Go North Young Men and some not so young.

A brief introduction for those who don’t know my Dutch friend. He is 20 years younger, 15 centimetres taller and weighs less than me. When we started walking together twenty years ago, I was stronger than Guido – those days are long gone but, to quote the man himself, “We make a great team”. 

I navigate and clean up, Guido does everything else – driving, cooking, carrying the pack, bullying whimpish old men when they get nervous etc. We both are big fans of walking in north-west Scotland and have been there together seven or eight times.

Guido gets very effusive about the area and takes any opportunity to get his kit off and get into some water – any water – sometimes with a beer in his hand in the sun. I have seen his arse far too often. He had three swims in one day. He is also an expert naturalist so took a thousand photos and kept himself amused when I was trailing behind by looking at lots of different grasses!

This year we had several interesting events.

I have read quite a bit about how intelligent crows are – much brighter than dogs and three year old kids. We had a brilliant demonstration of this. We were sitting on a rock having a break when a crow came and sat on a rock about 15 metres away and watched us. Guido put a bit of cake on our rock – nothing. He threw a bit off the end of the rock – a tour of inspection. He threw a bit half way across the gap between the two rocks– grabbed. I threw my apple core about a third of the way – an inspection.  We left and stopped after twenty metres. The apple core was picked up taken to her rock and partially eaten. The rest was hidden in the grass. Next was the bit of cake on our rock. She hadn’t remembered the exact location of the bit thrown off the end of the rock but it was soon found and eaten. She then flew off, knowing that we hadn’t left anything else. Brilliant!

When was the last time you saw sheep walking across a beach? We were watching this strange event when the farmer’s mother happened along and explained. There was a small piece of nice grass at the other end of the beach from the sheep’s main grazing and the same sheep regularly lead some others across.  Once a lamb had been left behind and mother hadn’t realised until the tide was in. It was only about 300 metres but Mother swam back. Wool gets waterlogged and sheep do not have big flippers or hands at the end of their legs. One strong sheep with very powerful mothering instincts, if a little unobservant not to have noticed the absent lamb for a few hours. You might need to look carefully at the photo.

We had just had lunch in the pub in Sheildaig when we were accosted by a man older than me. He had been walking when two dogs chased him – he had turned to face them, taken a step backwards, fallen over and damaged his shoulder. Could we put his canoe on the roof of his car please – of course.  This is hardly worth mentioning but it continued our list of odd things and came the day after the twenty-four hours of mad Germans.

We had just arrived back at our bothy (how we got back is later in this article) at 9.00 p.m. when a young German couple rolled up. For those of you that don’t know, a bothy is a building that you can use to sleep in and cook in – it is free and most bothies are in remote locations so very handy for walkers. They vary greatly in size but this one was big with two “living rooms” and four “bedrooms.” Guido and I had occupied two of the bedrooms but there was plenty of room. The Germans refused the offer of some Talisker (very god whisky for the ignorant – we always carry a bottle) and said that they were very tired. We said cook first – no we will cook in our room. It was quite cold so Guido got a fire going – I told you he did everything else. The Germans emerged from their room at 10.30 p.m.  – there was still some light - with their packs on and said that they were going further because they had a schedule to keep! We warned them that the path they intended taking was not easy and would be dangerous in the dark. Half an hour later we could see their head torches off the path and moving pretty aimlessly. The following morning Guido went down or, more accurately, up the path they were on and told me how dangerous it was. Obviously he had overtaken the Germans. I had walked out a different way, collected the car and had gone to collect Guido. Just as we were about to leave the Germans arrived. Naturally they refused our offer of a lift. Guido thinks that the only reason that they came to the bothy was for a little sexual interplay.

Guido is a big fan of small rodents, he squealed with delight every time we saw a vole. He was slightly less happy about our mouse. (A few years ago one bothy that I was in had a mouse that kept scampering around all bloody night. I got up many times to try and get rid of the little bugger but didn’t sleep much.) The first night in the bothy this time the food was in Guido’s room and everything was fine. Not so the second and the mouse had a feast.

We had had three nights camping and bothying so were in severe need of a shower and to do some washing so we went to a bunkhouse.  We went to the area and wandered off for an afternoon stroll. We paused for a game of backgammon and a beer. 

