TGOC2017: Day 7 – Rothiemuchus Forest to Derry Lodge

“Two men and a layby?”

“Hmm, not bad. What about The May Ticks?”

“Oh, definitely a point for that. Maybe Ben-Hurt.”

“All Painful on the Western Front?”

“Rebel without a Tent Floor?”

“These aren’t getting any better”

We woke early after a peaceful night of sleep, with yesterday’s extra distance letting us have a leisurely start for the first time in the trip. There was little to do, yet lots to experience – the perfect combination for hikers in the wilds. A leisurely breakfast came next, and as we sipped coffee by the stream we joked about what we would call our adventure thus far, were we Hollywood producers after a catchy parody title. As you’ve realised by now, they were all terrible.

The Rohiemurchus camp proved a magical little spot, still and quiet despite only being a few hours walk from civilization. The bike paths had dropped away and we now had a gentle stroll up towards the Lairig Ghru.  The feet felt surprisingly good this morning, much more alive than either of us expected; and with them now properly dressed we were optimistic for a superb day ahead. All seemed to be going well. Little would we know, that by the end of the day we would struggle to continue, and be faced with a very real question of whether we would have to abandon altogether.

The sun shined brightly, bathing everything in warmth as we slowly packed up, tents still damp, but ground rapidly drying all around us. A chap on his morning run flew past our campsite, with me shouting a cheerful “morning!” after him. Now almost packed up, a couple of American TGO hikers passed us, briefly stopping for a chat. They were intending Derry Lodge as their destination for the day, and we wished them well as they headed off in to the distance.

The start of our day was a lethargic wander through the woods, slowly gaining height to let us look down towards a pretty creek. A couple of mountain bikers flew up behind us and we stepped aside to let them through. I remembered reading an article on just how bad the Lairig Ghru was for mountain bikers barely a couple of months before and hoped they had plenty of patience for a day of rock-hopping!

Part of Our New Start was changing our socks every hour without fail for a dry pair, to try and remove any chance of sweat causing our feet to soften and break up, in addition to preserving the healing process best we could. With this in mind we sat in amongst the heather, changed them and enjoyed the sun as yet more bikers passed us.

Approaching the Lairig Ghru for the first time in quite a few years, it was a pleasant stroll, with it usually being winter when I find myself up in these parts. The treeline receded behind us as we emerged on to an open path, a mixed party of British and American hikers making ground rapidly on us, all with light packs.

We had a chat as they passed us, although I must admit being none the wiser where they were actually going.  It seems they were exploring the world and this was just one of their destinations to tick off, with something about Iceland mumbled. Some of them were carrying almost nothing, which puzzled us untill they mentioned heading all the way Braemar. Waving them goodbye we wished them a good trip, still wondering how they were going to get to Iceland with barely a wallet in their pocket, and continued heading on our 20km rock-clad path.

Our route to Ben Macdui was still possible of course, we felt up to it and the feet seemed to not be aching too much, but in truth we didn’t much fancy it.  We momentarily entertained the thought of summiting then dropping down the far side to Glen Derry, and whether it would save us time, but felt staying on the easier path made much more sense.

The Lairig Ghru is a singular place with a gentle path gradually replaced by rising valley walls, as the path gives way to a field of little stones as we gained height.  This was replaced itself by a period of stepping-stones going through a soggy, rather muddy bit just prior to the highest point – eventually ending up at a boulder-field. There were hints of snow at the highest points, not quite yet fallen to the heat from the sun, as we stopped at the Pools of Dee. This area was quite heavy going and we were starting to feel the feet ache once again. Luckily for us, there were only a few km left of the rough stuff, before we could join a more easy-going path with little elevation change.

As we descended the south side of the Lairig Ghru opened out and was stunning; the terrain becoming easier and easier with a gentle descent giving one of the most impressive views of the trip. The meandering little stream heading down the mountain side with the peaks behind, still dusted with snow, was mesmerizing – we wanted to sit there all day looking all around us.

This high point gave way to a gentle section of walking on the flat. Despite the earlier rocky parts, it was barely after noon and we were feeling vindicated in our choice of route. It was stunning, with blue sky and sun only adding to the natural design of the place, and as we passed the Devil’s Point, we were already considering winter climbing routes. Corrour bothy (our original idea for a camping spot if the feet were bad) looked particularly bleak mind you, and we were glad to continue onwards.

