Stone
It didn’t. By the time I reached the rock tor known as the
Argyll Stone (Clach Mhic Cailein) the sky was grey and the wind distinctly
chilly. This contorted, eroded block of granite is said to be named for an Earl
of Argyll who paused here in 1594 while fleeing after defeat at the Battle of
Glenlivet. I paused here too, sheltering from the now fierce wind while I had a
snack.
Cairn Lochan in the clouds
My high point of the day, 848-metre Creag Dhubh, was only a
short stroll away. This is the northernmost summit on the wonderful long ridge
that runs south-north from Carn Ban Mor above Gleann Einich. Creag Dhubh is an undistinguished
flat-topped hill without even a cairn. In fact it’s hard to work out which is
the actual highest point, not that it matters. The views, however, are extensive and superb,
especially to Braeriac, Cairn Lochan and Cairn Gorm, though today they were shrouded in
swirling clouds. Rain was coming. I could see squalls all around.
Loch an Eilein
None reached me though as I continued on down the broad
north ridge of the hill, the wind behind me. Far below Loch an Eilein was blue
in the green forest, it’s unusual shape clear from up here. In the other
direction I could just see the silver foot of Loch Einich below dramatic dark
clouds.
Loch Einich
Dropping down rough slopes I reached the Gleann Einich track
and followed it into Rothiemurchus Forest. A large bird lumbered through the
trees to perch on a high branch, a capercaillie. Always wonderful to see one. I
passed a shockingly shrunken Lochan Deo. I’d never seen the water so low
before. The hot dry summer may be over but it’ll take time and much rain before
its effects vanish. (The rain is here though, I’m writing this at the end of
the wettest day for many months, a relief for us as our water supply is only just
holding out).
The latest issue of TGO features the Gear of the Year Awards, the items the team of testers have felt the best in respective categories over the last twelve months. This year we've added Greener Choice Winner and Best Value Winner categories, to encourage sustainability and affordability, to the usual Winner and Highly Commended categories.
As well as compiling the Awards I've also written about interesting new gear that I saw at the Outdoor Trade Show back in June. Some of this might well be in the Awards next year.
The theme of this issue is 'tales from thin places ..... places with porous boundaries, portals to the unseen'. To that end Hanna Lindon explores upland legends from around Britain and Emily Zobel Marshall knits past, present and legend together on an adventure over the Welsh 3000s.
On the Isle of Skye David Lintern and friends have an adventure on the Cuillin Ridge, noting that 'any time on the ridge is threshold-altering'.
In the far north of Sweden Mark Waring describes a different though equally challenging adventure as he and his companions packraft the great Pitealven river.
The opening big picture by James Roddie shows a dramatic Glen Affric in autumn with golden trees and snow-capped mountains.
In shorter pieces Nadia Shaikh describes the ptarmigan, one of my favourite birds. I review Ian Crofton's excellent book Upland: A Journey through Time and the Hills. Andrew Wang writes about diversity, access to the outdoors, and nature connection. Jim Perrin's Mountain Portrait looks at the Herefordshire Beacon and the Malvern Hills. Trail of the Month is Glyndwr's Way in Mid-Wales, described by Francesca Donovan. In her advice column, Uphill Struggles, Juls Stodel considers digestion and gut health.
Wild Walks has a bothies theme. In the NW Highlands Norman Hadley has a bothy stay while climbing Maol Chean-Dearg and An Ruadh-Stac and James Roddie does the same while visiting Bidein a' Choire Sheasgaich and Lurg Mhor. In Northumberland Vivienne Crow walks the Pennine Way over Ravens Knowe and enjoys a night in Spithope bothy. Ian Battersby does the same at Warnscale Head Bothy on a walk over the Buttermere Fells in the Lake District and at Greenhaw Hut in the Yorkshire Dales on a trip to Aysgarth Falls. In Wales Andrew Galloway goes to Cae Amos bothy in Eryri/Snowdonia and Roger Butler climbs Drygarn Fawr and stays at Moel Prysgau bothy in Mid Wales.