This slowed Guido and speeded me so, for the only time on the trip, I was setting the pace. After three hours we reached our objective and turned round. After half an hour we met two nineteen year old German girls who were carrying three packs and a very large handbag between them going the other way. They asked how far it was to Glen Brittle. Ah! “This isn’t the way to Glen Brittle.” They had been walking due South for more than two hours when they had needed to go West-South-West. It wasn’t cloudy and upon enquiry they did know that the sun should be in the West at 6.00 p.m. We showed them where they were on the map and the obstacle to getting to their objective – The Cuillins Ridge – 900 metres and extremely steep – it is a climb. They had a map – of Scotland - and totally inadequate footwear. It was four hours to the bothy we had been in previously (with no escape route) and they had food but no cooking equipment. We persuaded them to return the way they had come and took a bag off each of the girls. There were some tears and five hours after they had commenced they were back at their starting point. Instead of staying in the same bunkhouse as us they were determined to get to the hostel they had booked. Guido got them a list of taxi phone numbers and left them to it. Guido said that he would take them (it was a 45 minute each way drive) if the taxi was too expensive. After we had got cleaned up and gone to get fed we saw the girls talking to some Germans on our way into the pub.. They had disappeared half an hour later. We were not convinced that they had believed anything that we had told them. We ran into them the following day when they managed a few smiles and finally remembered to say “Thanks”.

 We had, independently, arrived in Inverness in the late afternoon and headed straight for Applecross. This is our favourite place in the whole area – it has the best pub in Scotland. There were some entertaining people including a couple of blousy, drunken thirty-seven year old women who were very amusing. Net result – excess.  Back at the campsite I managed to put my tent up just about OK. Guido half erected his tent but it did not rain so that it did not matter too much.

We both woke up early and Guido drove off for a swim. I couldn’t get back to sleep so packed everything. Guido returned after two hours looking (and feeling) dreadful – having not swum. He  was no better after breakfast so I had to drive over the Pass of The Cattle – uninsured naturally. The Pass of the Cattle goes from Sea Level to Sea Level in about 15 kilometres and is over 600 metres high. I began to feel rough then and Guido, who was feeling better after yet more coffee, took over. We were on the way to Skye. We loaded up with food and liquids so our packs were about 18 or 20 kilos each. The walk to the bothy was only 5 or 6 kilometres with a small climb of about 250 metres but I was knackered and we only managed a 2 hour stroll after. This was the route that the young German couple took the following night after they left the bothy at 10.30 so we knew what they were in for.

The following day we had a walk planned. Due north for two hours, turn south west over a three hundred metre climb, circle a lake and walk back round the headland path to the bothy. Estimated time – 7 hours. The walk north was on schedule at two hours. The walk over the hill was wet and took over three hours, not two. Guido said I was alcohol-lagged – I had only been in the UK a week. I persuaded Guido to abandon the walk round the lake. We stopped for a bit to watch an outdoor wedding and Guido went off to do a bit of exploring whilst I had a rest. 

The Wedding - You can see it was not a hot day!

We had been told that there was a boat going across the bay to a place 7 kilometres from our bothy at 4.30. I was tired but perfectly capable of doing the five kilometre or so walk to the bothy. We set off and soon saw some seals – Guido counted at least thirteen.  The first kilometre was fairly easy and then came a bit (which I had only noticed on the map an hour before) called “The Bad Step”. Tricky. Guido tried to find a path going up the cliff whilst I tried to find a way round the rocks. The path was clearly marked on the map as right next to the sea. Nothing. Maybe you could walk round at a very low tide (we were an hour or so after low tide). Defeat. Back the way we had come. This was a daunting prospect. Another boat came in and left at 5.00. We tried to flag it down but weren’t seen or ignored if we were.  The seals enjoyed watching.

Before we started the main part of the slog back – which would probably have taken seven hours I was so tired, I sat down and Guido went off to investigate if there were any boats at the landing point or a method of contacting somebody (there was no phone signal – there never is in that neck of the woods). 40 minutes later I was cold but getting optimistic. We had arranged a signal if there was a boat but Guido reappeared with no signal so I started (as agreed). Guido, however, had two guys with him and they soon caught me up. Guido had managed to hail a yacht and these two had got dressed up, lowered a dinghy and come to talk to Guido. He told them what was happening. I was nearly seventy, we had been walking seven hours, I was on heart pills and was stumbling and falling over. The two others had come to see what state I was in. I didn’t know what exaggerated tale Guido had told but promptly slipped over. We headed back to their boat after they asked me if I could get there. Guido’s tale was given even better credibility by me falling over on some stepping stones and losing my compass.  The crew of the boat were all Swiss French teachers – mainly retired – none of whom spoke good English which is why Guido had had difficulty in getting them to call the coastguard to, in turn, call a water taxi.

