On September 26, 2016, I was on the fourth day of a walk from Yosemite Valley to Death Valley. This spectacular trip is one of my favourites. I crossed the magnificent High Sierra, climbed Mount Whitney, then crossed Owens Valley to the Inyo and Panamint Mountains where I climbed Telescope Peak before descending to Death Valley itself.
The first part of the trip was very hot and sunny. The pictures here are from the first four days.
I wrote a feature for The Great Outdoors about the trip. You can read it here.
And for those interested I also write a piece about the gear I used which you can find here.
The steep slopes of Clais an Dunain below Grant's Fort
Two years ago an exhibition at our excellent local museum
had a sketch map of Iron Age hill forts in the area, one of which lay hidden in
some woods not far from home so one autumn day I set out to visit it and see if
I could make out any of the hill fort amongst the trees. I wrote about that
trip here.
The hill fort is called Grant’s Fort but I couldn’t find
out why. I know the answer now due to another exhibition at the
Grantown-on-Spey Museum called the Legend of the Highland
Skull. Recently I went to the launch of this fascinating story at the
museum and discovered that an event that might be historical or might not and
which might relate to the skull or might not took place at Grant’s Fort. This
was in the 13th century and explains why this ancient hill fort is called
Grant’s Fort.
There is far more about the story and the skull on the
museum website, including links to a series of excellent podcasts. This is
local history at its best. If you’re in Grantown it’s well worth a visit.
Grant's Fort
Having heard this much more modern story about the hill
fort (compared to the iron age anyway) I decided to visit it again and try and
imagine the events that are said to have taken place there. The tale tells of
how a young Grant man and the daughter of the Chief of the MacGregors fell in
love. But the Grants were not powerful and the MacGregors were. There was no
way the MacGregor Chief would accept his daughter marrying someone so far
beneath him. So the young lovers fled and ended up with some followers at
Grant’s Fort. MacGregor pursued them and the two sides met in the deep ravine
below the fort called Clais an Dunain, a place I know well.
I had come across the story before but in a version that says the
lovers hid in Huntly’s Cave and met the MacGregors there. Grant’s Fort isn’t
mentioned. However the Grantown Museum story has them going from Huntly’s Cave
to Grant’s Fort, which makes sense as the fort, on a ridge with steep slopes
either side would be far easier to defend than a cave in a ravine. That applies
to whichever Huntly’s Cave the story refers to as there are two in the area,
just four kilometres apart. I wrote about them here.
In Clais an Dunain violence was avoided by the Grant man suggesting
that he and MacGregor should join forces and launch an attack on the local Clan
Comyn chieftain. The Comyns were a powerful clan and a victory over them would
be a boost for both the MacGregors and the Grants. Their base was at Freuchie
Castle, which lies between Huntly’s Cave and Clais an Dunain. The Comyns were
defeated and the castle taken over by the Grants and later renamed Castle
Grant.
Wandering amongst the peaceful woods in the Clais an
Dunain I imagined it full of armed Highlanders on a moonlit night holding their
meeting and agreeing to attack a neighbour rather than each other. I climbed up
to Grant’s Fort and made a guess as to what it might have looked like when it actually
was a fortress. I could see where ramparts might have been and I could see how
the ridge on which it lies could have been easily defended.
Bracken
Today in the Clais the bracken was turning rusty orange
and there were red berries on the rowans. The first aspen leaves were starting
to change to their brilliant autumn yellow and cherry tree leaves to their
brilliant autumn red.
An ageing rowan in the fields above the Clais
Then I wandered over to the huge old willow that’s a
favourite local tree. A dead branch that poked high above the living parts of
the tree had fallen since I last visited and the tree is now more horizontal
than vertical. A rowan that is growing out of the willow’s trunk is now quite a
substantial tree itself and was red with berries.
The old willow
The willow is only a few hundred metres from Clais an
Dunain. It would have to be exceptionally old for a willow to have been there
when the Grants and MacGregors passed however so it almost certainly wasn’t.
But maybe an ancestor was.
The Abernethy-Ryvoan Fire Day1. View from Craigellachie
On July 15 I was driving to Aviemore when I saw smoke
billowing up from behind Meall a’Bhuachaille. I was heading for Coire na Ciste
and a walk on the long north ridge of Cairn Gorm, a favourite quiet place.
Approaching Aviemore the smoke looked thicker. Stopping, I consulted the
internet. A fire had broken out near Ryvoan Bothy. Going that way seemed unwise
so I walked up Craigellachie above Aviemore instead. The wood shone in the
sunshine. The sky was blue. It was a lovely day. Except that once out of the
trees I could see the smoke again, more smoke now, filling the sky above the
Ryvoan Pass. This looked bad, this looked serious. It was.
View of the smoke from home. Day 7.
