TGO Challenge A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 7 Thursday - Half way My route plan today had me walking through the Rannoch Forest to Carie, along the south shore of Loch Rannoch to Kinloch Rannoch, and then over Beinn a Chuallaich to camp at Loch Errochty. It didn’t quite work out like that. I was up at seven, but pottering about the idyllic campsite meant I didn’t get away until nine. A short walk up the track brought me to the entrance of Rannoch Forest. I knew that part of Rannoch Forest was Scots Pines, and I hoped I’d be walking through this remnant of the old Caledonian Forest. A bridge over the river led to the entrance of the forest, and there were a couple of other Challengers here. Les and Irene had been camping higher up the glen having come from the southwest. Ardrishaig was their start point. We chatted as we walked, but I found that as we were in a thick conifer forest rather than the old woodland I had hoped for I was walking fast, and after a while said goodbye and pulled away from them. I was to see them several more times before the east coast. The forest track was rough hardcore to start with and I bruised my right foot a bit, but after a while it became a smooth even track and I was able to push on at a good speed, covering the seven miles (11km) to Carie on the shore of Loch Rannoch in two and a half hours. At Carie I found myself on a woodland walk and stopped at a viewpoint with picnic table for something to eat. In my OMM Front Pouch I carried snacks for the day – nuts, raisins, roasted peanuts, yoghurt raisins, flapjack – as well as camera (Ricoh GX100 with viewfinder and wide angle adaptor), GPS if I thought I’d need it that day, notebook, pen etc. I never got the stove out and made tea during the day. I was quite happy with water. The water from the streams was lovely. If you could bottle and sell it……….. From Carie a walk along the lochside road took me to Kinloch Rannoch and the much anticipated Poste Haste community café. On the way into the village I noticed a couple of Challengers sitting on a bench outside the shop. They guessed I was on my way to the café and shouted out directions – “Straight on!”. Poste Haste was good, but being a bit stupid I wasn’t to make the most of it. Scottish eateries can be a bit like the rural Scottish personality, reserved and disdainful of self promotion. There was little food on display, and no board that I could see proclaiming wonderful dishes of the day. Instead there was a laminated piece of paper on each table with a few snack type meals offered. I saw that somebody else had soup so I ordered that. A few other tables had Challengers on, and I got chatting to those nearest me, but there was a general air of lethargy such as is found after a long road or forestry walk. After a while the two tables nearest me started talking about the option of walking down the glen via the south shore of Dunalastair reservoir, and I joined in as I’d seen this option when planning my route, but wasn’t sure of it. But today, feeling a little tired it seemed to me that it might offer a pleasant alternative rather than climbing over Beinn a Chuallaich with a cold easterly blowing and being faced with a ten mile road walk the next day. I was assured that it was quite possible to walk to Tummel Bridge on the south side of the river, although there was a short pathless section. I decided I’d do this route. Eventually my soup arrived and as I finished it I was surprised to see a couple of others tucking into what seemed like fish and chips. I hadn’t seen that mentioned anywhere. In any case the soup was quite filling and I was keen to get on, so packing my things I got up to pay and noticed that the other side of the menu had more substantial meals listed. My own fault for not looking I suppose, but why not make it a bit easier for idiots like me? Back at the shop I remembered how I’d enjoyed the things I’d bought at Kinlochleven so went in and spent a happy but frustrating twenty minutes choosing some food for a slap up tea (not to be confused with dinner which I would also have). Frustrating? Highland shops have a curious selection of goods on offer. Outside the two chaps I’d seen earlier were still there, one of them filling his water bottle with beer he’d just bought in the shop. There was some debate as to whether I could get all the food I’d bought into my rucksack, but luckily bread rolls are easily compressed, and a bit of hauling on the rucksack straps soon had all stowed away. I followed a quiet road to the south of Dunalastair Reservoir, Schiehallion, the mountain which I’d first seen three days ago from above Kinlochleven, rising immediately above me to the right. At Crossmount I left the road and walked down the drive of a large ramshackle house to the water’s edge. Dunalastair Reservoir was very pleasant, and the ruinous outbuildings and neglected fields running down to the water made a stark contrast to how such a scene would look England, where every last shed has been developed into a holiday home. The dam is a mile or so below the foot of the reservoir, the last stretch of reservoir being a flooded, wooded gorge. The 1:25000 map shows a bridge here, but only the foundations were showing now. Beyond a cottage the path wound up into a wood and then traversed the side of the valley to the romantically named McGregor’s Cave. This turned out to be a man made structure at the back of a ledge, the ledge having superb views, including Dunalastair Castle. No doubt the “cave”, path and bridge had been built for the benefit of visitors to the castle. I certainly enjoyed stopping here, and getting out the rolls, cheese, lettuce and coleslaw I’d bought in Kinloch Rannoch I made a picnic. After days of no real vegetables the two small lettuces looked particularly appealing. Food tastes marvellous in the right setting and after working hard. I certainly wouldn’t have swapped my picnic tea for tea at the Ritz. From the cave onwards there was no path, but the ground was no worse than other rough ground I’d encountered, and it was quite easy to find a way through the trees and heather. I came to an old fence at the dam, and after negotiating this noticed that there was an open gateway just a few yards along. The dam was interesting, but there was no way across as had been suggested at the café. However, an access track ran along the south side of the head race, and the map showed it crossing the head race a little further on. I set off down the track and over the bridge and found myself on an odd sort island with the head race to my right and the River Tummel 50’ (15m) or so lower on the left. A sloping island. Doubts started to creep in. What if the track entered a locked compound at the other end of the island and I was unable to get off? Maybe I could camp and wait for some workmen to unlock it. But it might be days or weeks before anybody came. The head race to my right was in a concrete channel about 15m wide, and I would guess 2m deep. The cold, dark water was tearing down this in an ominous way, and I couldn’t help thinking what would happen to a person if they fell in. There was no way of getting out. Such are the absurd thoughts of the lone walker. After a mile or so I came across some people cheerily walking up the track and they were able to confirm that I would be able to reach Tummel Bridge if I followed the track. Even as I asked the question I realised how absurd it was. After all, where had these people come from, and wasn’t all Scotland open to wander where you like? They looked a bit worried when I told them how I’d got there, as if I was some sort of lost wandering madman. Unfortunately, later on whilst wandering round looking for a camp spot I ran into them again, and I started to think they might be right. After a mile or two (2km) I found myself in Tummel Bridge. Tummel Bridge was just a scattering of houses and two bridges over the River Tummel. The older one was part of the original General Wade road network. I thought I might find a campsite in some trees on the north bank, but it was too near a house and the road wasn’t far away, so I went back over the bridge and back onto the island. Passing the people I’d met earlier I camped in some rough ground between the forest and the south bank of the river. As is often the case, I looked hard for a good spot and was very unhappy with my options, but once the tent was up it seemed an okay place to camp, although overhead power cables and scrub trees made it a contrast to last night's camp in the old forest. Dinner followed by cake which I’d bought in Kinloch Rannoch made things seem better. This had been another day of brilliant sunshine and a strong east wind, and my log notes that it was my first complete day with dry feet.

