Misty Mountain Hop
This is the full text of Derek Johnson's description of his sponsored trek across the Highlands by foot and canoe in May 2003:
Derek Johnson.
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"In May near to the end of the month, I think it was around 24th, I undertook a solo crossing of the Highlands of Scotland by foot and canoe. The crossing started at Morvich, Loch Duich on the West coast, near to Kyle of Lochalsh the gateway to Skye, and finished at Beauly just North of Inverness, a total distance of 87 km about 56 Miles, (for those still working in old money). The main emphasis of the journey, I had professed, was to raise awareness for the Trees For Life vision and also to raise some funds in the process. However, in truth it had always been a personal ambition/desire of mine to cross the Highlands and I had often looked at maps and the endless possibilities. Trees for Life's vision just gave me a cause and a route.
We set ourselves challenges so that we may learn something new about ourselves from the interaction with what nature demands, the closer to nature the greater the understanding of the way of being.
So it was goodbye to Robert and Kashia and I was on my way. The first day was spent mainly on foot as I trekked up the Northern pass of Ben Fadha (Attow) Bealach an Sgairne through the Forest of Kintail (the term Forest means royal hunting grounds, rather than great wood as commonly misinterpreted), noted by its significant lack of great woods, apart from the usual plantations, sorry for showing prejudice against plantation trees, after all those 'log poles,' do have their own beauty. Past the great shoulder of Sgurr a Choire Ghairbh, my mind skipping as usual although burdened by the rather large bulk on my back kept bringing it back to the same agonising thoughts of pain. I must confess this was very hard work and stops were frequent usually entailing the pack being rested up hill on a natural platform. My mind began to float to the sherpas and porters in the third world making treks through the highest mountain passes, like this (my trek) day in day out Their trade routes develop stopping posts where boulders dead trees or natural coves make good resting spots. After one day of this shoulder wrenching, neck straining, back breaking work I was pretty much in pieces, yet the sherpa works and stands strong the next day to work again, this knowledge was a great leveller for the small feat my ego had managed to achieve, on reaching the Bealach.
Down from the Bealach and a new threat opened with the new awe inspiring vista; leg snapping, this sounds quite dramatic but if you have seen my legs you would understand - a wading bird has more meat - and my legs where beginning to buckle and worse was the suddenness that I would find myself being thrown to the ground. I stopped unable to carry anymore. I left my bags next to the path and wondered off for a quiet moment. Looking north up the Gleann Goaorsaic, rain clouds washed the sky leaving the mountains in a haze of grandeur. In the middle of the Loch was a small island covered in birch trees, the last relics of glacial temperate jungle. There on that island, in such beauty lies the vision of Trees for Life, an inspiration, the truth, the seeds of the future.
Sooner or later I had to force myself away from this water-coloured dream and return to 'the sack.' Like some ancient form of therapy that resembles self-torture, 'the sack' would need to be carried down to the glen and the watershed, West Affric and the last stretch, and then a trek for another three miles before taking to the water. Hard at first until the watershed had been reached and then the gentle down hill descent into Glen Affric. The final peaty bog trot brought a point where three large burns meet - a place of transformation.
The rains had swollen the burns to a bonny enough size for an inflatable canoe (known as a ducky) to spread its wings and take to the water. A heavy downpour, a quick change, inflate, repack and onto the water, the first rapid and then like a salmon on it's way to the sea I was off, freedom. Paddling after the hard slog it felt like a dream of ease and the boat, even with the extra weight, was still responsive and eager to dance. More burns entered and the Youth Hostel at Alltbeithe was passed. The small river was running peaty brown, a sign of a reasonably high flow, and apart from the odd rock and boulder rapid the passage was steady and swift. I was looking forward, if a little anxiously, to the first mini gorge and drop that I had spied on a workweek earlier in the year, not far from Athnamulloch. To my disappointment the section of gorge had to be portaged due to a second drop having a nasty hole - and I had no back up. Past the Bothy and Strawberry Cottage, over a final delightful drop and rapid and into Loch Affric. I was greeted by the evening light and a nesting pair of herons in one of the first Scots pines to be seen. The Loch is a truly delightful place and in a canoe, drifting with fleeing goosanders ahead, my thoughts turned to relaxation, rest and sleep. I pulled up along the south side of the Loch and camped a short distance away from the fence that I had checked the month previous, with a great bloke, Nick. Marvellous - a great camping spot overlooked by mountains and the Loch, with a wee campfire to dry my bones, and no midges!
The next morning was spent drifting down the Loch, I felt like I had rushed, too eager to do, rather than to be, to be in this place, without thought, without time, without anything but myself immersed in nature, the perfect state of being. The wind and waves took me slowly down the Loch, just looking - relaxed, calm and at peace; the words of my yoga teacher came to me with each breath. When my mind came back, my eyes, always keen for wildlife, spotted an osprey and so close, brown back, white underside mottled with brown blotches on it's breast, long slender wings, almost a cross between a buzzard and a heron in flight, so majestic. It went out of sight around a headland, when the cove came into view there, perched high in an archetypical setting, was an osprey on a Scots Pine, balance and harmony.
