Gear Reviews - Delta ground anchors and gas canister stand

I’ve made a couple of very cheap improvements recently to my camping set up that I’m really pleased with. So I thought I’d share them here.

The first is a set of four Delta ground anchors – a revolutionary new alternative to tent pegs for the main guylines of my tent. I’ve used them on a couple of trips now and although they’ve not been tested as yet in big winds, I’m impressed with them. What is obvious is that they achieve and then maintain a much more effective tension in the four main guylines on my Macpac Microlight tent. 

They also grip the ground much, much more than a traditional peg so once placed, they are reassuringly difficult to get back out. They were also good in the snow last weekend being bulky and bright yellow so there was no chance of them being lost.  

I’ve been using the Microlight again for winter camping since selling my Lightwave tent that you’ll have seen in winter trips on the blog for the last couple of years. For whatever reason, I couldn’t grow to love the Lightwave. Most probably this was down to its long, tunnel design which gives a narrow field of vision through the door and a redundant rear half of the inner which somebody of my small size never seemed to make use of. Switching back to the Microlight, I felt it needed ‘pimped’ for winter use and thought the ground anchors would provide some extra strength.

The set of four anchors cost £11 from deltagroundanchors.co.uk. They each measure 16.5cm by 16cm and each weighs 47g. They are obviously bulky despite being lightweight, much more so than a traditional tent peg. That brings challenges in packing them into a rucsack. To date, I’ve been strapping them to the outside of my pack in a stuffsack. I don’t think I’ll take them on every trip but will certainly always pack them when I’m expecting wind or for a high, exposed camp spot, and almost always in winter.

Addendum: Now have used the ground anchors in high winds and they were superb. They maintained perfectly the tension in the guylines, despite the tent flapping around all over the place.

The second piece of kit is something that’s been around for years but somehow I didn’t bother having one until recently. At the Dalwhinnie trip a couple of blogs ago, my stove with a pan full of water tipped into my tent on a lumpy camp spot – annoying as well as dangerous. So I bought a gas canister stand and now I don’t think I’ll go camping again without it. 

It cost £7, measures 12cm by 2cm when folded and weighs 25g. I got mine from alloutdoor.co.uk but they are widely available from most outdoor retailers. The stand fits both the 100 and 250 size of gas canister and provides a much more stable base for camp cooking. Using it in the snow last weekend, I also wondered if it had an additional advantage in lifting the canister off the cold ground and in doing so helping it to work more efficiently.

I hope this short review is helpful and I’ll post an update if or when, I experience the ground anchors in high winds.

Perth - Kinnoull Hill

It’s fair to say that the weather has been challenging these last few weeks with endless westerly storms blowing in which seem to have been at their worst each time over the weekends. So I’ve not been away much but my life admin and indoor tasks are at least up-to-date. However, with cheap rail tickets still on offer, my friend Graham and I did attempt a day trip to Aviemore last weekend to banish the cabin fever. We didn’t get beyond Perth. At that point, we’d already passed severe flooding across Fife with fields underwater and many rivers having broken their banks. As the train approached Perth, only the embankment on which the line had been built was above the water so looking out the windows either side it was as if we were travelling by boat rather than train. At Perth, the guard announced the train would go no further.

Luckily, I remembered pictures I’d seen online of a walk close to Perth city centre at Kinnoull Hill and it seemed a decent alternative in the circumstances. We walked through the city centre towards the River Tay and crossed it by a metal footbridge attached to the side of the rail bridge. It was a bit disconcerting as a huge Intercity train crossed at the same time and rattled the bridge. Halfway across, we stood awestruck, watching the flood waters below our feet. The Tay was not silvery today but was the colour of white tea. It had risen almost as high as the arches of the road bridge and looked terrifyingly fast. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before.

Our walking route continued to Kinnoull Hill through pleasant suburbs. Soon we were wrapped up in the trees and following a network of trails to the top. Dotted about the woods were sculptures carved from fallen trunks – fairy house, badger, owl, red squirrel and a giant oak leaf. A steep pull had us on top as snow flurries piled through on a keen wind. 