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 6 Wednesday - Watershed I was very cold in the night and I marvelled at people who are able to use ultra lightweight sleeping bags and sleeping mats. I had my Marmot Helium bag and an Exped down filled mattress, but still had to put my down jacket on in the night. I was woken at 8:30 by the morning train. Today's plan was to walk to Corrour Station and see what the station café had to offer, walk over to Loch Ossian then follow the path south towards Rannoch Station and its café, then east down the glen to Loch Rannoch where I’d camp near the south shore. As I packed away the tent another Challenger stopped on the path on the other side of the river and we swapped a few words, hoping to meet again at the café at Corrour Station. A short walk took me to the station only to find that the café was closed. This was a blow, I had particularly planned my route to pass through Corrour, the idea of a station with no road leading to it being very appealing. I had known the station was closed on Wednesdays, but had forgotten that by getting a day ahead I would be here on Wednesday. I had a look around and took some photos. The station has a wonderfully remote feel to it, sitting on this upland plateau with high mountains all around. As I was looking around a person came out of the station house, got in a car and drove off down the track. She was faced with a fourteen mile (23km) drive along the track to the road, and from there quite a drive to anywhere of any size. Wonderful. A great place to get a train to I should think (as in the film Trainspotting), although when I came through here on the train the previous Thursday it looked less appealing in the pouring rain. I set off down the track with the gorgeous Loch Ossian in front of me. After a mile I passed the Youth Hostel which is situated right on the shore of the loch amongst some trees, and then turned right to rise up to Peter’s Rock. You can walk for miles in this part of Scotland without passing any named features, so I was interested to see what Peter's Rock was. It was a boulder, much like a thousand other boulders scattered around in this vast empty space, except it had a bronze plaque fastened to it reading: “In memory of Peter J Trowell Born Sept 1949 – Died March 1979 at Loch Ossian. I have a friend a song and a glass Gaily along life's road I pass Joyous and free out of doors for me Over the hills in the morning” The path now turned south and contoured along the flank of Carn Dearg, about 600’ (200m) above the moor below. I had thought of going over Carn Dearg, but there was a cold east wind which would make the ridge uncomfortable, whereas I was in the lee of the hill on the path. After all, I was doing the walk for pleasure. The route I was following now is part of the route called “The Road to Skye”, an old drove road. There’s a well known song describing the route, and by Tummel and Loch Rannoch and Lochaber I would go, but in the reverse order. I stopped at the ruin of Corrour Old Lodge for a snack. What great views they had looking out over the moors to the mountains, but what a remote place. A train went south down the line, almost invisible in that vast emptiness. After a while the path started dropping down from the 1800’ (550m) contour, and at Clach an Fhuarain I crossed the watershed – my feet were now getting wet in water that would run to the east coast. The east coast! In fact I wasn’t even half way there yet. The track descended to some trees, the first I’d seen since yesterday morning. A group of three Challengers were waiting for the fourth of their party who’d decided to go over Carn Dearg. The path dropped down to a river, and by a bridge I stopped for lunch. The bridges I came across on the walk were of all sorts of shapes and styles, but all were there to help the traveller cross an obstacle, which seems a very friendly thing. I couldn’t help liking them. After lunch I followed the track on down to the road which runs west to Rannoch Station. I was hoping to make a diversion out to Rannoch Station café, but I realised that it would add too much to an already long day, so instead turned east down the road. Rannoch Station is on the east side of the Rannoch Moor, that vast upland plateau which motorists travelling from Glasgow to Fort William pass along the west side of. The glen I was now walking down, which doesn’t seem to have a name, drains much of the moor, eventually running out to the North Sea. The road followed the River Gaur, as it’s called at this stage, down to Bridge of Gaur where we entered a world of trees, cows and meadows. Quite a contrast to the upland wilds I’d just left. A telephone kiosk marked on the map did in fact exist, and I phoned Challenge Control to let them know I was still alive. Challengers are required to phone in four times during the walk, and part of the planning process is wondering if telephones marked on the map work, or hoping against the odds that there’ll be mobile reception. A bit further along on the south shore of Loch Rannoch the mobile burst back into life with a couple of texts waiting for me. At Crosscraig I turned south up a track beside the river (the Allt Camghouran) and entered a piece of old woodland. I carried on a little way until at 6:30 I found a flattish spot amongst some trees next to the river. This was probably the best campsite of the trip with a long evening in which to enjoy it. Dinner was squash risotto followed by rhubarb and custard. The risotto worked really well, and being homegrown rhubarb added something to the enjoyment, but it didn’t rehydrate back into chunks of rhubarb, rather I ended up with a rhubarb soup. The custard was good and worked better than I’d expected, no doubt adding a few much needed calories. And so ended another sunny, windy day.