A nice warm boat, a cup of tea, a biscuit and a beer perked me up. I explained the problem fully and they took us home! They were just going back round the headland when the first mad Germans arrived.

It is the first time I have had to be rescued.

Splendid people, the Swiss.

Guido has his uses.

Most of our rescuers

The last bit to the bothy - not as planned.

The last two photos are from Martine Meyer, the rest, with one obvious exception, are by Guido Lek.

Bill is a traitor.

I had just moved back to Guangzhou in September 2013 and my boozing partner (he has a Chinese name but even his wife calls him Bill) announced that he was moving to Toronto.

So he came to the UK. He only had eight days so, naturally, the majority of the time had to be spent in Northwest Scotland because it is the most beautiful part of the UK. Norman, who Bill didn’t know, came along and they got on very well – it would be difficult not to get on well with either of them.

The weather was shit - worse than it had been with Guido – and that had been pretty crap – it is the risk that you take when you go to an area that has 150 cms of rain a year.

After checking about 15 hotels and B&Bs in Ullapool we realised that we would have to camp.  Putting up the tents in the driving rain was not much fun. We went for dinner in a nice hotel and suddenly I was so ill that I couldn’t even drink my beer. You know how serious that is!

The illness passed quickly and we went for a walk the following day the main feature of which was having wet feet for hours on end. We also had some difficulty in route-finding. Some bastard had put up fences across the marked path. This can be, and often is, a difficulty in Scotland. Essentially there is a right to roam wherever you want. However, this also means that the “right of way” concept in England doesn’t really apply and marked paths are not to be relied on, as Guido and I already experienced a month previously (and on earlier trips). So who needs paths? Well it makes finding a route a bit easier for one.  At one point we were pushing through bracken that was more than head-height – a new experience for all three of us I believe.

The best walk I know in the area is only 900 metres high but has fabulous views at the top. I had done it twice before so knew what was required. We decided to give it a go despite the weather looking horrible. It was The Glorious Twelfth. For those of you not part of the slaughtering fraternity The Glorious Twelfth is August 12^th – the first day of the hunting season.

We got onto the ridge at 600 metres but we were in solid cloud – very windy cold cloud and I explained the difficulties of the route ahead and thought we should turn round.The other two agreed.  Fortunately the cloud cleared momentarily and there is an excellent view from the ridge,  So far, no story. But the only people we saw on the hill were hunters – six in total – all well equipped and obviously competent in the mountains complete with expensive equipment, lots of money (I heard one of them say that at some place it cost a thousand quid a day to slaughter harmless birds – oops no, he said to hunt) and the right accents. However the weather was so shit that not one of them had fired their gun all day. We felt so sorry for the poor lambs. They should have come out with us. On the way up Bill had spotted some birds that we got to less than ten metres from. About half a dozen ptarmigans. Hah!

Our last day turned out to have the best weather – just one shower and sunny most of the time. We were doing a walk from Applecross up on to the hills until the path ran out. Make our way across the top to a path down.  It was less than two kilometres from the end of one path to the start of the other and it was a nice day so no problem.

Well there was one. Norman is afraid of cows. These animals may be large but they are harmless (unless you take a dog) and you just push them out of the way. These particular beasties were highland cattle who have huge horns but are exceptionally docile. Bill is a Guangzhou city boy who has barely seen a cow so, when there were a few on the track in front of us, I was outvoted and we had to rake a diversion. An hour later with very wet feet, of course) we were back on the track and five hundred metres further forward.

Once we got up on top we saw a couple of deer early on but we gradually split up, I was heading for the ridge, Bill going in a straight line and Norman somewhere between, As I got on the ridge I counted at least sixteen deer. Unfortunately, the other two didn’t see them.

The idea of getting on the ridge was to have an easy direct walk off down the ridge. Ah! Stupid me had forgotten that flat ridges are not really ridges at all, They are called “areas of indeterminate  drainage” i.e. the water sits on the top, not knowing which way to go. In other words, a bog. The other two had to sit and wait for me for quarter of an hour whilst I found my way through this shit. It took us nearly two hours on a nice, clear, warm sunny day to do those less than two kilometres.

I felt sorry that Bill had not got high and seen the fabulous views but he is not a complainer and took quite a lot of photos of the mosses and lichens (unfortunately most with a proper camera; here are two he took with his phone) – it was a new experience for him. The highest we got was over the pass of the cattle in thick cloud!

Norman (who has also had two trips to the area with no luck with the weather with no big height gain but he is English) flew back to Bristol but Bill and I enjoyed the night train back to London – a civilized experience.