Sangre de Cristo Colorado Mountains

Before the summer just becomes a past dream of what it could have been, it’s time to head to the Colorado mountains. My back pack is loaded with the essentials, maybe loaded is not the right word. Sounds too heavy! Fishing in the back country and exploring new territory is my goal for this trip, or all of my adventures, come to think of it! The Sangre de Cristo mountain range located in southern Colorado holds unlimited opportunities for great fishing and exploring.

I drove out of Hillside Colorado heading west on CR 198, with my destination of North Brush Creek Lake on my mind. The wash board dirt road, turned into a rutted rocky one. The path was so rough I thought my teeth filings were going to get rattled out of my skull. I have driven this road before and if anything, it has grown worse from wear. I turned up the wrong dirt path and came to a complete stop at a private property sign, protecting an old mining claim. After a little back tracking I found the right road CR 331. The road continued up for 3 miles with numerous turns and switch backs. By leaving my truck here I saved walking an additional 8 miles from the North Brush Trail head. An old mining shack at the old Peerless Mine would be my truck’s companion for the next 5 days. Since it’s a short cut you can expect a few twists and turns. First off, the trail for 1/8 of a mile is straight up and it’s covered with ankle twisting rocks. Once you reach the ridge and the original trail, it is just a lot of grunting and groaning. Wild flowers of all colors and sizes decorated the trail. Our own Colorado Columbine with its’ showy blue petals was a feast for the eye.

Within 3 hours I was reading a sign advising man and beast not to camp near the lake. The North Brush Creek Lake is one of the biggest in the Sangre range. Piles of granite left from the last glacier make fishing and camping tough. After a few minutes of scanning the shore line it looked like I was the only camper. I had met a couple of hikers coming down the trail as I ascended, and they confirmed my observation. They also told me of great fishing using a gold colored lure. I found a picture perfect site for my tent among the wild flowers and fresh water from a running stream. I spent just a few hurried minutes setting up my camp site, because the fish were calling.

I could have been on a fishing show because the trout were cooperating with my lures. I cast the bait out four times and four times I caught the quarry. Since I knew that cutthroat trout like the color orange, I was using a orange spoon with black dots. Within a hour three fellow fisherman showed up with their backs bent over from the weight of carrying big packs. Come to find out, these gentlemen always come to this lake on July 12. It’s their own Father’s Day celebration. Each one of them had been brought up to the lake by their fathers and over the years each one had lost their favorite fishing partner to that big lake in the sky. The cremated ashes of each dad had been brought up and spread. Over the years the three got to know each other from their meetings at the lake and now they make it a yearly event. They were going to camp on the north side of the lake where there is deeper water and level grass to pitch a few tents.

After lunch, I worked my way in that direction in hopes of finding the big daddy of all trout. Brush Creek comes into the lake on the west side and it is choked with willows and over run with trout. The water was only a few feet deep but what a ball I had casting a lure and watching the hungry trout try and be the first to hit the lure. I seemed like they were taking numbers to jump on my hook.

As I worked my way around the jungle of willows, I stumbled onto my new friends camp site. Two of them were setting up their tents but the heavy set hiker was flat on his back in the shade of a pine tree. All three agreed that the best fishing was on this side of the lake and I was going to be more then glad to prove them right. Besides having a great view of the southern mountains, the fishing proved rewarding as well.

On the way back to my camp for dinner I came to a small patch of Columbine flowers. Two Hummingbird Moths were working the flower petals in order to get a little nourishment. If you have never seen one of these critter, they look a lot like a humming bird but its’ sucker beak has a downward kink and they don’t make the same humming noise like their bird friend.

After eating my dinner I decided to hike south towards the upper lake that is known for larger fish. After experiencing a few dead end trails I found my next possible monster fish hangout. This glacier lake was half the size as the lake where I was camped. The surrounding trees in the forest had most of their bark sand blasted off from winter winds coming off the near mountains. The tree limbs made for some interesting art forms. Within a few minutes I had a very nice trout on my line. This time the trout was a Cutbo, which is a hybrid between a rainbow and a Cut Throat Trout. They fight a little harder and longer. The fish was very thankful to get back into his world when I released him.

The next morning I awoke to clear skies. I had to hike by the same upper lake in order to get to Electric Pass and to continue my journey. The path went thru a pine forest then lead thru an area of willows and then finally above tree line into tundra. Five bull elk were watching me with interest from the mountain side. I was only able to get within a fourth of a mile when they started to mosey ahead of me over the pass. By the time I made it to the top of the pass these animals were long gone. I did spy a lone coyote on his way to a early morning breakfast date.

As I crested the pass I could see the San Luis valley below with its’ heat radiating off the high plains desert floor. I followed Major Creek trail for a few miles. There was just one problemo maybe two, there wasn’t any creek and last spring a small flood wiped out part of the trail. Half way down the trail I did find the creek as it seeped out of the ground. Then within a few minutes the water had grown in strength and volume. This wet area also attracted or maybe was the breeding grounds for the most pesky mosquitos on the face of the earth. Clouds of them just followed my juicy legs and arms where ever I walked and or ran! The critters were so big that when I killed them, you could hear their bones break! By late afternoon the mosquitos and I found the end of the trail. I could see the CR 65 as a broken down truck kicked up dust as it sped along its’ way. There was another problem, a ranch with cows and horses blocked the path. A side trail lead north in the opposite direction from where I wanted to be traveling. Since it would be quicker to walk straight west, I just decided to follow the barb wire fence line to the road. After thirty minutes of ducking under pinion pine tree limbs and dodging more than a few prickly pear cactus I made it to the road.