Around about 30 years ago we took off from West Somerset with our young son Harry (then aged about 2 or 3) and our good friend Neil Hopkins, and we travelled south to Spain for five or six weeks in a big white van which had been converted into a sort of camper, in a bid to break the back of the winter. I vowed I’d do it every year after that - and have never done it since. Although I can’t moan because my press trips have taken me around the world and many of them toon place in the winter time. Anyway, someone lent us a house in a village near the town of Motril, way down there on the bit of Spanish coast that faces Africa. And one night they had a fiesta in this village called Gualshos and we went along… I will never forget that rip - which included that old castle we visited in on of my previous post. And for many reasons - pandemics, financial woes, need to earn a crust - I wonder if we will ever do this sort of trip away again…

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 5 Tuesday I’d quite liked the idea of passing through Kinlochleven. I was interested to see what kind of place this was that was literally on the road to nowhere, tucked away under the mountains such that it hardly saw the sun in winter, and had until recently been so dependent on the aluminium works. The aluminium works had closed down a few years ago and I was curious to see how the place had survived this bombshell. Or maybe it hadn’t. I was up at seven putting as much excess stuff back in the parcel as I could, and giving the rest to James. I left the campsite at nine, and walked round to Kinlochleven proper. I say “proper” because the map shows the part of the village to the north of the river as Kinlochmore, and the part to the south as Kinlochleven. Kinlochmore seemed largely made up of houses, although I did pass a fish and chip shop. A fish and chip shop whose clients are almost exclusively west coast locals would be worth investigating another time. I liked Kinlochleven. Of course it was a sunny day, but the people I saw and talked to all seemed happy, and the place had none of the devastation and squalor that can be seen in other deserted industrial towns and villages. I passed the Ice Factor, an indoor ice climbing venue which had taken over part of the old aluminium works, and decided to have a second breakfast in their café. But then I passed a Coop and decided I’d go in there after posting my parcel which was starting to feel very heavy, and buy some stuff for a slap-up morning snack and a proper lunch. The Post Office looked a bit shabby in a good way, and when I passed my parcel to the person behind the counter he immediately guessed that I was on the TGO Challenge and started talking about other Challengers who’d passed through. He even talked at length about the blogs some Challengers were writing as they walked. Obviously the Challenge doesn’t go unnoticed. I think he said the parcel weighed 4.5kg, and it cost nine pounds something to send home. I felt a bit of a fool having paid to have a parcel of food sent from Somerset to Scotland, and then paying again to have it sent back home, especially as there was a good Coop just a few yards away, but the parcel did contain other stuff such as books, batteries and maps. Back at the Coop there were a few other rucksacks parked outside, most likely West Highland Way walkers. What to buy when faced with a shop (even a Highland shop) full of goodies? I spent quite a long time picking up things and then putting them back. Pre-packed sandwiches were an obvious choice, but what about getting some cheese and making my own? Then I saw exactly the thing required, some sliced Aberdeen Angus beef. I got coleslaw, spring onions and four white rolls to go with this, and some other goodies as well. There was a bit of delay leaving as one of the two tills didn’t work, and the shop was quite busy, but when I got out I decided to visit the Ice Factor and see if they had a shop which sold outdoor gear. I needed a pair of rubber caps for my Pacerpoles (trekking poles) for the road walking I’d be doing in a few days time. The Ice Factor did have a shop, and it was open, and they did have the required rubber bits, but the till didn’t work, and this time there was only one till. There's something about the laid back attitude to business in the Highlands that's very refreshing. The rubber caps cost £5.99 and the shop assistant took my ten pound note somewhere to see if he could get change. After a while he came back and said he couldn’t get change, but whilst he’d been gone I’d looked to see just how much change I had. “I’ve got £4.14 in change” I said. After a long pause he said “Okay”, and we parted, both happy with our 21st century haggling. I was to be very glad of the rubber caps when road walking further east, but to my surprise I was to find them useful later that morning. (The rubber caps go over the tungsten ends of the poles and give a better grip on hard surfaces). The interesting shopping, the sunshine and the feeling of setting off into the unknown (I only had a vague idea of the geography east of here) put me in a happy, holiday mood, and crossing back over the River Leven I looked at the map to see the way ahead. Today’s plan was to walk up the north bank of the wooded River Leven to the Blackwater Dam and then strike off NE across the moor to Loch Chiarain where I would climb over Leum Uilleim (Corbett 2971’ 909m) and then drop down to camp near Corrour Station. The way out of Kinlochleven was clear enough, just walk through the houses on the north bank of the river and a path would lead on up the river. But just as I entered the houses an elderly couple came out of a house and feeling very pleased with the world, and not wishing to miss a chance to chat to a local I asked them if I was going the correct way. Donny and Sylvia told me they were walking a few hundred yards that way, and they would point out the route from there on, so we walked up the road together. Donny had grown up in Kinlochleven but had moved south when a young man, married Sylvia, and now lived in Barnet. They came up to Kinlochleven as often as possible to stay with Donny’s sister. My first question to Donny was about the aluminium works and he was able to tell me much about it. I asked why water was still pouring out of the tailrace and he told me that the hydro-electric turbines which originally generated the vast amount of power needed to make aluminium, were still in use selling electricity to the grid. I liked Donny, his local knowledge was interesting, and he was able to tell me about his early days in Kinlochleven. At the next bridge he assured me that a better route than walking up the river was to cross to the south bank and follow the access track up to the dam. I could then cross the dam and continue my walk. I was so pleased at meeting this local expert that I agreed that his plan sounded better than mine and set off across the bridge. The first thing I saw on crossing the river was the enormous row of pipes coming down the hill and feeding the generators. Putting my carrier bag of food from the Coop down on the ground I jumped up onto the first pipe and made my way to the middle pipe to get a photo of them coming down the hill. It only took a few seconds