Cluanie Inn to Glomach Falls: LEJoG Day 63

An easy walk up to the hostel at Glen Affric for lunch, then after a good path over a pass, slow, strenuous walking on rough ground beside a river and its lochs, with heavy rain to end the day.

After the heavy rain last night I was glad to see that the forecast this morning showed the rain had moved to the eastern side of Scotland. However this upbeat prediction proved misleading. 

An Caorann Mor, walking up to my first pass of the day.

Learning from past mistakes I had a lighter breakfast at the Cluanie Inn, starting with some muesli which I choked upon in my eagerness to eat it. I am sure the fellow diners thought my coughing was a potential sign of Coronavirus. Picking up a baguette for my lunch at the coffee shop opposite I set off. I enjoyed my walk up the valley (An Caorann Mor) to Glen Affric, a glen of grass bare of trees, as are most in the area. Initially there was a track, then a path and finally occasional scraps of path across some boggy bits. I kept expecting to see the hostel at Glen Affric but it was only as I rounded the last shoulder of the valley that the brightly coloured building came into view. After a stile over one of the high deer fences I crossed a river on a pedestrian suspension bridge. Two people were sitting outside the hostel on a bench. I joined the couple on an adjacent bench and while eating our lunches we exchanged information on what we were doing and where we were going. They were cycling up from their motorhome on mountain bikes, also runners they knew the area from organised events they had been on. The hostel itself was closed due to Covid, although a dormitory had been left open for casual visitors with a potable water tap that I made use of.

View over Loch a' Bhealaich.

Glen Affric hostel lies in isolation where three, treeless, wide valleys converge. I followed one out on a good path, over another pass eventually reaching a loch. At the loch, following the guidebook's instructions I left the path, followed the waterside and for several kilometres walked over very rough, wet ground. There were many places, by trickles of water, where the ground had slipped away exposing a steep bank of black peat, often revealing the remains of trees which once grew there.  Deep channels with streams, soggy peat and moss had to be crossed with care. Although sometimes there were rocks or the stream bed was firm, at others my trekking poles, or worse my boots, sunk deep in the black slurry. I followed the guidebook's instructions and stayed close to the edge of the clear, shallow waters of the loch, and later, the bank of the river. Some of the standing water had tadpoles which wriggled around as I stepped in their homes. Small frogs periodically hopped out of my way. A bird flew around shouting warning cries, a sound I had not heard since I was on the Pennine Way. As well as heavily channelled areas of peat there were occasional outcrops of rock, on one three deers stood looking at me, turning and disappearing among the hummocks as I came closer. Flat soggy areas of moss, grass and cotton sledge looked easy to cross, in places there were signs of a path, a straight line or depression in the grass filled with water. Crossing these areas resulted in my boots sinking into mossy, saturated ground. Soon water was seeping into my waterproof boots, and later into my waterproof socks which I had put on specially for today as the guide warned I was unlikely to keep my feet dry!

As I neared the Falls of Glomach the weather turned from overcast with sunny spells earlier in the day to heavy rain, turning distant hills from green to a pastel grey as it approached. As well as the ongoing pain in my left knee my right buttock was hurting. I had hoped to cover more ground but decided to pitch my tent for the night. The Falls of Glomach were reported to be an impressive sight, but I am sure would be less impressive in the driving rain, and from the top of the falls it was a difficult climb down which I thought unwise to attempt wet and tired.

I pitched my tent on a flatttish patch of high ground, slightly less soggy than the rest. My tent was still wet from its last use. With the rain and me inside trying to take off my waterproofs it became even wetter. I dried a little of it with toilet paper so I had a dry patch to sit on, and put on my insulated jacket as I getting cold in my tee shirt, damp as much through sweat as rain. As I expected there was no signal for my mobile. I was sad as I look forward to my evening calls with my wife, hearing her voice, confirming a connection, even though I never have much to say, I never was a great conversationalist.