Ben Vuirich

 My younger son is doing his Mountain Leader training (ML) at the moment, and so is packing in hill-days in order to complete his log-book - prior to the assessment. He has to complete what are termed 'quality mountain days' or QMD's (which my phone's autocorect always changes to WMD's!). These involve going to high level, waking for more than five hours and navigating rather than following paths.

Ben Vuirich near Blair Atholl nicely ticks all those boxes, and made a delightful walk for us when he was back home for the weekend.  Although just short of being a Munro, Vuirich is more than 900m high and so is a proper hill. It's lack of Munro status - and relative isolation make it path-free in all it's upper reaches, as virtually everyone else heading up the track from Loch Moraig heads for the massive bulk of the adjacent Beinn a Ghlo.

It's a good climb and a 13-14mile stomp, much of which is through the heather, and it was a lovely isolated viewpoint at the top. The route out, went via a new path off the back of Beinn a Ghlo - and back to Loch Moraig.

Meall Tairneachan and Farragon Hill.

The high upland between Aberfeldy and Loch Tummel is dominated by two Corbetts, Meall Tairneachan and Farragon, the latter of which sounds like a character from Tolkein. They are overshadowed somewhat by the vast bulk of Schiehallion immediately to their west, but clearly visible from the summit of Kinnoull Hill - which is our regular afternoon dander. I had heard how wonderful Farragon is from a neighbour who was a great walker and climber, but who sadly (and unexpectedly) passed away a fortnight ago. So, with lockdown preventing us traveling further afield to summit new Munros, and with his words in my memory we decided to attempt these two.

Access from the road, (The B846 - Aberfeldy to Tummel Bridge road), is via the bulldozed track carved up through the forests and onto high ground to serve the Foss Barytes mine. There are spaces to park a few cars around the entrance to the mine road, but the obvious car park is not for the public, and presumably is designed for mine workers. 

The road climbs and zigzags up through dense pine plantations before breaking out just under the top of Meall Damh. From there is swings lift and climbs steeply underneath and parallel to the undulating summit ridge of Meall Tairneachan. A tiny cairn at the height of the road marks the point to leave the road and turn right onto the grassy, heathery slopes of the hill. The ridge has a trig point at its western end, and a cairn at the summit. a km or so to the east. The views are phenomenal - this area provides a unique view of Beinn a Ghlo and Ben Vrackie as well as Schiehallion.

The Barytes mine on the other hand is an eyesore. Bags of lime surround the streams, which are full of white deposits. One of my friends used to be a SEPA inspector up there and told me that the lime precipitates salts which then settle in the lagoons, which we saw dug all around the site. I also read that this site is due to close, as a larger mine (Barytes are used in North Sea drilling) is soon to get planning permission. I wonder whether the miners have to return this landscape to more natural conditions or whether they just leave that to time and nature!

Farragon Hill appears to be miles away from Tairneachan - so far in fact that we doubted we'd manage it. In truth, although a lot of height is lost between the two hills, the traverse (though boggy in places) takes only an hour. The final pull up Farragon is steep, and the summit all the more airy for it. There's a splendid feeling of remoteness there. We only saw one other person all day, and these hills are virtually pathless once the mine road is left behind. Faragon provides views from the Cairngorms to the Paps of Fife, with a thousand hills in between!

The walk out is long, and requires regaining a lot of lost height and bypassing the ugly mine workings before trudging back through the forest. Oh for a bike for the long descent! My late neighbour who recommended this route to me did it in extreme winter conditions, we did it in a nothing more than a chilly wind, but still found it a long, hard day! In my cupboard at home I have a nice bottle of Aberfeldy 12yo, distilled at the foot of these hills. As I rested my aching limbs that evening, I raised glass in recognition of my neighbour, who was a great mountaineer, for a fine recommendation.

Highland Bike Extravaganza

Despite various aches and pains I'm delighted that I have finally managed to pull off an epic bike ride I have wanted to do for years. The big Perthshire round of Perth - Loch Tay - Loch Earn - Perth has been tantalisingly out of reach for a long time, but yesterday I completed it.

The first 25 or so miles were fun, as I was in the company of a fellow rider - one of my neighbours, who was on his own epic run from Perth to Inverness (no less!). We got off to a later than planned start, because his daughter who was off Munro-bagging for the day nicked his lunch and water bottles! Nevertheless we hit the cycle path north from Perth by 8AM.