Over the next few weeks whenever I looked out of my study
window I could see the smoke. Every day I thought of all the people fighting
the fire and felt thanks. Every day I felt sorrow, knowing that a place I love
will not look the same the next time I visit, will be burnt, blackened, and
scarred. I think of the wildlife that will have perished. And I think of
climate change and of the fires burning all over the world and wonder what have
we done?
Those weeks it was hard to concentrate on anything else.
Every day I followed the story on social media and on the news. I’ve watched
videos, looked at pictures, read reports.
Dava Moor after the fire.
A year ago it was the same. Then a much bigger fire, the biggest ever in the UK,
burned Dava Moor to the north of Grantown-on-Spey. That fire was out of sight of
home but much, much closer. We could smell the smoke and at times see it
drifting low over the nearby forest. Not knowing how close it might come we
made plans to evacuate quickly. It stopped five miles away. I wrote about it here.
Dava Moor detail.
Although far larger the Dava Fire didn’t attract the same
attention as the Abernethy – Ryvoan fire. It wasn’t in a popular tourist area,
it was mostly outside the Cairngorms National Park, although it did just cross the
border (see map
here), it didn’t threaten communities, though it came close. It was on low
gently undulating moorland mostly used for grouse shooting and sheep grazing
with some areas of planted forestry (it’s noteworthy that the areas of muirburn
didn’t stop the fire). The main attraction for visitors is lovely Lochindorb with its ruined
castle on an island and its birdlife.
Lochindorb with smoke from the Dava Moor fire
The Dava Fire was declared out after just four days. The
Abernethy-Ryvoan Fire lasted over four weeks and even after that there were
hotspots. Two months later and the core area of the fire is still closed to the
public as dangerous trees and debris are cleared. Looking at the map it’s easy
to see why the much bigger fire could be dealt with so much faster. Dava Moor
is almost flat open terrain. Much of the Abernethy-Ryvoan fire was on steep
slopes and narrow valleys covered in dense forest or heather and rocks. As I know, this is difficult ground to move
over away from paths. Fighting a fire here must have been extremely difficult.
The much greater attention given to the Abernethy-Ryvoan
Fire means that much discussion is being given to what needs to be done to
reduce the likelihood of future fires – and there will be future fires as the
effects of climate change grow – being so devastating. Plans are being drawn up
which I hope will actually lead to action. This should really have been done
after the Dava Fire but nobody outside the area was much interested in that. I’ve
talked to a surprising number of people since who hadn’t even heard of if but
knew about the Abernethy-Ryvoan Fire.
Cotton grass on Dava Moor a year after the fire.
In May this year I walked the Dava Way from Grantown-on-Spey to Forres as part of the Moray Way (see this post). This took me through the area of the fire. Whilst there was much blackened ground and many burnt trees I was heartened to see that much of the open moor was white with one of the most extensive areas of cotton grass I've ever seen. Life was returning.
Two months after the Abernethy-Ryvoan Fire I returned to the
area. Until then I’d walkd in other areas of the Cairngorms. (Despite what some
news reports said the fire was only in a very small part of the national park).
Part of me was reluctant to go back. The pictures were horrific enough. I
couldn’t go into the fire area itself. This was still closed. But I could go up
Meall a’ Bhuachaille, right on its edge, and look across it. I took camping
gear, deciding to combine the visit with a night out in the hills.
View back down to Loch Morlich
The sky was cloudy, the forest stuffy and humid. I was glad
to feel a breeze as I left the trees. There were many fungi lining the path. The
heather was a brilliant purple, at the height of its summer display. Across
Loch Morlich dark clouds tore across the hills. Soon I could look across the
forest to blackened slopes around Coire Laogh Mor. The burnt area stretched up
to the Coire na Ciste car park. Higher up it stopped at the path up the ridge
on the east side of the corrie. The fire must have been weakening here for a
narrow footpath to block it.
View from Meall a' Bhuachaille to Coire na Ciste
From the blustery summit of Meall a’Bhuachaille I could see more
of the extent of the fire, how it had spread across Strath Nethy to the lower
slopes of Bynack Beg and east into Abernethy Forest. I knew it had burned in
the Ryvoan Pass, on the eastern side of Meall a’ Bhuachaille, and along Strath
Nethy but these were hidden from the summit. Notices on the path down to Ryvoan
Bothy said that way was closed. The view was sobering but not unexpected. The
year before I’d seen the aftermath of the Dava Moor fire. This looked the same,
just on steep slopes.
View from Meall a'Bhuachaille to the edge of Abernethy Forest
I’ve been up Meall a’ Bhuachaille many, many times over the
years. This was the first time I hadn’t gone up or down via Ryvoan though. I
turned away from the devastation and headed down the hill. A couple of runners
passed me. A lone backpacker with a dog was sitting in the heather. “I think
they’re crazy, they think we’re crazy” she said, seeing my big pack. This, she
told me, would be only her second night wild camping. Before I dropped off the
wide ridge I could see her pitching a green tent high on the hillside.
