Ben Vuirich, a hill to the northeast of Blair Atholl, is a very boring hill. A big, pudding-shaped dome clad in heather, it has no defining features. Its higher and shaplier neighbour to the north, Beinn a'Ghlo, is a much more appealing option. However, I can only describe my walk up Ben Vuirich as intense joy. Not only did I have the entire hill to myself but I enjoyed a wonderful atmosphere of little-visited remoteness, thanks to the long walk in, the lack of any path and the hill not reaching the magic height to be a Munro. As I mentioned in the last blog, I'm seeking solitude in the hills just now more than anything and Ben Vuirich delivered plenty.
That long walk in started at the train station in Blair Atholl with a big climb above the village on the hill road to Monzie. Where the road ended about 30 cars were parked but I suspected their occupants had all headed up Beinn a'Ghlo and saw nobody as I continued onwards towards Ben Vuirich, rising above the moor in the distance. The day was warm but in mid June not too hot. My route crossed fields picked over by curlews below a blue sky punctuated by skylarks. When it met the Allt Coire Lagain the boots and socks were off as I picked my way across the river. An easy crossing today but in spate it would be a different prospect.
Once on the other side, I started to ascend the lower flanks of Ben Vuirich by stringing together bits and pieces of sheep and deer trails, or by walking carefully through the heather, checking every step given this was peak nesting season. The map showed a sprawl of water in the upper reaches of the hill called Loch Valigan and I wondered what it would be like. It was well hidden on my ascent so I started to develop a real sense of anticipation for finding it. Eventually a wedge of sapphire blue appeared between hillocks and I pulled myself over the lip of the loch. What a stunning spot it was.
The loch had a wild feel to it. Its waters were the colour of the sky with brushstrokes of green and its backdrop was the sprawling ridge of Beinn a'Ghlo. I was amazed by an old wooden rowing boat on the shore which somebody must have dragged up here long ago. A flock of black and white ducks (tufted or goldeneyes, too far to tell) was on the far shore while the near shore was patrolled by a noisy sandpiper. The piping of this little wading bird on a wild shore really encapsulates the summer hills. It's incredible to think they find bugs on a Scottish loch in summer but then pick them from between the teeth of crocodiles in Africa in winter.
I skirted round the loch shore looking for a place to pitch the tent but was worried about disturbing the birds. So I headed up alongside the little stream that flowed into the loch and pitched the tent on an attractive bend. The stream then provided a handrail onto the ridge of Ben Vuirich. The hard work was done now so I could stroll easily to the top, albeit battling a fierce wind. Beinn a'Ghlo dominated the view but as I crouched behind the cairn to get out of the wind, I could make out the southern peaks of the Cairngorms and the deep cut of the Lairig Ghru. To the south, I looked over the little visited north side of Ben Vrackie above Pitlochry. It wasn't the most stunning view but I loved being up there in this wild and empty place.
I'd still two days of a long weekend so decided to keep walking on a long northerly route that would eventually take me back to Blair Atholl via Glen Tilt. After packing up the tent next morning, I walked off Ben Vuirich to the north over the ridge of Stac nam Bodach. Here the heather gave way to lush greenery which turned out to be a whole hillside of bearberry. Its delicate pink and white flowers danced in the breeze just a few inches off the ground. The name of this plant surely harks back to a time when bears roamed Scotland and I screwed up my eyes to try to imagine them rooting for berries in these hills.
A long trek north through Gleann Fearnach took me up onto empty moors. I spotted a ring ouzel, known as the mountain blackbird, and listened to its beautiful call which, to my ears at least, was a cross between a stonechat and a blackbird. Round the next bend I stopped in my tracks when the scree slopes of Carn an Righ suddenly came into view. These both added drama and a primeval wildness to the landscape.
All around me everywhere was incredibly green, not just the bearberry but the fresh grass of the hillsides and the new leaves of the birch trees. The natural world was refreshing itself and I find that I'm likewise refreshed by being in nature at this time of year. This sense of renewal brought real joy to my walk.
Beyond the far reaches of Gleann Fearnach, I turned into Glen Tilt and spent another night out in the tent before an early morning walk down the valley. I love Glen Tilt with its magical mix of mountains, woods and river. There is always so much to see and today my eye was caught by birch trees lining a deep gully that were illuminated by the low-angled sun. More joy with which to finish my trip.