I do love Scotland, particularly the Highlands. My daughters bought Maggie and I a DNA test for Christmas and presented the results after dinner.

They showed that I was wanted in four countries for motoring offences! It’s not my fault that their speed limits are too low.

Anyway I’m 14% Scottish and Maggie is 19%. That explains it then! I’m a bit Welsh, a bit more Viking and a lot English, based around Sheffield. Yes…..it is that detailed and targeted. Amazing.

A good sleep in the Laggan Hotel, it was freezing again and I was running out of food so all in all, since there are no shops, the Hotel was a good call. One of my chums at Sheffield United is an ex- Coldstream Guard. He’ll love this photo from the hotel.

The day was cold but dry as I pushed off across country, trying to keep on the path through forests where recent storms had uprooted many of the trees, blocking a clear route. So I headed for the edge of the forest to take my chances walking across marshland to the higher land that I was aiming for.

It was a mile long swamp but my amazing Meindl boots kept out the water and warmed my tootsies. First time with German boots, I think I’ll call them Adolf and Eva. No it’s not an oblique reference to the Second World War. That would be dated and a reflection of the views of some kind of Leave voting, archaic, soon to be extinct dinosaur. Some of my best friends are German. There was that taxi driver in Hanau Steinheim, nice bloke. Yes, I know he was Turkish I’m not daft, but he worked in Germany! Then there’s that comedian Henning summat. Yes, I know he’s not my mate but he makes me laugh when he’s on the telly. Particularly when he tells jokes about the war and that.

I made it to higher ground and found the track up to the head of the Glen.

Just to clarify the remoteness. I’m venturing a few miles at a time into the Monadhliath mountain range and seeing nobody all day. Silence. But this is a 700 square mile wilderness where nobody lives apart from Golden Eagles and Deer. A mountain range as big as Surrey that nobody has ever heard of. But it is valuable land even in its anonymity. This is controlled burning of swathes of heather to aid regeneration and healthy growth of the grouse population so that they can be shot by rich folk paying thousands for the privilege. And the deer need their numbers controlling. Christ knows why because I’ve only seen three, but rich folk pay thousands to shoot them.

There are deserted properties, in remote places, called bothies. These are usually old farm buildings that are maintained occasionally by a Scottish Association and can be used, free of charge by walkers needing shelter from the weather or somewhere to sleep. I’ve slept in a couple and rested in many more, but this little gem was one of the best I’ve seen. Dalnashallag bothy will have saved many folk from frostbite and hypothermia over many years.

I love the comments folk leave.

I meant the one by Matt and Vic!

Pushing on down the Glen towards Newtonmore there is no path and you have to negotiate the crossing of a river and numerous streams. It was fortunate that only melted snow was pouring down rather than days of rain. The East Highland Way website warns that these streams are uncrossable after heavy rainfall.

A cold wind funnelled up the open Glen, biting in to my chest, face and hands. My legs seem immune from cold, even though I only wear shorts. But the rest of me can feel a slow return to winter from what has been a remarkable series of sunny Spring days. Days I’ll remember all my life. Thanks Ray. And Kirsty, of impeccable lineage and gifted voice taken far too early.

Cold wind or not, when the sun comes out life is transformed.

After nine miles of slog a proper track took weary walkers down to Newtonmore, and I am going to be one of that number.

Stopping for a pint and a packet of crisps in the village I warmed up in the local hotel, girding my loins…yes it’s ok to say that…..girding my loins…..it comes from the chuffin Bible and you can’t be on safer ground than that…. girding my loins for the last stretch to Kingussie before the snow. And my bollocks.

You just can’t resist it can you. No question mark needed.

Look at this. Newtonmore Hall with a Saltire – fair play – and a cash sign. I’m not surprised with the cost of a pint of beer and a bag of crisps. Kerching.

Cold wind and cloud have an inevitable outcome in this neck of the woods.

And finally I’m in Kingussie and staying in the Duke of Gordon hotel. I know wild camping is interesting and exciting but trust me, snow is on the way!

Christ my shoulders are hurting from that rucksack.

Be reyt after fish and chips and a good kip.

Night night.