An hour onwards, the best of the weather seemingly was behind us, with clouds and gentle rain falling as we turned east towards the Allt Preas nam Meirleach, and then on to Derry Lodge. It was thankfully only intermittent, though our spirits were high and it hardly mattered, it was only around 4pm and so another early camp was possible. We knew we had a short day to Braemar tomorrow, so our rest day had actually turned in to two and half. Rather pleased with ourselves, we descended towards the fords.

At this point it all started going wrong. Whilst descending, I caught a stone on a steep bit, tripped, tried to put my foot out to balance myself, and fell over to one side. Picking myself up, I thought nothing of it, I didn’t have more than a few scuffs on my hands. We were about 1km away from Derry Lodge, so as far as I was concerned it was the last little run in, I’d put some anti-septic on them later.

I decided I might as well carry on due to the camp being so close and got up. Immediately upon putting my foot down, I felt pain shooting through my left leg. It didn’t feel right at all. I took my rucksack off and walked around a bit, trying to understand what happened. It was intensely painful, and having looked at the area which hurt, there was nothing superficially wrong with it. It didn’t feel like a break, it didn’t seem like a tendon problem, and it was possible to walk, albeit extremely painfully – so I reasoned I’d rather get to Derry Lodge and set camp.

That 1km to Derry Lodge was agony, I used both my walking poles like crutches, putting my weight on my right leg as I stabilized my left with both poles at once, trying to remove as much weight as possible.  I remember grunting with the pain as we passed the Americans we had waved at that morning, who were busy making camp at a pretty spot where the burns joined. I threw them a wave, gritted my teeth and cracked on. This 1km took over an hour, and as we arrived over the foot bridge at Derry Lodge I was already making plans for Gabe to continue without me. I could not see how I could make any sort of distance at this speed.

Arriving at Derry Lodge, there were a couple of guys already there with tents just going up, as we searched around for a good spot. We ended up with what we thought was one of the best sites in the area, close to the burn, protected by the trees yet open enough not to be concerned with anything dropping on our tents.

Once the tents were up, Gabe fancied a rest, and it was about time to figure out whether it was a show stopper or not.  I attempted to wander around a bit on the leg, still using poles as crutches. I went to see the guys who were sat on a fallen tree trunk enjoying the early evening light, with the leg feeling substantially better without a pack, yet still aching with every step. It turns out they were both German, one living in Aberdeen (Peter) and another from Berlin who was visiting his friend for a few days in the hills. I tried out a little German, but it has been years since I used much of it, and discussing their evening food and saying ‘mein Bein wehr sehr‘ was about as far as I got. I got that look I recognized from the early days of living in Norway, the raised eyebrows combined with the creeping smile, which told me they were trying hard not to burst out laughing at my rusty pronunciation.

Their hill day had been Macdui, with their goal to get to Braemar where the Berlin friend would depart, with Peter staying in the area for a few days. They had no idea about the TGO, so I explained our route thus far, and our fairly epic series of days, with eyebrows raising a little as I retold our gradually more intense trip. I wished them a good trip and left them to cook, returning to cook a little food, wash our socks and relax.

I probed the leg a little, gently checking first my foot, then all the way up the leg. It appeared to be a fibula injury, I decided not to worry too much at this point, I didn’t have anything in the first aid kit which could handle an internal leg injury, I was taking anti-inflammatories anyway for the feet, so why not enjoy the evening.  It was a beautiful one after all – and we were warm, fed and were looking forward to our rest. We heard voices and two Challengers arrived over the foot bridge, with me hobbling over to them both to say hi. Both were pretty exhausted by this point with them finding the Lairig Ghru heavy going, though they were hiking on their own.

It was nice to camp with some other Challengers for the first time since Dornie, and we let them get on with getting set up while we returned to our camp for a relax. As dusk was falling it started getting cold, and the down jacket went on before retiring to bed to read. The leg was swollen but not unduly painful now that I got my weight off it, yet I was concerned with the very real risk I would not be able to end the Challenge due to how slow I was moving, with abandonment an imminent possibility.