Sazava

December 9th, 2010 • 1 comment River Kayaking

The Czech Republic’s River Sazava on a early October trip.  It runs right through the middle of fairytale country.

Breaking the Ice

December 6th, 2010 • Winter climbing

Lamb chops and myself headed out with spikes on for our first ice-climb of the season on Oui Oui (near Newtonmore and conveniently right next to the road).

A Blank Canvas in Bothy Culture.

November 22nd, 2010 • Bothying

Halloween Bothy Mice Strike Terror into Female Residents

November 1st, 2010 • 1 comment Bothying

There were eight nationalities all happily packed into Pean Meannach bothy this last weekend.   Happily at-least, until the mice were mentioned.    With Ghosts and Ghouls forgotten about ‘they can’t get upstairs can they ??’ was the question on the lips of all but the crazy Belgians, who were too drunk to care.   It did seem that mice had penetrated the defences, and made it into some peoples’ sleeping bags though.

We did little the way of anything productive, instead, we incinerated some Bananas, didn’t find the buried whisky, and had Spad giving us one off his new album of cover songs ‘Rustic Charm’.   We also noted that the washing-up liquid situation is getting out of control.  If you happen to be going to Pean Meannach in the next few years, I wouldn’t say there’s any need to take washing-up liquid.

Dance like a frog

October 14th, 2010 • 2 comments Cycling, Mountainbiking

I rather like this picture of Chad hoping about like a frog.  Of course he didn’t mean to be doing that  …it just turned out he looked like that as he was falling off his bike.

Solway

August 30th, 2010 • 1 comment Windsurfing

One and only one from the Solway Firth last weekend.  Windsurfing being the order of the day and I dont have the kit for water shooting (yet).  This is us waiting for the tide to come in:

Ben Alder circuit for Birthdayboy Bawheed

August 24th, 2010 • Mountainbiking
Tags: Ben Alder, ben alder bothyBealach Dubh, Mountainbiking, Sron Bealach Beithe

I fist met Somhairle at playschool almost 3 decades ago.  Since then he’s had a few nicknames (although not nearly as many as Spad it must be said), but we’ve remained friends none-the-less.  In a celebration of the start of his 30th year in existence the three of us took off for a circumnavigation of one of Scotland’s most-difficult to get to Munros, Ben Alder.   The forecast might’ve looked crap, but as the adage goes – you snooze you loose – so on we went despite the fact snoozing was pretty tempting at half six in the morning.  It stayed a bawhair off crap all day as we picked our way through Glens, over the the bealuchs, through bogs, around lochs under mountains fixing punctures while eating Haribo and sitting looking at the wilderness.  We found some twisted aircraft metal on our way through Bealach Dubh before the descent into the glen.  Ben Alder bothy in the sunshine was a rare place to be where we sat chatting to a Liverpudlian, who we met a few times on the way round,  before tramping up and over Sron Bealach Beithe with our tyres sinking frustratingly into the bog when the path was just getting under way.  But we’d paid our dues, and the descents reminded me yet again how good it is to be on two wheels in the wilderness.  One crash from the now expert crashist Bawheed and three punctures courtesy of the drainage ditches (and some miss-timed bunny hops) kept us in our place.  Back at the pub Fash n Chaps n a shandy sorted us out before the Citroen took us the backroads home three muddy bikes stuffed in the boot – HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAWHEED!

From Timbuktu to Achiltibuie

August 16th, 2010 • Uncategorized

I met my friend Damien on a cargo boat floating up the river Niger to Timbuktu.  We spent several weeks kicking about around there, getting ourselves into some interesting situations.    Some 3 years later he visited Scotland, with his girlfriend Manu.  There was only one fit destination for a friendship made in Timbuktu – Achiltibuie.   Simone, James, Nicky, Adrian and my dad joined us for various parts of the adventure.

Roads with History

August 1st, 2010 • 1 comment Cycling
Tags: campsie, cuilt brae, roadie, tak me doon

Somhairle and myself took off for a day of pedalling to clear the heads.  From Clydebank through Kilsyth and going up and over the Campsie hills only getting to the top mattered as frantic modern life disappeared to a background murmour.    Road cycling is a strange and amazing undertaking – even running up mountains doesn’t seem to reduce you to exhaustion quite as quickly.  Yes! a motorbike screeching by as you trundle up a hill puts question marks in your head, but then as its roar disappears over the horizon, it’s just you, the wind rustling, an open road, and a sublimely peaceful feeling as you whirr along.  It’s an honourable admission – where there is life there will always be pain, accept it and reap the rewards.  These roads have been ploughed by many cycling greats, and passing a number of cyclists with friendly waves you get the impression this deep routed culture lives on.   Nachos at Fintry were well deserved before the descent and a tired last climb over Mugdock.  We congratulated each other on our return.

Here’s the route.

Out on the Cuillin

June 25th, 2010 • Hill walking, Mountains

One moment I was in Glasgow, the next I was standing on the Cuillin Ridge.  It seemed that all I did was blink and there I was, 8pm on Saturday night.  Quite why it took me so long to come to these mountains I don’t know, but my reaction was not one that I expected.  Up on the ridge I felt constricted, like I couldn’t move backwards, forwards or any which way without going over some kind of drop to a seemingly certain death.  This landscape is intimidating, it took me almost an hour to make any kind of move along the ridge, fighting an overwhelming urge to go straight back down.   I had no guide book, no advice on which way to go, no rope, and no partner to belay me even if I did have a rope.

Three who were bedding in for a Bivi on one of the tops  found it amusing that I had a fishing rod ‘Fishing trip gone out of control’ I said.   I edged my way along the ridge but got spooked at an airy gap.   I couldn’t see any sensible way round without climbing a short section of rock with a large drop beneath it, which I wasn’t confident enough to commit to.  In an attempt to find a way round it I ended up going further and further down, almost unintentionally finding an escape route off the ridge, but also quite glad to be on safer ground.

Down in the Coire, and held hostage by a cloud of midgies I slept in.  Back at Sea Level I was a spare part hanging about at the Glen Brittle campsite on my own, and so I went for  run, out to the point, on by the island of Soay, where I shouted down to a sea Kayaker, and round the back of the Cuillin towards Coruisk following a deer.  After a few hours of running through the bogs my legs tired.

At Sligachan, having a pint with a new friend Terry, we planned a trip up Am Basteir the next day.    The cloud would spoil our plan, and I watched the old and new chief clash later that night, when Billy got knocked off his feet.

Jen gave me a lift back and we stopped by the Cluanie Damn, where I caught no fish, but she did take some photos.  Another Highland adventure.