Loch Affric ends or begins with Affric Lodge, the architecture a blend of the Auld Alliance missionary, an idyllic spot. At the back of the Lodge is a large croft and a lady waving me over, someone had left a rucksack unattended in West Affric. Surely not mine I mumbled - no location or description of the offending rucksack. was given. The lady explained that the police were coming down in half an hour, I said I'd keep an eye out for the police, but an hour of drifting and no sign.
A short river section links Loch Affric with the dammed Loch Beinn a Mheadhoin, the setting and river are more than picturesque. The paddle across the Loch was a constant battle of needing to move on and the reluctance to leave the valley, woods and mountains, such a majestic setting. After dinner I arrived at the dam greeted by a common lizard basking in the sun. A portage round the dam with a satellite of wood ants nests cleaning the forest floor and the next part of the journey would be underway, with an imposing gorge and falls lying below.
The dam controls the flow of water and the low flow would ensure that the risk of being washed over one of the larger cataracts would be minimal. The drops began to increase in size although none were too severe. Above Dog Falls on a dogleg drop I smacked my elbow as my canoe was squashed between a 'v' type slot and the rocky-sided gorge. The pain and swelling was eased by the cold water and the run of adrenaline. Another portage around Dog Falls and accessing the River below a suspension bridge with a short paddle to the base of the falls. Here the sides of the gorge are sheer and the light and water cascade down into a chasm of pure delight, a cooling place that the internal fire craves to be quenched in. The whole setting couldn't be more delightful, a dance between darkness and light, the heavens open between shafts of light, kissed in the sparkle of iridescent emerald green leaves, beneath which lies the dark brown walls and churning cooled waters.
Badger Falls is less accessible and even more spectacular than Dog Falls. A series of rockslides disappear into twisting pools bounded by fortresses of rock with Scots pines, oaks and birch, rising up on guard out of the fissure. The water and rock is a playground of laughter with the trees giggling in the drafts of spray and light that rise up from this expression of total joy. The totality of the whole picture cannot be taken in one glance and one is forced to peer into the gorge and then up the sheer sides around the top and back in from the bottom, taking in snap shots of the different sections.
The energy expended portaging in the gorge left me totally whacked and evening had fast closed in as the River Affric opened out to embrace Strath Glass and the contrast in scenery and mood had changed into a slow and restful valley. A couple more gorge type sections and drops and the hydro electric plant is passed with an extra surge of water. I'm now placed down stream, tucked up in bed, bitten by midges and smoked out by the fire.
The next morning I rose late, very late. - the sun was well up and I felt a bit like a kipper left out to dry, smoked and covered in flies. The Glass reflects it's name and the river and valley puts on its slippers and smokes its pipe and I'm left lazily reflecting the usual tendencies of the minds eye. The blueness of the sky is greater in reflection and the mirror of the Glass River teaches me the lesson of the view of perception.
At Crask of Aigas the walls rise up and although a road runs high above the trees, the walls ensure the noise is soaked up and peace and a restful state lies beneath. I floated through the high bastions, a complete contrast to Badger Falls, high cliffs and complete silence, broken by the eerie cry of two raptors. There in the top of a Scots pine, like a proud King with his crowning glory, was an ospreys nest, the name so obvious, when released, rushed into my Vision -Trees for Life! It seemed so obvious now seen in such a peaceful setting - these Trees do mean Life.
I floated towards my camp spot and again I can hardly believe my luck, a wee doe, a Roe Deer and it hasn't moved, it hasn't seen me. 5/10 minutes I sat there, it seemed an eternity. It was no more than 20 yards away, nibbling on the succulent young birch and alder leaves next to a small Burn, the only break in this fortress. I've seen Red Deer stags at close quarters in the winter, when they are forced down off the high peaks, but never the shy and elusive Roe Deer. Eventually a draft of wind, my scent was tasted and it was off - and I had the space beneath the trees and the tics left by the deer.
 Derek Johnson at the end of his fundraising Highland Cross. |
The next morning I woke to a passing osprey and falling falcons, past another bastion with nesting peregrines, a little anxious by my presence so I passed quickly. This tornado hunter of the sky shines out power and stealth, a real favourite of mine, a bird of childhood dreams. A short distance on and the day was taken up portaging around two hydro electric schemes - the serenity of what must have been a once most wondrous site of cataract and gorge.
Down river I am told that my presence is not welcome and that the waterways are private, a cry often made by bailiffs in England and Wales but somewhat alien here in Scotland where access laws are usually viewed differently. Onward to the end of this journey, Beauly and tea on the lawn at the monastery and I await my rendezvous with Robert and Kashia.
Nature's laws are simple and always uphold the Truth, the closer to nature, the closer to the Truth we become, this is our church our sacred space, let us abide there.
A big thank you for all the vision of Trees for Life, especially to Robert who has been a mountain of support."
Derek Johnson
Return to Caledonia Wild! Summer 2003
Published: 27 September 2003
Last updated: 08 February 2010