A forced change of plan and a walk in a little-visited part of the Cairngorms

An Garbh-choire

Sometimes plans don’t quite work out. Sometimes they don’t work out at all. Knowing recovery from a forthcoming hand operation would keep me off the hills for at least a couple of weeks I planned an overnight trip in the Cairngorms. The day I was due to start I first picked up the friend who’s going to drive me back from the hospital after the operation – aside from being unfit to drive after the anaesthetic I’ll also have a hand in plaster. We got in my car and I turned the key. Nothing. Not a sound. A few more attempts and I range the local garage, who have been dealing with my cars for over thirty years. We’ll get back to you soon, they said. We went for a coffee. It was disgusting. I won’t be going there again.

The garage rang back. We’ll come and look at the car (they were only about half a mile away). Two mechanics turned up and fiddled with a diagnostic device. Nothing. At one point a mechanic thumped the steering wheel. Still nothing. Probably the starter ignition they said. We need to take it back to the garage for a proper look. We bump started the car – nothing wrong with the engine – and off they went. We went for another coffee, a good one this time. Eventually I rang the garage. Starter motors dead. We should be able to get one in tomorrow and may be able to fit it then. I need it in two days to get to hospital. We’ll try our best.

Home was only five miles away but my friend had awkward luggage so we weren’t going to walk. We rang the only local taxi service. Happily, a taxi could come straight away and we were soon being whisked home by a friendly and chatty taxi driver. Thank you, Johnny’s Taxis.

Now a nervous wait to see if my car would be fixed in time for the hospital appointment. But thankfully not a long wait as the next morning the garage phoned and said it was ready. Phew! Relief. Thank you, Woodland Service Centre.

Rather long preamble over. Now to the hills! Without the time for an overnight or even a long day I unpacked my big pack and packed a small one. I decided to have a wander round the northern end of the Cairn Gorm massif, a complex area of ravines, knolls, terraces, and bogs between Ryvoan Pass and Strath Nethy. It’s a quiet, little-visited area (I’ve never met anyone here) with hardly any paths.

I remembered that the walking could be tough here. I had forgotten just how tough. Deep tussocky heather, spongy bogs, steep slopes. Progress was very slow. Once I left the path from Ryvoan Pass and started the ascent of appropriately named An Garbh-choire (it means the Rough Corrie) I reckon my pace slowed by at least three-quarters.

Brilliant bell heather in An Garbh-choire

I didn’t mind the slowness though as the corrie is a wonderful place; hidden, secretive, magical. There are old pines and birches here and even some aspens and plenty of regeneration. In the boggy areas the orange spikes of bog asphodel, the white fluffy flowers of bog cotton, and the pale lilac of orchids gave touches of brightness to the brown landscape. But the real outrageous brilliance came from the stunning deep purple patches of bell heather that glowed with an almost unreal brightness.

Aspen in An Garbh-choire

An Garbh-choire ends in two steep narrow gullies. A line of broken crags lines one of them. I climbed the very steep slope on the edge of these rocks, exiting the enclosing confines of the corrie to a sudden expansion of the world before me. In the distance I could see the broad ridge running from Stac na h-Iolaire to Cairn Gorm.

Cairn Gorm from the top of An Garbh-choire

Below me lay another ravine, Eag a’ Gharbh-choire, this one level and choked with rocks. The remains of a small shieling lie inside. A breeze dried my sweat-soaked clothes.

Eag a' Gharbh-choire

I continued upwards more easily to Creag nan Gall, whose steep west face towers above An Lochan Uaine in Ryvoan Pass. Bits of sketchy path led across the mix of bog and heather, less tussocky here. This was the easiest walking of the trip. From the summit I could see the curving summit of Bynack More rising towards dark clouds. Rain threatened but did not fall.  

Creag nan Gall & Bynack More

I descended south from the summit, plunging down the heather tussocks towards a trickle of a burn. Reaching this I followed it towards Ryvoan Pass. Soon the slopes steepened as I reached the first trees. A narrow dirt path appeared. It felt familiar. It was. I soon remembered I had come this way before, many years ago, and the descent was desperate. The path was wet, slippery and very steep, in places with drop-offs where it had collapsed. I slid down a few of these on my backside. Progress was only marginally faster than on the ascent. Again though the surroundings made up for the arduous walking. I was in a wild tangled luxurious forest, an astonishing mix of trees, shrubs, grasses, heather, and bracken (head high in places). This is how a forest should be.

Even so I did feel relieved to reach the path and easy walking. Although I hadn’t gone very far this was a very tough venture. Far more strenuous than the walk across the Cairngorm Plateau to Ben Macdui I reckon. Perhaps that’s why no-one hardly ever comes here. I’ll be back.