Day 03 Sunday - “Going where the weather suits my clothes”
I suppose if you pack the sort of waterproofs that’ll put up with the worst the weather can throw at you you shouldn’t be surprised when it happens. At 7am I woke up and went out for - well you know - and it was raining a bit. Glad of the excuse I decided to get back into my sleeping bag for a couple more hours to give my leg a rest.
I woke up again at nine thirty and saw that it was now pouring with rain; it was time to get moving. I now wished I’d packed up at seven, but I don’t suppose it’d have made a big difference to the day’s events. Packing up as best I could inside the tent I viewed my surroundings with what the Edwardian yachtsman Claude Worth called a “morbid apprehension”, then tying my bootlaces extra tight I set off up the glen.
The first thing I noticed was that whereas at seven o’clock the river had been at the same level as the previous evening it was now considerably deeper and running considerably faster. I was slightly alarmed at this, not because I had to cross the river (luck being on my side for once - I’d crossed before camping the previous evening), I was worried because I had no idea how big the tributaries would be. But the obvious thing to do was go and find out.
It did occur to me to turn round and spend the day in the bothy just down the loch. I’d seen that somebody had been there yesterday evening, maybe they’d still be there and we could spend the day chatting, (I later found out the person was fellow Challenger Jeremy Burrows who I’d met the year before at Montrose. Read his account of the day here) but that would make me a day late phoning Challenge control and home, and in this sort of weather I thought they’d fear the worst.
There was a path to start with, but after a while I came to a place where it dived into a deep pool of water; a wall of rock on one side and a jumble of boulders on the other.
This didn’t look promising, but it was an easy clamber around the side on the boulders. The ground was so wet that it was hard to see the path and I soon found myself too high and getting into crags. Dropping down again I found myself on a very narrow path which traversed the side of a steep rock filled canyon and then spat me out into the head of Glen Pean where there was a prominently displayed blank notice board.
The River Pean was coming out of the boulders at the end of the canyon and I made my way easily down its south bank. I needed to be on the north bank further down the glen, but before then there was a lochan which was allegedly best passed on the south side, the river then being crossed at the outlet of the lochan.
I had been hoping to walk along the shore of the lochan but when I got there this didn’t seem possible so I climbed up the slope to find a way past but kept running into crags and steep drops. Was this the obstacle that would turn me back to Oban bothy? It seemed a long way back and some of the burns I’d crossed might now be un-fordable. I returned to the head of the lochan and had a better look along the shore and decided I could probably scramble along it somehow. It was a bit rough with a bit of scrambling, hanging off of branches and walking in the lochan, but I eventually made it. Now surely my troubles were over.
Far from it. In fact they were only just beginning. The outlet of the lochan was far too deep and fast to cross. Hoping I might find a wide shallow stretch that I could cross I set off down the south bank, the ground saturated all the way, and dry feet a thing of the distant past. Of course there was no such crossing place and the river just kept getting bigger. On the other side of the river a track ran down the glen to a bothy just above the forest. To be on that track seemed such a little thing to ask but so out of reach. Some distance down the river I saw that the track skirted under some high crags, and at this point the track disappeared beneath water for some distance, so I don’t know how viable the north bank would have been anyway.
Just above Pean Bothy but on my side of the glen a tributary, the Allt a’ Choire Dhuibh, came down to join the River Pean and brought me to a stop. I just about managed to get across but realised that I probably wouldn’t be able to re-cross it if the rain continued, which it showed every sign of doing. Luckily, just past the burn was a slight bump with a ruin and a couple of tents. I could have stopped for the day there but pig headed as ever I pushed on. I could retreat to there if need be.
I was now opposite Glen Pean bothy and on the 1:25000 map there are stepping stones marked which conjure up a Wind in the Willows image of trout streams gently meandering between reeded banks.
The next tributary, the Allt Coire Chaisil, was bigger and faster than the last. I followed it down the slope to where it fanned out and slowed down as it joined the River Pean. This looked possible and I gave it a try, but the last few feet were just too deep and fast for comfort so I turned back. If I’d got swept off my feet I’d have been in the River Pean in a second, and that was unthinkable. Some ruined walls and a rowan tree on a slight bump promised a bit of dry ground and shelter for a snack, and the thought that maybe I could even put the tent up, but even here the ground was sodden.
It looked like the thing to do was retreat to the ruins and other tents a mile back, but before doing this I thought I’d follow the burn up a little way to see if there was a crossing place a little higher. One thing led to another and not wishing to loose any height gained I found a crossing point 1000’ (300m) up in the corrie.
A long diagonal descent across a steep slope (I’ve never seen an inch water on such a steep slope before) took me as far as I’d hoped to get that day, the point where Gleann a’ Chaoriann joins Glen Pean. I don’t know if the wind had increased during the day or whether the more open glen was just windier, but it was very windy here and I had to look around for some time to find a pitch which was reasonably dry, flat and with some shelter, eventually finding a place in the lee of a moraine. Even here the tent shook alarmingly and I didn’t dare cook anything for fear the tent would collapse. After a while when it became apparent that the tent wasn’t going to collapse I cooked a risotto and felt better for it.
My camera still worked which was a bit surprising, but I’d only taken one photo all day. My mobile phone refused to do anything. Oh well, it was well over ten years old.
The wind and rain eased off a bit and I felt quite pleased with myself for persevering whilst at the same time feeling humbled by how tiny I’d felt at times. I had a nagging feeling that I should have felt stupid for maybe having done the wrong thing, but if at times I’d have given anything to get out of there that was more because of the tedium and pain rather than being scared. At the end of the day my leg had hurt at every step, but I now had the satisfaction of knowing that the way ahead was clear – I knew there was a bridge over the River Pean, and I had an ace up my sleeve, the 1:25000 map showed a bridge over the raging Allt a’ Chaoriann.
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