but no sooner had I taken a picture than I heard a rustling from the direction of my food bag, and hopping back from pipe to pipe I saw a dog with his nose in my bag. I jumped down and shouted and it ran off to its owner. Looking at the damage I found it’d just nibbled one roll, so I chucked it away, cursed the dog and its owner and set off up the access track. After a while I came to a place where the pipes came over the brow of a hill and took some more photos. I was amazed at the scale of this pipework and the difficulty that must have been encountered in installing it over such steep ground back in 1909. As if that wasn’t difficult enough they’d also built a dam and a factory, and in those days Kinlochleven would have been virtually inaccessible except by sea. A mile and a half (2km) out of Kinlochleven I came to some buildings and the place where the leat entered the pipes. Just after leaving the buildings I stopped to receive a text from Dom, my brother, and having replied I noticed another track down the slope below me. Perhaps that was the track I should be on? I decided it was and scrambled down to it. In fact I found it was a concrete slabs covering the leat, and I decided that as long as the leat stayed covered I would be better walking along this as it was smooth and level. The thought of falling through into the leat was a bit horrifying, but the concrete seemed solid enough. I got the rubber ends for the Pacerpoles out and carried on walking. After a couple of miles of leat walking I stopped for my long awaited snack – a roll with beef, coleslaw and spring onions. I’d just started eating when a couple with a dog appeared, walking along the leat. I fended off the dog as best I could and finished eating. I caught them up a little later and they and their dog were very friendly. They were from Somerset too and knew my area. They were walking up to see the dam. I walked with them, but as we neared the dam I said goodbye and turned off to get to the south end of the dam in order to cross it as recommended by Donny. Imagine my horror on getting a good view of the dam to find that the strong east wind was blowing water over the top of the dam in cascades. A closer look also revealed a locked gate at the end of the dam to stop anybody trying to cross. I reflected that Donny was quite old, and it was probably thirty or forty years since he'd crossed the dam. Following the track back down to the leat I met the couple from Somerset again and they were a bit alarmed to hear that I was going to see if I could cross the river. The river looked crossable from a distance, but wherever I looked more closely there was always one deep fast bit to negotiate which put me off. Although the river doesn’t look that big in the photo all that water coming over the dam is coming down the river. It occurred to me that as the water was coming over the centre few hundred yards of the dam the river would probably be very wide and shallow right under the dam. This proved to be almost correct. In fact it proved to be many small deep fast streams between large rocks, but I noticed that there was a ledge running along the bottom of the dam along which it might be possible to walk. The problem was that as a wave came over the top of the dam it would run down the face of the dam and hit this ledge and then run off onto the rocks below to form the river. I didn’t like the look or sound of the water cascading down the face of the dam, and as much as anything it gave me an odd sense of vertigo, but it seemed my best bet. I have to admit to being rather scared as I jumped onto the ledge and set off along it at a fast but careful pace. I tensed up on hearing the first wave above me, but although I found myself walking through several inches of water a few seconds later, it obviously wasn’t dangerous, and I wasn’t swept off my feet. I was expecting things to get better as I got further across, but in fact things got worse. Following the bedrock the concrete ledge started angling up the side of the valley, and instead of the water running straight off, it was running down the ledge in a torrent. Soon it got too deep and fast so I jumped off the ledge back onto the bedrock and made my way up to dry ground jumping from rock to rock. When I reached ‘safety’ I stopped for a rest and food and took my boots and socks off to dry. It was quite spectacular looking back at the water pouring down the face of the dam, and I was quite pleased with my little adventure. Thanks Donny. From the north end of the dam I followed a path for a while, but it either petered out or I just lost it, and I found myself making my way across bumps of moorland with dips of bog between. I saw a particularly high bump ahead so made for that so that I could better see the way ahead, and from there I could see the path following the bank of the Allt an Inbhir. I followed this good path up to Loch Chiarain where I found a very nice bothy tucked into the side of the hill. I stopped here for a break, first having a look round the bothy and then sitting outside on the front “lawn” and eating a beef roll with lashings of coleslaw. As I was eating them another Challenger appeared and introduced himself as John Burt and I immediately recognised the name of the third person who was supposed to be starting from Glenuig. He’d actually left Glenuig a few hours after Ian and I, and taken an entirely different route. John had started thirteen Challenges, uniquely starting from thirteen different start points. John was continuing up the glen to camp near Loch Trieg, whilst I was to cross the river below the bothy and climbing up the steep slopes of Leum Uilleim (Williams Leap) opposite. It was a bit of a slog getting up the hill at this late stage of the day, I seemed to have been walking uphill all day, but I was at the top in two and a half hours (six thirty), taking in the panoramic views. Leum Uilleim is very much in the middle of things with mountains in every direction. I didn’t stop long at the top as there was a strong, cold easterly wind and time was getting on. There’s a ridge running NE from the summit, the Sron an Lagain Ghairbh, down to Corrour Station where I hoped to camp, but I suspected the ground might be rough going, and not wanting to get involved in difficulties this late in the day I took the safer option of retracing my steps down to the pass between Leum Uilleim and Beinn a Bhric, and then following another ridge down to the NE, which my Harveys map showed a path on. There was indeed a path and I found a campsite beside the Allt a Chamabhreac at 8pm. I was half a mile away from Corrour Station and just a few hundred yards from the railway line. Whilst eating dinner the sleeper train from Fort William to London slowly passed, tooting to me when I waved, and later on the evening train from Glasgow trundled past in a northerly direction. My log says that I was writing it at 10pm in daylight. I had passed snow patches on top of Leum Uilleim and it still seemed cold down here, but actually “down here” was at over 1300’ (400m) and was even higher than our camp on day one on the Roshven ridge. The cold easterly wind made it even colder, and I was in my Marmot Helium sleeping bag (supposedly good down to -9 degres c) as soon as possible.