The coldest night camping I have known. My toothpaste froze in the tent. My tent froze in the Universe. The Universe froze above me. When I went for a pee in the neet the stars were in my face. No moon. Incredibly raw and real and wonderful. I couldn’t do more than a minute outside in the freezing cold, vainly looking for any sign of the Aurora Borealis. The tent was as solid as a shed with ice and frost coating it inside and out.

This morning I didn’t want to get out of my sleeping bag, although I was fully clothed, including my down jacket. Eventually I ate breakfast, a half tin of cold beans, a coco pops bar, two Dairylea sections and some water. I packed as much as I could inside the tent but rolling up sleeping mats and sleeping bags needs outside space. Luckily the sun gave an impression of warmth, even though it was still below freezing when I set off at 9am hundred o’clock. And Loch Laggan still had an almost imperceptibly thin icy mist.

I was walking up the east side of the Loch which was shaded from the sun by a mountain to the east, so the cold persisted late into the morning. The view across the Loch, duplicated by the reflection, was great.

I needed to make good time this morning and I kicked off at a pace. By lunchtime I had walked the length of the lakeside stretch, round about 7 miles I’d guess, so I stopped for a picnic. Two Dairylea sections and five dates. Supplies were running low and I was trying to save some food for my evening meal in the tent.

In the afternoon the path rose into a dark wood. These are so dense that even I find them sometimes creepy. When you’ve not seen anyone all day and you’re tired, and you’ve seen the movie Deliverance, then you’d prefer not to see anybody in this wood.

Diddle ing ding ding!

After a long uphill and down dale slog I made it to more open territory looking towards the distant mountains of the southern Cairngorms.

It’s easy to think how daft you are to be a bit twitchy about dark, dense and silent places when you are back in sunshine. But it was too silent, if you know what I mean. Dull, like Mirkwood.

Crossing the pass between west and east, everything was now running into the North Sea rather than the Atlantic. In this Glen, down into the River Spey first. And I was by the Spey before you could say ‘Simple old idiot’. I was looking for a spot to pitch my tent and there were a few, but I was reluctant following last night’s very low temperatures. Eventually I walked past a bloke fishing for salmon and asked him if he knew anywhere to stay in the village of Laggan, which I was close to. He was a Glaswegian called Jimmy. You couldn’t make it up! He had been visiting this area since he was a kid and was well known. His advice was the Laggan Hotel just outside the village, which he rang from his mobile and got me a bargain because he knows the owners. Tonight sorted.

Seventeen miles today with that lairy rucksack. I’ll eat well and sleep well tonight.

Night night.

Well not quite like a salmon. A bit like a dab or a bream. Or more like a crab. Or a crabby old bugger. Or just an old, crabby, smelly, tired, ridiculous old fart. One that dissipates slowly in a sealed room. In fact you could still smell me when the seal is broken in 100 years time. My great, great grandchildren might break the seal, inhale and say ‘Jesus Christ gggpa must have been in here before he went up to Loch Laggan’.

The day was stunning, but it had been a very frosty night.

A great breakfast and I’m off to the river again to cross at what was a ford yesterday. I hope it still is.

I covered about 14 miles yesterday, which was good going with a reyt heavy rucksack and a bit of a cold. The cold didn’t weigh much but it weighed me down, particularly going uphill. My legs are ok to say I’ve not really been training but my lungs are struggling a bit. They’ll be ok.

The river was a bit higher, the warm sun yesterday must have melted some of the snow.

But obviously as an experienced trekker I managed to cross the river in my bare feet with no more damage than the bottom of my shorts getting wet, but not my underpants or lower regions.

Look, before we get into any iffy areas in this blog that aren’t suitable for families could I just have a quiet word in your shell-like and warn you against outdated references like ‘lower regions’? Your mentality is antediluvian.

Ok.

Looking back the river looked quite lovely.

The day became cool, then mild and then warm. And the views were just outstanding.

The air was fresh, the sound of the river was therapeutic in the background as it made its inexorable way to Fort William and the Atlantic beyond. And after a cold winter the fauna came alive.

Miles from any village and stuck up on a hillside this church oversaw the valley, with its graveyard perched in the highlands. Not a bad place to spend eternity.

The track climbed and I got closer to touching snow, but not close enough. It would melt before I could climb there with this rucksack!