It was the time for a decision, if I headed north it would take me to the Valley View Hot Springs and if I went south it would lead me to Cotton Lake. The hot springs had camping but then I would have to back track a few miles to Cotton lake tomorrow. Two years ago I had walked by the hot springs and found out that it’s an optional clothing hot springs. Last time I visited, two older men and one older woman were standing in front of the club house chatting. They were wearing just a smile. Because of their ages Sir Isaac Newton could have studied the effects of gravity right here instead of under an apple tree! I decided the Cotton Lake made better sense.

The Cotton Creek trail head would be a 3 mile hike if I stayed on the roads but why not cut across the BLM land and save a few miles. I definitely saved some time with this short cut but with every step I had to be careful not to be impaled by cactus yucca and barbed wire fences. By 3:00 pm I was reading the rules and regulations at the Cotton Creek trail head. After looking at the map and realizing Cotton Lake was to far for tonight, I decided to hike until 5:00 pm and then set up camp along the trail. Within a hour the skies opened up for a little liquid sunshine. The rain slowed down the mosquitos just long enough for them to go home, pick up a cousin and get a jacket, than regroup. I had to put on long pants and a long sleeve shirt to save my sanity and my blood from the pests.

By 5:00pm the rain stopped and the forest opened up enough for me to set up a level camp site. The Cotton Creek had a welcoming sound as I sat down to eat dinner.

The next morning was a little cooler and the bugs stayed away. The trail was a series of switch backs. With evidence of saw dust and cut up fallen trees along the trail, it looked like a trail maintenance crew must have been doing their job. By 10:00 am I could see Cotton lake and it looked like I was the Lone Ranger with no signs of any tents. I set up camp and couldn’t wait to try my luck at fishing. I tried my luck all afternoon with out any luck. Like the Hank Williams Sr song goes “If it wasn’t for bad luck you wouldn’t have any luck at all!” After lunch I took a short hike towards the northern mountains and noticed dark clouds moving into my little world. I made it back to camp and the shelter of my tent just in time to slide into my sleeping bag and break out a book to read. Rain came down and my shelter seemed to hold out the mean weather. The last thing I remember was my eyes shutting about 2:00 pm and then I woke up and it was 4:00 pm with the sun shining.

After dinner, I was going to give Cotton Lake one more chance to produce some fish. I brought along a book to the lake side keeping one eye on the bobber and the other eye on the book. I was sitting along side a small rock outcropping just relaxing, when I noticed a brown furry animal swimming towards my floating bobber. Mr. Beaver swam right over to my float and caught it right under his arm. Luckily for the rodent and for me the bobber slid down the fishing line and got caught on the hook. It protected the beaver from getting stabbed and from me from losing all my fishing gear as the beaver went diving for the safety of the deep water as the bobber came free. The event didn’t seem to affect the beaver and he just swam to the end of the lake and then turned round and swam back.

Next morning I awoke to clear skies with my eyes towards the Cotton Lake Pass trail. The trail would lead me into the Rio Alto mountain range and lake area. As I was crossing the well maintained trail I could hear elk bleating back and forth. The mountain side opposite me looked like the Serengeti Plains of Africa with hundred of elk moving back and forth as they planned their escape route. Cows and their calves formed a single file line on the treeless tundra and were high tailing it towards the lower reaches of the valley where the serenity of the dark timber grew. For the next thirty minutes as I walked on the opposite side of the canyon I witnessed the large herd of elk make their way towards the shelter of the trees. At a cross roads where the Cotton Trail and Rio Alto Trail meet the elk and I called a truce and they just disappeared into the pine trees.

By 10:00 am I arrived at Rio Alto lake with high hopes of big fish or any fish for that matter. I noticed three tents set up above the lake. I had fished and camped on this lake two years ago so I knew a few good spots for my tent. After setting up my camp spot, it was time to test Vince’s wits against the fish’s. Last time I had used live grasshoppers on a small hook to catch my dinner. I set up my hook with a hooper and gave the line a cast out into the deep water. A few kicks from a live grass hopper on top of the water is almost as irresistible to fish as Velveeta Cheese is to a trailer park. I hooked up 16 hoppers and caught 16 fish. I didn’t land all of them mostly because I got so excited with a few big ones that I cowboyed them a little to much and they snapped the line. I saved one trout for lunch and had the critter all wrapped in aluminum foil ready for the fire, but alas I couldn’t get a fire going for the life of me. So I found a cool spot and stored my prize for later.

As I walked back to the lake I stopped by the other campers to say hi and to ask them if they wanted any fish. One woman camper looked at me like she had seen Big Foot and maybe after a few days of me not showering or shaving her assumption was right. I found my way back to the lake with a eye towards catching more grass hoppers as bait. I noticed all the high dead grass that would make a perfect fire starter, so I pulled and saved a bundle. Peter, one of the campers came down and we talked as I fished. He was from Colorado Springs and the other four members in his group were from Michigan and Iowa. The group was staying at the lake for a week and were really enjoying each others company and the great fishing. I had saved another large trout for the group, when Peter said they had enough fish, so it looked like I would have a fish for dessert!

At 5:00 pm I walked back to my camp with dried grass and a fresh fish. The bundle of grass with a pile of sticks on top worked like a charm as fire arose from the fire pit. I had red hot coals with in thirty minutes. The trout wrapped in aluminum foil on top of the hot coals were ready for my stomach in fifteen minutes. After dinner and with a bit of a cleanup I walked down to my neighbors camp and talked with them for a hour. Only Peter had done much camping but all were having a good time trying out their new camping gear.