Second in my series of videos on tents and shelters that I like and use regularly. This time it's the Mountain Laurel Designs Trailstar, which I last used on a trip last month.
Before the predicted ‘changeable’ weather arrived with high
winds and rain, ending weeks of mostly windless dryness and heat I decided on a
high camp on the slopes of Bynack More, a stony Munro lying across the deep
trench of Strath Nethy from Cairn Gorm.
Clouds
The walk-in through wooded Ryvoan Pass and round the tip of
Cairn Gorm’s long north ridge to the footbridge over the River Nethy was in the
now familiar hot, humid, sticky conditions. The forest was lovely though, as it
always is. An intermittent breeze blowing down Strath Nethy encouraged me to
hope there would a more constant one higher up to keep off the midges. I needn’t
have been concerned! The sky was cloudier than I’d expected and the conflicting
masses and layers suggested turmoil and the change to come.
Bynack More. The path I took can just be seen right of centre.
My pace slowed as I headed up the Lairig an Laoigh path to
the featureless plateau that makes up the northern end of Bynack More. Leaving
that path for the well-trodden one that runs directly up the north ridge to the
summit I noticed a dark line cutting across the western slopes of the hill into
Coire Dubh between Bynack More and its subsidiary Top, Bynack Beg. It looked
very like a path. I must have seen this on my many previous ascents but it had never
really attracted my attention. This time it did and I decided to go and have a
look.
The path into Coire Dubh with the main route in the background.
The line didn’t quite join the main ascent route but was visible
not far away. Once I reached it I found a clear narrow path that curved round
the hillside into the upper corrie. Here it faded away on the gentler terrain,
which looked like it would be boggy in wet weather. There was no difficulty in
continuing up the slopes to the col between the two Bynacks though. I thought
it a pleasant route and a nice alternative to the standard ascent.
Rather than continue the short distance to the summit of
Bynack More I contoured south to the headwaters of the Allt a’ Choire Dheirg
where I planned on camping. If there was water, that is. The ground was parched,
the burn in Coire Dubh had been dry. If there was no water I might have to descend
to find some.
I was delighted to see the burn was flowing and I soon found
a flattish spot not far away for the tent. The clouds were thicker and lower
now, shrouding Cairn Gorm, so I decided to leave the summit of Bynack More for
the dawn, when it was forecast to be clear. Settling into the tent I soon had
the stove on. A gusty wind kept off any midges.
A colourful dusk
The clouds began to break up at dusk, making for a colourful
sunset that had me leaving the tent to enjoy it fully. The wind was stronger
now and the air chilly.
A beautiful morning. You can't see the wind!
Overnight the wind continued to increase, big gusts waking
me at times. By dawn they were powerful enough to make walking into them hard
work. I decided to forego Bynack More’s summit and head for Bynack Beg with the
wind at my back and then descend. The sky was blue and the early sunshine
beautiful though and I was glad to be here.
Cairn Gorm from Bynack Beg
On Bynack Beg I sheltered behind the summit rocks in order
to hold the camera steady. The wind was even stronger here. The way was down
now though, on the loose gravel path on the steep north-east ridge and into
Strath Nethy.
Distant reindeer
Enlargement from the photo above
Distant movement on the horizon caught my attention. A line
of walkers heading for Bynack More? Something didn’t look right for that. I looked
through the telephoto end of the zoom lens on my camera. It was the Cairngorm
reindeer herd heading purposefully somewhere.
The steep descent into Strath Nethy
As I dropped into Strath Nethy the wind only lessened slightly.
I felt it was chasing me down. It continued doing so all along the strath and
back through Ryvoan Pass and was still buffeting me when I was back in Aviemore
for a late lunch. It had been a good trip but I was glad I’d come down early.
“A pointless and distant top -Stob Lochan nan Cnapan (Tom
Dubh)”
Irvine ButterfieldThe High Mountains of Britain and
Ireland
When Irvine Butterfield wrote his excellent book in the 1980s 918-metre Tom Dubh was listed as a
subsidiary Top of Braeriach in Munro’s Tables. A glance at the map shows that
this doesn’t make much sense as Tom Dubh is some 6 kilometres from Braeriach’s
summit but just two kilometres from Monadh Mor. The latter is now, sensibly,
given as its parent Munro. To include it in a walk over Braeriach and its other Tops would mean a long diversion and is probably the reason for Butterfield's comment. It can easily be included in an ascent of Monadh Mor from Glen Feshie.