With the wind picking up I was looking for a more sheltered
site. Finding one was not as easy as I hoped. The tussocky heather high up I
expected. Not far down though I came across an area that had been clear-cut so
many years earlier that the tree stumps and whitened dead branches were
half-buried in thick heather and long grass. Crunching through these was slow
and arduous.
A somewhat sheltered, somewhat flat camp.
When I reached the burn that would be my camp water supply I
was still in the felled debris. I had to descend a fair way before I came to
actual living trees and a small patch of not too bumpy ground that would just
do for the tent. Down here it was now calm and rain was starting to fall. As
soon as I stopped the midges came out so I was inside with the doors closed as
quickly as possible, especially as I was showing rather a large amount of bare
leg, my admittedly ancient trousers having split almost from waist to knee as I
pitched the tent.
Oops!
The trousers were clearly unrepairable, or at least well
beyond skills. My only spare ones were my waterproof overtrousers so I’d have
to wear these. I was glad I’d had to come further down the hill to find a site
as this meant a shorter walk the next day. I was also, for once, hoping it
would rain. At least I was comfortable in camp.
It did rain too, most of the night, but it stopped soon
after dawn. However a gusty wind had sprung up which kept off the midges and
which I hoped wouldn’t make the overtrousers too unbearable. The trousers did
have full-length side zips and leaving these open from thigh to knee kept my
legs cool. In fact the trousers were quite comfortable, though I expect they
wouldn’t have been if it had been calmer and warmer.
Fly Agaric.
The walk back to the car through the forest was uneventful.
Near the camp there were some sizeable deciduous trees still in cracked and
splitting plastic tubes that should really have been removed long ago. The
trees, mostly willow, seemed healthy enough though. Lower down more fungi,
especially Fly Agaric, decorated the sides of the forest track. It was peaceful
down here. I relaxed, forgetting for a short while fires and the future.
I made a video of the trip, mostly about the camping.
This issue sees the annual Gear Of The Year Awards, selected from twelve months of gear that impressed TGO's team of experts, including myself. I put together this year's feature and have been convinced to buy at least two of the winners!
The main features see experts looking at the future and predicting what's in store for hillwalkers (I hope some of them are correct and some aren't!); Alastair MacDonald Jackson explores the little-known hills of Galloway; Alex Roddie goes hiking in the Austrian Alps; and Willem Vandoorne spends time alone in grizzly bear country in Kluane National Park in the Yukon.
In the Skills section psychologist Ian Taylor looks at the science of motivation.
The issue opens with a splendid photograph of Sass de Putia in the Dolomites by Judith Niederwanger and Alexander Pichler. Nadia Shaikh is awestruck by dolphins. Jonathan Caswell speaks to Mike Park, former chief executive of Mountain Rescue England and Wales, and his successor, Andy Buchan, about their stories and their thoughts for the future. Jim Perrin's Mountain Portrait looks at Rhobell Fawr in North Wales. Trail of the Month is Raad ny Foillan - the Way of the Gull - on the Isle of Man, described by Francesca Donovan. In her Uphill Struggles column Juls Stodel advises a new dad on the protocol of bothying with a baby.
Wild Walks covers seven routes to hills that involve woodlands. James Roddie climbs through Caledonian pine forest above Loch Maree to Meall a' Ghiubhais in Torridon. In the Cairngorms Roger Butler walks from Glenmore to Bynack More, a route sadly closed at the time writing due to the damaging wildfire this summer. In the Southern Uplands Ian Battersby takes the Southern Upland Way through woods to Well Hill. Vivienne Crow goes through the vast Kielder Forest to Deadwater Fell and Peel Fell in Northumberland. In the Lake District James Forrest climbs Walla Crag via Borrowdale's Atlantic oakwoods. Andrew Galloway is on the same hill as Jim Perrin in his Mountain Portrait, climbing through woods from Coed-y-Brenin to Rhobell Fawr. In Bannau Brycheiniog/Brecon Beacons Carys Rees goes up Fan y Big and Waun Rydd from Talybont Forest.
Sometimes revisiting a familiar place can bring something
new, something that makes you think maybe you didn’t know the place as well as you
thought after all. Such was the case on a late August walk from Glen Feshie to
Sgor Gaoith. I’ve done this many times over the years. It’s one of my favourite
Cairngorm walks and Sgor Gaoith one of my favourite Munros. I wasn’t expecting anything different.
Heather, pines, path
The heather on the lower slopes was startlingly bright,
beautiful, rich and purple. The sky was overcast, the air was warm and humid. I
was soon hot and sweat-soaked. It was a relief to leave the last trees and feel
a slight breeze.
