Bog, bog and more bog... the creamy white of the map interspersed by widespread orange contours lured me into a false sense of "oo that looks nice, not too hilly, not too far, I can run that in about an hour and a half. Wrong...again. Looking at the map in my usual over optimistic way I thought it would only be about 8 miles of easy running.
I am starting to become slightly obsessed with bothies. I’m not sure if there is a word to describe that – a bothy boffin perhaps? Bothies are intriguing. It never ceases to amaze me how these places have been built in the middle of nowhere. They often have an interesting tale or quirkiness about them. And there is just something else about them that I can't quote put my finger on. I conjure them into a cute cabin in the woods out of a fairy tale, a cute little gingerbread house. But as soon as it becomes dark they then turn into something out of a scary Little Red Riding Hood scene. Anyway I digress. Back to Strathan.
I parked at the Sandwood Bay car park and resisted the urge to visit the golden beach and headed off down the road towards the path to Loch Mor a Chraisg. I turned off the road onto a good track for a mile or so before heading off into the bog. My optimism of being out and exploring somewhere new slowly drained out of me as I hopped from peat hag to peat hag on tired legs. It was wet underfoot, very wet. But over the years I have come to realise that fell running is just like falling off a bike. Once you get it over and done with and get cold soggy feet you can then enjoy the rest of your run instead of prancing about like a princess trying to keep dry.
I am starting to become slightly obsessed with bothies. I’m not sure if there is a word to describe that – a bothy boffin perhaps? Bothies are intriguing. It never ceases to amaze me how these places have been built in the middle of nowhere. They often have an interesting tale or quirkiness about them. And there is just something else about them that I can't quote put my finger on. I conjure them into a cute cabin in the woods out of a fairy tale, a cute little gingerbread house. But as soon as it becomes dark they then turn into something out of a scary Little Red Riding Hood scene. Anyway I digress. Back to Strathan.
I parked at the Sandwood Bay car park and resisted the urge to visit the golden beach and headed off down the road towards the path to Loch Mor a Chraisg. I turned off the road onto a good track for a mile or so before heading off into the bog. My optimism of being out and exploring somewhere new slowly drained out of me as I hopped from peat hag to peat hag on tired legs. It was wet underfoot, very wet. But over the years I have come to realise that fell running is just like falling off a bike. Once you get it over and done with and get cold soggy feet you can then enjoy the rest of your run instead of prancing about like a princess trying to keep dry.
It was tough going and sometimes I would be following a path
and then it would just disappear, swallowed by the bog. Fortunately, some kind soul
had put wooden marker posts out across the flat barren bogscape. You can
navigate using the tarns and contours, but I was thankful for the posts.
I was starting to get a bit disheartened and wishing I had
brought some snacks. The dark sections of broken peat reminded me of chocolate
tiffen…it was taking me longer than my estimated time. I had been running for
about 45 minutes and I was still a good distance from the bothy. Hmm it would
be more than 1 hour and a half then. I pondered turning back.
Stupid idea. I could be back at the croft in front of the log burner with a book. But curiosity killed the cat didn't it?! and I kept going. This would be my last chance for a long time to visit this bothy. I couldn’t turn back now. Head down, keep bog trotting.
Stupid idea. I could be back at the croft in front of the log burner with a book. But curiosity killed the cat didn't it?! and I kept going. This would be my last chance for a long time to visit this bothy. I couldn’t turn back now. Head down, keep bog trotting.
I finally descended off the top of the bog and down a good path and
there it was standing proud with letterbox red door and window frames. This was
not one of those cruel bothies that hides from you until the last moment and
seeing it gave me a much-needed energy boost.
I bounded off down to the river, which to be fair after all
the snow melt didn’t look half as scary as "The Fear" had built up in my mind. I had imagined a raging torrent licking at the bottom of the swing bridge, tipping it as you crossed. It was nothing like that and I headed off down the side of the river to investigate the bridge. The
bog was so deep down in the valley bottom I might actually have stayed drier wading
through the river! The bridge made me giggle, I had read stories about it being
a wire suspension bridge, built by fairies! What made me laugh though was the
ladder up and onto the bridge. I was glad I didn’t have Roxy the Labrapooch with me. Absolutely no
way would I have got her up there, never mind across the scary chicken wire
expanse. I jogged across which made it swing more and by the end of it I was
laughing. Simple pleasures.
Up a small hill and then I was inside out of the cold. Time for a look around and chance to admire the work the MBA had done. To me it felt warm and cosy and I would definitely like to return one day. There is even a mirror to check how you’re looking after a sweaty bog trot. I noted an old photo of the lady of Strathan on the wall. Who is she I wondered? She looked a lot less bedragggled than I did that's for sure.
Up a small hill and then I was inside out of the cold. Time for a look around and chance to admire the work the MBA had done. To me it felt warm and cosy and I would definitely like to return one day. There is even a mirror to check how you’re looking after a sweaty bog trot. I noted an old photo of the lady of Strathan on the wall. Who is she I wondered? She looked a lot less bedragggled than I did that's for sure.
I stepped back out into the cold wind and set off back the
way I had come, having noted where to find the path back up the hill in my descent.
Back across the bridge of fun I had look down Sandwood loch and out to the sea.
A comment on a forum I had read was that they felt a bit “underwhelmed” by
Strathan. I wonder if it is because expectations are built up of a bothy on a
golden beach, when in fact it is in the middle of nowhere with the sea just
visible. Well I thought it was ace!
Felling much more energised than on the way out, I bounded
back across the bog…and due to my over enthusiasm got temporarily off track. A mild panic set in. I was
in the middle of a flat expanse of bog and nobody knew I was here. Calm down you idiot, get the map out. I had confidently stuffed it in
my pocket as I followed the prints of my size 6 Salomons. Nobody else had been
this way for quite some time, they were my tracks until they disappeared as it by magic. How did they do that?
I had a great big loch, a peak behind me and it was a clear day, so after deciding I wasn't going to die, I set off again in the right general direction. And there it was like a beacon, the lovely wooden post. I have never been quite so pleased to see a bit of wood and gave it a hug. Back on track/bog, I trotted back to the car having thoroughly enjoyed myself. A great little adventure. I will be back with overnight bothy kit!
I had a great big loch, a peak behind me and it was a clear day, so after deciding I wasn't going to die, I set off again in the right general direction. And there it was like a beacon, the lovely wooden post. I have never been quite so pleased to see a bit of wood and gave it a hug. Back on track/bog, I trotted back to the car having thoroughly enjoyed myself. A great little adventure. I will be back with overnight bothy kit!
No comments:
Post a Comment