Rainbows, trees, & clouds: a walk over Geal-charn Mor

Rainbow over Loch Alvie

I wasn’t expecting rainbows to dominate a walk over Geal-charn Mor in the Monadh Liath hills. I thought it would be Brew Dog’s disastrous ‘Lost Forest’ tree-planting exercise that has resulted in long deer fences across the hills and masses of the new trees dying (see this Parkswatch Scotland post) that occupied my thoughts. However the weather took control with a series of stunning rainbows, dark rain squalls racing across the sky and a fierce chilling wind. This was not flaming June!

Cairn Gorm & Cairn Lochan

The day began with a walk up the bulldozed track called the Burma Road. The lower forest was lush and green with the birches newly in leaf. As I left the trees I looked back over the woods to rain squalls streaking across the Cairngorms.

Old pines

Across the glen a few old pines graced the skyline on Creag Ghleannain. Below them I could just see many newly planted little trees. Brew Dog is in the process of replacing those that have died, completely unnecessarily as those old pines are a seed source. Reduce the deer numbers and the forest will return naturally. Further up the glen lines of vehicle tracks marked the slopes high up. I couldn’t see if the new trees here were dead or alive.

By the time I reached the top of the track the wind was strong enough and the showers prolonged enough for my waterproof jacket. I took the well-worn footpath up Geal-charn Mor. Despite recent rain the usually muddy sections were dry.

Geal-charn Mor

A low curving wall of stones around the summit trig point gave some protection from the wind. Sitting inside this for a snack and a drink I noticed a small patch of light quite a way below me. At first I thought it was a spot of sunlight though there was a strange hazy luminescent quality to it that didn’t seem right. Watching as it slowly grew I began to see colours appearing and I realised I was looking down on the gently curved top of a rainbow. I can’t remember seeing anything like this before.

Looking down on a raibow

I returned down the path that descends to follow the Caochan Ruadh burn. This is much pleasanter than the Burma Road, a real hill path not a wide bulldozed vehicle road. I passed through a gate in a long deer fence and soon saw masses of little trees poking through the heather, each in a cleared area of mineral soil. I wonder how many will survive.

Cotton grass with rainbow

A few springs were sluggishly spreading water over the ground in places but it was still mostly dry and there was no danger of wet feet. Damper areas were covered with cotton grass, the fluffy white flowers bobbing in the wind. Rain squalls blasted past in a rush of wind, rainbows came and went. I watched the clouds streaming over Braeriach as I headed down towards Loch Alvie.

Loch Alvie

The final rainbow was a double one, the inner ring startlingly bright. I walked towards it for what seemed like hours, entranced. Then it faded into rain as I finished the what had been a more glorious walk than expected in wet fields and woods.

It rained

A Look At The July Issue Of The Great Outdoors

The theme of the July issue of TGO is summer skills and adventure. In keeping with this Kirsty Pallas and I review three pairs of hiking sandals each. Also in the gear pages Lara Dunn and Peter Macfarlane review three day packs apiece, Steph Wetherell tries four pairs of trekking poles, and David Lintern tests the Cotopaxi Tarak 20L pack and Kapai 3L hip pack. 

Summer skills come courtesy of Glenmore Lodge with instructors giving advice on longer days out, navigating in remote areas with few footpaths, first time concerns about wild camping, and stepping up to scrambling higher grades.

In the main features five hillwalkers share the first experiences that shaped their relationship with the outdoors, Hanna Lindon takes her family wild camping on Dartmoor, and Terry Adby hikes the Kangchenjunga Circuit to mark the 70th anniversary of the first ascent.

In shorter pieces naturalist Nadia Shaikh wades into the shallows to look for caddisfly larvae, Lauris Prince (age 9) reviews Barbara Henderson's I Don't Do Mountains, adventurer Bex Band talks about her introduction to the outdoors and why having children shouldn't bar you from a life of adventure, Jim Perrin praises Shining Tor on Cheshire, and Juls Stodel answers a query about sharing a bivvy spot.  

The theme of Wild Walks is waterfalls. James Roddie visits the spectacular Falls of Glomach in the North-West Highlands. In the Lake District James Forrest goes to Spout Force via Lord's Seat, Vivienne Crow climbs Scafell via Cam Spout, and Norman Hadley goes up Bowfell via Hell Gill. Over in the Yorkshire Dales Ian Battersby visits Buckden Pike and Cauldron Falls plus Gordale Scar and Malham Cove. Finally, in Powys Roger Butler goes to Creigiau Pennant and Ffrwd Fawr.

Another little video on backpacking pots & stoves

 

A comparison of  three pots & two stoves.  

Forty years ago I was on the Continental Divide Trail

At the border

On May 30 1985, excited and nervous, I was at the US/Canada border ready to begin the Continental Divide Trail, a 3100 mile walk that would take me from the snowbound Northern Rockies to the deserts of New Mexico and a finish at the border with Mexico.