Looking east through a veil of snow, the Tay powered its way on towards the sea. To the west, as the snow showers cleared, we could see the snow-covered flanks of Ben Chonzie.  It was too cold to linger so we made our way back down and stopped for lunch at a picnic table in the woods. We must have looked odd to any passers-by, sitting enjoying our picnic as snow flurries blew through.

We finished our walk by re-crossing the Tay, this time by the reassuringly sturdy road bridge, and returned home on the next train, crossing again the watery world around us.

Fact File

Start/finish: Train station, Perth

Public transport: Trains or buses to Perth

Route: From the train station walked down to the river Tay and crossed it via the footbridge attached to the rail bridge. Turned left upriver. At the heather garden left the river and walked up Manse Road then turned right on Hatton Road. At the top of the hill a footpath leads into the woods and a network of trails go to the top. 

Badenoch - A little bit of wildness in my life

There is no real wilderness left in Scotland. The hills may look empty but there are no longer big tracks of land untouched by the hand of man or unaltered by his meddling with nature. Only fragments remain of the Highland pinewoods and the coastal rainforests which have been diminished by the monoculture of grouse moors or overgrazed by sheep and deer. And long gone are the apex predators that stalked those woods. But mankind has not always been in this landscape and one day in the future, will no doubt be absent again, and the wilderness will return. My heart aches though with the knowledge that my own life will have been lived in an era when nature is so diminished. I have to find joy, not in wilderness, but in ‘wildness’ which I think of as small pockets of the land where nature still reigns and the elements feel dominant. Thankfully, there is still a lot of wildness in Scotland. I would even say that in my lifetime, the places of wildness have increased a little, as man’s hand has been turned to good for a change.  

One place where I find wildness is a cluster of small, unassuming hills, tucked away behind Dalwhinnie. The land here, as everywhere, is much altered with woods crippled by overgrazing and now a powerline connecting the grid to a new hydro scheme on the Pattack. But there is nonetheless wildness here that overcomes these negatives, allowing the natural landscape to shine through. I’ve visited these hills twice now, both times in January, so the winter elements and emptiness probably add to the feeling of wildness. The second visit was a little less empty as my friend Graham came along too. 

Not as flashy as their nearby Munro neighbours, these hills are still rugged and shapely and inviting. The walk there is just under one and a half hours from the train station at Dalwhinnie. At first it’s along the road north but it soon turns off onto the old right of way to Feagour. 

Track and footpath then meander up the glen, switching back and forth on different sides of the river. The view ahead is dominated by the rocky pyramid of the main hill of the group, Meall nan Eagan, and softened by thin birch woods, remnants of a once bigger forest. The weather on my most recent visit was mild and grey, contrasting with my first trip which was gripped in frozen snow and ice, adding to the still, quietness of the place.

Soon the glen opens out to a wide upper valley and the view now extends to the Fara, rising to the east in snow-streaked slopes, and the Dircs, two gigantic, boulder-strewn slashes in the landscape. In my mind, the Dircs are the key factor in the wildness of this place. A throwback to the last Ice Age, they were created thousands of years ago by glacial meltwater. 

When the ground is frozen, there are lots of options for pitching the tent. When it’s not, we are squeezed onto a grassy verge on a bend in the river. The river is narrow at this point but eerily deep, and just upstream it cascades over rocks, filling the place with sound.

My usual walk is an amble up Meall nan Eagan which affords great views despite its lack of height. The Ben Alder Munros stretch out to the south, all bulk and dramatic ridgeline, while the snow-covered plateau of Creag Meagaidh fills the view north.  

I then drop westwards off the top and investigate the lower reaches of the Dirc Mhor and the Dirc Beag. I marvel at the wild secrets hidden in their little-visited boulder fields and inaccessible woods. In the Dirc Beag a stream meanders through a jumble of huge rocks which sprout gnarled trees and colourful mosses. On the grass is scat and the skeleton of a deer that's been separated and dragged about the place. A predator of some sort. Finally I meander back alongside the river and finish the day with a lazy afternoon, relaxing at the tent.

Sitting there sipping tea and enjoying the last remnants of the Christmas cake, I gaze across to the opposite side of the river. There is a fenced area of regenerating woods - another bit of wildness. I dream that in the years to come the trees will break free of the fence that confines them and run rampant across the hills. Then this place will again be wilderness.