The route follows the River Tay, before curving westwards along the River Almond, then following minor roads through little villages such as Pitcairngreen, before picking up the old A9, all the way into Dunkeld. From Dunkeld, we legged it up the old cycle route up the East side of the Tay, which is fast - despite being a little close to the A9 at times. At Ballinluig we went West, and round to Grandtully, where he went North on the Pitlochry route, and I pressed westwards towards Aberfeldy.

Grandtully to Kenmore, at the head of Loch Tay, is a fantastic run - albeit into a constant Southwesterly wind. Most people who have been to these parts know the fast A-road that skirts the south banks of the River Tay. The cycle route follows tiny unclassified back-roads on the north side of the river, through Dull, Weem and bypassing Aberfeldy, before dropping into the back of Kenmore. At Kenmore I enjoyed a rest, a feed and refilled my water bottles, before pressing on, over the old bridge, through the village square past the hotel - and round to the South Lock Tay Road.

Kenmore to Killin is perhaps the most scenic bike ride I have ever done - it is simply exhilarating despite battling the ongoing southwesterly wind. Truth be told, I didn't mind the headwind at this point, because it meant that the last leg of my long day would be wind-assisted when I turned for home! As the road heads away from Kenmore, and climbs above the dark waters of the loch, the views across to the 'Lawers Group' of Munros are really memorable. As I've climbed all of these and know them quite well, I could chart my progress along the loch in relation to the peaks opposite. Meall Greigh and Meall Garbh are the least distinct - but the sharp tooth of An Stuc (where I was once lashed with hailstones that felt as if they would take the skin from my face!) is as unmistakable as the high point of Ben Lawers itself. Meall nan Tarmachan, is next, with its pointy peak and charming ridge, before the hills at Killin.

Many years ago STV decided to re-run old episodes of Weir's Way in the wee small hours of the night. I loved sitting up watching these, and have visited so many of the places that Tom Weir explored. One of the first shows I saw was about Loch Tay, and he called in with the old Horn Carver who worked on the North side of the loch. Long gone now, he was still there carving when I first followed Tom Weir's advice and explored the Loch Tay hills. Cycling through them, again was both stunning and nostalgic!

At Killin, the Falls of Dochart had drawn a huge crowd - people were all over it. We're not long into the easing of Covid-19 lockdown, and a sunny weekend meant that the cities had emptied into the Highlands. A small amount of main road work is required before the cycle path to Lochearn head turns off the A827 and onto the old railway line. The trackbed isn't too bad for cycling on, and climbs steadily up a couple of hundred metres of ascent, before the blue National Cycle Route Signs (which had been my company all day), turned me left into the forest. I have to say I was really disappointed here as there was no indication that the track would only be suitable for mountain bikes. I managed to get up the tortuous woodland path to the head of Glen Ogle, but really should have been on the road - this "cycle route" was really an MTB trail, and should have been marked as such.

When I met the road at the top of Glen Ogle, I decided not to follow the old railway line down the other side to Lochearnhead, I had had more than enough of sub-standard surfaces by that point - and elected to use the A-road to descend. And what an amazing descent that is! The road plunges down the mountains, with the old railway viaducts to the right and the mighty bulk of Ben Vorlich ahead - it has to be one of the most wonderful downhill runs in this part of Scotland. Driving Glen Ogle is not bad, but it pales into insignificance with the thrill of cycling it. Cycling through a landscape doesn't just make you feel connected to it (every foot of ascent has been hard earned!), but allows you to observe it, to hear it, and smell it in a way that the car does not. All too soon, I was zooming through Lochearnhead, with oodles of momentum, and turning left onto the south Loch Earn road.

As I nudged my heavy, elderly, comfortable - and much loved F.W. Evans Tourer de Luxe, round the corner into the easterly run home, I could feel the wind at my back for the first time in the day - and clicked up a couple of gears. I flew along to Ardvorlich where I got snarled up in an incredible deluge of cars, people, walkers, campers, fishermen, campervans, all vying for lochside parking. Progress was repeatedly impeded by the volume of traffic, the insane parking, and the difficulties of negotiating passing places. I was also very sad to see the amount of litter, damage to the shoreline and mess left all along this beauty spot - which is supposed to be in the Loch Lomond National Park controlled camping zone..... hmmm. It doesn't seem to be working.

