Dalwhinnie - What would Dougie Vipond do?

My skis were waxed and ready to run when I stepped off the Friday late-night train at Dalwhinnie. There were just two problems. Firstly, there wasn’t much snow. Secondly, I couldn’t find a spot close to the station to pitch the tent. It was already late and bitterly cold as a wintry wind blasted clouds across a crescent moon. I plodded around in the dark, searching by torchlight on either side of the trail for a piece of dry, level ground but found only soggy lumpiness.
  

When faced with a problem that you can’t solve, it’s useful to turn to your hero and ask yourself what they would do in the circumstances. And so I posed the question, “what would Dougie Vipond do?” The unhelpful answer that I arrived at was that he and the Adventure Show crew would of course check into the nearby hotel! As that wasn’t an option, a little more scouting eventually revealed a grassy, tent-sized shelf behind the railway line. 


As for the problem of not much snow, there was nothing for it but next morning to haul my heavy pack and skis a long way up the hill to the snow-line. At the top edge of a patch of forestry I cleared some snow and made base camp in the last of the trees where there was a little shelter from blasts of icy wind that whipped across the hillside. 

I strapped my skins to my skis, my skis to my feet and headed uphill, threading together the remaining lines of snow. At the top of the hill the skins were off and so was I. As I descended the snow that lingered in the narrow stream gullies and made my own twisting tracks, I felt quite the expert ski-tourer and, despite my dire downhill technique and the gusty wind, I somehow managed to stay upright all the way back to the tent. The wind pummelled the tent all through the evening and into the night but I was quite comfy inside, passing the dark hours with a pot of hot tea and that fine literary tome, the Scots Magazine.   

Next morning the wind and the thaw had diminished the snow cover a little further so I left the skis at the tent and headed out on foot. The land was still dressed in dowdy browns where the snow had receded and a low ceiling of grey cloud completed the drab scene. But a few rays of sunshine penetrated the gloom to catch in their spotlight a herd of red deer grazing below the snowline. To the northeast deep passes in the Drumochter hills revealed tantalising glimpses of the snow-covered Cairngorms. Red grouse flapped back and forward in a frenzy and every now and then a white mountain hare exploded from its hiding place, kicking up a plume of snow with its big back feet and leaving behind snowshoe-shaped footprints.  

Back at base camp the wind had saved me much of the effort of taking down the tent. But at least the sun came out and bathed Dalwhinnie and its surrounding green pastures in faintly warm sunshine. A lapwing made its “peewit” call overhead, a sound that I always associate with spring in the way that the screech of swifts makes me think of summer or the noisy cackle of passing geese conjures up winter. I packed up, picked my way back down the hill and plodded to the train station along Dalwhinnie’s main street, pausing by the hotel. 

Peering in through the windows of the bar, I could have sworn I saw Dougie Vipond.

Fact file

Start/finish: Dalwhinnie Rail Station, occasionally serviced by the Inverness trains.

Map: OS Landranger 42

From Dalwhinnie I took the track that goes a little way along the south shore of Loch Ericht to access the lower slopes of Geal Charn. I was using Rossignol Free Venture skis, a very short, fat ski with a binding that fits leather winter boots designed for a step-in crampon. The binding has a fixed position for downhill skiing or free-heel position for climbing and the skis have their own skins. In case you don't know this term, skins are furry strips that attach to the underside of the ski to give you grip for skiing uphill. Basically the "hairs" of the "fur" allow the skis to glide on the snow in a forward direction only, so you don't slide backwards. They were originally made from seal skins but of course these days they are synthetic. The skis are a bit of a compromise on all fronts and not ideal for any particular type of skiing. But because they are short, light and can be used with winter walking boots, they are very versatile for accessing distant snow by foot – perfect for Scottish conditions.

