Day 1
Friday 8 May 2009 - Off I go - Strathcarron to Iron Lodge
After a hearty breakfast, it was time to pay the bill and go. Would my knee be OK? Would I get through the day without getting lost? Would the rain ever stop?
The first two were OK, but, the rain continued, on and off all the day. It was joined by hail and snow and ranged in intensity from light to torrential. The background hills were covered in fresh snow; not a good omen for going high on Saturday. Bendronaig Lodge was a good stopping point for lunch. I arrived there alone, but, was soon joined by a small gathering which included Alvar and Ann Thorn, Ali Ogden and Sue and others (here starts the: I-have-a-useless-memory-for-the-names-of poeple-I-just-got-introduced-to phase). Three men took the seats while the others, men and women, took to the floors. I made my knee an excuse for keeping the seat - after all it was suspect and the sitting position did help ease the slight ache.
Then Ali explained her knee problem; heavy bandage and support etc. I made a timely exit thinking to myself - you big wimp, Gordon! Get some real problem to worry about. By this time Alistair, who walked with me near Strathcarron, was way in front of me.
I left the Lodge in the company of Jack Addison and we walked and chatted together until we reached the far end of Loch Calavie. Here, I went due south, whilst Jack continued on towards Pait Lodge.
The day's fun started here. First, getting across the outlet to the Loch involved negotiating a wire contraption that gave very little in the way of confidence to a backpacker with a lump on his back. It was a question of go for it and, as luck would have it, I made it across without any problems. Then due south. But, due south was over some pretty nasty looking peat hags. I decided to keep as high as possible before descending over the unavoidable peat hags and finally getting near to the Allt an Loin-fhiodha and Loch Croushie. John Donohoe, my vetter, had given me a grid reference point for a crossing point, which was a little up-stream. Up spate more like.
The river was fast flowing and high with the snow melt and rain. It took me over an hour to negotiate the many inlets to the river, avoiding the deep mud and mire, to eventually reach where I was advised to cross. It looked deep! It was deep! Off with the boots and socks and on with the Crocs. Trousers hitched up round my waist (Cioch trews are ideal for this manoeuver). Poles out forward: face the flow and - go. The water was up to the top of my thighs and was freezing. Somehow, I stayed upright and made it across. After drying off my legs and feet, I put my boots back on and walked to Maol-bhuidhe bothy.
Smoke was issuing from the chimney. A good sign? No! In the bothy there was Alistair drying off his gear. He and another (later I found out it was Pat Deane) had swam across the outlet to the Loch! Pat was upstairs in his sleeping bag. Alistair was getting the fire going. They had been there for three to four hours. I had to get to Iron Lodge, so I had a brief chat with Alistair and then set off. Later, I would get the full story. The river outside was in spate, barring my way to the path, so I went up its side until I reached a crossing point. That was a Crocs crossing point. Trews up. And, over. Boots on, and, off. Hardly anytime later, another stream in good flow. Oh well! - first of about six wet feet crossings. Once your feet are wet, you don't have to worry about getting them any wetter.
The path eventually brought Iron Lodge into sight. I could see a tent outside (a good sign) and a figure entering the building. When I got to the building, I knocked on the door. When it was answered, I asked whether it would be OK to camp outside? To my surprise I was invited in by a fellow Challenger. The Lodge was derelict and, he and two others had the bedrooms upstairs. I had the living room in which to sleep. I can't remember their names - in fact I only met one. The carpet was still down and the Lodge had not been totally trashed, so, it was a very comfortable place to sleep in. Water came from a small stream that ran into the main river. Joke and Jeff Cracknell were the couple in the tent; they had thought the Lodge was locked when they tried the door earlier, but it just needed a hard shove.
