High-level Crossing

There`s a long approach road that branches off westwards in Laggan village, just along from the bridge over the great River Spey. Each time I`ve cycled this way, there was a real sense of anticipation. Yes, there`s still a lot of pedalling to be done before the major crossing, but with each turn of the wheels, the experience builds inexorably.

Every journey has its milestones, and the first on this caper is the experience of cresting the wee hill as the waters of Spey Dam open out ahead. It must have been very controversial in its day, as it steals, or `pochles`, water from the fine River and sneaks it away through a tunnel under a hill, to empty into Loch Laggan opposite Ardverikie. It's a story for another day, though.

I love the preparation that goes into getting organised for a major cycling or bike camping caper, as I like to call it. Route, logistics, food, re-supply where necessary, clothing, equipment, and lots more besides. It all helps to enhance that sense of purpose and excitement too. Some would argue it's about safety as well, and I wouldn’t disagree with that; better to reach the planned destination in one piece.

The tantalising thing about the Corrieyairack Pass, when coming at it from the south side, is that long cycle in, before there`s even any sighting of it. The last time I ventured this way, the weather was gloriously clear, but the Pass was hiding around a corner behind the spur of a hill or two; eagerly awaited, nonetheless. I`ve certainly found that the inviting image of Garva Bridge is the first tangible evidence of what lies ahead. Here, General Wade resolved that a crossing of the mighty Spey would be necessary, sooner or later. So he picked this spot, where the bridge makes a dramatic arched leap from rock to rock on either side. A serious gesture and going over that arch is the right of passage to Corrieyairack for this cyclist.

Once across, the road goes steadily uphill, climbing past a dull Sitka plantation or two on the left, punctuated by more open ground with views of where the river runs beyond. The hills on either side, grow higher as we get deeper into the upper glen. Bold crags protrude, and perhaps an eagle can be seen. Finally, in this section, Melgarve, now a bothy, comes into view. Here the tarmac stops abruptly, and on fording a burn, the iron barrier to keep vehicles out, that have no business on the pass. Cyclists are welcome though, I`m assured.

Going around the end of that barrier, and ever onwards past another plantation that looks pretty unhealthy, the line of pylons just on the right marches ahead; a kind of high-tech handrail, if one were needed. Then all of a sudden, round a curve, and there it is, the vast corrie that's a mile or two ahead yet. The military road we are on must somehow climb out of it; and seems almost impossible from here. In the interim, most of the cycling is fine, even with a heavily laden bike being ridden by an advancing septuagenarian like me. But experience tells that Corrieyairack will be both formidable and hugely rewarding. If I can do this, I must still be alive, methinks. Rather doubt if it's ever really busy, apart from on an event day. So it`s always good to have a wee blether with other cyclists and walkers who venture this way. Everyone has a brief story to tell, and it's well-received and exchanged in the shared love of these wilder airts.

As the well-engineered road climbs around the spur of that hill on the right, it gradually rises well above the burn below. With a few more ups and downs, bends, long straights, and recently bridged burns where Wade`s structures have alas succumbed, there comes a point where the only way is up. Pause here awhile though. Make time to have brew up to savour the fullness of the scene. Looking back out of the valley across to Stob Poite Coire Ardair and her neighbours, there`s a real feeling of being among the mountains; not a single habitation in sight. The hills on either side of the corrie here are like great arms stretching south and enfolding this magnificent scene. The road travelled weaves its route south again, and then out of sight round that hill on the east side. I love this place, and yes, with a bit of trepidation, do love what I know lies ahead; the famous zig-zag ascent.

I've often wondered why General Wade and his surveyors chose this particular part of the route from the headwaters of the Spey over to the Great Glen, as we call it now. Would there not have been a slightly less elevated and steep-sided route a wee bit to the West? Must look at a map sometime and see if that might have been possible, but Wade was a great engineer. Leaving aside for now, why this and all the other military roads were built in the first place, he most certainly knew more about route finding than I'll ever imagine.

