Tomatin to Aviemore

I started the day with a shortcut through the respected Tomatin distillery. Although it would have been friendly to pop in for a dram on the way, I had been pampered by the easy walking yesterday and decided hard spirits would not be required for the upcoming moors and snow flecked mountains. In order to cross over the triple arches of another of Wade's elegant stone bridges, I passed through the village and dropped into the wide, deep and flat bottomed Findhorn valley. The view is dominated by the impressive structures of the Victorian railway viaduct and the modern concrete road bridge. The steel lattice of the viaduct glides effortlessly overhead in a curved path, supported by tall slim stone pillars.

I had planned to follow Wade's road all the way to Slochd but was soon confused by gates, field boundaries and fresh muddy tracks. Luckily the radio masts provided obvious landmarks and I took a wandering line through the heather to the pass. According to myth this was the site of the killing of the last wolf in Scotland. For lonely wanderers of the uplands like myself, this could be classed as either a good or not so good event, depending on which experts you listen to. The experts tend to agree it was a bad thing for the wolf.

The pass is a narrow notch through the hills and I followed a cycle path that uses the remains of the old road. This is hemmed in between the rumble of lorries on the modern A9 and the mostly silent railway line. When things opened out again and the old road moved away to the other side of a spacious river valley and it is easy to see what a fantastic resource this is for the long distance cyclist. I was inspired to start thinking about repeating this journey on two wheels, although this will have to wait until I am finally allowed time off work again.

Wade's road now crossed over the railway and struck out southwards, first alongside and then deep into a large band of forestry. Once again these forestry tracks, covered by a thick matting of soft pine needles, are a joy for my weary feet. After thanking Wade for providing yet another bridge at Insharn, it was now time to leave his legacy behind for higher mountain passes. I will not be returning to his highway until the Cairngorms have been successfully negotiated.

The scenery moved slowly past as I followed a track though heather and grassy meadows. A wide and shallow river called Dulnain was my constant companion. Low cloud clothed the landscape in a white mist. The isolated trees and occasional abandoned buildings appeared gradually, initially no more than light grey shadows which gained both colour and definition as I approached. Eventually a wooden bridge allowed the river to be crossed and the Burma road to be gained.

This track was supposedly built by WWII prisoners of war and provides a direct route through the hills behind Aviemore. As I comfortably gained height, soft snowflakes began to fall and the track became a single white thread in a scene filled by light grey skies and dark grey heather. It was an otherworldly experience to move through such a beautiful and tranquil scene. Mountain bikes glided past on their way downhill, momentarily breaking the silence and leaving tracks in the blank canvas the snow provides. It was my first contact with people outside of villages and towns since leaving ten days ago.

After a memorial to a gamekeeper marked the summit of the pass, the other side swapped the straight path across a wide open hillside for sweeping curves as it clung to the side of a steep river valley. I floated along the last few miles on a reasonably busy roads after what was a very special day.