St Fillans to Comrie is a lovely fast, flat run, and I opted to duck away from the A-85, and use the backroad as much as possible, which I did again from Comrie to Crieff. The Crieff to Perth run, via the Gloagburn Farm road is a fast, undulating road, on which I toiled. 100miles is the longest ride I have done in many years, and by this stage everything was starting to hurt - not least my right ankle which I sprained badly last year, Running into the back of Perth through 'Noah's' and the western edge - I was home by 4-ish.

My neighbour, who was doing a far longer run than me, was by that stage heroically battling Slochd summit - before his triumphant run into Inverness.

For me, it was the fulfilment of three long-standing ambitions. I had wanted to do this big-round of Perthshire lochs, mountains and rivers. Secondly I had wanted to see if I could do a 100miler again. Thirdly I managed to complete my 1000Km cycle challenge that I was doing for the International Justice Mission. A truly memorable day!

 

Perth Sunset

Barnhill

 Midgies up!

Craig Gibbon

I'd heard there was a curious obelisk on the little Perthshire hill of Craig Gibbon, just above the village of Bankfoot - but never found it before. The A9 dualling works north of Perth seem to go on forever, and the slow speed limit interminable. In the middle of those roadworks looking North, there is  range of low gentle hills off to the left. Next to Dunkeld there is Birnam Hill, adjacent to that is Obney Hill. The next hill to the west is Craig Gibbon, separated from Obney by the deep (and rather lovely) Glen Garr. We climbed Obney via Glen Garr last year, and ended up wading through chest-high bracken and thorns before making the lovely summit; opting for the easier route back, direct from the ridge to Balhomish Farm.

For finding Craig Gibbon, I started at the well-used car park at Little Glenshee, by the ford in Sochie Burn. A huge stile crosses the deer-fencing and follows a bulldozed track into the hills, immediately North of the car park. It soon splits into two, the left fork veering steeply into the hillside, while I took the right on past the pretty Tullybelton Loch.

The path meanders on past two lovely ponds, nestling in unlikely positions in the hills - before coming to a T-junction. Here a small walkers signpost points to the right, directing people towards 'Bankfoot'. I turned left, up the hill, alongside a line of ancient trees. The track climbs for a mile or so, trending westwards before meeting another track up on the ridge.

Turning right, I followed this track for a mile or so, along the top towards Craig Gibbon. The obelisk itself is hidden amongst a cluster of trees, on a small hillock to the right of the track. There is a little path that drops down to it, and up through the trees to the obelisk itself. As Corona virus starts to bite into the country, thousands of people are being forced to self-isolate. I didn't need to - although there was air-traffic above me; down at ground level, I didn't see a soul! Deer, small birds singing, and huge birds hunting, were my company all day.

To return to Little Glen Shee, I continued along with high-level track, over Moine Folaich, which doesn't have the quirky little features of the low-level route in; but does provide wonderful expansive views of the surrounding hills, over the massive windfarm at Aberfeldy and onto to snow-capped Schiehallion. Then southwards, way beyond Perth and down to the paps of Fife.

It's not a huge walk - certainly not a high level one; but it was exhilarating to be outdoors, with boots on; in wide-open spaces clear-skies and an icy wind. Marvellous!

The Inspiration Orchestra

I first became aware of The Inspiration Orchestra through its founder, Ian White. Ian has been a well-known musician, especially in churches for decades; but I really got to know him through what was known as "Mr White's Guitar Club", at the local primary school. There, one lunchtime a week, my older son, gained a love of guitar-playing which he has to this day. He now plays Hendrix songs on a white Fender Strat (!), but it started picking single note melodies on a battered acoustic in the school hall.

I went one night to see Ian's new project, "The Inspiration Orchestra", playing in a church in central Perth. The Orchestra is entirely made up of people with disabilities, who have music lessons with Ian, and who he brings together for concerts. The players are drawn from across the generations, and come with a variety of different skills and instruments. The concert was wonderful, joyous, heart-warming (sometimes, slightly chaotic, as carers worked hard with musicians to get everything ready for each song), and yes, inspiring. I left a cheery, encouraging note on their Facebook page, and thought nothing more of it.