At 6:00 pm I walked back to the lake to try and break a state record for the biggest trout. Lets say the level of the lake didn’t fall much when I brought out my few fish but it’s like gambling you never know. I ventured back to my friends camp and we talked into the night. They also had two cooked trout that I was persuaded to eat, just to help them out! As we talked way into the night we could see a fellow camper with a head lamp walk into the timber and set up camp, better late than never, we thought.

The next morning brought me the last leg of my hike but it would be a long day with 35 miles between me and my truck. My inspiration was the thought of a shower and a warm bed to curl up in at home. The biggest obstacle ahead of me was Hermit Pass but first I had to walk the few miles up out of the Rio Alto lake drainage. Two years ago when I tried to walk out of this area the fog, rain and snow made it impossible and I had to turn around and go a different route. Now with dry clear weather I could see what I should have done 2 years ago. The trail had gone off to the north and it was wide and clear. I followed the trail which turned into a mining road and it lead me over the Sangre de Cristo’s and into the Wet Mountain valley.

I could hear the sound of a motor powered machine chugging its’ way up the mountain road. A Mennonite couple on an ATV waved as they passed me by. Close to lunch time I walked by a group of younger hikers all sitting in a circle talking. A little later I noticed the same amount of back packs along the trail. I found out from one of their leaders that they were from Outward Bound in Leadville Colorado. They had walked by the Rainbow Trail sign by mistake and were checking out the map. Their objective tonight would be Megan lake. I told them about a World War ll plane that had crashed by the lake in the 40's.
I kept walking with the understanding that if I was anywhere near my truck by 5:00 pm I would walk to the truck and if not near it, I would camp. I met a father and son about 5 miles from the Lake of the Clouds Trail Head. They had gotten turned around on the trail and had to walk extra miles in the mid day heat. The father was carrying a little extra weight along the waist line, a gun, GPS, and cell phone. I wished them luck and carried on. I was glad to see the dirt road that would lead to my vehicle in 2.5 miles. It was a total climb but what a relief to see the truck.