Fact File

Start/finish: Dalwhinnie

Public transport: Inverness trains and buses

My route: From the station walked down to the main street, turned left and walked out on the A889. At the top of its steep climb the right of way to Feagour is signed to the left. Pass in front of the cottage and continue up the glen on footpath and track. Meall nan Eagan appears ahead. The east shoulder gives easy access to the top. Dropped off west and followed the Allt an t-Sluic back, giving good views into the Dircs. I walked through the Dirc Mhor a few years ago - it's rough. The Dirc Bheag looks impenetrable. Returned to Dalwhinnie next morning the same way. This makes for good short trip or easy overnighter.

Traprain Law - Treasure

Right in the heart of East Lothian, rising steeply from the rolling farmland around it, is a fascinating lump of volcanic rock called Traprain Law. Like so many of these isolated, small hills, it held great significance for ancient people and has a colourful history. It’s believed that it was occupied as far back as the Bronze Age in 1500BC and it’s known that bronze tools were made here. According to an ancient transcript, King Loth ruled from Traprain Law in 528 and gave his name to the region we know today as Lothian. Around the time of the Roman invasion into Scotland in 80AD, a tribe called the Votadini centred their kingdom around Traprain Law and traded with the Romans until they eventually withdrew south. Nearly 2,000 years later in 1919, archaeologists discovered a hidden treasure of Roman silver on the Law. Weighing in at 24kg, it was the largest hoard ever found of late Roman “hack silver”, meaning that it had been cut up into small pieces. 

My friend Graham and I recently headed out by bike to explore Traprain Law. Our own treasure was a beautiful winter’s day for our trip. We started out by cycling along the Longniddry to Haddington railway path. This is one of my favourite places to cycle. It’s wrapped up in dense hedgerows as it cuts a line across the countryside so that the rest of the world seems far away. Birds flit around the bushes and in autumn it’s a blaze of red from the hawthorn berries. This morning the low winter sun struggled to clear the hedgerows so that the verges were frosted silver and the trees backlit with white gold.

As we cycled over the pretty arches of Nungate Bridge in Haddington, the scene before us was quite beautiful. The old church hugged a bend in the river above which hung a delicate veil of mist. Everything sparkled in a thick layer of frost. Traprain Law had been in our sights as we approached Haddington but as we cycled out the other side of town, it seemed now to mysteriously disappear. A strange trick of the landscape that had me check the map. Eventually it popped up again in front of us and a stiff pull had us at the bottom of the Law’s footpath. We chained up the bikes and started to climb the steep, northern slopes.

The Law is only 221m high so it wasn’t long before we were striding across the flat summit. What a place to be on that clear, crisp day. To the south the Lammermuirs quickly crowded the view while to the west, the Pentland Hills stretched to the horizon. Looking east the land quickly gave way to the blue waters of the North Sea and we could even see the squat shape of the Isle of May. But mostly the eye was drawn north across the Firth of Forth to Fife, dominated by the twin peaks of the Lomond Hills. How marvellous to think that 2,000 years ago King Loth would have stood here and looked across the water to the same view. The hills are so timeless and appear so permanent in our own short lives.

We picnicked behind a boulder, out of the chill wind, then walked down to our bikes to cycle back the way we had come. When we pulled in again to Haddington, the sun had mustered a hint of warmth that had chased away the frost and the mist. We sat outside with coffee and watched the river meander slowly under the bridge, carrying mallards and goosanders downstream as if on an underwater conveyer belt.

By the time we were cycling back along the old railway path, the sun was already low again, bringing back the morning chill and cross-hatching our trail with beams of gold.

Fact File

Start/finish: Longniddry train station

Public transport: Took the folding bikes on the North Berwick train, getting off at Longniddry.

My route: Exited right out of the station and immediately followed signs for NCN76 under the railway. The section to Haddington is traffic free though the surface is soft in places so best for trail/mountain bikes. Continued to follow the NCN signs through Haddington and out the other side. Just over 4km after the outskirts of Haddington, the road splits - the cycle route goes left, but stay right up the hill towards Traprain Law. We used the first access point at the top of the road where an obvious path climbs to the top of the hill. Back the same way.

Info: Waterside Bar beside Nungate Bridge is a nice place to sit by the river with a hot drink.

