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From Glen to Glen and Down the Mountainside Three days through the Western Highlands from Loch Ness through Glen Affric to Kintail Story and photos by Al Churcher It began as a low rumble late August, it’s light by 5:30 a.m., and an of mine to follow the old cattle-drovers’ in the distance, accelerating in pitch and hour after that the sun had cleared the trees “road” through to the west coast. volume, until with a mighty roar it was surrounding the campsite and coaxed us Two hours after emerging from our upon us. As the floor shifted beneath us out of our tents. Starting from the end of tents, we’d left the car keys at the campsite and the walls shook, the corrugated roof Loch Ness, we had three hard days of off- office and were pedaling over the seemed to stretch upwards before shudder - road riding ahead of us. Our plan was to fol - Caledonian Canal bridge, past the yawning ing back into place as the wind tore through low ancient tracks and military roads over motorists waiting for the petrol station to the valley. The next one was louder and two barren and remote moorland ridges open. Reflecting that these were probably fiercer — and the next. And the next. into the heart of the Scottish Highlands, the last cars we’d see for the next Convinced that the roof was going to go at first into Glen Morriston and then Glen three days, we left the out - any moment, my travel-mate Kim started to Affric. Deforested centuries ago, the skirts of Fort stuff everything within reach into his back - Highlands are known for their wild, open pack, but the two would-be ostriches beside mountain ridges and valleys, but above its him buried themselves even deeper into the long silver lochs, the slopes of Glen Affric warmth of their sleeping bags. Gradually are still cloaked with thousands of Scots the wind lessened, its banshee howls giving pines and it had long been a dream way to the hammering of rain that contin - ued almost to daybreak. Two days before, it had all been so very different. In northern Scotland, even in Augustus behind and turned north off the trees, a jeep track followed a pylon line over tarmac onto the remains of one of General the crest of the moor and down to the road Wade’s 300-year-old military roads. The in Glen Morriston. A riverside lunch stop in stony track soon turned into grass and grav - the birch trees, then a bit of searching el singletrack winding steadily up through around to find the right turn, and we were the pine trees, and with a long day ahead of back on the trail and heading north again. us and packs stuffed full of tents, sleeping Although it was some yards off the road, the bags, and three days’ worth of food, we were Old Drove Road sign was clear enough, so happy to settle into a steady granny-gear rounding a bend, we were surprised to find rhythm, with the occasional off-the-bike the trail blocked by a six-foot-high gate. Kim push for good measure. Once clear of the used to run problem-solving courses, so he Ahoy below. Intrepid cyclists pause in Scotland’s backcountry to gain their bearings. 38 ADVENTURE CYCLIST MARCH 2007 ADVENTURECYCLING .ORG stood back and took the photos, assuring us that this was all good team building as we struggled to pass the bikes over. More easy fire roads led over the next ridge, and although the hoped for bivi-spots around the tiny lochans of Beinne Baine proved to be inhospitably boggy, a few miles further on, we found the perfect spot. Sheltered by three magnificent Scots pines, yet open enough for a breeze to keep the dreaded midge away, there was just enough room on either side of the stream for two small tents. Even better, it faced west, and we dozed, cooked, and dozed again in the warmth of the evening sun until clouds gath - ered and the sun finally slipped away behind the mountains of Kintail on the horizon. Tomorrow we’d be right among them. A pleasant shelter. The group stays at Camban Bothy near the Five Sisters of Kintail. Despite the long northern gloaming, we were asleep by nine and slept soundly until onwards, we took advantage of any lull to the clouds appeared, and by 9:30 we were the unmistakable patter of rain on nylon poke a head out of the flysheet, each time back on the trail. some five hours later. Soon the patter finding that not only were the mountains Once in the forest, the logic of keeping became a drumroll, easing only for the first lost in impenetrable cloud and rain, but so to the widest fire road served us well until of a series of lashing squalls that seemed to was the forest a few hundred yards below us. the steepest drop of all (naturally) led round be transferring the entire contents of those Just when it seemed we were going to be a bend to a total dead end. Luckily our next lochans onto our tents. From 7:00 a.m. pinned down for the entire day, a break in choice was the right one, and a long east - ADVENTURE CYCLIST MARCH 2007 ADVENTURECYCLING .ORG 39 ward zig took us cruising down past the hilltops covered by mist and cloud, there nothing on the man-eating Scottish Hilton Lodge and its gillies’ and foresters’ was a total absence of wind. And, when the Highland midge. Nowhere else have I seen cottages to a westward zag down to the rain returned, the midges came too (so cartoon clouds of insects obscuring peoples’ blacktop at the tiny hamlet of Tomich on much for the “either, or”). Now, having vis - heads, nowhere else do white-skinned town the River Glass. Follow the Glass northeast ited northern British Columbia, the Yukon, dwellers receive instant “suntans” when for some ten miles to Erchless Castle and it Alaska, and the southern tip of New every exposed inch is covered by connected becomes the River Beauly — flowing ser - pentine-like on to the Beauly Firth, Inverness, and the sea. Follow it upstream and west as we did and it becomes the River Affric, linking the longer fingerlike lochs of Beinn a’ Mheadhoin and Affric itself, and lending its name to what many believe is the most beautiful of all Scottish glens. But despite the alluring combination of open water, valley sides cloaked with miles of native Scot’s pines — the most noble of all British conifers — and bare mountaintops above, we were hardly seeing it at its best. After my last August trip to Scotland (more years ago than I like to remember), I’d sworn never to return again in what we jok - ingly refer to as summer, when you’re either Extreme protection. The lads were somewhat prepared for the mighty Scottish midges. being eaten alive by midges or hiding from the rain. Today the pines and lochs had Zealand’s Fiordland, I can swear that black midge bites, or demented vacationers run their own somber beauty, but with the lakes flies, sand flies, and all the other indigenous screaming to immerse themselves in any more often than not hidden by trees and the insect swarms of those far-flung regions have available stretch of water, before they tear off 40 ADVENTURE CYCLIST MARCH 2007 ADVENTURECYCLING .ORG their skin with their own nails. It took some time for them to find us — as long as we were pedalling we were as unaware of them as they were of us — but as soon as we stopped they were upon us. (Sniffer dogs have nothing upon the olfacto - ry abilities of the humble midge!) But we were prepared and within seconds had donned our net hoods — well, two of us had — mine had hidden itself in the nether regions of my pack, and it took several, very long, expletive-muttering minutes of rum - maging before I too was safely screened. The problem was that it had been some hours since breakfast, so we’d stopped for a snack. Somehow evolution hasn’t prepared us for eating with faces covered in netting, and we A little R&R. Wild camping among the heath and streams of the Highlands. seemed to take turns at taking mouthfuls of nylon along with our cereal bars. The fire mile or so on and we seemed to have left the bridge, the gravel road continued for anoth - road above the lochs rose and fell easily ravening hordes behind, but within minutes er three miles beside the river’s twists and above the shoreline, and although I was a lit - of removing our nets they were back. At turns. Although the sky was still predomi - tle claustrophobic, I could see perfectly well least the rain had stopped, so instead of a nantly grey, the cloud ceiling had lifted through the netting — or I could until we coco day (coats on, coats off) it became a above the jagged peaks that now dominated started to climb, when my trapped breath nono (nets on, nets off) for the next five every horizon, and every so often a patch of immediately steamed up my glasses. miles, until we left the forest and Loch Affric blue lit up the bare grassy slopes, along with Cleaning them off without stopping was behind us. our spirits. A small wind turbine continued even trickier than eating under the mesh.

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