PLANNING THE ROUTE Playing the Game of Maps on paper is only the start of the process.
Guidebooks are few and far between for this sort of thing. Traffic light systems used to grade other modes of transport just don’t apply to this kind of game. What is suitable with one horse might not be with two to pilot. What is reasonable for one person with their unique horse (or horses) might be completely inappropriate for you with yours. One day I mastered the Game of Maps and the dashes and dots joined Scotland from the east to west. The challenge was established, it was accepted, and it was about to begin.
progress up the valley. It made a change from the usual teenage grunts and shoulder shrugs.
A wee celebration
I was enjoying myself so much that I thought a wee celebration was in order. With Yogi content as always to follow the track ahead — so long as there were no bogs to deal with — and Swift content to follow Yogi (without lead rope this morning), I kicked back, put my feet up, let go of the reins and went in search of the hip flask stashed in the saddle bags.
I knew the sun was still below the yardarm, but only just, and I didn’t think that my nan would disapprove too much as she always had an early tipple on a special occasion. This felt like a special occasion to me, as I proceeded up the
Glen in a nirvana-like trance with camera in one hand, whisky in the other, and a beautiful scene unfolding in front of me.
It was lovely to be in this complete tranquility while I could see that the main road up the glen on the other side of the river was busy with walkers, cyclists, cars, and buses. We met only one group of people the whole morning: a cheery group of heavily laden Duke of Edinburgh’s Award scheme walkers who also appeared to be enjoying this unusually sunny Scottish weather.
A swathe of yellow gorse created a colourful foreground across the flat river valley with the dramatic rise of steep, heather-covered mountains looming behind. The base of the hills was sharply pronounced at the head of the valley by the thin sliver of the shimmering Lock Muick, fighting hard to be included in the view. I was pretty content to be a part of this splendid scene, although I admit that the contentment may have been influenced a little by the current lightness of the hip flask.
Eventually I realised that we had come to a stop. The horses had paused for longer than their usual occasional munch on the move. Yogi was flicking his ears from left to right while Swift was definitely rolling her eyes at me.
“Erm … sorry guys, I was a little distracted there!”
We had reached a fork in the path and Yogi was politely enquiring in which direction I’d like him to proceed. I sheepishly asked him to head to the right into woodland.
“I kicked back, put my feet up, let go of the reins and went in search of the hip flask stashed in the saddle bags” Our #Hack1000miles challengers have been busy this month…
Refusing a boggy ditch
In my hasty, embarrassed decision, I’d forgotten that I was supposed to go a little further along before forking right, as that track was better for those with four hooves. Consequently, we soon reached a bridge over a boggy ditch that both horses sensibly refused to cross.
To be fair I would have done the same as it hardly looked safe for those with two feet, let alone four. I jumped off and had a quick hunt for a better crossing place. I wondered whether I should back-track
and go around, as I suspected that Yogi would refuse a ditch jump after his little incident the day before.
Yogi proved me wrong though and popped over it no bother at all; I guess this sunshine not only puts everyone (yes, even Swift) in a good mood, but it is a giver of courage too.
Someone should have told the lion from the Wizard of Oz to emigrate to Australia. It would have given an extra interesting twist to the plot for the story at least, and to be honest the clue was always in the title. ‘Cowardly Lion (now sun-kissed and courageous) teams up with Skippy the Bush Kangaroo to conquer the Wicked Witch of the West’. Sounded catchy enough for a sequel I thought. How light was my hip flask?
Conveniently, on the other side of the ditch, was a perfectly situated log which appeared delighted with promotion to its new role of mounting block. I jumped back on and waved goodbye to the log in gratitude for the height boost it had generously shared.
Pine oil for stiffness
We wove our way through the shadows of the trees, and I took a few deep breaths to savour the deliciously sharp, sweet, and refreshing smell that pines exude when baked in hot sun. No offence to makers of multi-purpose cleaners that claim to make pine-fragranced disinfectant, but I’ve never found one that smells quite like the real thing.
The smell is produced by the release of compounds called terpenes, and pine oil is popular in natural medicine due to its wide range of health benefits. Used in aromatherapy, the essential oil is believed to have a strengthening effect on mind and body. It helps circulation, eases stiff muscles, and reduces anxiety and stress. This essential oil seemed like a valuable addition to my
equipment for the journey and I wanted to bottle the smell up to take with me as we left the trees behind to emerge on the main Lochnagar track.
The track was lovely and soft under hoof, but I knew the good conditions wouldn’t last. Not far around the corner the track would steepen and become covered in large loose rocks. We enjoyed it while it lasted and with the horses striding out in turbo mode, we soon caught up and overtook a pair of hill walkers. They were a little startled to discover what was coming up behind them but recovered to offer some friendly banter about how easy I had it, that my horse would carry me on up the hill.
It’s not like the movies…
I didn’t even contemplate entering this debate. If they had seen my state of exhaustion the previous day, battling against Yogi’s turbo as I struggled to walk beside him on the steep trail through thick heather and peat, they may have seen a different side to this ‘easy’ mode of transport. I may have described the bog jumping spell yesterday that followed this exertion in a light-hearted manner, but it was hard and dirty work too.
It is funny how the romantic perception of travelling by horse is as an easy option. I blame Western films myself, as in them it never rains, never blows a gale and is never cold. Horses stand still all night in a Western and never need food or care. The cowboy never loses his hat, never needs to get off and walk and always has food for the fire (despite tiny saddle bags). The horses are impeccably behaved and never have their own opinion.
The horses or riders never get tired and it is warm enough to sleep out under the stars without the need to put up a tent and without a single Scottish midge or clegg (horsefly) in sight — no wonder it looks easy! However, there is rather a lot of gun shooting and arrow firing in Westerns, and I’d rather tackle the Scottish weather and midges if I’m honest.”
“It is funny how the romantic perception of travelling by horse is as an easy option. I blame Western films myself”