Leitirfearn is a gem of a wild campsite. When I got up, it was a clear day, and a gentle breeze kept the midges at bay while letting insects buzz low over the water, to the apparent delight of some local fish.
After some tea and an energy bar, I packed up and cycled off, meeting a group I had passed the previous day and having a nice chat about our respective journeys.
The path continued along the dismantled railway until it crossed a still functional stone-and-steel bridge, apparently rather over-engineered for the shallow stream it crossed, before doubling back and down to follow the loch shore. After a little winding through rough land and fields, I rejoined the canal towpath, and continued for a few miles to Fort Augustus.
By now, I had cycled about seven miles and it was about half-past nine in the morning. I was keen to find a church service to attend. Unfortunately, the Church of Scotland parish service wasn’t until noon, but happily the little Roman Catholic chapel outside the Abbey had a ten o’clock service. I arrived just as the priest stepped out of his car, and he thought there’d be space for me despite not booking ahead (it really is quite a small chapel). I signed in and was guided to a seat.
As I sat and worshipped, the small welcoming community reminded me of my family history links to the area. Although not Catholic, I do have an ancestor who is recorded in successive censuses as moving up and down the Great Glen as an itenerant catechumenist. Essentially, he moved from community to community along these same roads I have been travelling, educating classes on the Christian faith.
The priest (from a nearby parish, filling in for the regular parish priest who has been away) spoke about how God can give us grace in ways we don’t expect or even realise until after the event, and is generally less judgemental and more loving of us than we are of ourselves. He sent me in particular on my way using a blessing based on the ‘serenity’ prayer of Reinhold Niebuhr, perhaps most famous as the version used by Alcoholics Anonymous: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
and Wisdom to know the difference.” This prayer, and the image of God giving us grace to achieve things like climbing mountains when already tired, would stay with me that afternoon and on into the next days.
Heading east and north out of Fort Augustus, I began the long climb through Glendoebeg, past Loch Tarff, and up to the head of Stratherrick. It sounds simple when written thus, and when described as being something less than three miles from Fort Augustus to the viewpoint at the summit, of which about two miles are actually climbing. According to the OS map, it’s a climb from 18 metres above sea level to 393 metres. For those like me who think in imperial measurements for altitude, that’s a climb of 1,230 feet. That’s a gradient of a little over 11.5%.
I originally planned to make my way up to the viewpoint in one stretch, it being a relatively short distance, and given how far I had to go that day. I quickly learned I needed a different approach! I stopped about half-way up at a gravelly section that seemed like a kind of impromptu passing place on the narrow road. I made myself some porridge (having not really had a proper breakfast) and a cup of tea, and had a lovely conversation with a couple of other riders who were climbing an off-road gravel track parallel to the road.
When I set out again, I paced myself and did not try to push for the top at any kind of pace. There’s a relatively flat section along the shore of the high and wild Loch Tarff (294m ASL) before climbing resumes with a vengeance through Gleann Nan Eun (literally Valley of the Birds). The road is marked on OS maps with the < sumbol, warning drivers of the steep slope.
It was as I was struggling up the beginning of this last stretch that a black transit van passed me, and slowed long enough to wind down a window and call out ‘You’re Amazing!’ This gave me a great boost, and I was reminded again of the words of the priest that morning.
Then, I was passed by a fellow cyclist, who told me I was nearly at the top, and to keep going. He disappeared around the bend in front of me, and as I rounded that corner I saw that he was right - we had both reached the top!
He was with a group of five other riders, and we left our faithful machines on wobbly legs to cheer his fellows on reaching the top. We talked together for some time about hills and climbing and cycling and racing and touring. Apparently there is an annual cycle race encompassing that climb and Loch Ness, all of which is only supposed to take three or four hours - it had taken me nearly two (including my long break.) Of course it’s a different discipline, but I was amazed at the thought of others climbing that hill competitively.
The descent through Stratherrick to Foyers was amazing. There were still a couple of small climbs to mount, but most was blessedly downhill and coasting. I frustratingly lost a chain tensioner on one stretch, and had to double back to find and reattach it; the system has run more roughly since, but I was always going to suffer some mechanical failures over the course of such an endurance ride, and a proper cycle service will be needed after I get home.
The Whitebridge Hotel provided a wonderful lightl late lunch of smoked salmon wrapped around cream cheese on a bed of salad eaten with much enjoyment in the warm sun. I don’t often comment on, let alone photograph gents’ toilets, but those at Whitebridge really do deserve both attention and acclaim. Urinals made from beer barrels, copies of Oor Willie and the Broons set up to read as you do your business, and all clean and fresh.
Eventually, I finally descended through the pine forests to Foyers. Much as I enjoyed coasting down to the campsite, I was aware that the road down was the only way into or out of it, and I’d have to climb it again tomorrow. For now, though, I was glad to reach the bustling and luxurious place I was to sleep.
Pitching was a pain: again we had a campsite with plenty of stone not far under the turf, surely designed to be hard-wearing for caravans, not the best for pitching tents. I bent four tent pegs getting set up, but all I cared about was a hot meal and physical rest.
Comments