Walk Across Scotland (TGO Challenge) 2009

To make pictures bigger put curser on pic and tap left side of mouse. ________________________________
One cold snowy Sunday in early May, I was reviewing some article on the Section Hiker web page when I notice an article with the title of The Great Outdoors Challenge. The piece was about a walking adventure across Scotland from coast to coast. I contacted Roger Smith, the co- founder of TGO and I sent him a few pictures from my last adventures.
Roger was able to hook me up with a group of hikers that had planned on walking from Oban to Montrose in Scotland. Jeanette, Bob and Keith would be my partners for thirteen days on a walk across Scotland.
I left Denver on May 5th with a $630.00 plane ticket in my pocket and backpack slung over my shoulder. After a nine hour flight I landed in London and than after a short layover I was on my way to Glasgow, Scotland.
At the airport I got a bus to the train station were I met Jan, a woman that was also doing the TGO.
At the train station I unloaded my suitcase into my backpack and the station had a handy storage for my bag for $6.50. Little did I know it was $6.50 per day and I had some talking to do when I came back after twenty days, not to get charged the full $130.00.
Within a few minutes I was on the train to Oban or so I thought. A older hiker type was sitting across the aisle from me and was examining my backpack with great interest. I asked him if he was on the TGO Challenge and if Oban was his starting point. “If your going to Oban you’re on the wrong train car!” he said. I jumped up and looked out the window as the countryside whizzed by with a blur. Come to find out the train would change cars at different stops, so all I had to do was to walk to the next car.
Alex was from Essex England and had done the TGO 10 times in the past. He was working with Roger Smith helping to keep all the walking groups safe and sound. Registration was last October, so I was more than lucky to get in on the walk at the last minute. 360 people would leave the west coast of Scotland at a hundred different points along the coast. Each group had to get their route approved by Roger’s committee. The journey would start for everybody on May 8th and than it would end in Montrose by May 21st. Every few days the groups would check in with the organizers and inform the leaders of their progress and troubles. The Scottish Outdoor Access Code of 2003 makes it easier to travel cross country. As a hiker we have the right to cross any property and camp on any open land, no questions asked.
By 9:00 pm my train pulled into Oban train station and it looked like the pavement was wet with rain. Little did I know how many times I would witness this event in the next couple of weeks. With my pack cover on and my umbrella in hand I headed to my hostel for the next two nights. The walk was along the ocean front and the winds were driving the surf onto the sidewalk. I was playing chicken with the salty sea. After a twenty minute hike I walked into the hostel. It was very clean and friendly. When I mentioned I was from the USA, the smart ass clerk took out his hanky to cover his face from Swine Flu, as a joke.
After securing a bunk bed in the eight bed dorm room, I ventured down stairs to have a look at the shared food bin. Some of the guests checking out have extra food that they don’t want to carry, so they dump it in the bin titled “SHARED FOOD.” I was just looking for a small snack, nothing to heavy. Rice and tomato would fill the bill. A girl nursing a brandy at the next table came up with a onion and some seasoning, isn’t life grand.
The next morning I woke to a tapping sound on my locked dorm door. A fellow bunk mate had left the dorm room for a pit stop in the community bathroom and had forgotten to carry his dorm key. I have done the same thing in the past, it leaves you half naked in the hallway. If a bunk mate doesn’t come to the rescue, you have to go to the front desk in your undies!
I went for a early morning walk with the idea of filling my stomach and to get a feel for the town. I opened the door of the hostel and just then wind driven gusts of rain almost sent me flying. I went back upstairs and got a rain jacket and umbrella. The town looked like a older port town that had seen better times. The buildings were grey and looking a little weathered. I found a local hang out for breakfast. The woman behind the counter would fix you a bacon roll for $1.50 and she was liberal with the bacon. The Scott’s bacon roll is more like our Canadian bacon put between a doughy bun.
Back at the dorm I had plans on walking to a castle along the sea to stretch my legs. The wind and rain pounding on the windows at the hostel changed my mind very quickly. In the dorm room I met a group of Italians and they were going on the TGO. Only one spoke English and the group and I spent the day together walking around the town. They had heard of a product from Avon called “Skin So Soft” and wanted to buy some of the wonder insect repellent. It was supposed to keep midges away. We stopped at every kind of store under the cloudy skies without any luck finding the product. Midges are what we might call “no-see-um’s”, everyone and their sheep dog is paranoid about them. The hikers were talking about the bugs like it was the Black Plague!
We decided to visit the Oban Whiskey Distillery. During the tour all of us were interested in hearing about whiskey making and everyone got to sample the wares. It looked and tasted like lighter fluid.
Later in the afternoon my group of walkers had arrived at the hostel. Jeanette was the lady with the maps of our route and a plan for places to stay. Her husband Stan had brought the group over from Aberdeen and was not in the best of health. Bob and Keith seemed up for the challenge.
The next morning we all registered in the lobby of the hostel for the official TGO Challenge starting point. There was ten of us that crossed the hostel threshold and were met in the kisser with a wind driven rain. What I always say “every rain storm has a rainbow and every mountain has a top!”
Before we got started all of us had to get out boots wet with the ocean surf on this side of the coast. For the next twenty minutes the marching hikers dodged cars and trucks as we worked our way out of town.
I was wearing a long sleeve poly tech shirt with a pair of shorts. Every one else and I mean everyone was dressed like we were about to cross Siberia. Ski pants with a long coats and hats and gloves. After walking up a steep hill the troops were shedding clothes. It looked like a garage sale with garments laying along the narrow road as hikers stuffed sweaty clothes into their packs.
By this time we were off the main road and on to a narrow rural roadway. The countryside was rolling hills covered with brown heather and large yellow flowering bushes with thorns called gorse. The farmers plant it as a hedge to keep the sheep in certain pastures. The sheep stayed but the bushes had escaped and formed large yellow island in the fields. The gorse grows wild in New Zealand and everybody hates it because of the thorns.
By noon the weather was more wind than rain and I climbed under a stone bridge and was able to get out of the wind. I was in the middle of eating lunch when the group showed up. They didn’t want to stop for lunch. What ever plan they had for walking 12 days without eating wasn’t going to work and I told them so.