Recently I went this way and had a delightful camp on Tom Dubh, which
Butterfield also describes as “the most meaningless 3000 ft ‘top’ in all
Britain”, sitting outside my tent in the sunshine looking at the extensive
views. It’s a gentle, innocuous hill situated far out on the Moine Mhor
(Great Moss), that huge high-level boggy plateau between Glen Feshie and the higher
Braeriach – Cairn Toul hills. Irvine Butterfield wasn’t impressed with the
Moine Mhor either – “the ultimate in desolate wilderness, a landscape so
featureless that it almost defies man’s ability to use map and compass” and “perhaps
the most psychologically intimidating walk in Britain”. I think he had a rough day here!
Remembering Butterfield’s words as I sat on Tom Dubh I briefly
considered whether hills can have a point or meaning. They can’t, of course.
They just are. We ascribe those attributes. They are not innate. I guess to some
peak baggers Tom Dubh is irritating due to the effort needed to reach it but
that’s nothing to do with the hill itself.
Loch nan Cnapan
The name of this inoffensive little hill means dark or black
(dubh) knoll or hillock (tom). It’s not particularly darker than other bumps up
here though but knoll is appropriate. With the other name, Stob Lochan nan
Cnapan, it’s the second half that makes sense as the hill rises just to the south
of the loch. Stob is puzzling though as it means a stick or post and anything
less like a post than wide, flat-topped, easy-angled Tom Dubh is hard to imagine.
Tom Lochan nan Cnapan would make most sense.
Why such a minor hill has two names also seems strange.
Neither has been around very long in fact and if it wasn’t for Sir Hugh Munro
compiling his list it may have remained a nameless bump on the Moine Mhor. In
the original 1891 Tables it’s just called Top above Lochan nan Cnapan. It becomes
Stob Lochan nan Cnapan in the 1921 revision and then Tom Dubh sixty years later
in 1981. All this time it was listed as a Top of Braeriach, only being
transferred to Monadh Mor in 1997. That’s quite a history for such an inconspicuous
hill! (Information from Robin N. Campbell’s invaluable The Munroist’s
Companion).
View across the Moine Mhor to Sgor Gaoith
I find the Moine Mhor and its hills fascinating and beautiful.
I’ve camped on it many times in summer and winter. I’ve crossed it in mist,
snow, and rain. It’s vast complex tangle of little stony ridges, mossy hollows,
dark pools, peat bogs, and burns running in every direction, rimmed by higher hills
is a wonderland of wild nature. In poor visibility navigation can be
challenging, especially as walking in anything resembling a straight line is
difficult once away from the bulldozed roads that mar the western side.
The welcome spring at the top of the climb from Glen Feshie
On this latest trip there were no problems with
route-finding. The risks lay in sunburn and dehydration. I toiled up from Glen
Feshie on a hot humid August day, thankful to stop for water where the path
crosses the burn running out of Coire Brocair and then much higher up at the
bright bubbling spring that is one of the headwaters of the Allt Fhearnagan. On
some trips I pass these by. This time I drank deeply from both.
A light breeze provided a little relief from the sweltering
heat as I crossed the Moine Mhor to Loch nan Cnapan. After weeks of little rain
the ground was parched. Keeping my feet dry up here was an unusual experience,
especially in trail shoes. The moor was a wash of golden brown in the sunshine.
Close to there were flowers, yellow tormentil, patches of purple heather, the
spiky lilac blue devil’s bit scabious in drier places, yellow buttercups by the
burns, orange bog asphodel in still damp hollows.
View to Sgor Gaoith from the camp above Loch nan Cnapan
As Loch nan Cnapan came into view the breeze dropped.