Portobello - Bitesized

Bitesized trip. Bitesized bike. Brompton to the beach. Starting at the sewage works. Cycling the sea wall. Oystercatchers in tuxedos. Redshanks in orange clown feet. Turnstone turning stones. Curlew calling. Barnacles covering driftwood. Looking inside for geese. Empty. It’s winter. Barnacle geese are being geese. In summer they become barnacles. So ancient people believed.

 

Along the promenade. Tyres crunching frozen puddles. Cycling with a seal. Me on the Brompton. Seal in the water. Keeping pace with me. Busy prom. People taking sea air. Eating sea food. Fish and chips. Day-trippers never seeing the night-time beach. I do. The red fox. Jumping on the sea wall. Looking at me. Vanishing. 


 

Over the Esk. Goldeneyes ducking and diving. Widgeon grabbing forty winks. Swans going with the flow. To the sea. Seaweed covering shopping trolleys. Shop til you drop. So modern people believe.

 

 

On to the lagoons. Not blue. Ash grey. Power station pumping. Teal stealing the limelight. Winter light. Short-eared owl not waiting for night. Nor I. Into bitter west wind. Into Portobello. Drinking campervan coffee. Eating chocolate brownie ... bitesized.

Fact File
Map: OS Landranger 66
Route: Coming from Leith direction, join the beach bike route on the new bike path from Leith Links - left up the ramp just after the allotments. From Edinburgh city centre take the Innocent Railway Path that starts at St Leonards then before the Asda store follow bike signs to the left for Portobello. Cycle along the prom to Joppa then continue east on the main road (it's wide here). As you enter Musselburgh turn left down to Fisherrow Harbour and continue along the waterfront, over the Esk and round the ash lagoons on the John Muir Way.
Tip: First Saturday of the month is Portobello Market - great stop for cake, other goodies and fab coffee from a converted camper. Otherwise The Tide coffee shop/gallery is on the prom at the bottom of Kings Road - good coffee and they can supply bike locks!

Dunkeld - 50 shades of grey

Sadomasochism: noun, the gaining of gratification by enduring pain. Yep, that pretty much describes backpacking in the Scottish winter. Lugging a heavy pack up a hill through deep snow and risking frostbite in your hands to open a packet of chocolate-coated raisins. Or dunking your head in a freezing river to rescue hair that’s gone as flat as fuzzy felt after several hours under a hat. All in the cause of soaking up the snow season. So I’m sorry if the title of this blog was in any way misleading and you were expecting some kinky, erotic fiction. The truth is that it’s only me in thermal long-johns and a sensible vest wandering the hills on a couple of grey days in January.

With a new job in the bag, I took advantage of my last days of freedom and jumped off a train at Dunkeld into a mid-week monochrome morning. As the guard will advise you in advance, there is a “very low platform” at Dunkeld which requires you to abseil from the train to alight safely. The village was plastered with fresh snow but low, heavy skies created an eerie twilight that stripped the landscape of any colour except shades of grey. I walked along the main street where the gloom was lifted a little by the warm glow emanating from the village shops - the delicatessen, the butcher, the little supermarket, the homewares store. A strand of grey wood smoke from the hearth of some cosy cottage hung in the still air.   

I keep coming back to Dunkeld, drawn there by the beauty of the surrounding landscapes. To the north you can amble endlessly through an idyllic mix of small pastures, woods and tree-fringed lochs before emerging in high, airy and rugged terrain. Up here it feels surprisingly remote, even though you’ve only walked a couple of hours from the village. In the bleak mid-winter there is a truly wild atmosphere and when I’m alone here, I feel like the only person in the world. This day I wandered for hours, snow crunching under my boots, then put my tent up in a copse of pines in the last of the useable light. In the grey January weather it was impossible to tell exactly when daylight ended and darkness began. I slept well despite the overhead rustle of birds restless in their roost.

