Stefan Durkacz celebrates a consolation prize in the Cairngorms
SITTING IN A CAFÉ in Aviemore, I watched tomorrow’s weather on a TV fixed high on the wall. Plan A was disappearing under a rash of angry yellow and purple as violent thunderstorms covered the north-west of Scotland. I was halfway to Assynt and a long-planned big route, but this was as close as I’d get.
There’s no shortage of consolation prizes in the Cairngorms though. I lingered over lunch, then headed to Glen Feshie with little idea other than to play it with an ear to the weather. I’d heard about a major bothy refurbishment and the ongoing wonders of the Caledonian Forest renaissance. That would
pass the afternoon nicely. Tomorrow could wait.
Lower Glen Feshie was sleepy under a blanket of heat when I parked near the Achlean road-end. The storms would be hitting the Cairngorms too but a little later tomorrow than out west. Dark green fritillaries weaved over the heather; the birdsong was soporific. Humans were in surprisingly short supply as the deep green calm of the forest welcomed me in. Everywhere I looked it was returning thanks to the work of estate owners WildLand Ltd: pine, birch and juniper, the hard edges of plantations softened by natural regeneration. Through it all the River Feshie roams through a wide floodplain of boulders and shingle. I was quickly entranced.
Finding Ruigh Aiteachain may need a little map-work to avoid being sidetracked by the paths that criss-cross the glen. The refurbished bothy is large and relatively luxurious with wood-burning stoves and toilets. It makes a perfect introduction to bothying, and it’s to be hoped that it’s both well-used and used well. This wasn’t the time of year to appreciate it, though. It was too warm for a fire and sleep was fitful as it never really got dark. I left at 7am, fleeing from clouds of midges, into a grey, muggy morning.
A short distance south I forded the Feshie where it braids widely. It was tame after weeks of dry weather, but after wet conditions it can be a fearsome torrent. Horses grazed where the glen broadens and steep hillsides plunge to grassy meadows. A couple of glacier-carved slots open into the glen here. A track climbed one, the Slochd Mor, into mist and light rain, past tiny Lochan an t-Sluic. Beyond, a fainter track zig-zagged above a scrappy cloud inversion onto the featureless dome of Carn Dearg Mor, a Corbett.
It was still early but already huge thunderheads were sprouting over the Monadh Liath across Strathspey as I descended the long, easy north ridge. Even as the sun appeared and mountain bumblebees ranged across the heather, I heard the first rumbles of thunder. I sped to the end of the ridge and through deep heather back to the glen. I’d enjoyed this impromptu visit to the Feshie more than I would’ve imagined. Big plans for the outdoors crash and burn all the time. I felt blessed that this time I’d grabbed a gem from the wreckage.