Dear blog,
I danced along a ridgetop in bright sunny weather, rested my sore feet on a plateau so high it felt like being a bird or on an aeroplane, and said ‘wow, just wow’ to anyone on the bus at first sight of the jagged Alps at twilight.
I came out the other side of emotional pain when I embarked on this trip to the UK and France. I was nervous about Covid and being so far from home. The worry built up in my mind, but journaling helped me to rein things in and mentally prepare. I promised Adelaide Airport from my hillside view I would turn up on the 16th. Knowing that people had gone overseas and returned okay helped my confidence. At first I was a little stressed and moody but, several days into the trip, I hit my stride.
The dream was hiking in beautiful, different places and spending time with good people. It turned out to be real. A lot happens in a few short weeks: being with sweet family and friends, train trips, visiting cathedrals, galleries and museums, and of course the restaurants and nightcaps. I love hiking so here is a story of my boots on the earth in May and June 2023.
One Thursday saw me hoofing it up and down Ben Nevis for many hours. The ‘Ben’ is a mountain near Fort William. I chose the most popular route, The Mountain Path (17km return), which was excellent and busy. It was a glorious sunny day – were those wise Scottish souls watching over me with the delivery of amazing weather? I watched verdant Glen Nevis stretch out below. Warm weather means humidity in this area – I saw the odd shimmer on the lower slopes.
I kept trudging upwards, loyal to my breaks. People were friendly. I complimented a guy on his rainbow-coloured jumper and he replied, ‘It was great for up the top but a bit hot here.’ Part way up I hiked past the pretty Lochan Meall an t-Suidhe which sits on a shoulder of Ben Nevis. I watched its outlet, Red Burn, cascading down. The greenery and sidling up soon gave way to rocky jumble greyness and zigzagging. Could my body hold up to such an epic hike? Then I saw the snow slope. What is all this white stuff – I’m from South Australia! I asked a Scottish hiker about the best approach and he recommended to the left, by the rocks. I used a trekking pole and took my time up the 50 metres of snow.
Finally I gained the upper plateau. There were big cairns, a little more snow, and then the very top. At 1,345 metres it’s the highest peak in Britain. The summit was broad with interesting stone structures and memorial plaques. One of the stone pillars was damaged by a lightning strike a few weeks after I was there. I admired all the doggos who hike, what a long climb for four-legged friends.
The summit of Ben Nevis in great weather
Still high on the plateau, I took another break and changed into my orthotic insoles. Paused there with the surrounding crags, dropaways, passing clouds and Loch Linnhe way below, it felt like I was flying. It was a good moment.
The descent went on and on until the sheep, buttercups and daisies returned. My dear friends Simon and Chris walked a few minutes up from the car park to meet me. A BIG thank you to them for their support, chats and laughs. Also thanks go to Simon for driving us, and to Maurice for loaning us his very nice Volkswagen. After 9 hours out there, my legs and feet were aching but it was amazing to experience this special lofty hike in bonnie Scotland. And it was my second Munro.
Special mentions:
- The Glencoe Visitor Centre. Our guide shared history and walked us through the awesome reconstructed turf and creel house.
- Black Isle Brewing Co. bars in Inverness and Fort William, for their hearty atmosphere and delicious ales.
On the Saturday my friends and I drove onto the popular Isle of Skye. We hiked amongst the iconic Old Man of Storr, funky rock formations that are the remains of a volcanic plug. I caught glimpse of a hare disappearing behind a rock. There was a strong, cold crosswind on a small col near the top viewpoint and I cried my way along, just for a few minutes. I found the wind scary and threatening to my balance, but recovered from these big feelings quickly when we left the exposed section. It was a beautiful location with the Old Man and the coastline stretching out beyond.
The following day we hiked up to Coire Lagan. It’s a delightful mountain loch with a soft green hue in a corrie surrounded by the dark, rugged Cuillin Hills. A magical place for lunch. Adventurers took scree chutes up to the ridgetops, but ours was a half-day hike from Glenbrittle in the south of Skye. I keenly photographed wildflowers. Things got steep before the loch so we took our time on the loose rocks. The scramble up a boulder-choked gully wasn’t too hard, rather it added to the fun. We had lovely chats, and I smiled at boulderers on the way down, copying their warm-up stretches. I might have played on a small easy boulder too.