I was sweating a lot as the air got warmer and was running out of water faster than I had anticipated, so I saved my bottles to fill up at the next fast flowing stream. And it tasted beautiful. And it stoned me just like going home. Thanks Van.

One of the things I love is the big sky and the silence. Yes…I know that’s two things. One is the big sky, and another is the silence. It isn’t lonely, it’s comforting. The hills are alive, with the sound of nothing. They’re my pals when the weather is like this.

Nearly 600 years old. Reaffirming that the ruins I saw near Roy Bridge were probably those of an old mill. And maybe this came from it?

The sun was starting to sink and I knew that I had to find a pitch for my tent. My shoulders were struggling with the rucksack so the sooner the better. Looking northward I could see a lake that linked to the bottom end of Loch Laggan, which this track dropped down towards. It was likely to be flatter there and to lend itself to a more sheltered location.

The location I found was great, looking north and south.

And looking west was a local farm and a stunning view.

A cold tin of beans, three portions of Dairylea cheese and four Medjool dates. A meal fit for a king.

Night night.

Hello; how are you? Good, good. How can I help you……oh God, I’m fed up with this stupid approach to a travel blog al(bloody)ready. Why can’t I just tell you what I’ve done and put in photos. After all, everyone who looks at this blog is only interested in the photos. So why tell you what I’ve bloody well done when it just gets in the way of you looking at the photos? Here are the bloody photos.

Night night.

I caught two trains yesterday to travel most of the length of the British mainland from Leeds to Kingussie with a view to catching an early train this morning to Fort William, which was to be the starting point for my trek.

I arrived at Kingussie late into the twilight. It’s a village in the Cairngorm mountains national park. Outside the station was the local memorial for those who gave their lives in two world wars.

I always find these incredibly moving, but this one was off the scale. It’s a village that you can walk through end to end in 15 minutes and the number of lads who gave their lives was massive. This was one of three lists. Poor little buggers.

The first thing I did was stop at the chippy on my way to the hotel and get my usual haggis and chips.

I was the only one staying in the hotel. I had to put a code in a box to get the key out and never saw anyone. It was an old building. There were footsteps upstairs. I knew it must be another customer and nothing paranormal so I played it cool, gathered my thoughts and shit my pants!

You can’t write decently for more than 5 minutes can you? Answer me boy! Can you? You have to refer to bodily functions in a rude way don’t you boy?

Yes sir. Please don’t hit me again. I’ll be good.

This morning came and I had to get down to the station for a 7.30 train to Fort William. The only one of the day. A quick East to West dash. I arrived at 7.15 and the platform screens didn’t indicate that a train was coming, but a screen in the locked ticket office said it was a bus and it was on time.

The long and short of this tedious story is that the bus never came and I had to get a train down to Stirling, another train to Glasgow , another train to Crianlarich (which was delayed as it had run over somebody on the track – sadly true) a bus to Fort William and a bus to Spean Bridge. I got here at 18.15. I feel so brassed off that I could ****.

BOY!!!!

The route in red is the one the Magic invisible bus would have taken. The blue route is the one I took.

The big plus is that the route from Glasgow to Fort William was the most beautiful route I’ve ever taken on a train/bus.

Tomorrow I have to get a train from here at Spean Bridge back to Fort William to the start of the East Highland Way. I had to stay here because I’d already paid for the hotel. Well…..Maggie had. I have to go back because I’m walking the East Highland Way, not part of it – all of it. But; and this is the rub – it’s not a train tomorrow morning at 7.19 because the line got knackered last week. It’s a bus! And if it turns into a Magic bus and is completely invisible, like the useless non-arrival this morning, I’ll scream until I……. Until I……. Until…..oh ****!

BOYYYY!!!

Night night.

Well this old, fat bastard doesn’t evoke Scotland the Brave in my humble opinion. But he’s going trekking there in two days time, 140 miles from Fort William to Aviemore and down, through the Cairngorm mountains, to Pitlochry. Some remote country with more than my share of wild camping. And just to add a bit of spice to it the BBC is forecasting snow in Aviemore. But only light snow.

Keep an eye on this blog. I’ll start it on Thursday if all goes well but there will be several days between posts as there is no signal, no roads and no buildings (apart from the odd bothy) for many miles on one or two legs.

Night, night.