The last time I walked through Glen Feshie and down to Linn of Dee, on a failed coast to coast walk in 2007, my enjoyment was somewhat moderated by ankles that decided they had walked quite far enough already and wanted a long sit down. I spent the night with my feet up then hobbled on to the doctor’s office in Braemar and then didn’t get out walking for another two months in probably one of the best parts of the year, missing April and May entirely.

So here’s a suggestion: don’t push your luck if you’re injured on a long walk. You can always go back, take your time, take some more photos, wonder why they’ve closed the perfectly good upstairs room in the bothy, say “Christ – I just hopped across this river last time” and quite simply do it all again with a smile on your face.

It’s good to be back.

Finally got around to putting up some photos from the weekend.

What happens to time in bothies?

You sit by the fire, dozily enjoying a dram after dinner then *BANG!* it’s three in the morning and the only subject that hasn’t come up for discussion at some point between now and then is what time it is!

If you’re like me and cannae be bothered cooking parritch in the morning when you’re camping, you could do worse than trying Stoats porridge bars.

I’ve no’ bought shares in them or anything, honest. It’s just a suggestion.

Went up into the Mamores for a wee camping trip on Friday. It turned out to be a nice night so I took some photos.

Let’s hear it for brevity!

Went on a wee camping trip to do some hills near Rannoch Station – Carn Dearg and Sgor Gaibhre – at the weekend.

The weather was drizzly when I set off up the old Road to the Isles track from Loch Eigheach but was clearing up nicely before I was very far along it. Fortunately, it stayed that way all evening so I could sit with a drink and enjoy the impressive views until it was time to crawl into my sleeping bag.

However, things had gone all wrong again by three in the morning when I crawled out again to water the plants, and I was soon wishing I had more on than just my trainers as the wind and rain did their best to wake me up completely.

Next morning, I stayed in bed for ages drinking tea and smoking fags in the hope that the cloud would lift but no such luck. I didn’t even bother taking many photos but I took a few the day before.

A short Friday-to-Saturday camping trip with Sandy to do the highest hill in Dumfriesshire, White Coomb, in the National Trust for Scotland’s Grey Mare’s Tail nature reserve.

The Grey Mare’s Tail itself is a waterfall on the Tail Burn in a hanging valley left by the last ice age below Loch Skeen. The NTS say it’s the best site for alpine and mountain plants in the south of Scotland. So there ye go!

There are supposed to be feral goats running about the shop as well but they must have been on their holidays.

I managed to get a few photos despite taking a set of duff batteries.

Grand day out yesterday on Gleouraich after wild camping in the glen.

As usual, there are some photos.

Tired now. Sleeps.

Edit: Here’s an Ordnance Survey map of that area.

There’s an online petition going at the moment to legalise wild camping in England and Wales so they can have as much fun as us. Away and sign it and I’ll buy you a pint.*

* – After you buy me one.

Climbing out of the car into the rain wasn’t the best of starts.

Things improved, though, when a mate slipped, turned his ankle and skelped his face hard off the road during the walk in. I was relieved when he raised a hand to be helped up, and he was quick with praise for rescuing his whisky that was catapulted down the road before coming back to help him. 😉

At the end of that night, a guy in the bothy turned out to be a psycho and started picking a fight. He was one of those repetitive pillocks as well so there wasn’t even any entertainment to be had out of him. Drunken diplomacy won out in the end—sort of.

The next day was an easy stroll up Beinn Bhreac for us, but two lads came in late that night without the dog they’d set off with. It had ran out onto a frozen loch and gone through the ice, the poor wee thing. They said they’d tried to smash a path through the ice for the dog to swim back to shore but couldn’t manage it in the end.

It was a nice dug as well. Mad for sticks but then you expect that from a collie.

I only took a few photos on the way up Beinn Bhreac.