Pausing to gaze down at the blue water in its shallow bowl I felt the brush of
the first midges. I searched round for a rise on which to camp in the hope the
breeze might recur. I found a rather rough grassy spot on a bump with a light
breeze and a good view of pointed Sgor Gaoith. I pitched my shelter and went
down to the loch for water. Back at camp the breeze had faded away and I soon
had a mosquito coil burning in the doorway while I made supper. Then I zipped
myself into the insect netting inner tent for the night.
The heat builds at the camp above Loch nan Cnapan
Dawn came with condensation and more midges. The night had
been clear. My shelter was soaked inside and out. Soon, though, the sun was
shining strongly and the temperature soaring, driving away the midges and
drying the nylon. The heat was already hammering down. My plan had been to go
up Braeriach and Cairn Toul and then camp below the latter. But the thought of
sweating up the long slopes to the summits with a full pack under the blazing
sun didn’t seem appealing. I could have left the camp and just gone with a day
load but the site had proved damper, bumpier and midgier than I’d hoped so I
did want to move it.
Just a kilometre away rose the gentle swell of Tom Dubh. It
would probably be drier up there and more likely to catch any breeze. I could then climb Monadh Mor, a hill I hadn’t
been on for many years. That seemed a much easier option than Braeriach with less
ascent and less distance. So to Tom Dubh and Monadh Mor I would go
Camp on Tom Dubh
First I hauled my gear out onto the grass for packing. It’s
always nice not have to do this inside a small tent. Then I rounded Loch nan
Cnapan, ambled up Tom Dubh, and set up camp again, this time on a dry grassy
site that caught a breeze from the south. It was further to water but I would
need to go that way to Monadh Mor and could fill my containers on the way back.
After a leisurely lunch in the sunshine I packed a few items
and set off for Monadh Mor. Having planned on carrying a full pack each day I’d
brought a shelter that pitched with trekking poles. Now I had to do without
them, which was interesting on rough ground. Still, I thought, it’s useful to
know I can still manage without them.
I got wet feet fording the Allt Luineag, which was deeper
than I expected given the lack of rain, but in this heat that didn’t matter and
my shoes soon dried on the slopes of Monadh Mor, Looking back I could see a
small green tent pitched beside the river, the only other camp I saw. It was
probably less than half a kilometre from my tent but out of sight.
View down Glen Geusachan from Monadh Mor
Monadh Mor – big hill – has an almost three-kilometre-long
wide and stony summit ridge that gives excellent views. The best, I think, are
a little east of the summit cairn where steeper slopes descend into upper Glen
Geusachan. Either side of this wide glen lie the steep rocky slopes of Bod an Deamhain
and Beinn Bhrotain while beyond the foot of the glen is the lower Lairig Ghru
with Sgurr a’Mhaim rising above it.
Beinn Bhrotain from Monadh Mor
A party of three passed me as I approached the summit cairn
then as I sat having a snack two dogs rushed up. In the distance I could see
their owner slowly approaching. Having established I was friendly one of the
dogs dropped a stone at my feet and crouched down, looking hopeful. I dutifully
through the stone. Both dogs raced after it. We played this game for some time
until their owner finished his sandwich and decided it was time to move on.
Cairn Toul from Tom Dubh
They were returning to Deeside and so still had a long walk
ahead of them. I had no need to hurry, being only an hour or so from camp. I
took my time wandering back down. Back on Tom Dubh I ambled about the flat
summit admiring the views. It is, I decided, a lovely hill. I was camped on the
south side of the hill overlooking the long glen of the River Eidart, a fine
remote place itself. A welcome breeze was blowing up from the depths The low
evening sun lit up Cairn Toul. The sense of peace and silence was overwhelming.
Sun & heat
Once during the night I woke to see stars. There was
condensation again at daybreak but not as much. The sun hit sooner here than at
my first camp and the tent was unbearably hot by 7 a.m. I had breakfast
outside, not something it’s often possible to do up here, at least not
comfortably. A gentle breeze kept off the midges. I was happy to just sit here
in the sunshine and absorb the beauty and wildness but eventually I did pack up
and wander back across the Moine Mhor, fill up my water bottles at the spring,
and descend the long stony track in the furnace of Glen Feshie.