The sun breaks through
A late start had me arriving on the tops just before sunset.
For a brief moment the sun broke through the clouds and cast pink rays over the
land. Then the greyness returned and thickened as mist enshrouded me.
The mist was wet so I quickly pitched the tent on a site I
knew well, collected water, and settled in for the night. Very soon the
flysheet was dripping with condensation.
Camp
In the early hours the weather changed. I was woken by a
breeze rustling the flysheet and flicking drops of moisture on my face. It felt
cooler and I closed the inner tent door. Dawn came with a blue sky and a gusty
wind.
The Allt Fuaran Diotach
Not far from camp the Allt Fuaran Diotach began its dramatic
plunge down to Loch Eanaich far below. I took the narrow path that runs along
the edge of the broken cliffs above the loch. This is a fine route with tremendous
views of Sgor Gaoith ahead and across the loch to the massive bulk of
Braeriach.
View down to Loch Eanaich
The wind was very strong here, rushing up from the glen. It was
pushing me away from the drop or I’d have moved to gentler terrain.
Sgor Gaoith
I could see walkers on the sharp point of Sgor Gaoith and
more coming along the main path, which lay not far away. I joined them as my
path and theirs merged just below the top. The wind was now ferocious. I didn’t
stop but dropped down to the east to find a lunch spot where my water bottle
wouldn’t be whisked away by the wind as soon as I put it down.
The ridge I'd never noticed before. Meall Tionail on the left.
Sitting here gazing at the extensive view over Glen Feshie I
noticed a graceful curving ridge running from Meall Buidhe, a subsidiary top of
Sgor Gaoith, to a little bump called Meall Tionail. I must have looked at this
ridge every time I’d come this way but it had never made an impression. I’d
never really seen it, never wondered what it was like. I did now. I’d planned,
as always, on going over Meall Buidhe and onto Geal Charn, another subsidiary top
once classified as a Munro, and then descending down to Glen Feshie. Now though
I decided I’d go to Meall Tionail and see what it was like.
There’s a bit of a path over the stony ground to Meall
Buidhe but none from there to Meall Tionail. The ridge, as I’d expected, was
actually quite broad. The graceful curve
was an illusion. The terrain was rocky but the walking easy. A cairn decorated
the summit. I sat here a while looking back at Meall Buidhe and Sgor Gaoith.
The summit of Meall Tionail. Sgor Gaoith in the distance.
Meall Tionail is a pleasant summit, a gentle rise at the end of a spur from Meall Buidhe. I doubt anyone comes
here very often as it doesn’t reach Munro height. Many traverse its lower
slopes though, as I had done the previous day, as a well-used path to Sgor Gaoith
curves round it. Now I’d been up it and added a little to my knowledge of the area.
There’s always so much more to learn.
From the summit I headed down steep, heather-clad slopes to
join that path just above the forest.
I made a little video of the trip with much more about my camp.
A belated look at the September issue of TGO magazine. The last few weeks have been somewhat hectic and have flashed by so it's a little late I'm afraid.
In the gear pages Lara Dunn and James Roddie each review four waterproof jackets and Gemma Palmer and Peter Macfarlane each review three midlayers. In individual reviews Kirsty Pallas looks at the HeartHero Elliot AED and Fiona Russell tests the La Sportiva Ultra Raptor 3 trail shoes.
In the main features Tristan Gooley looks at reawakening our ability to interpret and attune to nature, Steph Wetherall is bewitched by Orkney, photographer Lizzie Shepherd has a photo essay about finding as much beauty and meaning in the mundane as the extraordinary, and Kulbhushansingh Suryawanshi describes an epic journey to establish a study site for snow leopards deep in the Indian Himalayas.
In shorter pieces Nadia Shaikh tells the fascinating story of the robin's pincushion plant gall, Ronald Turnbull reviews The Art of Julian Cooper, Doctor of Peatland Science John King visits Kinlochbervie in the NW Highlands to at the effects of the new green energy goldrush, Jim Perrin recalls jaunts up Beinn Tarsuinn on Aran, and Juls Stodel advises a reader on how to avoid being spooked when solo camping.
The Wild Walks pages cover sea-to-summit routes, starting off with probably the finest of all, Sgurr na Stri on the Isle of Skye, ascended by James Roddie from Elgol. On other Scottish islands Simon traverses Askival and Hallival on Rum, and Roger Butler climbs An Sgurr on Eigg. In Dumfries & Galloway Vivienne Crow gazes across the sea to the Lake District and the Isle of Man from Criffel. In the Lake District itself Norman Hadley tackles the Wast Water Screes from the coast. Down in Eryri/Snowdonia Kate Dakin explores the summits around Conwy, and Andrew Galloway climbs from the sea to Moel Ysgyfarnogod.