Roslin Glen - Gunpowder, season and grot

The name Roslin is probably known to most people because of the famous Rosslyn Chapel but tucked away behind the chapel is a wonderful wooded glen. Combining a walk here with another loop towards Bilston created a great, figure-of-eight walk with Roslin at the centre and lots of interesting sights on the way round. My friend Graham and I headed there for a walk during the festive season.

Once off the bus we headed towards the chapel but turned off just before to head down into the glen by an old lane alongside the cemetery. Mosses and lichens covered the walls and the jaunty-angled gravestones, adding splashes of colour to the plain winter palette. Soon we were in the glen itself, a steep-sided, wooded dip cut out over the millenia by the waters of the River North Esk. Our path meandered upriver, initially high above the water but latterly dropping to be right beside it.

Walking signs had been promising us old gunpowder mills and sure enough, the ruins eventually appeared through the trees. The mills operated between 1803 and 1954, providing gunpowder for military and mining purposes. Incredibly, the company that operated the mills became ICI, the global chemicals giant. The ruins were a real treat because we could still see the building that had housed the waterwheel and the lade that had diverted water from the river to power it. Despite the explosive history of the mills, the ruins were now a peaceful place being gradually reclaimed by nature.

Beyond the mills we joined the old railway line that once ran between Edinburgh and Peebles and has now been repurposed as a walking and cycling route. It took us back in the direction of Roslin. With a bit of zig-zagging we found ourselves back in Roslin Glen where the path passed by Roslin Castle. The castle occupies a high, rocky promontory in the glen which has been the site of a fortification since the early 14^th century. We walked across the old arched bridge which gives access to the castle and were amazed to find that not only is a large part of it still habitable but that somebody was even at home!

We returned to the village green for a picnic lunch. It’s always nice being in different places during the festive season to enjoy the variety of Christmas lights and decorations. Roslin Inn, an old coaching inn overlooking the green, is the village’s centrepiece and was adorned with luxurious festive wreaths. 

After lunch, we headed out towards Bilston, passing the memorial to the Battle of Roslin in 1303. It commemorates a Scottish victory in the First War of Scottish Independence. Beyond here the views opened up to the Pentland Hills to the north as we found ourselves on another section of the old railway line. The impressive Bilston Viaduct took our route high above the cut of Bilston Glen before we turned off north. Here we walked through disused railway sidings which had grown up with dense birch over the years. It was a beautiful place and a little bit of wildness tucked away behind the city’s outlying towns.

We looped back to Roslin by passing to the north of Dryden Tower, built as a folly by the owner of Dryden House. It’s a shame we couldn’t go up because the views would have been superb on the crisp, clear day we were there. While the tower still stands tall and handsome, there is nothing left of the house which fell into ruin and was then obliterated by Bilston Colliery. Our walking route here had linked together rural paths and farm tracks that took us across fields and through woods. It was very pleasant but it was also very muddy with that squelchy, claggy mud that clings in great lumps to your boots. So, despite our best efforts to remove the mud with long grass and twigs, by the time we were walking back into Roslin, we were both pretty grotty. We skipped a visit to the tearoom in the interests of not trailing all the mud in!

On the journey home on the bus, I mused on what a fascinating little walk it had been and would definitely recommend it. But if you should do it in winter then ... remember, remember the filth of December ... and take wellies.

Fact File

More photos on Flickr: click HERE

Start/finish: Roslin

Public transport: Lothian Buses no 37 from Edinburgh city centre

My route: Off the bus walked towards the chapel but immediately after the car park on the right, a lane heads downhill to the right. Followed this path until we came to a road, turned left and picked a path again which led onto the mills. At the mills crossed the bridge over the river and over a rise joined the old railway line. Turned left and followed it to the old Rosslyn Castle station. Took a footpath to the left which emerged onto a quiet back road. Turned right then left at the next junction which leads to a path back into the glen. It passed the castle and emerged back at the chapel. For the Bilston loop, we headed east along Manse Road in front of the inn, turned left after the viaduct and then followed footpath signs back to Roslin.