Soon I said goodbye to Chris and Simon and I was on the move. The Highland train rides were super scenic as I made my way to Aviemore to meet my friend Les. We did a 3-hour hike to Lochan Uaine – the ‘green lochan’ – and Ryvoan Bothy in the Cairngorms, blessed with blue skies and warm weather. People and doggos were hanging out at the beautiful lochan, and the chaffinch birds weren’t camera shy. The Scots pines alongside the return trail were shapely and full of character. Les and I had lots of news to catch up on and we shared stories of past trekking trips. He knew the area intimately and pointed out the mountain skyline including Creag an-Leth-Choin and the Chalamain Gap.
Lakeland in your lyrics
This adventure was three years in the planning with a hectic itinerary waiting for its time in the sun. It was time to head south via Edinburgh and on to the Lake District, England.
Helvellyn day arrived with sunny blue skies. I hiked with Sarah and Bekkie, sweet friends I’d met in the ‘90s working at Rainbow Holidays, York. They live in Yorkshire with their families. Meeting up and buzzing with chats felt like we had only seen each other recently. On the early part of the climb we corrected our course after being on a hillside too far. Back on the right hill, we surmounted a sloping bracken-bashing obstacle. Then onward and upward to ‘Hole in the Wall,’ a gap in the dry-stone wall to a view of the iconic Striding Edge. Yes, we hit our stride on this edge, straddling the rocky ridge well-worn from years of hand and foot traffic. There was only a slight breeze. Everything was shining, including Red Tarn, with speccy dramatic mountain steepness and big views.
I found the downclimb section to be okay, not a vertical cliff with scary dropaways. That was a relief and we just took it slowly. With several more up-scrambles to the summit, it started to feel hard on the body. When we looked back on our progress, it was jaw-droppingly spectacular. Lunch was on the broad summit of Helvellyn with a relaxed vibe and seagulls nearby. I felt blessed.
With my fabulous hiking buddies Sarah & Bekkie (photo by Sarah Warburton)
Striding Edge, Helvellyn
The descent was down Swirral Edge, easier than Striding but still calling for scrambling and focus. Red Tarn drew closer and we gained gentler tracks, but it was still a lengthy walk to Glenridding village along the beck (creek or stream). Our support team, Sarah’s husband Andrew and little doggo Poppy, met us at the Travellers Rest pub. Before we arrived, when Sarah was on the phone with Andrew, Bekkie was like, ‘Send help!’ At a little under nine hours, we were exhausted so a lager and a packet of crisps never tasted so good. We did it! What a sense of accomplishment. Next time we agreed to have a spa outing instead, ha-ha.
I caught buses to Great Langdale and stayed at the historic Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel. A special shout-out goes to the kind YHA hostel staff member and his mum for driving me to the bus stop in the village. On the Sunday I started a 7-hour day exploring the Langdale Pikes, part of the Borrowdale Volcanics. The uphill trudge to Stickle Tarn was busy on yet another warm sunny day. Some people and pooches swam in the massive tarn while I took a break and went barefoot. It felt good. Onwards though, leaving Stickle Ghyll and its Tarn behind for the epic ramp of rocks and grass that eventually took me to craggy Pavey Ark. I had hiked around the back of it. The rocky tops provided epic verdant views of Lakeland with jets overhead making sky trails. I traversed the steepness then popped out at Harrison Stickle where I appreciated a chat with a father and daughter about options for the descent. It wasn’t obvious at first, even though I had a map.
The gentle breeze was lovely and cool. I walked around the plateau to take in views at the shoulder of Loft Crag. Confident I’d found the descent path to Mark Gate, I enjoyed the packed lunch with bigger-than-Ben Hur views. It was a very long descent, sometimes on loose ground, other times on neat rock steps. I was glad to stay focused and not roll an ankle. Sometimes I sang, inserting ‘Lakeland’ into favourite lyrics. Sheep grazed in bright green bracken dotted with foxglove flowers. Dungeon Ghyll (the waterfall) was on my left. Finally back on the valley path, I offered to hold a guy’s beer can while he climbed over a tall dry-stone wall. Soon I’d be chilling at the Climbers Bar beer garden at the hotel with a delicious curry dinner and my own beer. Gratitude moments for the Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel for the packed lunch and checking I’d returned safely from hiking solo.
