I wasn't going to write about this year’s Challenge, but 3
months after the event, perhaps it’s time to look back and learn some lessons.
For the first time since the Challenge became a big part of
our lives in 1998, I failed to complete the crossing, for the entirely
avoidable reason of blistered feet. Worse, this was to be Joke’s tenth
crossing, a substantial event in Challenge culture, so I feel doubly guilty for
ruining her big trip. She very kindly pointed out that I had helped her
complete her previous nine crossings, but I still feel guilty.
To be frank, and with the benefit of hindsight, my
retirement wasn't really a big surprise, the culmination of a series of events
over a number of years. Anyway, this is how it happened.
In celebration of what was to have been Joke’s 10th
crossing, we more or less repeated our very first route from 1998, Shiel Bridge
to Montrose, minus most of the hills we climbed back then. Since then, Joke has
had various bits replaced (including both knees in the previous 11 months), and
so it was a route specifically designed, ironically, to get her to the east
coast without too much difficulty.
Here's my kit, laid out for the off
The journey
The only civilised way to travel to Scotland from
these parts is by overnight sleeper. I've lost count of the number of times we
have made our way to Euston for a couple of pints (this time in the excellent
Bree Louise with some other Challenge reprobates) before ambling on to the
platform, squeezing into our sleeping compartment, another couple of pints in
the lounge car, before retiring to bed. Then, next morning, waking up in the Highlands, enjoying fabulous scenery from the lounge
window, before alighting on to a Scottish platform in the cool morning air.
Sadly, this time the lounge car was closed, so we could only
do the bit that involved squeezing into the sleeping compartment, where we
stayed, uncomfortably, until we arrived at Inverness. A huge
disappointment. There was no apology or explanation for the closure of the
lounge car, although I suspect it was only because there were so few people on
the train. Our journey continued on the fabulous line to Kyle of Lochalsh. What
a dump, definitely a case of the journey rather than the arrival. Then a bus to
our overnight stop, Dornie. The hotel was fairly cheap, and fairly shabby, but
Dornie is a fabulous spot, with an excellent pub. Just in case anyone isn't sure where the pub is, it has a helpful sign on the roof.
Day 1 (mostly raining)
Next morning we took the bus to our signing-in point at
Shiel bridge, and climbed our way up the lovely Gleann Chionneachainn to Bealach an Sgairne (almost everyone
else starting from Shiel bridge seemed to take the lower Glen Lichd route. There are two reasons for this, it's easier to walk, and easier to pronounce).
When we were last here, work parties were planting seeds from native trees, and
the fruits of their labours are now apparent.
On the way we met and walked with Sue, another Challenger,
but not on the event this year, due to her husband’s illness
By the top of the pass I felt the first signs of rubbing on
my heels, so it was on with the blister stuff, and I thought no more of it.
After passing Loch Bhealaich the path disappeared, and
there was a certain amount of faffing about before Mr GPS came out. Mr GPS
confirmed that we were standing exactly on the invisible path shown on the map,
another figment of the OS imagination.
A few years back we walked in the opposite direction on the
way to the Challenge start, in what were probably the wettest conditions I’ve
ever experienced in Scotland.
We called in at Altbeithe youth hostel in the hope of some shelter/warm tea,
only to receive a frosty welcome from the least friendly warden I’ve come
across. So, it was with some trepidation that we sat out a rain storm on a
bench by Altbeithe. What a difference! The warden couldn’t have been more
friendly (Danish I think) with two cups of tea and real enthusiasm for her
hostel. Fantastic.
We walked on for an hour or so, and pitched just off the
path in Glen Affric, my heels now rather more sore.
Day 2 (mostly raining)
We made our way down Glen Affric in the rain, my heel
blisters now painful whenever we walked uphill, before turning off the “path”
to Cougie. Our excellent vetter, Colin Tock had described this path as
“horrendously boggy”, although I had been this way twice before and had no
recollection of any difficulties. How right was Colin, and how my memory had
failed me. It was dreadful, precisely the sort of terrain that Joke loathes. I
reassured her that the going would be much better when we reached the track,
and sure enough it was just as bad. We inexplicably missed the fishermans hut
at the lochan, and sat down for a rest by Cougie. By this time my toes were a
bit painful when walking the downhill bits, so it was on with more blister
stuff. We followed the road to Hilton Lodge, before taking the woodland track
over to the pass to Glen Morriston. The plan was to camp on the pass at the first
available spot. However the pass was a building site, a new bulldozed track,
diggers cranes and huge, shiny new pylons, and all the ground was completely
waterlogged.
We were tired, it was late, it was pouring, and with no obvious camping spots,
other than one tiny, bumpy grassy spot I spotted above a stream. Luxury, and it
did for us. My feet hurt a lot.
Day 3 (mostly dry)
We followed the building site/pylon track down to Glen
Moriston. Had we not stopped where we did, it would have been a good couple of
hours before we would have found another camping spot.
I made the mistake of
following the track on the map rather than the new track on the ground, and
Joke was somewhat displeased by the extra couple of miles we walked. My feet
were now giving me real problems, constant pain from both heels and from toes
on both feet.
I love these signs, helpfully placed by the very nice people
at the Scottish Rights of Way Society.