Perthshire - Obney overnighter

When I got home from a wee trip in the Obney Hills and posted pictures on Facebook, several people commented that they had no idea where the Obney Hills were. And to be honest, if I’d not been staring at them on my Ordnance Survey map for a few weeks, I wouldn’t have known either. A cluster of small but well-defined little hills, they occupy the land to the west of Birnam Hill in Perthshire. On the map their tops of tight contours looked appealing as did an inviting path that cut right though the middle of their rocky outcrops. So, the rucksack was packed and a train ticket to Dunkeld booked.

On a freezing, winter afternoon, I set out from the train station up Birnam Hill. With a heavy winter pack and having climbed it several times before, I’d not planned to walk over Birnam Hill. But a line closure had delayed my train, leaving only three hours of light in the December day. So up and over the hill was the quickest route. It worked out well. The wooded slopes had a smattering of snow illuminated by golden beams from the low afternoon sun. Also, late in the day, I had the whole place to myself.

Once over the top, I left the path and picked my way down the hill through rugged woods and crags. It felt secretive here, as if nobody else had ever walked this way, and the thin covering of snow under the trees was untouched, save for a few animal tracks. This steep-sided descent levelled out at a small bealach before the land crumpled up again to become the Obney Hills. With a bit of hunting around, I found a small stream for water and a slate mound that provided a pitch for the tent. It didn’t hold the tent pegs very tightly though and I hoped the wind wouldn’t get up later. It didn’t and it was a beautiful, calm evening with a golden moon and a scatter of stars.

It was still calm next morning as I unzipped the tent to a couple of inches of fresh snow. I didn’t linger long in my sleeping bag but set off up Craig Obney. It was hard work in deep heather with a covering of snow but my efforts were rewarded as the sun cleared the surrounding hills. The landscape was transformed in the peachy, morning light which picked out the snow-covered tops of the bigger Perthshire hills. Down below, the fields lay under the finest veil of mist. 

I soaked it all in then continued up on a mix of pathless terrain, vague track and finally a firm little path that took me to the top of the hill. The sun had disappeared behind cloud again so the landscape was now monochrome. Piling in from the west was another weather front and no sooner had I taken a couple of snaps at the top, than it was upon me. Big, fluffy flakes of snow engulfed the place and the cloud dropped below the tops of even these small hills. 

I descended to pick up the footpath in Glenn Garr, the place that had looked so inviting on the map. I wasn’t disappointed. The glen that day was a winter wonderland and my own private Narnia. The bare birch trees looked so beautiful dressed in snow as the path, clearly an ancient route, meandered through the winter woods. At one point it was a shelf cut into the steep hillside and looked down on snow-covered pastures where two roe deer bounded across the fields. 

I walked a while south, not with any intent other than to enjoy the place, before turning north again for my onward route. Gradually, I left the winter woods behind as the path entered a patchwork of fields, the snow-covered ground dissected by the black lines of stock walls. It was all so cold and bleak which I love. Crossing a main road pulled me briefly out of my magical, winter world and here were also the first people I’d seen since leaving the station the day before. But the magic quickly returned as I picked up a series of woodland paths by the roaring, peaty waters of the aptly named Rumbling Bridge. 

The trail meandered down through the gorge of the Hermitage, at times clear and earthy where the snow hadn’t penetrated the pine trees but where there were bare, deciduous trees, these and the path were again plastered with snow. My route returned to civilisation at the pretty cottages of Inver. In the half dark afternoon, brightly coloured Christmas lights twinkled where people had hung them along fences or wrapped them around trees. The cosiness and colour were a contrast to the monochrome bleakness of the hills I’d just left.

Fact File

More photos on Flickr - click HERE

Start/finish: Dunkeld and Birnam train station

Public transport: Edinburgh/Glasgow trains to Inverness

My route: Out of the station, turned left at the bottom of the steps. Just after cottages the path up Birnam Hill leaves to the left. Descended a little way on the far side then left the path to descend south. There’s a bealach between Birnam Hill and the Obney Hills which only just worked as a decent camp spot. Next day continued southwest to top of Craig Obney. No path initially then bits of a track and then a good path on the final steep section. Descended northwest to pick up the path through Glen Garr. After a walk through the glen, walked north – track comes out on A822 and immediately opposite is a path through the trees to Rumbling Bridge. So no need to walk on the road. Crossed the bridge then turned right to follow paths through the Hermitage and onto Inver and Dunkeld.

