In Rothiemurchus...

In Rothiemurchus... from david hine on Vimeo.

Rothiemurchus is a little of what remains from the 'Great Forest of Caledon', which once covered much of the highlands. Like the Black Wood of Rannoch, or the swathes of forest in Glen Affric, the trees are predominantly Scots Pine. It's quite refreshing to visit these places, so much of the woodland in Scotland being composed of dreary plantations of fast growing foreign firs planted in ruler-straight columns and covering hillsides in perfectly squared-off blocks of green. In contrast, natural forests are distributed messily. Straight lines are few and far between, and the understory is a mass of broken branches, rocks and heather - all of which has its own natural reason for being there. The ancient woodlands are also the homes to some of the last survivors of Scotland's rare species. Rothiemurchus is thought to be one of the last strongholds of the Scottish Wildcat  and the turkey-like Capercaillie (once hunted to the brink of extinction for the crime of tasting so damn good).

But despite its credentials as a 'natural' environment, much of the time you spend in Rothiemurchus feels far from 'wild'. There are pockets where this isn't the case, of course, but there are a great many manicured cycle paths, information boards and even sign posts. All this stuff just completely kills any feeling of being 'out there', and unless you make the effort to get away from the beaten tracks you will never be far from families of cyclists ringing their bells.

I had a lot of fun on this weekend's trip. You couldn't call it much of a serious effort at hiking or a serious effort at packrafting, or a serious effort at anything really (although we consumed a fairly serious volume of single malt - shame on us both). I think I probably burned more calories by laughing than by either walking or paddling, and I think that probably goes for both of us.

We started out from Aviemore, having arrived on a Friday evening train from Edinburgh. We camped stealthily among trees opposite the pub. It was convenient location! Unfortunately, after we left the premises following a meal and some drinks some kind of dub-step party broke out inside. So it was a noisy night (a silnylon tarp doesn't muffle bass very effectively).

After breakfast the next morning, we headed out along the road that leads into the forest. When the road petered out, a rough track was welcomed and we made out way through the trees and up a path towards the Lairig Ghru (a pass between Speyside and Deeside). There was still a considerable amount of snow on the mountains.  On a loop through the Cairngorms during April a few years ago I encountered a  fantastic snowy scene in the Lairig Ghru. After the winter we had this year, the snow coverage in the high reaches of the pass this weekend would probably have been similar.

Where the trees turn to scrub, and the climb into the rockier stretch of the pass begins, we turned around and squelched our way down another boggy path back into the woods. Even though it was early, there seemed to be no compelling reason not to take advantage of a good looking spot to camp by the shore of Loch Morlich.

The next morning brought a welcome change from clouds and rain. The sun was out and the sky was blue. Although we only had one packraft with us (mine), we took to the water. The last time my boat (most definitely designed for one person) had two people in it was in Norway. But a 5'4" female is an easier passenger than a 6' male and despite the wind picking up there was no real problem. We paddled around, going nowhere in particular. Then, aiming for a beach on the other-side, I paddled us across the loch, where I deposited my passenger and went back for the baggage.

More general laziness followed. Bacon butties and beer were consumed in the Pine Martin bar at Glenmore (beside the loch). We made our way back to Aviemore, the weekend's whisky was finished and we both feel asleep on the return journey to Edinburgh.

Thanks to S for a fun time. And thanks for letting me post these photos.

Spring Snow

You wouldn't have believed it was Spring. The little lanes running up into the Lammermuirs had been snow-ploughed clear, but the resulting piles of snow at the roadsides were as high as the hedgerows.

The winds were forecast upwards of 40 mph, and the winds did not disappoint. If David hadn't brought a shovel, lunch wouldn't have been much fun. But dug into the snow we were comfortable enough.

Hills climbed were Meikle Says Law and Harestone Hill. Interesting wildlife spotted included a suspected bear (which turned out to be a badger) and a great many lanky hare. The hare were part way through their transition from white to brown. Caught out by the unseasonable conditions, their coats stood out against the hillside more than they usually would have. Toward the end of the day we found a dead hare, frozen into the drifted snow.

Meikle Says Law - Lammermuir Hills from david hine on Vimeo.

Last gasp of the Winter? I'm not so sure. It has been snowing today. Likely enough it will snow tomorrow.

Packrafting the River Dee (Scottish Highlands)

 

About to set-off in the late afternoon.

The river turned out to be superb (which I'd had a feeling it might). The Dee is one of the 'Big Four' of rivers in Scotland (the others being the Tweed the Tay and the Spey). But the Dee is in a class of its own by comparison to these other long rivers. 

Packrafting the River Dee (Scottish Highlands) February 2013 from david hine on Vimeo.