Bonjour France
It was good to be on the move again and watch the countryside roll past. Okay, I admit tight train connections and crowds were stressful but valuable for my travel skills. I visited Hereford Cathedral, then spent time with lovely friends in Bristol before flying from Heathrow to Lyon. Yes, bonjour France. Sightseeing in sunny Lyon was just the thing.
Travelling on the coach to Chamonix, I wasn’t chatting with anyone in particular but burst out loud with, ‘Wow, oh wow!’ at the first sight of jagged mountain peaks in the blue twilight. The African and Eurasian tectonic plates collided and marine sedimentary rocks were uplifted to form the Alps, truly awesome for an Aussie like me to behold in real life.
The next day I spent three hours hiking the beautiful forested trail Petit Balcon Sud, which translates to ‘Small South Balcony’, along the lower valley. I joined the trail uphill from Chamonix. I liked the conifers and how their new growth was a luminous light green against the darker shade. This undulating trail featured moss-covered rocks, buttercups and daisies, and views of the Montenvers cog railway. Sometimes it met the glacier-fed, gushing Arve. I hiked as far as La Joux and Les Iles, then caught the bus back.
Four days in Chamonix kept me busy, including taking the Montenvers railway to the Mer de Glace (Sea of Ice). The ride was scenic and relaxing with speccy views of the retreating glacier. I took a télécabine (gondola) down to access multiple stairways and platforms to reach the grotte de glace. A proper ice cave for us tourists, it was very special touching the smooth blue ice.
The Aiguille du Midi is a mountain with viewing platforms gained by two sequential téléphérique (cable car) rides. You can barely make out the top from the valley floor, it’s so eye-wateringly high up. The cable cars seem to disappear into the mountain at 3842 metres. It was on with warm layers and I breathed thin air for the first time since the Himalaya. The crowds strengthened my travel toughness. On the elevator going up to the very top, I felt lucky to share my journey with a family from Adelaide, such a nice coincidence. We saw mountaineers out on the snow. I chatted with climbers and took it all in, the amazing 360-degree vista of alpine mountains in clear weather and the Chamonix Valley below. True mountaineer views. Wow. I looked over to Mont Blanc while alpine chough birds flew back and forth among the rocky, icy, blue heights.
Amazing views of the Mont Blanc mountain range from Aiguille du Midi
Towards the end of my Chamonix stay I put the info and map together then followed my nose on Grand Balcon Sud, higher up the valley than its Petit cousin at around 1800 metres. I caught the téléphérique to Planpraz, walked past the paragliders and tried to make sense of the multiple trails and lack of signage. People helped me find the way. I was startled by loud whistles behind me – a marmot! On hind quarters, the animal was calling out from its vantage point. That was so cool. A friendly couple of hikers advised a better technique to drive my trekking pole into the snow, by holding it below the top. Aah, more snow, but it was okay.
The hike was amazing. It sidled high in the valley where there were sections of pines, giving way to grasses, wildflowers and scree slopes. The route across the scree was fine. I saw chairlifts suspended in time for the skiers. It rained for a good 10 minutes then the sun returned, the aspect so lofty that I felt elated. Over three hours later I arrived at Flégère, took the télécabine down and headed back to base for a late lunch.
Special mentions:
- The reception staff at Hôtel L’Arve, these excellent, helpful ladies who patiently answered my questions and gave me info about the hikes. I left my details with them of my expected time of return for safety.
- Kookie and Wee Coo, my soft toy mascots.
I walked across the pretty streets of Chamonix to the train station on Tuesday 13th June, starting my journey home via Lyon, Frankfurt and hot, tropical Singapore. Who knows what future UK Europe trips will look like, where I’ll go and how I’ll spend time with family and friends. But I’m feeling pretty good about it. The world isn’t so scary after all – Covid didn’t break our human spirit and kindness. On the flight I was weary, but let the fact settle into my bones that I am still a traveller and that is really okay. Nice to go away, nice to come home.