The next day again dawned grey with a gripping cold that froze my fingers when I took my gloves off to spark up the stove. It’s always difficult to get going in the morning on cold, winter camps as the temptation is strong to stay snuggled in your sleeping bag where the inside climate is always cosy. But once I’d warmed up with coffee and porridge, I packed up and set out for the goal of my expedition, Deuchary Hill. It’s not a big mountain but today, with its pointy little top plastered in snow, it looked like a miniature Alpine peak.

I climbed up through a winter wonderland of fresh, powder snow that had settled in big dollops on the branches of the trees. The dark skies blocked out the sun except for a narrow band of peachy light on the southerly horizon. The only other colours in the landscape were those of nature’s subtle winter palette - the hints of purple in the bare birch and orange in the larch. In the cold, grey day not much life moved. A crow mobbed a buzzard. Two mute swans took off from the frozen waters of the loch. Three roe deer cleared snow with their hooves to munch meagre grazing. A lone walker lugged a big pack to the top of Deuchary Hill and ate a packet of chocolate –coated raisins.

Fact File

Start/finish: Dunkeld & Birnam Rail Station served by the Edinburgh/Glasgow to Inverness trains.

Map:OS Landranger 52

Route: From the train station head into Dunkeld, across the Tay, through the village on the main street then turn right on the Blairgowrie road. After 200m turn left onto the Right of Way signed for Kirkmichael and follow the track to Mill Dam. There are many possibilities for routes from here. To climb Deuchary Hill take the upper Loch Ordie path to the right immediately before Mill Dam. It’s a beautiful path especially in autumn that contours the hill. At Grid Ref NO 024 491 there is a path junction – turn right to climb the hill.

Tip: There is a great wee deli/coffee shop on the main street in Dunkeld styled like a traditional merchant, perfect for picking up nibbles for the train ride home.

 

Blackford Hill - One street from posh

In some ways I feel quite a wealthy person - I’ve travelled extensively and my life's been enriched by the great outdoors and wild nature. But my pocket is poor … at least until I find a new job. I’m not sure there’s much call for a hobo who cycled the globo! So most of my outdoor fun is currently limited to destinations served by a £1.40 Lothian Buses fare. Amazingly there are many mini wild adventures to be had on the city bus route and I’m not talking about the night bus to Tranent! But there is one delightful little spot of wildness not even a bus ride away from my bed. 

I’m typing at my desk nursing a hot mug of tea, trying to warm up from a long wander over Edinburgh’s Blackford Hill whose steep north slopes rise above my window in the south of the city. If my window looked out from a house in the next road to the north I would officially live in The Grange. But sadly I am ... one street from posh. At least Blackford Hill's so close that in one movement I can slip from under the duvet into my duvet jacket and through the old iron gates to a small slice of wild heaven. 

On a crisp morning I hauled myself up the steep hillside where overnight frost had made the grass crunchy underfoot. From the top there’s a beautiful view north to a beautiful city but, for me, the real joy is to point your face south along the axis of the viewfinder. Do this and you’ll marvel at the idea that you can be in the capital city but look out across wild hills as Blackford gives way to the Braids which blend into the Pentlands which stretch for a surprising number of empty of miles to the horizon. 

I headed south from the top, left the open scrubby terrain of Blackford Hill and dropped down into the deep, chilled valley of the Hermitage of Braid with its wild woods and fast-flowing burn. Weak sun filtered through the trees; rooks clamoured above in the canopy; blue tits, chaffinches and wrens filled the understory; and the ground floor was pecked over by a dunnock which may sound like a type of teacake but is actually a small, sparrow-like bird.  Mosses, ivy and lichens covered anything that lingered too long and logs sprouted colourful fungi. I meandered for hours along a maze of paths, passed the mallards and mute swans on the pond, before slipping back out through the gates and home for tea. 

Cosy indoors, I look back to the top of Blackford Hill from my window and say thank you for living next to its wild loveliness. I may not be posh but I do feel quite rich. 

Fact File

Lothian Buses No 41 drops you at the gates to Blackford Hill beside the pond.