The River Dee

The river valley (strath) of the Dee is far quieter than most long river valleys in Scotland, and the river's character is far more natural (as well as more boisterous for the most part) than any of the other three mentioned above.

I think much of the character of Strathdee can be put down to the fact that although a road runs up it, it is a 'no-through' road. After passing through the attractive town of Braemar on the road, you can't go much further (only as far as the Lin of Dee) before the it ends and you can go on only by foot. The settlements are therefore small, and the volume of traffic is relatively low.

The banks of the Dee, at least for the most part, are wild and natural by comparison to many others. They tend to be rough with rock and heather, and lined with old Scots Pine which lean in over the water. So the immediate feeling of being on the river, inspired by these surroundings, was more 'intrepid' than I've found with the other big ones (although I've yet to paddle the Tay). And this feeling was only re-enforced by the background surroundings of hills and mountains, rocky and snow capped.

Wells of Dee (Sept 2010)

The fountain of all truth and wisdom gives the meaning of the name Dee to be 'Goddess', but even that miracle can get it wrong now and again (and I personally have no idea).

But I know that the source of the river is at over 4000 feet, not far below the summit of Braeriach, and that it made me a lovely cup of tea on a backpack through the Cairngorms in 2010. There are a cluster of little boggy indentations on the high plateau (one pictured left) which are called 'The Wells of Dee'.

Chest of Dee (Sept 2010)

From here the water falls down in a thin cascade first to Garbh Coirre, and then though the Lairig Ghru. It cuts across moorland and then drops through a little gorge of shelf-like falls known as The Chest of Dee. The river gathers strength as it meets its first tributaries.

There is a great deal of potential for good packrafting trips involving the Dee. The obvious one would be a true source to sea, climbing Braeriach to the river's source and then making your way down. But with imagination and some good maps, there are a myriad of possibilities.

It was a beautiful morning when I woke up for the first full day on the river. The water at the edges of the river had frozen.

A Winter Paddling Trip

My trip down the river began (kind of) on February 22nd. I travelled up from Edinburgh by train and then bus as far as Braemar, and by the time I had arrived it was after 2pm. I sat in the Fife Arms for a steak pie lunch and a galss of coke before heading down to the river. All in all, it was close to 4pm by the time I got onto the water and the temperature was below freezing already. I paddled only about 5 kilometers out of town before finding an excellent spot to camp beside the river (the best spot of the entire trip), and settling down. 

The next morning was superb, and although I was up and out of the tent before 7am I didn't get going for a couple of hours. Instead, I kicked around in the woodland beside the river and ate a slow breakfast with multiple cups of coffee. I was nowhere near the road, and it was completely silent other than for the river and the songs of birds. In both directions, the views were of snow bound peaks.

When I finally got moving downstream, the water was flat at first. This soon changed as the current gathered and small rapids sprung up around. The first significant rapids were at Invercauld brdge (I had researched the river quite thoroughly before setting out). After a brief inspection from the the right hand river bank, I paddled the first stretch of this section before taking out again on the left hand river bank for a more extensive scout down the main stretch of rapids. There were a few drops but a fairly clear line to follow. I think they would probably be easier in higher water (with a slightly wider margin for error), but would probably have been fine for me to shoot straight through as it was. Out of caution I decided against (they aren't going anywhere), and carried my boat around.

Bank on the water the river continued to pick up pace, alternating between flattish straight sections and bends where the river lost height and threw up waves and small rapids. For some sections (where it was flat) I paddled with my helmet off. But for the most part, the helmet was firmly on as the river is rocky and fast. This upper section is where the banks of the river are at their wildest, and the combination of fun water and a beautiful setting made for a very enjoyable day.

I was making fairly good progress, but made camp earlier than I had to simply because I spotted a good looking site. Overnight snow fell, and there was a light dusting on the ground in the morning. Snow began to fall again as I was packing up, and by the time I was on the water it was coming down steadily (and continued for the next few hours). Again, the water was good fun and its boisterousness continued to build throughout the morning. 

I made a serious mistake on this second full day out. My research had led me to the conclusion that there would be five sections of the river to be treated with particular caution. The first, at Invercauld, I had inspected and portaged. The next, Dinnet rapids, would be coming up during the second day. On setting off in the morning, it had been my intention to take out before the rapids and use that as a general break and also to scout the rapids (which I anticipated portaging). To my great discredit, I failed to keep a close enough eye on exactly where on the river I was and, all of a sudden, the straightforward white water I'd paddled during the morning took a step up. Looking at it later from the bank, there was a clear line that I should have taken which would have been fine. But having not scouted the rapid, which I hadn't intended to paddle and didn't realise was immediately upon me, I went the wrong way (into a hole I'd have chosen to avoid), flipped and ended up swimming to the banks.