Today I did my first Zoom cookery class as a student - it was great fun and I’d recommend it. It was all part of a new service being offered by Larks Live Today the class I joined was all about making your own bacon. Steve and Pete of Good Game in Topsham use the The River Cottage method with a cure mix of 250g brown sugar, 250g salt, Cloves, Juniper, Bay. You simply apply cure mix and pour off the liquid every day for 5 days, then dry for 5 days after which you can enjoy your very own delicious rashers. . Larks Live creates great interactive online experiences with professional chefs and bakers.   People in all walks of life are coming up with new ideas to address the ‘new normal’. Larks Live brings the ubiquitous Zoom meeting - which so many of us have been getting used to since the lockdown - together with the basic concept of a cookery school.  While there are countless online cookery videos demonstrating how to prepare just about any dish under the sun, the idea behind Larks Live is that the viewer is included in the lesson - which means the person at home can cook alongside their favourite chef and ask questions, just like they would at a cookery school.  It’s the brainchild of Devon-based Clodagh Murphy, a high-powered business-advisor, and Charlotte Roach who worked with the Exeter Cookery School. The pair wanted to find a way of helping the badly hit catering world while also supporting food-lovers at home who were feeling lonely or isolated. A dozen or more well known chefs, bakers, wine-experts and other experts have already signed up to provide Larks Live with interactive classes which are now available online. “We’ve brought a fantastic team together and we’ve got more on the way,” she told me. “The classes are already proving a great success and a huge number of repeat bookings. In fact, the feedback we’ve been getting is so good, 97 per cent say they will sign up for another class.” Most of the classes on the Larks Live website cost between £10 and £15 and numbers of participants are limited to (to between 15 and 20) so the chef or expert can easily interact with individuals at home during the Zoom session. Participants receive a menu and a list of ingredients so that - if they wish - they can purchase everything beforehand and actually follow the procedure in real-time. “You don’t have to - you can just watch with a glass of wine if you like,” says Clodagh. “But we are finding that around 60 per cent of our participants like to cook along with the chef.  “In that way you can say to someone like chef Tim Maddams: ‘My sauce doesn’t look quite the same as yours.’ Or, ‘I haven’t got that ingredient, can I use something else?’ And Tim will react…” Tim, a well known private chef, writer, cookery teacher and TV presenter living in Devon, commented: “I love sharing my passion for food and cooking simple but delicious food with others. Thanks to Larks Live, I have been able to continue doing this despite the current lockdown restrictions. It has been great fun hosting regular live and interactive cook-along sessions with a growing number of fellow foodies, many of which are now regulars on my Friday night Tapas and Tails sessions.” Other experts include Susy Atkins, who works with the South West Wine School and well known South Hams chef, Chris Sherville. “When the lockdown hit we wanted to do something that was productive and positive,” says Clodagh. “People were isolated at home - and people in the hospitality industry were feeling particularly vulnerable. My dad owns a pub in Dublin so I knew about the problems at a personal level. “I wondered if we could create a platform which brought all things food-and-drink into people’s homes - something that would bring a sense of community to people so it wouldn’t be just a functional experience…” By talking to numerous people across the food and drink industry Clodagh evolved a plan which resulted in the Larks Live website hosting its first interactive classes in May. “The chef or expert sets up the cameras in their own home,” explained Clodagh. “They are used to doing demo’s anyway so they know what’s needed. And they have their laptop or whatever on the counter so they can interact with the students as they work. “We stage classes at different times during the day to suit the needs of different individuals at home - and we are creating employment for talented people who have been hard hit.” But is the idea only suited to the confines of the lockdown? “Roll this forward 12 months and hopefully we are through the pandemic - and there’s still a huge opportunity here,” replied Clodagh. “Cookery schools are always popular - people want cookery skills. Take a Tuesday night in November when the nights are closing in and you are going to cook something nice for dinner with an expert and some other like-minded people.  “We think there’s a market for this no matter what happens after the lockdown.  You have themes like Christmas. Why not have a series of classes themed to that? How to bake the most amazing Christmas cake! Or a Sunday afternoon bake-along during the winter months…  “There are tons of different angles that can play very positively with this idea.” To find out more visit: https://www.larks.live/

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 4 Monday - End of part one The plan for today was to walk along the crest of the hill which runs along the north shore of Loch Leven, and then drop down at the other end to camp in Kinlochleven. The west end of the hill rose directly above my campsite and I’d had a look around the previous evening to find the best way up through the wood. I was away at eight, just as some workmen appeared and started digging up the track. A rusty old gate just above the camp spot led into a birch wood which was very pleasant. This then gave way to heather and birch scrub, and once on top, heather and bog. This wasn’t so pleasant, and made for very slow going, but the unfolding views were worth it. The hard going made for plenty of rest stops. It was a breathless sunny day, but on top of Tom Meadhoin I was suddenly struck by a violent squall. A little later whilst I stood in still air I could see the grass a few metres away flattened in the wind, accompanied by a rushing noise. I wouldn’t let myself have lunch until I reached the pass before Mam Gualainn, where I was also able to refill my water bottle. Lunch at 2 o’clock. I’m glad I came over the western end of the hill, but another time I would either follow my Foul Weather Alternative route (FWA) – continuing up Gleann Righ, joining the West Highland Way, and then either ascending the pass I was having lunch at, or merely continuing along the WHW to Kinlochleven. Even walking the road along the north shore of Loch Leven and ascending the pass from Callert might be okay. The north shore looked quite interesting from above, and I’m sure the road is very quiet. From the pass I left the heather and I found myself walking up a steep grassy slope. Despite being steep, the grassy slope seemed easier than deep heather which I’d waded through miles of, and in no time I was on top of the Corbett, Mam na Gualainn – 2590’ 796m. In the far distance I could see Kinlochleven, my home the the night, and on the horizon the pointy silhouette of Schiehallion which I wouldn’t pass for three days. It gave a real sense of being on a journey rather than out for a walk. From Mam na Gualainn there was a good walk along the ridge to Beinn na Caillich (Peak of the Witch), and then a good stalker’s path zig-zagged down the east end of the hill to join the West Highland Way, an old Wade road. (There weren't really any road in the Highlands until the late 1700's, when the British army felt the need to beat the Highlanders in to submission. General Wade famously built hundreds of miles of road in order to move troops around more quickly). I saw a couple of people on the WHW as I reached Kinlochleven, but otherwise I’d seen nobody since the workmen at eight in the morning. A path dropped down steeply to Kinlochleven and after four days of walking I found myself back on the west coast at sea level. I’d booked a camping spot at the Macdonald Hotel. I’d done this in order to send a parcel of provisions for the next stage of the journey, but I’d overestimated the amount of food I’d need on the trip, so I now had a rucksack full of uneaten food and a parcel with far too much food in it. Some would have to be sent home. I had been looking forward to dinner and breakfast in the hotel, but faced with all this food in the tent I decided I’d better eat some of that instead. There was one other person camped at this site. I got talking to him and he told me he’d been wandering in the highlands for five weeks. He’d set off from Kent with an 85lb (40kg) pack, but he’d now reduced that to 60 lbs (27kg). I couldn’t persuade him that an axe and a saw weren’t really necessary. Surprisingly he had a lightweight Terra Nova Laser tent. He also had a fishing rod and he said the only fish he’d caught was a mackerel in Loch Lochy. This was rather surprising as it’s a freshwater loch, and we speculated on whether a fish could have entered the loch from the sea via the Caledonian Canal. I spent about an hour chatting to James in the quiet evening twilight, the tide working it’s way up towards the campsite. He was a nice chap, but like so many, seemed to have lost his way since leaving the army. I hope his stravaig through the Highlands was enabling him to enjoy life better. I know mine was.

