Roy Bridge upstream to Loch Laggan – Like a Salmon

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in this blog that aren’t suitable for families could I just have a quiet word in your shell-like and warn you against outdated references like ‘lower regions’?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.