When on dry land, I stripped out of my drysuit (was completely dry inside) and made a cup and coffee and some food to rest with after the swim. It was barely the afternoon, but by the time I'd finished my drink I'd decided to camp early and leave the river for the next day. Although it meant a short day (it barely being the afternoon) it gave me an opportunity to have a walk along the river bank and gather as much dryish wood as I could for a blaze in the evening. I read my book ('The General Danced at Dawn' by George MacDonald Fraser) and enjoyed a fire later on.

The next day was another good one, but I began to see gradually more by way of agricultural land and saw more people than I had up until then. The river, although not without fast sections, became flatter and more placid. I approached an narrow stretch known as Cambus o' May in anticipation of some excitement, expecting big waves and turbulence in this section. But it was almost completely flat, I think probably because the water level was fairly low. I had a couple of breaks beside the river during the morning and afternoon, but then took out at Potarch Rapid (the third of the sections I knew to be particularly cautious of). It was another fairly early finish, but after camping early at Dinnet I had already decided I wouldn't be going all the way down to Aberdeen. I was heading home the next day, and rather than paddle in the morning and find a bus stop to Aberdeen further down the strath I decided to spend a lazy morning beside the river. In the end, rather than wait for the bus to arrive in Potarch, I hitched a lift into Banchory and caught the bus from there.

I'll be seeing more of the River Dee.

My feet were ice blocks for many of the paddling hours. It felt good to warm them with fire.

A Word on Safety

There are few outdoor pursuits which contain no element of risk. I love to read about people's long distance treks, climbing and mountaineering exploits, or whatever else. It is usually fairly clear that they know, understand and accept the risks involved. However, there will always be people on hand to say that to do these things by oneself (as if a partner were a talisman against all danger) is unforgivably reckless. Put simply, I disagree with this.

That said, we are all responsible for our own decisions, our own safety and our own acceptance of risk (or otherwise). I for mine, and you for yours.

Allt Scheicheachan & Failed Endeavours

This weekend was a bit of a let down.

I intended to head up a hill called Beinn Dearg (Red Hill), which is a little north of Blair Atholl. I failed to catch the very first train out of Edinburgh, and in the end didn't even arrive in Blair Atholl until after 10:30.

I walked out to the bothy at the foot of the hill (Allt Scheicheachan bothy, don't ask me how it is pronounced) with the intention of dropping my overnight stuff and heading for the summit. With much snow on the ground, the walk out to the bothy took longer than I'd hoped and I arrived unsure whether it would be sensible to try and make it up and down that afternoon or whether I ought to wait for the morning. In the end I opted to leave it to the morning, and so spent the afternoon and evening kicking around the bothy, feeding the fire and getting the place as warm as its drafty old structure would allow.

I spent a couple of nights in this bothy two years ago, at about the same time in the year. On that occasion I had tried to get over the Minigaig Pass to Ruigh Aiteachain bothy in Glen Feshie (a lovely bothy indeed). I turned back half way across the pass, in fading light, after very slow progress, and with the tougher section still to face.

The morning I awoke at the bothy this weekend brought no greater success. Wind was rattling the eves of the rickety building, and rain was falling heavily on its corrugated roof (I would have preferred snow). I couldn't see the hill through the window and so the decision was taken (with ease) to sit by the fire, drink coffee and read.

Although the weekend flopped in some ways, the walks in and out of the bothy were good. And to sit by an open fire, reading a good book ('High Summer' by Chris Townsend), is not the worst way to spend a Sunday.

To Allt Scheicheachan Bothy from david hine on Vimeo.

More Local Hills...

This video is from a wander in the Pentland Hills (starting at Nine Mile Burn) with David & Tanya. We climbed West Kipp, East Kipp, Scawd Law and South Black Hill.

It was a nice day!



Pentland Hills from david hine on Vimeo.

Local Hill

Arthur's Seat in January from david hine on Vimeo.

My first attempt at film...

This is just an experiment, my first attempt to shoot and edit film. It was taken on what was meant to be a two day trip down the River Tweed (in the Scottish Borders) 30th and 31st December. The more interesting stretches of river are below this section. The section on this film is very flat. I camped on an island on the river at the end of day one. There were lots of partially eaten dead fish strewn around (Otters are good hunters but wasteful eaters). Overnight it rained and rained, and the river rose and rose. The wind was so strong on the second day that I soon quit the river and just went home. The battery on my camera had run out, anyway.

As far as shooting & editing film goes, I clearly have a lot to learn.

Playing this back, I don't think it was worth 4 minutes and 28 seconds of screen time - there's not nearly enough variety.  That's one lesson learned.

I'll be looking to improve on my next effort, so comments and suggestions are welcomed.

Happy New Year.


On the River Tweed from david hine on Vimeo.