The Chinese Wall, Bob Marshall Wilderness, Montana

En route I encountered deep snow, searing heat, floods, droughts, forest fires, blizzards and thunderstorms. I saw bears, moose, mountain goats, bald eagles, rattlesnakes and much more. I camped out on 149 nights, often in the most spectacular places. It was a wonderful, glorious wilderness walk, the longest I have ever done.

In the Scapegoat Wilderness, Montana

Back then the internet didn’t exist. There were no smartphones or satellite communicators. When I disappeared into the mountains I really did vanish, especially as the CDT was more of an idea than an actual trail. I was often going cross-country or following faint, little-used trails. Few people had heard of the CDT and even fewer hiked it. There were no CDT trail signs.

Lost Trail Pass, Idaho/Montana border, where I sat out a huge forest fire. Photo by my cousin Kris Gravette who visited me from her home in Wyoming. A now-faded colour print.

Except in popular areas like Yellowstone National Park I didn’t meet many people, often seeing no-one for several days at a time.

The Bitteroot Mountains, Montana

I did have companion for the first 500 miles, Scott Steiner who I’d met on the Pacific Crest Trail three years earlier. After that I was on my own.  

In the Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming

The walk was a real immersion in the wilderness, six months living mostly in nature and moving at walking pace. It was tough but immensely fulfilling.

Squaretop Mountain, Wind River Range, Wyoming

When I reached a town I sent postcards home so friends and family knew where I’d got to, though of course by the time they arrived I was many days further along the trail.

Camp on Vista Pass, Bridger Wilderness, Wind River Range, Wyoming

I also sent hand-written reports and my exposed films back to Footloose, the UK outdoor magazine I was writing for (now long-gone). The staff of the magazine saw my photos long before I did.

Lost Ranger Peak, Mount Zirkel Wilderness, Colorado

Camp in the Never Summer Wilderness after a blizzard, Colorado

The Front Range, Colorado

My highest camp at 12,550 feet (3825 metres) on the slopes of James Peak, Colorado

Desert camp, New Mexico

Last day

Photography note: the pictures are scans from Kodachrome 64 transparencies and Ilford FP4 black-and-white film prints. My camera was a Pentax MX SLR with 35-70 and 75-150 zoom lenses with an Olympus 35mm compact camera with 35mm lens as a backup.

Book Review: Upland: A Journey through Time and the Hills by Ian Crofton

 

In Upland Ian Crofton takes a broad sweep through the British hills from the North Downs to the Cairngorms. Along the way he skilfully weaves together personal and family stories, prehistory and history, literature, art, geology, nature and more in a glorious mix of everything the hills have to offer. As his journey progresses we meet a cast of characters – painters, poets, mountaineers, novelists, philosophers, conservationists, campaigners, geologists – and a cast of landscapes that show the richness and diversity of our mountain culture, all entwined with the author’s own upland journeys.

The time of the subtitle has several strands – the eons of geology, prehistoric time when stones were erected and white horses carved whose purposes we can only guess, historical time with many characters and attitudes to the hills, and the author’s own lifetime. The author flows between these expertly and entertainingly.

This rich mix of subjects is wonderful, a complete look at everything the hills have to offer rather than an account of a walk or a climb. The author muses on his own life too and how he has changed, just as the hills have changed.

In the Introduction the author asks if we should live up to our responsibilities as guardians of the land rather than exploiters and conquerors. The author’s answer is clear, his writing capturing his passion and love for the hills. His concern is explicit in the Afterword where he discusses rewilding and quotes the great American environmentalist Aldo Leopold’s land ethic. He looks at access too and laments how limited it is in England and Wales.

This book is excellent with much to enjoy and to learn. I’ll be reading it again. Highly recommended.

Upland is published by Birlinn and costs £18.99.

A Walk along Glen Feshie and up to the Moine Mhor

  

Video of the walk described in my last post.

Glen Feshie, the Moine Mhor, & two Munros

Sgor Gaoith

The long dry spell is over. Rain is falling heavily. Just a few days ago I was striding across the crisp, crunchy, dusty Moine Mhor – the Great Moss, a vast normally boggy upland – astonished at the dryness. The day before I had marvelled at the shrunken River Feshie. That will change now.

I’d set off down Glen Feshie on a sunny afternoon, though with thin clouds spreading overhead. The fresh leaves of the birches shone bright. The air was thick with heat. Soon the clouds had grown enough to block the sun though it still shone on a distant hillside, turning the pale grasses gold.

Allt Garbhlach & River Feshie

The burns that run down into the Feshie were so low I could easily cross on stones without even dampening the soles of my boots. Their beds looked far too big to have been carved by these little streams. But they had, when the waters were high and rushing down the mountainsides sweeping away everything in their path. The Allt Garbhlach is a constant reminder of this as you scrabble down the steep slopes to its wide stony bed and then scrabble up the loose path on the far side. There used to be a good path with steps here, swept away a decade and more ago. Now little trees are springing up amongst the rubble and debris. They may have a short life.