I caught up with a English couple just as we entered the little village of Taynault. The skies were getting darker and more menacing so we walked a little faster. I spied a little hotel off to my left and made a bee line for the front door. I had a ginger beer in my hand when I heard the noise of hail on the roof. I looked outside and saw 2 inches of hail in the front yard. I sat at a window and waited for the group to arrive. They arrived with bruised heads and egos from the pounding hail.
Keith and I were going to share a B&B and off we went to find it. The house was very nice and I was in a warm shower before my pack smacked the floor. The hot water in the shower is electrically controlled so you have to constantly adjust the dial in the shower. You either boil or freeze there isn’t a happy medium.
I came out of the shower to find Keith fast asleep on the bed.
I wanted to have a better look around the village and now was the perfect time. Earlier when I walked into town I noticed a lovely garden with heaps of flowering plants. I walked back up the road and passed through a steel gate. I knocked on the door of a sweet little old lady. She gave me permission to take photos of all the wonderful flowering Rhododendron’s. The bush is lovely but the Scot’s think of it as a pest plant. I noticed an old grinding stone and the remains of a old grist mill. I had to find out more about this mill so I walked back to the house with my head full of questions. Sarah was eager for company and invited me into here small house for hot chocolate and cookies. I noticed two large steel milk containers on her back porch. The kind of containers that dairy men use to ship milk to market in. Since her refrigerator was small and the weather cool, she used these as her cold storage for leafy vegetables. I found out this site was a grist mill for grinding oats. Oats are the only grain that will grow in Scotland with its cold wet climate. The mill pond now holds brown trout that Sarah’s grandson catches and releases under the watchful eye of his granny.
I visited the old stone church with its leaning grave stones. Every village has a lonely stone church with ancient grave markers of past church sinners and repenters.
When I arrived back at the B&B Keith was wide awake and talking religion with Kathy our charming host. Keith had worked off shore in the oil fields and then had gone on to seminary. The church didn’t seem to be his cup of tea either so he was just hanging loose from any type of work.
The village hotel was having a Chinese buffet and we were on it like trailer trash on Velveeta Cheese! I don’t think the hotel made much money that night after I went back five times to the buffet table coupled with two dessert.
The next morning I awoke to scattered rain showers, what a surprise. Scotland doesn’t have bad weather, it’s just that you can’t have enough protection from it. Never be more than three feet from an umbrella!
I walked down to Loch Etive for some possible early morning photo shots. The sun was rising above the Loch and with the dark skies and two white swans it made for a nice contrast.
I made it back to the B&B in time for a Highland breakfast. Through out my travels in Scotland everyone served the same breakfast. This was a egg, baked beans, gallons of tea, unlimited toast, two sausages, roasted tomatoes and black pudding. (made from dried blood mixed with a mystery)
After breakfast all of the crew met in the main street for the walk to Glen Kinglass. We turned from a paved narrow road into a farmers road and then the heavens opened up with rain. We had to cross some low areas along a river and it was tough going. The trail was covered with six inches of water. A river was roaring as we crossed it via a bridge. We stopped under a picnic pavilion where three fisherman dressed from head to toe in waders and rain slickers but they were still reluctant to get out in the down pour.
At lunch time after walking five miles we lucked out with finding a barn with a unlocked door. Bales of hay made comfy seats and picnic tables. It rained off and on all during lunch and it was nice to get out of the weather.
The path turned and we were now on Glen Kinglass road. After walking few more miles, the plan was to camp in the fields next to the lodge and outbuilding of a hunting reserve. The gale force winds and hail turned that plan upside down.
There are lots of private hunting lodges that are located in the glens and lochs. During the hunting season the wealthy lodge owners hire beaters to walk towards them through the heather making the fowl take off and fly toward the fella with the shooting iron. For stag hunting I think it’s the same policy, chase a stag into the direction of the hunters and then “Good night Irene!”
As I approached the white lodge and out buildings I noticed an open garage at the end of the lane. I made a beeline for a dry spot to rest my weary bones. I signaled to all the passing walkers of my oasis. Within a hour 12 hikers were all squished into this tiny space. Looking out onto the countryside I noticed a large barn with three smaller buildings and then a large hunting lodge and the owner was not to be seen. I slowly opened the door on the barn and noticed open trailers and a dry dirt floor. This could be a grand place to camp while the skies emptied its guts. The Italians and I swept out the two open trailers and then we spread our sleeping bags on the clean surfaces. Georgio, one of the Italian’s was writing in his journal and with a chuckle, I asked if he was writing his last will and testament. The rest of the group picked a place to hangout and stay dry. Jeanette, Keith and Bob found one of the cabins open and in no time had a fire going in a stove to dry out their gear. Darren and Martin tried to find a place to pitch their new tent around the buildings that were sheltered by some trees, but the ground was soaked. They ended up staying in a building where dog food was stored. John and Joe the hikers that were walking the mountain tops showed up looking like drowned rats. They got their butts kicked with winds and hail on top of the Munro’s. A Munro is any mountain over 3000 feet in elevation. They ended up staying in the stables. Whenever the wind made a noise as it blew a piece of loose metal or swayed a tree branch against the building we all thought the owner was coming back to ruin our party. If the surprised owner would have made a appearance, all of us would have looked like cockroaches running for cover after a light is turned on.
Next morning was clearer and I took some nice pictures of the glen. Today would be a day of following the glen and reaching a real bed and shower. It was nice for once not to be fighting the weather. After crossing the river a few times, Pedro and I found a cabin where I had lunch. After lunch the rest of the Italians had shown and they walked to a hotel for their lunch. I walked back with the idea of carrying Jeanette’s pack since she seemed to be tired. I didn’t know about the rules that stipulated that everyone has to carry their own pack all the way across Scotland. The Italians were moving off in a different direction so we said our good bye for a few days. My group surrounded a table filled with beers and fries at a small hotel. Now we just had a short walk to the village of the Bridge of Orchy. I made it to the hotel first and founds beds in the bunk house for everyone. For $12.00 we got a shared three bed bunk room and community showers with a drying room. Every hotel and B&B had these drying rooms that smell like a thousand rotten hiking boots. As you might expect the conversation around the bar and dining room centered around the TGO. After a lovely and I mean lovely meal I found free internet in a large meeting room with a fireplace.