However, this one is a work of fiction. The way that it
marks is not "remote...mountain country" it’s another building site. Bulldozed tracks and Balfour Beatty,
and mile after mile of pylons. Alec Salmond’s legacy won’t be the independence
of Scotland, it will be the
destruction of some of the most beautiful landscape in Europe.
At least the (easily missed) gorse lined path down to Fort Augustus
is lovely, spoilt only by the ever-increasing pain from my feet.
We arrived in Fort
Augustus, got a room in
the same shabby hotel we stayed in last time, and I took a peak under my
blister plasters –not good, bloody and blistered. I hobbled around in my crocs,
we had a meal in the pub with Alan and Fran, and I hobbled back to the hotel. I
put my boots on – agony, just standing in them, not even walking. I went to
bed, but couldn't sleep and couldn't stand the weight of the sheets on my feet.
(the two toenails that I lost have now re-grown, and the skin on my heels was
back to normal in July)
And that was it, I dropped out, we got the bus to Aviemore,
mooched around for a couple of days, and went home.
There were a number of factors that caused me to drop out,
and here they are
My Feet
For someone who has spent most of his life walking, my feet
really are a bit inadequate. I’ve always been prone to blisters to a degree,
and to heel strike (pain in my heels when walking long distances over several
days). My feet are an awkward shape, narrow at the ankles and wide at the
forefoot. So, my footwear needs to be well cushioned, close fitting at the heel,
and wide fitting at the forefoot – not easy to find.
So, boots that fit my heels are to narrow for my toes
(Scarpa, Salomon and Merrell are brands that are too narrow), and wide fitting
boots for my toes tend to be too wide at the heel, causing blisters if the heel
lifts. The insoles that boot manufacturers use don’t provide enough cushioning
(or wear out very quickly), so ideally I need to put in insoles that give more
cushioning – Sorbothane would be ideal, but they take up too much volume and
crush my toes. I can put in gel heel pads, but they raise the heels and can
cause blisters. I did find the perfect boot – a pair of Raichle boots did me
for 5 Challenges and were resoled twice, but Raichle no longer exist (the boots
are now made by Mammut, they aren’t the same fit)
My boots
The boots I wore this year were the same as last year –
Meindl, sturdy, well made, proper leather with no need for a useless waterproof
lining. I do vaguely recall the odd blister last year, but nothing too bad. So
what changed?
I've lately dispensed with inner socks, so that’s one layer
of blister protection gone. I’m now wearing inner socks again.
I really should have had my boots resoled. Walking on worn
heels like these really wasn't a good idea.
I changed the insoles from last year (they had worn out) and
put in gel heel pads that raised the heels.
So, only one pair of socks, heel pads, and different insoles
in an unforgiving pair of leather boots with worn soles was all it took.
I don’t walk enough
Up until about ten years ago I was a walker. That was what I
did. I was a hill walker, approaching 100 Munros and climbed almost all the
Wainwrights. Today, I’m almost an ex-hill walker, I’m STILL approaching 100
Munros and I've STILL climbed almost all the Wainwrights. The reason? Cycling.
I used to walk and occasionally cycle, now I cycle and occasionally go for a
walk. Given the choice of a bike ride or a walk, the bike wins every time. Strangely, doing the Challenge every year actually reduces the amount I
walk – it takes up so much of my holidays that the trips to the lakes, the Alps and the Dolomites are now rare indeed. So, my feet
just aren't used to hill walking any more, they've gone soft.
I've gone soft
It’s been my pleasure to do most of my 12 Challenges with
Joke. There’s no doubt that I’m physically the stronger, I can carry more on my
back and I can walk further and faster. In fact, given her medical history,
Joke shouldn't be able to do this stuff at all. Yet it’s always been clear to
me that I’m more likely to give up – Joke has a steely determination to
complete the walks that I don’t have. Over the years completing the Challenge
has become less important to me - I love it, but it’s my holiday, and if I
don’t enjoy it I don’t want to do it. This year wasn't that enjoyable (painful
feet, too many building sites and pylons), so I stopped. Years ago, I’d have
probably carried on, struggling along miserably in pain just so I got to the
end
Incidentally, it’s not just me that’s gone soft. A
remarkable 47 people dropped out this year in what turned out to be the best
weather for years, using kit that’s lighter and more comfortable than ever
before.
So what happens next?
I've got new boots. Keen boots, well cushioned underfoot, a cavernous forefoot, and a soft and forgiving upper (unfortunately with a waterproof liner that will soon wear out, but comfort is much more important). I've worn them for a few days in the Peak District, and all was well. Here they are
During the autumn and winter I’ll rediscover the joys of
walking and walking and walking. We’ll do the next Challenge in 2015, and Joke
will complete her 10th Challenge and receive her plaque and all the
congratulations she so richly deserves. My love affair with the Challenge will
be renewed, and we’ll have a wonderful time. I’ll be walking in my new boots. I’ll be wearing inner socks again, and will have insoles that are tried
and tested (maybe Superfeet again?), and if I get a couple of blisters, so be it.
And then? Maybe the Alps or
the Dolomites, definitely the Lakes, proper hill walking again, and maybe I
will carry on doing the Challenge, or maybe not. Perhaps another solo Challenge
in 2016, or maybe not. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and perhaps a
couple of years away from the event is what I need. Whatever we do, the
Challenge has enriched our lives immeasurably and will continue to do so, but possibly less frequently in the future.