Then, I was made to think.

I was self-employed at that time, and had just taken on some work doing some publicity, media etc for the Christian philosopher and ethicist Andy Bannister, at Solas. Around that time, he conducted a debate with the atheist, utilitarian philosopher Peter Singer, for Justin Brierley's "Unbelievable?" radio programme. (Incidentally, in this age of censorship, and people seeking to "no-platform" people they disagree with, I love the way that every week, Justin puts people he totally disagrees with on the radio, gives them a platform - and engages with their ideas!) . The Bannister-Singer debate was wide ranging and detailed - but something struck me most profoundly. Singer seemed to be arguing that the value of a human life is somehow proportionate to their abilities, their capacity for decision making, and what they can contribute to the workforce. In comparison, Bannister pressed the case that humans, made in God's image have an intrinsic worth - which is not dependent on their skills, or capacities; but is bestowed by their maker. As such, the most vulnerable should be treasured as much as the powerful, rich and celebrities of our age.

It was a total clash of world-views. If Singer was right, then the weak are holding us back, if Bannister is right- then the mark of true humanity is to care for and value the weakest. I was overwhelmingly convinced that Bannister was right, and that Singer's was a path not merely towards his (notorious) advocacy of infanticide, but on towards a tyranny in which the powerful can determine the value of life.

The question for me then, was what to do with that conviction.

For a while, our family had been supporters of Water Aid, the International Justice Mission and Christians Against Poverty - chipping a few quid every month towards these inherently good things, directed towards the poorest. However, it didn't seem enough, in the light of what I was convinced of in the Bannister-Singer debate.

Then Ian White e-mailed, asking me if I would be willing to help him out with The Inspiration Orchestra! I'm not a musician, and so there's nothing I can do on the music side of things. However, there is a small committee behind the scenes that keeps things running, and I joined it and help with some of the publicity. At one of the last concerts, I was asked to tell people a little about the Orchestra. the words I used were "celebrating value and unlocking talent". Ian works tirelessly with all the musicians, modifying instruments for their particular abilities, teaching, practicing and encouraging. He does this because it is a labour of love, which seems to me to be the perfect outworking of a world-view in which every individual is uniquely valued, and precious, a conviction grounded in the belief that they are made in God's image. The Inspiration Orchestra celebrates the value of every musician and unlocks their talent. That's why the concerts are so utterly joyous. Chatting to some of the musicians after concerts, and in the Orchestra's charity shop in Perth (Shop at 91), has been wonderful. Seeing the way in which music brings so much joy to their lives too, has been tremendous.

Sadly, all concerts are postponed at the moment, because of the Corona virus outbreak. However, they are expected to resume later in the year. Details are on the website, and Facebook.

The Inspiration Orchestra
Shop at 91

Kinnoull Hill & The River Tay

Another Perth Sunset

Tonight's Sunset in Perth

Sunset

Obney Hill

Balhomish

Obney Hill is a tremendous viewpoint high above Dunkeld on the Murthly estate. On a scorching hot day my wife and I parked on the A822 just before Rumbling Bridge, and followed the estate road towards Balhomish Farm, signposted as footpath route "Bankfoot via Glen Garr".

We left the track to Balhomish and took the footpath through Glen Garr, which was an unexpected delight. Glenn Garr is a steeply sided gash through the hills which is an old right-of-way. It's a beautiful, and lonely place; we didn't see a soul, as we waded through the high bracken on the overgrown path through the glen. As we reached the south of the glen we followed a feint track up towards the summit of the hill. This path soon disappeared under the rampant vegetation, leaving us fighting through the head-high ferns, prickly gorse all on steeply rising ground. Eventually we broke through the overgrowth, and burst out into the glorious views of the upper reaches of Obney.

We opted for the straightforward descent down to Balhomish, following the signs around the farm, and back to the car down the estate road. Our children are (at last!) old enough to stay at home on their own and release us back into the wild, and onto Dunkeld for coffee and cake at the deli!

Kinnoull in the Snow

Cold, cold, Perth

Kinnoull from Deuchny

Looking back towards Kinnoull Hill from Deuchny Woods

Saltire over Perth!

