It was a long day. With Dave at the wheel we had set out early that morning, 6th June 2011, and headed north from the central belt of Scotland, beyond Inverness to a place called Glen Calvie Lodge, about five hours driving. The Lodge is about ten miles down a ‘dead end’, single track road from the small village of Ardgay. We parked up, took our bikes and cycled another few miles down a gravel track, ditched our bikes and climbed, Carn Chuinneag. The English translation is; ‘The hill of the milking pail’. We retrace our steps and descend to our stowed bikes then cycle back up the glen to the car. It is now about six thirty.

glen calvie from carn chuinneag - ‘*the hill of the milking pail*’

At the car park I pack two panniers and a tent onto my bike. Dave ties his bike onto the car, waves goodbye and drives off back the road we had just travelled. At Dingwall he takes the road to Ullapool where he is booked into the Atlguish Inn bunkhouse. He will meet up with members of his climbing club, suitably named, The Auld Gits for a couple of days hillwalking.

I will join them after my solo adventure.

Soon I am heading west past Alladale Lodge then south west down Gleann Mor. (The Big Glen).

looking east up gleann mor from shieling ruin

The track, obviously well used, provided a good off road cycle route. In the early part, at the Alladale Lodge end, one cannot help notice the work going on to erect miles upon miles of seriously high and strong fencing. It tracks straight up steep hillsides and can be seen in some bits arching along ridges on the skyline. Just like some of the great walls built across mountains in Victorian times. I also read a couple of notices that inform me a 'zoo' licence has been applied for. I am reminded that the landowner has an idea, a plan, to return some 'extinct' wild animals to these parts. Wolves and Lynx, if my memory serves me well. Not sure about solo camping if that goes ahead.

The cycling is easy, in fact it is a pleasure. Not another soul in sight, I am really on my own in this remote wilderness. What a lovely feeling.

My plan is to pitch the tent beside Deanich Lodge, about nine miles from my starting point. Deanich Lodge is on the Alladale sporting estate, built, I think in the 1870’s sometime. I am assured it is one of the most remote dwellings on mainland Scotland.

Then I encounter a lovely wee fisher's shelter built into a bank of Abhainn a' Ghlinne Mhoir, the river that flows along the glen. Translated from Scottish Gaelic it means; ‘river flowing north east’. What a disappointment. It looks loke it should mean something less mundane. Ach well, one cannot have everything. Despite its disappointing name, everything else about it is wonderful.

The shelter is a work of art in itself. Trouble has been taken to build the earth banking up round three sides and put turfs over the roof, making it quite difficult to see from the track. It hangs right over the river and that side is completely glazed. What a great wee bothy.

It is unlocked so I use it as my brew up and dinner stop. I give serious consideration to stopping for the night right here. Given what happens when I get to Deanich Lodge, I wish I had stayed in this brilliant bothy.

gleann mor angler’s bothy overlooking river abhainn a’ ghlinne mhor

Anyway, I did not stay there and after my refreshment interlude I continue to cycle down the glen. The sun is now lowering and the evening views in the glen are stunning.

Not long after leaving the bothy I encounter a herd of highland cattle, complete with calves, all over the track. As I near them I look about for a ‘get out’. There is no such option. So I gingerly cycle on, hoping not to get between a mother and her wee offspring. All was well and they took not one bit of interest in this lone cyclist in their midst.

The half a dozen ‘skittish’ garrion ponies around the next bend seem more interested, however, apart from two who would not move from the track, all was well and Deanich Lodge hove into view around a buttress to my left.

I would soon be cosy in my tent, or would I?

The area I thought would make a good pitch was already bristling full of about a dozen large tents. Obviously an organised group. I saw a couple of land rover type vehicles parked near the lodge. Undaunted I cycled on and found a less then satisfactory spot about four hundred metres further on. I then set about getting my tent erected. It was nearing nine o’clock by then and I was looking forward to my cosy sleeping bag.

Then I spied the lone ranger, or was it the 'born leader,’ striding with purposeful gait through the tented village, heading directly for my solo tent. He was not carrying a friendly mug of steaming hot chocolate. I smelled a rat.

The encounter went like this;

Born leader, 'Good evening, I see you are going to camp here. The access laws make that legal.'

Tired traveller, 'Trespass Scotland Act’ doesn't, so if you are the landowner and I do not have your permission to camp, I am committing an arrestable offence.'

Born leader, 'No, its just that I have an educational party of young people here and I am responsible for their safety and you have just arrived from nowhere.'

I look about for my tent peg mallet, knowing I do not have one, but just trying to give me something to think about before responding.

Tired traveller, 'I have not arrived from nowhere I know exactly from whence I came. What is your expectation of this conversation?'

Before I go into what he replied, I would like any poor sole reading this to know something. I already knew what he was about to say, hence my search for an illusionary tent peg mallet.

Born leader, 'As I am responsible for the safety of the young people and I don't know anything about you and with the issue of pedophiles, I have to be careful.'

Tired (angry) traveller (now wishing he had found a tent peg mallet), 'Oh, I thought you came over to apologise in advance for any noise that might keep me awake or in case some of your young people fling my bike in the river as a prank, not meaning any malice. You know I think the best thing you could do, in terms of keeping people safe, would be to go back to your billet and make them all a cup of tea.'

Born leader then wandered off and Tired traveller got into sleeping bag and soon was fast asleep, dreaming about born leader on the alert for the rest of the night making sure I stayed in my tent. Dolt.

What is this stupid world coming to?

It was my intention to climb a couple of hill next day, however my slumbers were interrupted about six in the morning by the feint pitter patter of raindrops on the tent. A lovely noise. A peek outside found a glowering grey cover hiding all the hills. I breakfasted inside the tent and listened as the pitter patter got stronger. By eight it was a full scale downpour that looked set for the day. Decision made. Abandon the stupid hill idea and get down the glen. The rain is now really ‘bouncing’. Packing up a tent and loading gear into panniers and attempting to keep everything dry in these conditions is not easy. In fact it is not even possible.

Bike and I are as one in our misery as we splash down into Strath Vaiche. Visibility is limited in the clag and downpour. Soon I am on a long downhill section and all I can think about is, 'I'll have to cycle back up here some day.' On I splash for about eight kilometres.

Halfway along Loch Vaiche, at Lubachlaggan I pull of the track and eat the second sitting of my breakfast. The rain has eased by now so I decide to tackle Beinn a' Chaisteil from that point. It is a steep grind up by the south west ridge. By the time the ground eases a bit, the rain is back with a vengeance and the wind is howling. I cannot see much and as I have left my map safely stowed in my waterproof bike pannier, which is still attached to my bike, I am mapless. Hapless some would argue. I bail out. Beinn a' Chaisteil will have to wait on the pleasure of my company for another day.

The track out onto the main Ullapool road at Black Bridge, some eight or nine kilometres away, is again uneventful and quite enjoyable as the rain stops and the clouds open to allow a glimpse of blue sky. A further three kilometres on the Ullapool road to the Altguish is easy.

I hang my wet gear in the drying room, luxuriate in a hot shower, forget about ‘Born leader’, then head to the bar, no map required. The ‘Auld Gits’ will eventually find me.

Stick with me, I have a lot more adventures to relate.

Deanich Lodge and the ‘Born Leader’

Ultimate Challenge 1985