A regal day on the hill of the king
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THE farmer seemed taken with my bike — an older model Specialized Hard Rock I use for accessing the mountains on rough tracks.
I was on the way back to Spittal of Glenshee down Gleann Taitneach and held the gate open for him to bring his tractor through.
He stopped and, spying the bike lying beside the track, said he had never seen one like it before, probably having more to do with tractors than bicycles.
I always like to talk to farmers or estate workers I come across to maintain good relations with the mountaineering fraternity. So this was an opportunity to get into conversation and we spent 15 minutes chatting about where I had been that day and discussing the merits of the bike for saving time getting to the hills.
Ruddy faced with a weathered complexion, this man looked like a real son of the soil and clearly knew the mountains well. Conversation over, he went on his way in the tractor and I on mine on the bike.
It set me thinking what daily life must be like out on the hills tending sheep and cattle — very different to my lot sitting behind a desk gazing at a computer screen all day. This was recreation for me. To him it was his ‘office’ and the place to earn his living.
It had been a productive day with two new Munros done, taking my total left to do down to just five.
It began with a bone-shaking ride for seven kilometres up the Gleann Taitneach track, following the river. The only saving grace was not having to deal with steep gradients on a fairly level ride.
Two kilometres in I passed Dalmunzie House Hotel on the opposite side of the river. This grand former laird’s home, built in the Scots baronial style, sits at the head of the 6,500 acre Dalmunzie estate, dating back to 1510.
The hotel’s promotional blurb tempts walkers with the words: "The walking options are infinite, with the estate backed by one of Scotland’s largest wilderness areas of over 600 square miles of mountain countryside." It was into that countryside I headed, taking to shanks’ pony at the end of the track and following a narrow path up beside the Allt Fasgaidh to Loch nan Eun — loch of the birds — set high among the mountains.
The walk up beside the burn could not have been more pleasant, with its waters tumbling over little falls, gurgling on its way to swell the river below.
Loch nan Eun remains hidden right to the last until you pop over the steep outlet and all is revealed. I made good time to this point and arrived to find two tents pitched alongside the loch.
A group of walkers from Edinburgh had spent a very windy night there which had kept them awake. They were just about to set off for the same objectives as me — Beinn Iutharn Mor and Carn an Righ. They were adding a third Munro to their tally, Glas Tulaichean, whose huge bulk I had passed on the way up.
While the Edinburgh contingent made a direct assault on an intervening hill, Mam nan Carn, I found a path contouring round it to end up roughly in the same place as them, then made for the summit of Beinn Iutharn Mor. At 1,045 metres it is slightly lower but just as bulky as Glas Tulaichean. To the north east it shoots a ridge down into Glen Ey in the Braemar direction — another possible approach.
The Edinburgh crew and I convened on the top after ascending the south ridge to talk hill talk and enjoy some refreshments.
Break over, it was time to make for my second target, Carn an Righ or hill of the king. This involved descending the south ridge of Beinn Iutharn Mor again to contour round Mam nan Carn and down to a bealach dividing the two hills.
By this time people seemed to be appearing from everywhere, perhaps reflecting that the hills of Highland Perthshire are more easily accessible than the more northerly Munros.
A lot of height had been lost coming off Beinn Iutharn Mor but the well-worn path up Carn an Righ allowed for steady progress to a stony band of rock which is crossed to gain the summit, offering fine views of both Beinn Iutharn Mor and Glas Tulaichean.
More time was spent chin-wagging with the Edinburgh walkers before I set off back to the bealach and followed a path round the base of Mam nan Carn to arrive back at Loch nan Eun once more.
I took a break and watched a group youngsters with an adult who was obviously instructing them on the topography: either a school geography party or a Duke of Edinburgh group I guessed.
Back at the bike, which I had left lying on the ground behind a big rock, I found that some well-intentioned soul had propped it upright against the boulder.
It was near the end of the Gleann Taitneach track that I met the farmer. On the way in I had passed an estate worker on a quad bike with a rifle strapped to his back. He asked me with a friendly wave to shut a gate behind him after I had gone through.
It emphasised that mutual respect allows everyone using Scotland’s magnificent countryside, whether for work or recreation, to coexist without animosity.