Earlier in the year I wrote a post about the Hilleberg Akto as this little tent is thirty this year. That piece had stories and pictures from my many years of using it. Now I've made a little video showing how I pitch it and what I like about it.
Sunday Afternoon Ultra Adventure Hat & Vallon Daytripper sunglasses
Summer's not over. August may have started cool and windy here in the Highlands but hot weather is forecast. There's a heat warning for much of England with temperatures forecast to climb above 30C. Here in the Cairngorms it's meant to be the lower 20s Celsius, which is quite hot enough for me.
Ombraz Refugio sunglasses & Columbia Skien Valley Hooded Jacket
This year I've been trying out various items designed for sun and insect protection and comparing them with my favourites. Today I gathered them together and made a little YouTube video.
The photos with this piece show some of the items I discuss in the video. They were all taken this year except for the Midge Specs one which is from last year.
Tentree Juniper Altitude Hat & Vallon Daytripper sunglasses
Storm Loris blasted through yesterday with record-high wind speeds for the time of year. Storms in August are not unusual but they're normally not like this severe.
While the storm raged I went outside very briefly and shot a few seconds of video with my phone. Rain was lashing down and the trees were thrashing wildly. I certainly wasn't go into the woods or even very near them. Watching the storm from inside seemed wise and I was soon back indoors.
Unlike many people, some not too far away, we didn't lose power and we weren't affected by road and rail closures as we'd no plans to go anywhere, having been following the build-up to the storm for several days. So a combination of luck and planning meant Loris didn't affect us.
In fact the biggest shock was this morning when I woke up. It was unnervingly quiet. No wind in the chimney, no rain rattling the window. Just silence.
In fact it was quite windy. Just normally windy though. It felt safe to venture into the woods so I went out for a walk to see what damage Loris had wrought. It was less than I'd expected. Plenty of twigs and dead branches everywhere of course but not that many fallen trees. Most of the latter were at two corners of the woods vulnerable to winds and where trees had come down in previous storms.
At one of these spots the wind was still fierce and I recorded another little video, again having difficulty holding the phone still.
The weather looks unsettled the next few days but not abnormally stormy. The second half of August looks like it might be fine. I hope so. I have a walk planned.
On a perfect summer's day with sunshine, clear views, and beautiful colours - the landscape glowed - I went to visit the less -well known of the two Huntly's Cave in the area, which lies in a short but rugged ravine. Although not far from home I'd only been there once before, three years ago as described here.
A glorious day
The shallow ravine, the Uaigh Mhor, containing the cave was as awkward to walk up as I remembered - a tangle of juniper bushes, boulders, and heather. The cave is a slot in the boulders facing up the ravine and I went past it without seeing it until I looked back. One of the lords of Huntly may have hidden here in the 1640s though the other, bigger, Huntly's Cave is the more likely location. This cave is small and uncomfortable. You'd have to be desperate to stay here for long though on this hot day it was nice and cool.
Looking out
By the time I was returning home the sky was clouding over. Rain is forecast. It's needed. The ground is still very dry. Then the day after tomorrow Storm Floris arrives and there's a warning of very strong winds.
The September issue of The Great Outdoors is out now. The cover is a superb photo of Sgurr a'Mhaim taken from Sgurr an Lubhair in the Mamores by James Roddie. The opening spread is equally wonderful and encapsulates the the theme of this issue. It shows nine teams of skiers spread over 7km of the Jostedalsbreen glacier in Norway at night using their headlamps to shine a giant morse code SOS signaL In this case it's because the glacier is threatened both by climate change and a gondola. And that's the theme - action to save mountains and nature and to give ourselves hope.
To this end deputy editor Hanna Lindon meets people working for the mountains from the Himalayas to the Lake District and the Cairngorms. In Scotland photographer Richard Cross uses drone photography to show land issues in a way hard to see on the ground. In the Skills section Detective Constable Paul Flint of Derbyshire's Rural Crime Team gives advice on how walkers can help tackle wildlife crime.