Corrour - The old favourite

With the first snow on the hills and cheap rail tickets on offer, it was time for an early winter visit to one of my favourite places – Corrour. It’s hard to believe but I’ve been going there for over twenty-five years now. If you don’t know it, it’s a remote stop on the West Highland railway line where it crosses Rannoch Moor. There is no road access, just the train and a number of tracks and trails that radiate out from the station in every direction into wild hill country. 

My friend Graham and I got the morning train and jumped off at Rannoch, the stop before Corrour. Over a few hours we walked north towards Corrour on the old Road to the Isles. It’s a rugged track that passes high above the moor on the flank of Carn Dearg and it was wonderful walking there that day. The low winter sun created a beautiful, soft light that picked out the snow-covered hills all around us and illuminated the russets of the spent summer grasses. 

Because the track is so high, it affords a wonderful, airy view over a landscape of moor and mountain. Our panorama stretched from the Bridge of Orchy hills, over the Black Mount to Glen Coe and then west to the Mamores and Ben Nevis. Scotland is at its most stunning in winter light and a dusting of snow. It looks so much more elemental and I love the elements, the feeling that, even in the modern mechanised world, they are still our master. 

Where the Road to the Isles began its descent towards Loch Ossian, we turned off onto a rougher, more vague path. It felt wilder than the track and cut a lovely line across the moor down to the old ruin. The path was firm and obvious in spots but in other places, there was only a suggestion of where people had walked before. But I know this route. It’s become familiar to me over the years in the same way as I know the old ruin and feel comfortable in its company. In the late afternoon, which at this time of year is closer to night, we pitched our tents on my favourite spot on the east side of the house. I wonder how many more years its walls will withstand the brutal elements.

It’s always wonderful to spend time here. The old ruin sits close to the railway line, just south of Corrour, and is set in a natural amphitheatre of wild hills. I wanted to stay outside of my tent as long as possible to suck it all in but the cold eventually forced me in inside. And what a cold night it was. A night for wrapping up in thick wool layers and our warmest sleeping bags. We did go out again later to watch the southbound, evening train pass. The squares of orange light from its windows were all we could see in the pitch darkness.

A cold, clear day followed after a late-rising sun that bathed the hills in golden, morning light. We had to shake ice off the tents before packing up. Our route continued north on the path towards Corrour. Having stashed our heavier camping kit, we set out up Beinn na Lap, a whaleback of a hill that rises above Loch Ossian. The path that ascended the flank of the mountain was ice-covered and treacherous in places, so we were glad to reach the ridge with its soft, powder snow. As we gained height, the moor was left far below and the station building at Corrour looked like a tiny monopoly house. The mountains now seemed to crowd in around us in layer after layer of snow-kissed ridgeline. 

We had also left below the marginally milder temperatures and continued up into a world of snow and rock, blasted by a fierce, Arctic wind that scoured the top of the hill. We donned our extra layers and ultimately our duvet jackets, all of which enabled us to sit for ten minutes at the top. But that was all the elements allowed us and we began our descent. 

I was enjoying the snow and the wild elements so sauntered down quite slowly while Graham was much faster ahead of me. I watched him as he reached the snowline again and repeated in reverse the process of layering up. And I watched his tiny figure reach the flat ground of the moor at the bottom of the hill. Amazingly, in 2020, Graham and I will celebrate twenty-five years of friendship. Through that time, we’ve enjoyed so many outdoor adventures together, just like this one. Our tents have been pitched side by side in countless places in Scotland and abroad. He’s been my bike buddy and my hillwalking chum. He is my old favourite.

Fact File

More photos on Flickr HERE

Start: Rannoch Station

Finish: Corrour Station

Public transport: Train by the West Highland Line

My route: Out of Rannoch walked east along the road then left onto track signed for Fort William via Corrour. About 1km after the ruin, Old Corrour Lodge, took the path that descended west towards the railway line. A few hundred metres before the ruin, a track branches to the right and continues to Loch Ossian. Turned left on reaching the good track, then right after the hostel, then forked left after the bridge. The path up Beinn na Lap begins here, ascending north onto the ridge then north-east to the top.