No writing today - just re-edited a little video I shot 10 years ago when my novel The Last Broomsquire was originally published by Flagon Books. Now, as I reported the other day, it’s out again… And you can buy it if you wish by pressing this button. Cheap at half-the-price, as they say.

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Sunday, the third day I woke from a deep sleep at eight. It seemed very bright even for eight o’clock, and unzipping the tent door I found myself looking across the river at the scots pines straggling up the slope opposite. Higher up a thin band of cloud clung to the mountain, but the ridge above was silhouetted against a blue sky. I lay in my sleeping bag propped up on one arm eating breakfast and writing my log –  “All nervousness about the trip gone now. The hardest part behind me now, looks like better weather, and I’ve really got into the swing of it. Sunshine helps!” Breakfast was always muesli. I like breakfast and I like muesli. For this trip I’d treated myself to a so called “premium” muesli, and in my enthusiasm for this muesli I’d even put an extra bag of it into my rucksack at the last minute. Unfortunately I wasn’t as keen on it as I’d expected, and had much smaller breakfasts than usual. This didn’t seem important at the time, but looking back on it this was a mistake. I don’t think I ate enough of the right stuff on the trip. Today’s route would take me down Cona Glen to Loch Linnhe which I would cross on the Corran Ferry, then inland a bit to a suitable camp spot. The luxury of sunshine made for a very late start, and it was ten thirty before I was away, and then there were frequent stops for photos and just to look at things. Lower Cona Glen was really nice with old scots pines dotted about, frequent waterfalls and some very nice camping spots. Much lower down Cona Glen joins Glen Scaddle and then a mile later we were back at sea level again at Inverscaddle Bay on Loch Linnhe. Across the loch Ben Nevis had a good covering of snow. Loch Linnhe is a continuation of the Great Glen fault, and all Challengers except those starting in Oban or Ardrishaig have to cross this fault line and get funnelled into surprisingly few crossing places. I was crossing at Corran Ferry a few miles further down the loch from Inverscaddle. This meant another walk along the A861, the road I’d walked along on the first day from Glenuig, but this section is even quieter as it doesn’t really go anywhere. Of the few vehicles that passed me most were motorcycle tourists. The road is more a lane than an “A” road. The road follows the edge of the loch to Corran ferry and after a while I stopped for lunch on a beach looking across at Ben Nevis. I phoned home and sent a text to a friend who lives on Islay in case he happened to be up this way in his sailing boat. It was great to sit in the sun for lunch and not feel rushed. It was nice to include a boat trip on the walk, and the Corran Ferry was free to pedestrians which made it all the more pleasing. It was my brother Martin and his partner Sue who first took me to Scotland in about 1978. We made the journey in an old ex-GPO Morris Minor van which would only start if pushed, and I still smile at the memory of us bump starting the van on the Corran Ferry. The front wheel fell off a few days after we got home. Once on the “mainland” (Ardgour, which I’d just left, is virtually an island, and I believe was an island in the past when sea levels were higher) I walked through the village of Inchree and up a side road to a forestry visitor area where I made use of a picnic table for a snack stop (I was always ready for a snack stop), and then followed a path up the hill past a rather spectacular waterfall. The path joined a forestry track, and after a while I found another track which dropped back down to the river, the Abhainn Righ, where I camped, a couple of hundred yards above the waterfall. I was a bit apprehensive about finding a camp spot as it’s a steep sided valley thick with trees, but I found a very nice site right beside the river just below the footbridge. It looked a bit scruffy at first glance, but it’s funny how what at first seems a bit unsatisfactory becomes the ideal camp spot once the tent is up. Sunshine, bird song and the rushing river; what could be better? I had noodles with a home dehydrated sauce for dinner. All dinners on the trip were ones I had dehydrated at home and were quite successful in that they more or less fed me. The rice pudding I’d dehydrated didn’t work so well however. For some reason it refused to re-hydrate properly even after leaving it for an hour. When re-hydrating the food it’s added to a pan of water, boiled on the stove, and then the pan of food is put into an insulating sleeve which keeps it remarkably hot for a very long time. The rice pudding stayed as flakes floating in a milky soup. I ate it anyway, and then bed at 9:30 with a great feeling of satisfaction at the end of the first sunny day.