The mountains can revive ourselves too, as Andy Wasley found on a walk in the Dolomites in Italy. Also overseas James Roddie spends two weeks in the spectacular High Sierra mountains in California.
In shorter pieces Nadia Shaikh writes about the common but often overlooked Meadow Pipit; Francesca Donovan reviews Paul Besley's The Search - the life of a mountain rescue search dog team; artist, poet and 'Day of Access' founder Alec Finlay asks who belongs in the mountains and how should they enjoy them; Jim Perrin takes a lesser-known scramble on Yr Wyddfa; and Juls Stodel gives advice on taking dogs hiking and camping.
In the Gear pages Steph Wetherall reviews the Therm-A-Rest Questor 0F/-18C sleeping bag; Fiona Russell reviews the Alpkit Ultra 1 tent; Lucy Wallace compares four solo tents; Gemma Palmer tries six backpacking meals; and Kirsty Pallas and James Roddie each review a pair of three-season sleeping bags.
Wild Walks covers seven walks all reachable by public transport. In the NW Highlands Ian Battersby goes by bus to the Five Sisters of Kintail. In the Central Highlands Alex Roddie crosses Geal-Charn, Aonach Beag and Beinn Eidbhinn on a walk between the railway stations at Dalwhinnie and Corrour. It's back to buses again for Stefan Durkacz's Glen Sax Round in the Southern Uplands. In the Lake District buses give access to St Sunday Crag for Vivienne Crow and Wansfell for James Forrest. In Mid Wales Roger Butler takes the train to explore Wernygeufron Hill and Beacon Hill. Finally, Fiona Barltrop takes a ferry to the Isle of Wight to walk on Limerstone Down and Hanover Point.
On July 27 1985 I reached Macks Inn close to the boundary of Yellowstone National Park and completed the first 815 miles of the Continental Divide Trail. It was day 59 on the trail. I posted a piece on the walk here.
On July 27 2010 I camped by Sinclair Creek in the Whitefish Divide region after the first 118 miles of the Pacific Northwest Trail. It was day 8 on the trail.
Stahl Peak. PNT.
At this point both trails were in the Rocky Mountains but the PNT would soon leave them on its journey east to the Pacific Ocean. The CDT of course stays in the Rockies until they fade away in northern New Mexico.
There were mosquitoes! PNT
On the PNT the walking was becoming tougher as I'd left the prepared trails of Glacier National Park behind. It was to become much more difficult, both with the terrain and navigation. On this day I still had trails to follow. It began at a mosquito-infested site where I just slept in the inner mesh tent and finished with thunderstorms and rain. Along the way the scenery was superb and the final section on the Highline Trail wonderful.
There was rain! PNT
On the CDT the walking was already tough, the hardest in fact of the whole walk as there was much bushwhacking and steep rocky slopes and navigation was often just continue south by the easiest way I could find. I wrote in my journal that the ten days I spent in the Beaverhead Mountains were the "toughest walking I've ever done". I did also note that the rewards were "pristine cirques ... no campsites, no trails, no fire rings, no cut trees ... immaculate scenery".
Immaculate scenery. CDT
On the PNT I was half a day's walk from my first rest stop in the little town of Eureka. On the CDT I hadn't had a break for seventeen days when I reached Macks Inn, a small fishing resort. I needed one! In fact I took two.
Ahead the terrain on the CDT would be much easier though as I crossed Yellowstone National Park with its signed maintained trails and backcountry campsites.
Whitefish Divide scenery. PNT
A big difference on the walks was my camera gear. 1985 was still film. I haven't yet scanned many of the thousands of images I took. I must do so! 2010 was digital. The images from that walk posted here are ones that didn't appear in my PNT book. All of those with this piece were taken on July 27.
Fire Lookout on 2205m/7235ft Mount Wam. PNT
I 've never written a book about my CDT hike but there is a long chapter about it in my first book The Great Backpacking Adventure (long out of print). The cover of that book is of my friend Scott Steiner who accompanied me on the first 500 miles at a camp below the Chinese Wall in Montana.