The next morning I awoke to clear cold skies. We would follow the Western Highland Trail for a hour or so.
This trail goes from Glasgow to Fort Williams for 97 miles and thousands of people walk it each year. There are B&B’s along the way and a company will move your gear ahead so you don’t have to break your back.
We all stopped at a bridge and this is were we would head towards Loch Lyons and leave the Western Highland trail behind. A couple of fellas from Denmark were hiking the road and stopped to chat. Their backs couldn’t handle the weight of full packs so they just had day packs on. The narrow path led us beside a small river with was numerous river crossings and varied problems to be solved. By lunch time I had made it to a sheep station and found John and Joe the mountain walkers there taking a break. Everyone stopped for some food. Then it was time to cross a small mountain pass to get into the Loch Lyon. The loch looked big from up on the mountain. The last river crossing was a little tougher with a high water due to all the rain. I hopped from submerged rock to submerged rock without a drop of water coming over the top of my boots. I yelled for Keith, who had started across to catch my walking poles but he was already halfway across and lost his balance and fell in. We walked to the end of the loch, well almost to the end, and if we crossed the river one more time we could save a mile. I waited for everyone at an old sheep station. Now we had a long walk to the hydro dam. Sheep and their lambs dotted the landscape. Keith and I made it to the dam than I walked ahead to a small village that was below the waterway. Numerous small rock houses lined a dead end road. There were no level camp sites here, but I noticed a couple who were unloading their car so I walked up to them and asked about camping. Their vacation home yard looked to be a potential primo campsite Their look of a Big Foot sighting came to mind as I looked into their startled eyes. Then ran to the safety of their car. Up the street an older fella was working in his back yard when I cautiously approached him and asked about camping. “You can camp in the field below, the owner is away.” he said. After a little conversation John and his wife Irene gave us permission to camp I their front yard. I again signaled the passing walkers and within a few hours six tents were set up. John had beers and tea for everyone. Our hosts agreed to keep the front door unlocked so we could use the bathroom during the night. I invited them both down to the next town for lunch the following day. We all sat around and had a nice conversations about this and that. These small house had been built by the Scotland government for the displaced people that lived in the glen before the hydro dam was built. Then after a few year the homes were sold and John had bought his as a vacation home.
Next morning was sunny and frosty. I had a great time with my Kodak and the sun. The walk down to the small village with a tea room was nice. After I telephoned John, he and his wife were there within a hour. We had a nice lunch and I lassoed him into driving me around to check out possible campsites for the night. First we drove to a Boy Scout camp. It was very nice with acres of green grass but not a soul around. Then a local gallery owner told me about a picnic site a few miles down the road. There was a sign that stating “NO CAMPING” but the gallery man said we could camp there anyway.
It was a perfect spot with level camping sights and a potty with flush toilets. A church with numerous grave stones was across the creek from the our camp spot. Mik and Gayle had set up their tent within a short distance of our group. Mik and Gayle had done a big walk last year starting from the farthest point in north Scotland to the farthest point south in England. Gayle had cut her hair short making it easier to take care of and she was as skinny as a rail, or as one said skinner than a hoe handle.
A black Mercedes rolled into our temporary village. The owner of the car also happened to be the owner of the land, that he had acquired when he married the landlord. He had the discussed looked like some one was trespass on his land ,and we fit the bill! Mik explained about our walk across Scotland with people from all over the world and he seemed to settle down and wished us all the best.
At bed time a cold wind had picked up and with a book in hand I walked to the church. I found the switches for the lights and a heater and settled down on a pew to do some reading. I woke up at about midnight and walked back to my tent.
The next morning I took a walk down the narrow road on the lookout for the perfect morning picture. A sheep that had jumped the fence was on the road and ran ahead of me. Than the scared sheep made a hard right turn and ended up trapped in a cattle guard. I was able to grab her horns and wool on its hump and lift her out of trap. As soon as the hooves touched the ground she was off to the races! I imagine she might still be running.
I walked back to camp to find my group eating their breakfast. I added hard boiled eggs to the breakfast that the tea room had cooked for me yesterday.
The trail led us up over the mountains and into the next drainage. The Loch an Daimh could be seen in th distance from our path. We would follow it into the town of Bridge of Balgie. Keith and I stopped for lunch at a very nice wooded reserve. We shared our table with sisters from England who where on a holiday..
At the end of the loch we met up with two couples, who owned antique Morgan cars and were out for a weekend outing. One couple had skied Colorado and we had much to talk about.
By this time Jeanette and Bob had caught up and we walked into town for some food and resupply. The village was very nice with old stone houses and churches.
After eating our second lunch we would walk to McGreager’s Hideout Cave to camp out. McGreager was a cattle rustler and highway man in the 1700's and generally was a pain in the butt to the authorities. The king got so pissed off, he forbid the name McGreager to be used for any clan.
Keith and I were ahead when we missed the turnoff and kept walking up a very steep hill for two extra miles. Then we found a old stone quarry that made for a perfect camping spot. Great location but wrong side of the mountain. Jeanette and Bob had found the turnoff and were camped at the cave entrance. Tomorrow we would catch up with our group. Our site had a bird’s eye of the loch and the town below as the sun set on another day.
The next morning as the sun filtered into my tent, it gave the hint of no rain on the horizon. Keith and I would follow the creek down to where Jeanette and Bob were camped. Last night I met a wandering artist who told me about some nice waterfalls along the creek, and he was right. There wasn’t any trail, we just followed the creek for a few hours until we came to the trail that Keith and I had missed yesterday. Jeanette and Bob were out of their tents and eating their breakfast in the sun.
Today’s plan was to follow an established trail for a short distance and then we would have to heather bash cross country. The heather is very tough and it hides a lot of watery holes and muddy bogs. After a few hours of being Jungle Jim we made it to a deer fence.