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 2 Saturday - Foul Weather Alternative I was up and about at about 7:30. It was a cold, dark wet morning and the cloud was even lower than yesterday. My plan was to continue along the ridge to Glenfinnan, which Ian was doing too, and then either camp on the SE shore of Loch Shiel, or if the weather was bad, walk over into Cona Glen. If we thought the weather was too bad this morning we could descend to Glenfinnan from our bealach, but after breakfast I made preparations in case Ian was continuing along the ridge. The weather was worse, but I’d certainly go along with him if he was going. A voice from Ian’s tent said “I think it’s a Foul Weather Alternative day”. “I agree” I replied. No need for those map preparations I’d done then, but I was relieved. I was still tired from yesterday, and whilst the first peak, Beinn Mhic Cedidh, which rose directly from the campsite, looked navigationally simple it was a 1200’ (380m) ascent followed by a 800’ (250m) descent. A brutal start to the day. From there another 1200’ ascent led to Beinn Odhar Bheag from where the ridge wound about in a way guaranteed to give slow, frustrating going. “When will you be ready Ian?” “Thirty minutes.” “Perfect.” Fifty minutes later we were on our way, first finding a place we could jump across the burn without taking our boots off, and then the long descent down to the railway beside Loch Eilt. Despite the rain we stopped for a rest beside the railway, and we were just pondering the probability of a train being on this length of track, given there are only about six trains a day, and they take a couple of minutes to round this loop, when a train obligingly appeared. There followed a mad scramble for cameras, a brief glimpse of the warmer, drier world of people in a railway carriage, and then it was gone. We followed the track on, under the railway, then across the flat bottom of the glen towards the Lochailort to Glenfinnan road. Just before the road we came to the Allt Lon a Mhuide feeding into Loch Eilt (Allt = river). Our feet were so wet by now that we just walked across and took our boots off on the other side to empty out the water. There followed a few miles of road walking into Glenfinnan, but this wasn’t too bad. The road was surprisingly quiet, there was lots to look at, and it made a change to put ones feet on something solid, dry and level. After a while a couple of Challengers hove into view ahead and we put on a bit more speed to catch them up. Andrew and Eileen from Cornwall had started from Lochailort that morning and had been advised that the route to Glenfinnan north of the road would be difficult due to swollen rivers, so like us had opted for the road route. Setting off from Glenuig you find yourself walking with people who set of from another start point a day later. I love the west so an extra day in the west is a bonus, but some might see this as putting yourself a day behind. We all went into the National Trust visitor centre cafe at Glenfinnan. There was a bit of excitement here as Ian met people he’d met on previous Challenges. It seems another Challenge routine is that if you come across somewhere with food for sale buy it, and we settled down with various things to eat. National Trust iced walnut cake and raspberry tea seemed a hundred miles from the cold wet world we'd recently abandoned. After an hour or so Eileen and Andrew set off north up Glen Finnan to Corryhully, and Ian set off along the road a bit further to turn north up Gleann Dubh Lighe. I walked down towards the monument at the head of Loch Sheil. Loch Shiel, a freshwater loch, is about fifteen miles long, and only about 15’ (4m) above sea level. A day and a half’s walking had almost brought me back to sea level. At the monument I turned left and followed the Callop River up to Callop. Here I found that extensive work had been done installing quite a large Hydro plant. A new track for this installation had been built up the glen which made for easy, if quite dull walking. After a while I came across a side stream which was running quite full. There was no obvious easy way across, but rather than wade I managed to get across by balancing on a fallen tree trunk. From here the path rises steeply and then enters an upper glen which is quite different from the lower wooded glen. It started raining again here, and we were to get showers for the rest of the day. There was a good path here though, and I was able to make good time. Rising steeply from the glen on my right was the Corbett (mountain between 2500 and 3000’) Sgorr Croabh a’ Chaorain, its head in the cloud. At the head of the glen one finds oneself looking down into the next glen – Cona Glen – with a ridge of dramatic peaks around its head. These were to have been my hills of tomorrow if the weather hadn’t been so bad. They certainly didn’t look very inviting today, and I was glad I’d taken the easy option. A good path angled down the north side of Cona Glen and then became a track following the river. I decided that as it was still early, and as this upper glen looked pretty austere on this rainy afternoon I’d carry on down the glen until I found a less bleak campsite. A couple of miles down the glen, where it starts to get more wooded I found a grassy patch beside the river and put the tent up. It was six thirty. I spent the evening making enormous cups of tea and reading my book. I had that carefree, relaxed Saturday evening feeling. The sun put in an occasional appearance between the showers. The weather  was  improving.

TGO Challenge 2009 A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 1 My note book says we left at eight. That seems a remarkably quick getaway for me, but I know we left well before nine because I questioned Ian whether we should leave before the stipulated nine o’clock start time. In any case Ian phoned up Roger to let him know the two of us were starting, and we set off along the road towards the first mountain – Roshven – from where a rugged mountain ridge winds its way eastward. As we walked we became so engrossed in conversation that we walked much further along the road than we should have and realising our mistake had to climb over a fence and struggle up through a very steep wood to reach the slopes of Roshven. If taking the wrong turn so early in the walk was a bit worrying, the scramble up through the wood was great fun - we had to pull ourselves up with our hands it was so steep. Emerging from the wood we followed a natural line up and to the right until we got onto the ridge from where it was just a very long slog up a steep slope to the top of Roshven. Just before the top Ian shouted “Ptarmigan!” and I turned to see something that seemed all wings, claws and beak plummeting to the ground. To be fair it was hardly ideal flying conditions, and if at sea level it had seemed that the wind was easing off, up here it was still blowing half a gale and freezing. There was a scattering of snow and the cairn was nicely iced up. Roshven is 2895’ (878m) high. Not a tremendous height, but we had climbed all the way from sea level. We set off in an easterly direction along the ridge and straight away found that whilst the seaward windblown side of the hill only had a scattering of snow, the leeward side had enough snow to make things decidedly slippery, and we were both to have our feet shoot out from under us several times before the day was done. Given the alarmingly steep drops that sometimes appeared to either side this made it necessary to proceed with caution. The drop from Roshven to the Bealach an Fiona (2313’ 701m) (bealach = pass) seemed much further, and a much greater drop than I remembered from a previous visit, and this was the case all day, partly because of us having to travel slowly and carefully. At the very draughty bealach we stopped for lunch, watching the clouds race across the cliffs of An Stac. The very steep pull up to Sgurr na Ba Glaise warmed me up a little, but I’d already realised I’d left one important bit of kit at home – a pair of gloves. The ridge is very defined, but because we were in cloud a lot of the time we kept surprising ourselves by taking a wrong turn, and it took some time arrive at the summit of Druim Fiaclach (The Notched Ridge), from where the ridge slowly descends to another pass. I don’t know about Ian, but I was now just relieved that it was an easy downhill to the bealach where we were to camp. The map gives no indication of problems on this part of the ridge, but after a few hundred metres the ridge became very craggy with no obvious way forward. Luckily we were below the cloud now so we could see the problems quite well, and after a bit of a struggle managed to scramble down. Now at last the way was surely clear to get down to the bealach. Yes it was, but the 1300’ (400m) descent really took it out of me, and it wasn't until 7pm that we could put the tents up, put our dinners on, and read a book (an easy to read James Herriot) whilst the dinner rehydrated. Then cups of tea with various nibbles whilst I wrote up the day’s notes, looked at the map, and read more about the unlikely places vets put their arms. I settled down to sleep at about 9:30 listening to the rain on the tent a few inches above my face. I settled down to sleep at about 9:30 listening to the rain on the tent a few inches above my face.

