Corrour Bothy to Tarf Hotel

As the sun slowly began to add colour to the wilderness, the day ahead seemed full of promise. A group of teenagers had arrived late last night after a long trek over a snowy Ben Macdui, filling every nook and canny in the small bothy. With all these heat sources, it had been a warm and comfortable night. At breakfast I was kindly given a bowl of porridge and when I eventually set off I had a belly full of fuel. I had arranged to meet someone in an old hunting lodge at the end of the day, so was looking forward to some friendly banter after a relatively short stroll.

The path took me slowly down alongside the river Dee, surrounded by the now familiar Cairngorm scenery of thin ribbons of water meandering in the bottom of wide heather lined glens and steep hillsides with fields of boulders and rocky crags. It started raining near the impressive waterfalls above the White Bridge, water being the dominant theme today. Leaving the Dee behind to head up into another historic mountain pass it was not long before the easy walking of the last few miles was forgotten.

There were no bridges to provide safe and dry crossings of the many burns and rivers, growing larger with the relentless rain. First up was Geldie Burn; too wide to bother searching for a possible boulder hopping route, fording it filled my boots with pure highland water. Bynack Burn and Allt an t-Seilich quickly followed and wading in was an easy decision since I was already soaked. I changed my socks in the poor shelter provided by the ruins of Bynack Lodge which gave a few minutes of dry respite for the feet until water sneaked between the fibres of the wool.

With the rain affecting my mood, I slogged over the open moorland of the watershed and started heading down the straight, narrow gorge which forms the beginning of Glen Tilt. Roaring far below me were waterfalls and white water. I felt privileged to be in this awe inspiring landscape. Clinging to that thought, I trudged on through sheets of precipitation. I was unable to find any trace of the path marked on the map that runs alongside Tarf Water, and rather than take to the steep boggy hillside, I decided to head further down the valley. Once I saw the sheer quantity of black water pouring over the Falls of Tarf, I was grateful for the victorian memorial suspension bridge. Looking down into the dark swirling waters of the plunge pool the memorial needed no explanation and I felt lucky not to be fording it higher up, as was the original plan.

It was a steep climb to get out of the glen and head for the bothy and I was beginning to tire as I reached the end of the track. The last miles of the day seemed endless as I picked a route between rough boggy heather and saturated meadows beside a river now heavily in spate. Weary, soaked to the skin, feet complaining about their damp working conditions, making slow progress and occasionally sinking deep into the peat; had there been a nearby helicopter I would have taken the easy option. Despite all the fantastic scenery I've seen, the best view of the day was the first glimpse of the bothy. One more raging stream stood behind me and the door and I quickly entered the water. Although this was just a small burn, the force of the water pushed me off balance and I bent a pole as I struggled to stay upright. I made a desperate leap for the opposite bank and the excitement was over.

The Tarf Hotel is an impressive size with large rooms and open fireplaces. I used the fuel I had been carrying to start a fire and changed into dry clothes. The only sound was the roar of the burn outside as night quickly fell. I put a candle in the window to help my friend find the bothy in the dark, but its small flame seemed pathetic as it shone out into the thick gloom. I huddled around the fire, trying to coax some wet coal to burn. There has been no mobile phone reception since leaving Aviemore or no-one around apart from those in the bothy last night. I was sitting in a poorly light room, elements battling outside, and my head began to fill with images of my friend being swept away by streams still growing in size and ferocity. Perhaps he had made it to just outside the building but hadn't been so lucky when the torrent tugged at his legs. Staring at the flickering flame in the window, I don't think I have ever been so completely alone.