Badanloch to Crask Inn

Last night, knowing that my tired muscles would have sent me to bed early but nevertheless was desperate to learn the result of the football, a helpful local informed me that Scotland had unfortunately failed to qualify for Euro 2008 in a simple but effective manner - by shouting "you english b*stards" at the van. Nice.

The morning broke to more drizzle and a long slog along an estate road which skirted low hills and looked over empty heatherlands to lochs and far off forests. It was lunchtime when Loch Choire Lodge was reached, by which time it had started to rain. I didn't really notice this as, a good six days into the challenge, I had finally reached a footpath that was both marked on the map and also appeared on the ground. Unfortunately the rough surface did nothing for my slowly developing aches and pains.

Following the long and narrow lochs with wooded hills on one side and the steep flanks of Klibreck on the other, it was obvious I was leaving the flow country behind. On the shores of Loch a' Bhealaich the path disappeared underneath a torrent of water pouring off the hillside. I searched upstream for a reasonably safe place to cross, chickening out many times when face to face with foaming fury. Eventually I came across a huge boulder which provided sufficient height to allow a desperate leap across. Retreat would now be interesting.

The path now ran into many more similar streams, all transformed by the continual rain into formidable obstacles. Cascades of foaming white scarred the flanks of the mountain, replacing the silence with a gentle roar. As I became less fussy about finding a perfect crossing I was surprised by the power of the water even when just reaching my knees. Heading up to the Bealach Easach (appropriately pass of the waterfalls) was the first real climb of the walk and it was good to get the blood pumping. By the time I headed down the other side, after a small detour following some quad bike tracks, I was half man half liquid. A good excuse to take a direct approach to bogs ahead. My entire attention was focused on getting to the small white building in the distance and I didn't even hesitate to wade into Shirink Burn when it appeared. Luckily being a good distance from the steep hillside this burn was slow and wide and there are worst things than wet feet near the end of the day.

Once my clothes were hung up above the fire in the inn and I had a pint of ale to sip, all this dampness was quickly forgotten. The Crask Inn stands alone many miles from their nearest neighbours and is almost entirely self sufficient, resulting in some fantastic food. It is the kind of place that I could happily spend the rest of my life, so a rest day here was a easy decision to make.