A deer fence is a structure that is eight feet tall and is engineered to keep deer out of the regrowth of the forest. It can be a little tricky to cross, especially with back packs on.
After pulling the wire apart enough to squeeze thru we came to a canal chuck full of water for the hydro dam. Luckily there was a bridge and we were on the right side within minutes.
After walking a few more hours we came to an ancient bridge that brought us into the town of Tummel Bridge. It’s a stretch of the imagination to call this a town, for it was a group of holiday houses. There was also a time share community that had a place for guest to buy meals. Even though we had already eaten breakfast, another breakfast for $3.50 was hard to pass up. The down side was the kiddie carnival type music continually blaring in the background.
After three hours of pavement walking I made it to a small hotel with a pub. A couple had just bought it and were excited about any kind of business prospects. I had three ginger ales and three ginger beers as I sat at a table over looking Loch Tummel. After a hour, the rest of the group showed up and they were tired and beaten down. They all got filled up with liquid refreshment.
A trail headed straight up from the hotel across a farmers field. The path was very faint because it was covered with tall grass and sheep droppings. We walked beside and in-between farmers buildings. Than after passing through a small gate we entered a wooded area. The woods had a few blow downs and we managed to walk around them. Most Scott’s don’t like wooded areas as they are used to wide open heather spaces, without downed trees blocking their path. I had met a local hiker in town and he had given us the low down on which fork to take on the path and the bogs to avoid.
Keith and I came to the first fork and we went to the right and at the next fork we went left. We had a fifty-fifty chance of doing it correctly and we missed it. The farther we walked the farther we went in the wrong direction, but we were sure making good time. As we came over the crest of the hill we could see our destination of the white outline of Blair Castle in the distance. It just happened to be in the wrong direction for where we were headed. We had to do some more heather bashing for a hour until we reached the right trail. Then we followed the trail down to the valley. We ended up on the wrong side of the four lane highway and had to walk the berm for thirty minutes as cars and truck buzzed by. Welcome back to the real world! A small wooded suspension bridge crossed River Garry and it would bring us into the town of Blair Atholl.
As we strolled into town, an older couple was sitting on their side porch and they were chuck full of information about the town. The hotel charged $25.00 which included breakfast. Keith and I would share a room and I reserved a room for Jeanette and Bob.
The town was perfect with old stone buildings and a huge castle. I was able to explore the town after my shower and bought some supplies as well.
Later I found the whole gang in the bar and it was a regular reunion. Hikers that we had met on the trail were all around a large table. Jackie and Michael, Jeanette’s friends had taken the train into town and they were going to walk with us for a few days. Michael had a cute black and white dog with him. We all had a great deal to talk about and the hours flew by.
The next day I woke to cloudy skies with a wee bit of a drizzle. I had my gear all packed and ready to hit the trail or road. I had plans to send some e-mails so I stopped by Jeanette’s room and told her to stop at the camp grounds that had internet at the end of town and pick me up. After twenty minutes of e-mailing I walked outside but no one was in sight. I walked back to the hotel and all the rooms were empty. I walked back and forth several times between camp grounds and hotel. I thought I had entered the twilight zone! I didn’t have a map and didn’t have a clue which direction the group might head. I did remember someone saying something about Glen Tilt. I stopped a few people and every one had a different idea where my group might be. I got directions to Glen Tilt and started to walk. Within fifteen minutes Bob came walking down the road. Jeanette was a little weary and she forgot what I had said and she thought I had walked ahead. Bob came back to save my butt. I met up with Michael and Jackie and the rain. Michael didn’t seem to have a proper pack cover on and it would bite him the butt later. The wind started to pick up and my umbrella flew apart in my hands. I had to put on a long jacket with a hood. Keith had walked ahead and was nowhere to be seen. At lunch time our group hid behind an old farm house to get out of the wind and rain. After lunch I stepped up the pace and caught up with Darren. The wind was whipping all of us around like rag dolls. I surprised Darren ahead of me when I grabbed his pack and made a wind noise as I pushed his pack back and forth. After crossing a long suspension bridge I caught up with Keith Alan and Mik.
Alan, a lone hiker, is an interesting story. After two days of walking Alan stepped on a stone as he crossed a river and ended up falling face down and kissed a rock. He had cut his face and ear quite badly. He had a cell phone and called a rescue team. The doctor looked at the cuts and took Alan home. The doctor than super glued his ear back on from the middle of the ear up. Since Alan had hit his head the doctor wanted him to stay the night for observation. The next day he was ready for the next day’s adventure.
It was starting to get real wet and windy as I walked along this narrow path above the river. About dinner time I noticed a ruin of a large house in the distance. I walked over to it and noticed two tents already set up behind a stone wall. This looked like the perfect place to camp for the night. Within thirty minutes Keith Mik and Darren had shown up. I had set rock all around my tent to block the strong wind. I told them, “I bet this is the best part of the day.” After getting out of my wet cloths and climbing into my warm sleeping bag, I didn’t mind listening to the rain make music on my tent.
At 8 pm I could hear Bob talking and I knew the rest of the gang had made it to the campsite. The wind that night was hurricane force.
The next morning as I headed to the next town the rain had let up. My plan was to get to Braemar and secure a B&B for our group. At the Linn of Dee there was a large group of people standing around some trucks. I thought they were part of TGO but they were part of a Boy Scout outing. They offered warm bacon sandwiches that hit the spot.
By 10:00 am I was in town and after walking to the youth hostel and finding that full, I located two B&B for the gang. While eating lunch I noticed the Italians walking down the street and we had a reunion.
Jeanette and the group showed up six hours later wet and tired. Come to find out, Michael’s sleeping bag did get wet and he had to lay in the cold tent, next a wet dog, with both of them shaking all night.
Everyone ended up at the hotel pub telling their war stories. After a huge fish and chips dinner there was a party sponsored by TGO. Everyone had a good time it but it was impossible to talk over the rock and roll band.
