A Fine Horse in New Country

What? – A ten day, 200 mile journey from Kirkmichael in Perthshire to Gairloch in the North West Highlands, utilising hill tracks, drove roads and old military roads – the object being to stay off tarmac as much as possible.

Why? Not the easiest question to answer – I thought a wonderful lady we met in Drumnadrochit was going to have her final fatal heart attack laughing when I suggested it was ‘for fun’! We stravaig to see places we wouldn’t otherwise see; it’s a challenge; a good way to spend time with the ponies building up a closer relationship; to develop self-reliance and to see if I really was paying attention on that Mountaineering Council navigation course...but mostly it’s for –er- fun.

I was met with courtesy and helpfulness from all the estates, whatever they may privately have thought about this escapade.
You do need to tune into the glossary of ‘estate-speak’: “it’s a bit wet up there” = belly deep; “a bitty saft”= eyeball deep peat hags; “a bit stony” = think lunar landscape meets Stonehenge.
The other key skill in communicating with estate people is always, always repeat the instructions they have given you back to them (at the risk of them considering you some sort of mental defective). Why? Because up there, on your own, in the rain with the light fading, you find yourself thinking back desperately “what did he say about the crags? Did he say stay near them because it’s drier or stay away from them because it’s wetter? I know he said something about the crags...oh dammit...”

“The Bit in the Middle”

Most glens have a reasonable (sometimes very good) estate track leading up it, and a good track leading down the other side. Ninety per cent of problems occur in between – this may well be the estate march or boundary (therefore, no reason to continue the track); it’s usually high ground (and very often a bog), and if you’re very lucky it may be also be a watershed, with innumerable streams to negotiate. Not for the fainthearted pony who needs resuscitation after standing in something squelchy!
This is one of the most frightening things to happen. In a bog there may be nothing solid behind for a pony to push against and they rapidly become cold and tired, as well as the danger of getting snagged on a tree root below the surface. It is a risk run by those who stravaig the hills with ponies – and speak to any stalker who uses ponies, who will have a similar story to tell. However, they learn quickly: the more experienced Doogs sniffs the ground before picking his way cautiously across it – and didn’t get bogged once. By the end of the trip, Yeoman was becoming just as clever.

We set off from Kirkmichael , with an excellent send off from the estate owner and his family who showed great interest in the loading of the packs and all the gear. Thankfully they also didn’t witness me trying to navigate my way out of the farmyard. The longest journey starts with a single step, Lao Tsu said – but he didn’t mention all the swearing.
Once out on the hill, however, our less than masterful start was forgotten. This is what we had come for, as the ponies strode out enthusiastically, ears pricked. Our progress was watched with great interest by several groups of hinds. The deer didn’t even move away, just watched us curiously (as well they might). A pitstop at Pitcarmick loch was rewarded by the sight of half a dozen black grouse, a species in great decline and now of conservation concern.
We then headed up to the bealach (pass) between Creag na h-Iolaire (Rock of the eagle – sadly it wasn’t today) and Creag Garbh (rough or rugged rock – it was). With the estate owner’s words ‘it’s quite wet up there at the moment’ (see previous estate-speak glossary) we spent some time casting around (soggily) for the path that would lead us over into Tulliemet. It was VERY wet, and I doubt we would have found the path if it hadn’t been for his parting advice: “Don’t look for the path, look for the drain which was dug to keep water off it as it’s easier to see.” Eureka! We squelched our way to a slip gate in the march wall and thankfully took a few steps into Tulliemet ground – where we promptly all sank up to our knees. Bog is no respecter of estate boundaries!
The shepherd was later to tell me that the gate was known as the ‘Queen’s Gate’ and had been put in for Queen Victoria. I could hardly imagine Her Majesty wallowing about up there, even with John Brown to lend a hand, until he explained that at that time the ground had all been forested (forty miles of it – it took sixteen years to fell) and hence, much drier.

As it was, there were a few bits of scattered woodland which we picked our way through, stepping over windblown trees. This woodland is on slightly higher ground which meant that we were able to negotiate this stretch with our tempers intact. What I had intended to be a fairly easy first day for the ponies had turned out to be a bit of a ‘bogathon’, and I was delighted to spot the lochans where I knew there was a good track. However, it’s one thing knowing where you want to be (even able to see it) – sometimes there’s a bit of negotiating to be done before you actually get there! But we made it safely down the hill to Tulliemet, where we camped for the night.

When I was planning the route, I had decided that a bit of cheating was required for the next stage in order to reach the Tay Forest at Loch Tummel. Having been to have a look, I had decided that crossing the A9 with ponies was foolhardy, and riding along the narrow Loch Tummel road with its endless tour buses and motorcycle cavalcades positively suicidal – and there didn’t appear to be an easy off-road option. So I had decided to trailer the ponies to the Queens View, and set off from there.

We were a little late leaving Tulliemet, partly because the ponies were covered in sheep sh*t after a most happy night in the lambs’ field, partly because breaking camp had not yet acquired military precision, but mostly because we were gassing with the estate staff as we had many acquaintances in common -which should be no surprise, since we were less than an hour away from home by car. Somehow travelling on horses makes distances – and time- feel very different. You see things differently, when every dimple and wrinkle of the ground takes on a new significance.

When we finally arrived at Queens View (trailer – GOOD decision) it was delightful to be met by our great friend Gordon, waving a cake! As a refusal often offends (!) it was yet later before the ponies and I set off through the Tummel Forest for Glen Errochty, 27 miles away. I had expected the forestry tracks to be good (and they were): I had also wondered if it would be a bit dull, riding through a commercial plantation. It wasn’t a bit – we were at times 1200ft up with panoramic views all around of Schiehallion to the south and north to Glen Bruar.

The forest ranger had sent me an excellent map detailing a route through the forest which avoided any timber operations. I met no-one the whole day (except him!) but with the good tracks and map we were able to make good time, in spite of a couple of long wearisome climbs.

People we met on the trip often asked – ‘do you not get sore riding all day?’ The answer is, I ride until my bum is sore, then I walk until my feet are sore, then I ride until... etc. The ponies also got a 15 minute break after every hour and a proper break at lunchtime near some good grazing, if we could find any. Because of the terrain, they were mostly walking, with some trotting where the tracks allowed. Mostly they were ridden on a loose rein, and where possible the pack pony followed on behind free. It is a system which works well, since the ponies never showed any signs of fatigue and finished the journey in fantastic condition. What happened next? Click here!