Once upon an a long time ago I took my family on a long road trip to Spain one winter. Along the way we stayed in a vast semi-ruined castle. Like the man in Alain Fournier’s book Les Grand Meaulnes, I have now forgotten exactly where that castle was. Somewhere south-west of Zaragoza I think. It belonged - or partly belonged - to a nice young Englishman called Nick who was a pal of my old friend Neil Hopkins, who was with us on the road trip. Neil will remember more - because he has one hell of a memory. Anyway, my wife and little son Harry (my daughter was not yet born) and Neil and I explored the castle and the area and enjoyed our stay immensely. I remember that much. And now I have just stumbled across some old Hi8 footage which you can see in the video. I have hardly touched it in the editing - just let it roll on - and have added a track from the amazing Sophie Hutchings which I think suits the strange dream-like mood of the place. I think it has the kind of air of one of those art-house movie shorts we used to go to places like the Arnolfini to see in the 1980s.

An expert was on Radio Four just now talking about bats and viruses. He said there are an awful lot of bats in the world - and they are harbouring a truly frightening number of coronavirus threats. Covid-19 is just for starters. Which worries me more than most. Because I am the only person I know who has nearly died directly because of bats.  Indeed, I am one of the only people I know who was put on a ventilator and kept awake after a lengthy heart operation - all because of bats. The medics had to keep me conscious because they needed me to re-inflate my lungs, which I can sure you was a most unpleasant experience.  The most unpleasant few days I’ve spent in my 63 years on the planet. Which is why I am in no hurry to ever be on a ventilator again… Or to get anywhere near a bat. So why do I claim to have been nearly killed by these wild upside down creatures? Or killed by their excrement - would be a more accurate way of putting it. I am probably the only man you will ever meet who has been at death’s door because of bat-poo. I shall tell the story briefly here and add some photos… Briefly - because it’s getting hot in the loft where I write - and also because it’s a subject I do not like dwelling on much. So… back in 2007 I went on a press trip to Malaysia. It was all very exciting - and after a few days generally living it up in Kuala Lumpur I joined a group of young journalists to travel north to the very heart of the Malaysian peninsula and an amazing national park called Taman Negara. It is said to be the oldest and least messed about with rainforest in the world - and it is a marvel it’s still there given all the palm-oil exploitation going on across that country.  Anyway, we did many wondrous things in that jungle. We hiked and yomped, picnicked and canoed, swam and generally messed around enjoying ourselves immensely in the sweltering heat.  But one thing we did which I didn’t like much was to go down a bat-cave deep, deep in the rainforest. I didn’t even want to go down the blessed thing - and when we got to the very bottom of this extensive pot-hole we did indeed see loads of bats hanging from the roof and walls. Then our guide wanted us to go on through a tiny little aperture - which was far too small for me to squeeze through. So I turned around and made my way back the way we’d come. Which was a crazy thing to do, because I could very easily have got lost.  I did take a few tumbles in the darkness and had to crawl out of various tight spots - and when I at last reached daylight I was horrified to find I was covered in bat-poo. There happened to be a waterfall nearby, so I semi-stripped and washed all the horrible stinky stuff off - only to discover I was covered in leeches.  It took a while to carefully remove them all with an ammonia insect-pen - and then I leaked like a sieve for the rest of the day. Leeches inject you with a de-coagulant so the blood won’t clot - which isn’t good after you popped them all off and you are swimming in a jungle stream full in nibbling fish who want a taste of your blood.  Apart from leaking the red stuff for a few hours, I thought no more about it. Until about six weeks later when I got some kind of flu at home. But it was no ordinary flu. I lost two stone (almost 13 kilos) in two weeks and eventually, when I realised there was a ring of sweat on the tiles beneath my breakfast stool, decided I’d better go to the doctor. I hadn’t been for about 20 years, but was scared because I thought I’d got a dose of malaria. Luckily for me I went to see our local GP back then, one Maggie Wilson. And with her brilliance and her experience with cardio-matters, she realised I’d got a thing called endocarditis - which is basically where bacteria go to live inside your heart.  Not only do these bacterial bugs set up house and home in the m middle of your ticker (I’m told it can look a little bit like broccoli growing on your heart valves) but the wretched stuff begins to eat your heart away.  So I was rushed to hospital where they immediately were able to verify Maggie’s diagnosis. And, to put my nerves at rest, they told me I was nearly dead - that the white corpuscles in my body were at a record levels and that I should not really be alive.  To be honest, I didn’t feel that bad. I’ve had worse hang-overs.  Anyway, it was all very frightening. They put long tubes up your arm and into your heart and then flood the old ticker with the strongest cocktail of antibiotics they think your body can stand. Six times a day. Eventually I had to learn to mix this potentially deadly cocktail for myself — because after two weeks I told them the hospital would definitely kill me before the endocarditis.  It was only on the last day - after I’d had every test imaginable - that a specialist came to see me and he said: “We have sent your blood off to every school of tropical medicine in the country and to other places, but none of them have been able to say exactly what go into you out there in the rainforest. It was probably something that entered your system when you went swimming in the river.  “At least you didn’t go into any bat cave - because if you had, we’d definitely know where it came from…” “But I did!” said I… And that was that. They settled on bat poo. “The warm excrement in those rain-forest caves probably makes them the most dangerous places on Earth,” said the Doc. “That poo is heaving with bacteria and viruses…” Great. So I really did nearly die because of bat poo. The endocarditis did some damage to my mitral valve, which I eventually had replaced in a big operation exactly three years ago. And I sprang another of my leaks during that operation - I don’t know if some pesky leech managed to get in there - but meant I had to be rushed back into the operating theatre and they had to do it all again. So I was out for about 12 hours instead of five or six. Which meant my lungs collapsed.  And that is why I was on a ventilator - but instead of leaving me out cold and comfortable in a coma, they had to bring me round to get me using my own efforts to get those lungs re-inflated.   Believe me, they were the worst moments of my life. By far.  So I am in no hurry to break my self-isolating during this pandemic. I’m not unduly scared of coronavirus - I think I’d be OK (famous last words) because I’m quite fit and pretty tough (as the above will show) and my cardiologist said my little heart adventures would make no difference. Indeed, some of my friends wonder if I might not be totally immune to any bat-produced virus, given my little history.  But why rush out when I can be amusing you folk with interesting tales like this? Just don’t ask me to go back down any bat cave.  Me and bats are finished. I don’t care if I never see or hear of one again…