Kingussie to Coylumbridge – Business end of the season

At this late stage of the trek, and with the weather worsening, you should get your rucksack on, gird your whatsits and crack on. I’ve enjoyed some of the warmest and sunniest days this part of the world has seen in March, and now some balance is required. Hello snow.

For a hotel that is fading a little, the breakfast was magnificent. A buffet, and I whacked down tons of haggis and black pudding. The Scots know how to live…and how to die with a diet like this. Fatties!

Oy! I am 14% Fatty so quit the wisecracks you Sassenach! And onward down the Spey valley.

The Way today starts on tarmacked road to the east of Kingussie and into the foothills of the Cairngorm mountains. It passes the Ruthven Barracks, three hundred years old and built to house the English oppressors of our Jacobite brothers and sisters. Rebellious Scots to Crush eh? Didn’t see yez trying to crush the rebellious Scots at Hampden Park ye Sassenach bedwetters!

Head down, carry on. The wind is racing up the Spey valley, right into my face and I need to crack on.

High road bridges cross the wild torrents that tumble from the Cairngorms.

Then the sun came out, and later went back in again, playing hide and seek behind the clouds. And it’s coming ready or not.

The snow showers became longer and more intense. But the sun held its own when the showers died down.

There are certain grassy fields that contain lots of migratory geese. This one had thousands roaming across it. Such a shame that I haven’t got a shotgun in my rucksack. I think that wild goose is the best meat I have ever tasted.

And the torrential rivers kept coming.

Nearly 50 years ago I was on holiday here with Maggie and my sister Deborah one Easter. We drove down this dead end road to Glen Feshie and my old Morris Minor packed in during a blizzard. I told the girls to stay safe and I set off to find a phone to call the RAC. This is the phone box I used all those years ago. I just couldn’t understand the woman from Inverness at the RAC centre there, it was so strong an accent that it was like a foreign language. I gave up and was walking back to the car when I heard it coming down the road. Maggie had kept trying to start it and had succeeded. She didn’t know how to drive but managed to get it moving in first gear and drove two miles down the Glen in first. What a catch!

Cutting across country the rapid snow movements were catching up with me, and getting more intense.

I really wanted to follow the last part of the Way down to Loch an Eilein, a beautiful Loch with a historic castle ruin on an island. But the snow got worse and I’d promised Maggie that I’d stay safe. It normally doesn’t bother me, even after my head bash. But my darling looked after me last year so I owed her much more than one. I cut through the hills to the road and marched as fast as I could on the tarmac.

Nearly there and I aimed for a hotel I knew, rather than the campsite. The snow was going to be too much for ma wee tent! Made it.

Night night.