Next morning was a short day with a walk to Glen Callater Lodge. Stan, Jeanette’s husband, takes care of the lodge with a fella named Bob. We would stay the night and drink and talk the night away. The lodge sits above the loch with a fantastic view. It’s a hunting lodge for a wealth family but with Scotland’s public rights law there is a trail going right thru the property. After diner we all sat around a fireplace and most of the hikers asked me questions about and cowboys and Indians. It was the perfect ending to a sunny day.
During the night I got up to use the great outdoors when I noticed rain had returned with a vengeance. I couldn’t help but notice rain pounding on the roof as I packed my gear in the morning. After a warm breakfast made by Bob and Stan, the group was ready to battle the elements.
A lone woman hiker had a head start on us by a hour when I caught up with her as we came to the crest of the mountain. A driving rain and sleet had made the landscape a gun barrel grey in color and her face the color of ketchup. I kept pushing ahead just to keep myself warm. The trail was suppose to turn right down into Loch Muick drainage, except there wasn’t a trail just rushing water. I didn’t want to go the wrong way and I didn’t want to wait in the freezing rain for my group. I turned back and found Keith and Mike fighting the driving rain too. We found the trail and it was covered with rushing water. We followed the drainage covered with bogs and large muddy crossings all along the way. I lost my footing and went down and cut my knee in the process. The rain mixed with my blood cover my shin all the way to my sock. We met up with a hiking group of older ladies and the sight of blood drew all kind of comments.
I finally reached the loch and waited for Keith. Mike appeared along the trail and said Keith had sunk up to his waist in a bog. We walked to Queen Victoria summer home and found a small stone shelter behind the house. An ancient fireplace provided some heat and as soon as the rain let up we searched for any kind of wood small or large. The room was the darkest, dirtiest hovel on the face of the earth but after a few hours it felt like home especially after changing into dry clothes and sitting around a roaring fire.
The summer house was and is a favorite of Queen Victoria and Queen Elizabeth. Queen Victoria spent more time in Scotland after 1861 when her husband died and she became close friends with John Brown.
A painter was fixing up the kitchen because Queen Elizabeth was coming this week to picnic on the loch. The kitchen and the rest of the house was just as you might find in the 1800's it was very plain.
By dinner time twenty hikers had shown up to get out of the rain. The second floor had a wooden floor that worked good for laying out a sleeping pad and your bag. Some of the guys wanted to continue but after getting my clothes dry-“No way Hose!”
A couple showed up who owned a sheep farm and they were at the end of their ropes. This was their first and last big hike. The farm woman snored like a freight train during the night and kept waking up Jeanette, saying she was snoring.
The next morning the skies looked partly cloudy. Keith and I walked to the end of the loch and stopped at a ranger station. Three hikers had special permission to sleep in the visitors center and one was Jan from Glasgow, who I had met on the bus. Their friend had fallen yesterday and had knocked out her front teeth and blackened her eye. The ranger had taken her into the town for treatment. The doctor let her continue but no camping just B&B’s to keep her out of the dirt.
The trail continued up a drainage and then we had to cross a river. Then when we crossed noticed a small shelter on the other side so we crossed back. Two hikers in the shelter said for us to watch for a large pile of rocks, a cairn, on the mountain top and use that as our guide for the path. We could see it in the distance but the closer we got to it the view was blocked by the mountain. We crested the mountain without any rock pile in view and it was raining again. We did find a trail and followed the muddy foot prints. Now that I knew the way I charged ahead and passed the guys that had left late yesterday.
A church at Tarfside had open doors to TGO hikers with a dry spot and meals on a first come first come first serve basis. I met up with a English walker as we fought the driving rain across a farm land road.The church was a welcoming sight and I was able to get a bacon sandwich. The bedrooms were all full but a large room was empty for us to lay out our bags on the floor. I reserved spots and dinner for my group and took a cold shower, the hot water had run out! Then it was time to find the drying room and hang things up. The church lady gave me the key. By 5:45 pm the Italians had shown up and they had to camp down at the town site. At 6:00 pm Jeanette and Bob showed up just in time for dinner.
Joe and John, the two skinny mountain climbers were sharing the room with us and we had a nice talk. I found out from Joe, that John’s wife had been killed a few months earlier during a climbing accident. The wife was a climbing instructor and was teaching a girl to climb and both were repelling down a mountain side. The instructors rope was shorter than the student and the John’s wife literally came to the end of her rope and fell.
That night we all went to small pub for some drinks and talk. The pub was small with low ceiling and staggering heat. I left early and came back to the room in time to meet Ray. He had twisted both his ankles and they were black as black can be, but he was determined to continue, which he did!
I awoke to clear day and a ten mile walk to the next town of Edzell to secure B&B for everybody. The walk was quiet with lots of ring neck pheasants along the road. I made it to town and secured the B&B and had lunch. After lunch I walked to the Edzell castle ruin with it’s wonderful gardens. The view of acres of yellow rape seed fields that melted right into town was something to behold. I also had a nice chat with the lady running the gift shop at the castle.
Perino one of the Italian walkers had a blister on his foot the size of a silver dollar. He was in a drug store looking for the right bandage when he fainted and took out a shelf or two. The owner of the store closed the shop and had a doctor look at poor Perino. Trying to diet and walking long distances never works out.
The next morning I woke to clear skies and I had a few hours to explore the great town of Edzell. The town’s people had wonderful gardens and with a bright morning light it made for nice picture taking.
After breakfast the group was ready for our last walk to the sea. The TGO tradition calls for all walkers to get their boots wet in the west coast seas when we start and than again on the east coast when we finish. The country side was rolling farm land that was covered with yellow rape seed fields.
By lunch time Keith and I walked into the ocean and we had made it. There we found a nice tea room to wait for the rest of the group. Everyone showed up within a few hours and there was a lot of yelling and shouting.
A bus took Keith and I to Montrose and I got to meet Roger Smith the co founder of this walk and sitting next to Roger was Alex whom I had met on the train the first day.. They gave me a tee shirt and a poster to celebrate the walk.
There was a large party planned for this evening with lots of whiskey to pass around. I had other plans, I wanted to continue walking so I took a bus over to Lairig Ghru and hiked there for 30 miles. Then I walked for two days on the Western Highland trail before the constant rain pushed me off.
I had a wonderful time and met some wonderful people. 360 walkers started and 310 finished.