Book Notes: Out There by Chris Townsend

I first became aware of Chris Townsend as the equipment reviewer for TGO (The Great Outdoors) magazine, telling me which boots were badly made, which stoves are useless in a moderate breeze, or which tents are easiest to pack-away in a storm! There was usually a little thumbnail picture of his face alongside the review, and I think I may have actually seen him on a hill near Ullapool once, over a decade ago. Without any doubt I once saw Cameron McNeish (who contributes a forward to this volume) filling his car up at the Auchenkilns service station north of Glasgow, many, many years ago before the road was upgraded. I was going to say hello, but he was in a hurry, with his head down - and didn't look especially approachable! So, when I was given a copy of Townsend's Out There for Christmas, I was aware of him, but had no idea what the book would be like. It turned out to be an unusual and rather lovely book, quite unlike any other outdoor book I have read.

Out There, is not a route book, it's not a technical how-to book, it's not a macho 'conquer the wild' survival guide, or even an endurance and survival memoir - it doesn't fit into any of those well-rehearsed genres of outdoor writing. Rather uniquely Out There, is a series of essays about different aspects of the wild environment, the value of it, being in it, the sensations it produces, great past writing about it, pioneers of it's exploration and preservation, of walks, camps and backpacks up small hills and across vast continents. Although what I am about to write sounds as if the book is dreadfully cliched and cheesy, Out There reads less like an outdoor manual, and more like a series of love-letters and eulogies to wild country. Townsend just loves wild land, in fact he seems to like it the more wild and unaffected by humanity he can get it. The book isn't romantic in the sense of a romantic poet gushing over the countryside in mystical whimsy; rather every paragraph of this delightful book is simply pulsing with Townsends love of the outdoors. His writing I found especially moving was were his descriptions of places I have seen, especially those in the Scottish Highlands which he has explored extensively; and where I have had many, many wonderful days.

Although this is about North America, this is how he remembers a night under the stars:

"On the first few days, I was captivated by the way the rocks changed colour with the passing of the hours - black, dark grey, deep red, gold, pale yellow, cream then darkening back to black - and the way shafts of sunlight lit up the shaggy red bark of an incense cedar, the way the creeks sparkled as they slid over speckled ganite" (p125)

This passion comes through whether Townsend is writing about long-distance paths like the Cape Wrath Trail, of encounters with wolves or bears, of battling the elements in the Arctic, or camping in a gentle woodland. I have to confess that some of Townsend's exploits are beyond those that most of us could ever contemplate; either in terms fitness, time or cost. Not many people get to walk the length of America - even if they were so inclined. It is tempting to think about such schemes, and to look at maps of the Pacific Crest Trail  - only to be brought back to the sober reality, that my last attempt to climb a modest Corbett were stymied by the need to pick kids up from school!

This is just a wonderful read for anyone who loves the outdoors. My most regular walk is a circuit of little Kinnoull Hill in Perth - at the other end of the spectrum to Townsend's huge achievements. But for a modest hill plodder like myself, there is so much in this book which is inspiring. Happily, the book avoids being diverted into other discussions - particularly politics, which add an unwelcome tension to some hill writers works. This is about Townsend's love of the wild, and little else. The best chapters are those in which he writes about the benefits of the wild, how to appreciate them most, and of his appreciation of it. The less interesting are those at the end which tend to be more straightforward memoirs of places, and trips; although those these too are good reads.

The book describes Townsend as amongst other things a photographer - and so I was a little disappointed that there were no photos in the book. I found that reading the book with a Google image search to hand was enjoyable, as the vast majority of places he describes, have been photographed by others. I subsequently discovered that he has his own website, http://www.christownsendoutdoors.com/ which does contain some images.

Townsend quotes John Muir - something of a hero in the book; who wrote:

"Everyboody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike." (p149)

It is early March, and the rain is currently lashing the roof slates on my house, which makes my study tucked in the very top of the building, rattle and vibrate. In fact, it sounds not unlike some of Townsend's descriptions of wild nights under canvass! I have been on 'parent duty' all day - which isn't something I begrudge by the way; but with Out There, open on my desk; I am itching to get my boots back on, feel a pack on my back, and see the hills again. I need beauty as well as bread.

The Gathering Storm

Perth: Winter Bites!

Crianlarich from Perth

(click to enlarge)