Garry Bridge to Aberfeldy

I eased myself gently into the day, a relaxed start being the perfect reaction to the excitement of crossing the high mountains. Unlike the previous few hundred miles, I was blessed with a companion for the initial easy ground to Pitlochry. We chose to follow the simple beauty of the wide river meanders instead of the planned direct roadside route.

Walking is a lighter experience with a friendly face by your side. I strolled instead of my usual variations on purposeful striding or dejected tramping. Conversation occupied my normally restless mind, preventing my thoughts from rattling around my head until they became detached from reality. The result is a much saner me.

Despite this, walking the length of the country with someone else would add another level of difficulty. Imagine days when you're feeling strong, the forecast is for more cloud than rain and you want to make tangible progress southwards. Then give yourself a partner who has more aching muscles than happy ones or who needs supplies to fix broken gear. Imagine you're that partner. Not a lot of fun. With these short winter days, I like to crack on and do about half the planned mileage quickly without resting; only when this has been achieved can I relax, safe in the knowledge that the back of the day is broken. Stopping to take on water or sugar coated fuel would be sensible, but I might not be thinking that when someone else wants to break my stride. Hopefully this justifies my decision to be antisocial and spend over a thousand miles alone. Having said that, I don't reckon my chances of convincing anyone to quit their jobs and walk in the cold and wet for two months were particularly good. Who wants to be sane anyway?

On my own again, I turned away from the large concrete hydroelectric dam to head uphill and enclose myself in the tall pines of the forest. Drizzle filled the air and water coated every branch and needle. The path was everything that makes a forest trail so special, from the thin perspective and soft pine covered ground to the rare mirage-like glimpses of other hillsides and far off valleys. As I rounded the summit of the hill, the trees abruptly ended and a faint path in the long grass led downhill into Strath Tay. Clouds drifted along the bottom, softly rolling waves of white fluff.

Now all the remained was a pleasant amble along a quiet lane. Opposing the powerful flow of the Tay, the largest river in Britain, I headed upstream. I imagined walking on the pleasant paths along the riverbank, sadly reserved for the distinguished anglers that find good sport here. I reached Aberfeldy as darkness fell; as the angular arches of the golf course's suspension bridge tore holes in the low clouds. This river requires substantial engineering in its crossing, and this is also true of the much older Wade's bridge (yes, another one to thank the General for). Just wide enough for a single car, I darted between alcoves to avoid traffic coming over the blind hump.

I found my B&B and headed down to the Black Watch for a special St Andrews day menu. A laid back day of walking is as revitalising as a day off, with the added advantage that I've seen some wonderful views and made more progress south. I'm ready for the hard miles to come, right after I tackle these cloutie dumplings.