Creag na Caillich & the River Feshie

I camped in the woods in the narrow neck of the glen, where it’s hemmed in by the steep rocky slopes of Creag an Caillich and Creag na Gaibhre. A fine site amongst old pines and young birches, it had been used before and sported two fire rings, one old, long disused, and grassy, the other bigger, newer, and with blackened rocks and half-burnt logs. There was no litter, thankfully. I don’t think anyone had been here for a while.

Glen Feshie camp

Dawn came with weak sunshine and stillness. The woods were calming and I lingered. Relaxing for half the morning before rousing myself to pack up and move on. Backtracking down the glen I picked up an old path that winds steeply through the trees and up slopes of heather to the fine cairn on Creag na Gaibhre. The path is overgrown and indistinct in places. I lost it a couple of times.  The climb is arduous but the views and the feeling of wildness overcome any weariness.

Broom

Above the trees broom flourished, its bright yellow flowers dominating the landscape. There were dizzying views down stony ravines to the forest and the river far below.

View into Glen Feshie

Creag na Gaibhre is a splendid viewpoint for Glen Feshie and I stopped here for a snack. A breeze was picking up and the sky cloudy so I didn’t stay too long but was soon following the faint path as it continued on to the dark waters of Lochan nam Bo, trapped in a cleft in the hillside, and then over Druim nam Bo, a bump on the broad west ridge of Mullach Clach a’ Bhlair, the high point of this corner of the Moine Mhor and a Munro.

Creag Na Gaibhre

Long before reaching the summit I joined an old estate track that stood out harshly from a distance – two straight furrows driving up the hillside – but which didn’t seem too intrusive when actually on it.

Mullach Clach a' Bhlair

As the steepness eased off and the tiny cairn on Mullach Clach a’ Bhlair appeared (a rather paltry affair compared with the one on Creag na Gaibhre) the view opened out across the Moine Mhor to the distant pointed peak of Sgor Gaoith, also a Munro, and the sweep of Munros – Braeriach, Sgor an Lochan Uaine, Carn Toul – that rise above its eastern edge.

The summit was windswept and chilly. I kept moving, heading for Loch nan Cnapan in the heart of the Moine Mhor. There are ugly bulldozed roads up here and I used these at times though mostly I went cross-country. When wet this can ensure sodden feet and much cursing as you flounder through the bogs. On this occasion I was amazed at how dry it was, drier than I’ve ever seen it. I walked on cracked crusty mud, over pale dried grasses. There was no water in many of the little burns and pools that lace the moor.  The word arid came to mind.

Loch nan Cnapan & Monadh mor

At the loch I found a good flat site. The wind was gusting strongly, so I pegged out all the guylines. As with the evening before the late sun cut under the clouds and lit up the long gently slopes of Monadh Mor a couple of kilometres away.

Loch nan Cnapan camp

A sudden blast of heat woke me at dawn. The sun had just appeared over the hills. There were long streaks of cloud in the sky. The wind had gone. I wandered beside the loch, ate breakfast, dozed, ate another breakfast, somnolent in the heat.

Sgor Gaoith

Eventually I packed up and started across the rough ground – all knolls and hollows -towards Sgor Gaoith, aiming for the old path that runs along the rim of Coire Odhar in Gleann Eanich. I think this is the finest way up Sgor Gaoith as it gives superb views.

Once I’d located the path, which seems to start somewhere out on the Moine Mhor, I followed it round to the Fuaran Diotech spring and nearby ruined hut. There’s a pool by the ruin. The burns running in and out of it were dry. A flat grassy area makes for a good pitch here. I’d used it just the year before (see this post). Someone had camped here much more recently and had left a ring of rocks, the grass still green underneath. I moved the smaller ones onto the ruin’s walls and rolled the bigger ones into the pool. I wish people wouldn’t do this! Or at least replace the rocks when they leave.

Allt Fuaran Diotech

The Fuaran Diotech spring was still running strongly, soon leaping down the crags into Coire Odhar. Cool, fresh water. I needed it. I relished it.

Sgor Gaoith

Refreshed I continued along the path. Soon it converged with the main thoroughfare coming from Carn Ban Mor. Two walkers were just heading back down this, three more were heading for the summit just ahead of me. On the top five more were relaxing in the sunshine. The view of Loch Eanich and Braeriach was spectacular, as always.

Braeriach & Loch Eanaich from Sgor Gaoith

Leaving for the wide scar of the standard route I met a walker heading up, the eleventh person I’d encountered, and the last. All of them were in a half hour period and on or near the summit of Sgor Gaoith. I met no-one else all trip,

I was soon over Carn Ban Mor and heading down the long stony path to Glen Feshie. As I descended the wind picked up and so did the heat. Sweat-soaked I was glad to reach the glen.