This is where I admit that I`m not too proud to get off and push or pull when the going calls for it. The zig zags are one such where I can blame the loose stones on the outside of each one-hundred-and-fifty-degree elbow turn. And yes, in all honesty, the pitch is a bit severe too. But with each zig or zag accomplished, by whatever means, the ascent is dramatic; as the vistas grow ever wider and grander. The final push is less twisty and the way those pylon cables now seem to begin to point downwards at last would suggest the summit is nigh. The first absolute evidence of this is the rather ugly clutter of rusting ironwork atop an equally displeasing concrete shelter of some kind perched on the right. Look ahead at the road though, and sure enough, the summit has been attained.

Whether there`s a view to be had today, savour the thought that at 770m, this is one of the highest such passes in the entire country. Thankfully the 4x4 brigade has been banished, and peace has returned. Nature`s kind of peace, which can be challenging, but is very real; invigorating even, whether on two wheels or two feet.  Yes, you need to ignore the pylons; I just tell myself that they are necessary and fulfil a useful function. Feel the surrounding mountains, take in the experience, have a much-earned brew up and bar, and tell yourself that there`s still a bit of spark in you – believe me when I tell you, that this sense of the need for that spark increases inexorably with the passing years.

It's time to check out the bike and ensure everything is in order. Paradoxically, the descent is harder on the machine than the ascent was. The first time I cycled this, about five or so years ago, was only the second time in my cycling life that the chain broke. Fortunately, I`d a spare link and gadget, purchased last-minute, just the day before the start of that epic cycle. Tyres, brakes, wheel nuts, and pedals all need a wee look over. There are long straight stretches on the descent, where speed has to be kept in check, especially on that bend at the end of the straight. Get a fix with that adrenalin rush though.

Before we go though, another thought about the summit: the great Watershed of Scotland, aka the Ribbon of Wildness. This passes but a kilometre to the west of here on Carn Leac (884m) and is a little over 100m proud of the road summit we are now on. With that thought, time to pack the trusty stove, mug and other catering gear back in that pannier, secure everything, and bid a fond farewell to this auspicious cycling summit. Who knows when, or indeed if, there will be a repeat visit?

Ahead lies the Great Glen, that great fault line in Scotland`s geological formation, when the whole land mass on one side shifted some forty miles relative to the other. After that, the glaciers did their bit to carve the three lochs, Ness, Oich and Lochy, whilst also creating the steep sides of the glen itself. This is a place of great environmental drama, felt all the more significantly from up here right on the rim. Driving along on the A82 way down below, and past our destination for today at Fort Augustus, whilst lovely in its way, has nothing to compare with the sense of wonder, up here. For me, two legs, two wheels and a stout heart are together, the harbingers of this rich experience.

Mounting the saddle then, it's time for the off. Slowly and gradually at first, then gather pace as the track ahead falls away. I seem to recall that those pylons take a different line down, but this rock route was constructed; a very long time before electricity was ever to be conveyed this way. I do wonder how Wade`s troops felt about the task they had in getting their road up here, and then back down again. It was no small task, and I salute their efforts every bit as much as Wade. He may have designed it, but they did all of the graft in building it, in this wild exposed place.

The view is breathtaking, in as much as it is safe to be admiring it with the sound of rubber on rock filling the air; lifting the spirit with a real buzz. Eyes on the road though, down, down, down. Lean into that bend, watch out for that big rock, here comes a bridge, a rough bit and then just as quickly smoother ride. My bike rattled somewhat en route, brakes squeaking, bum needing adjustment on saddle position, fingers numbing with that tight grip. This is an adrenalin-rushing experience par excellence, worth every single heave and grunt, as I had hauled my trusty be-pedalled steed up each elbow on those zigzags a bit earlier in the day.

With a couple of long sweeps to left and right, created in order to make the road the well-engineered creation that it is, there`s a pause at the flat place by a burn, where an information board tells us that Wade & co had a big alfresco junket to celebrate the completion of the achievement. Did the ordinary troops get anything for their troubles though I wonder?

Loch Ness is now well in sight; I can just about make out a boat or two. No sign of the other alleged inhabitant, which my dear grandmother was certain she`d seen, back in the day. As I go down the hills around seem to go up higher, putting me in a different place. But I respect the hills just the same. Eventually, in passing a farm and a house or two, I find my route takes me back onto the tarmac road. The real invigorating sense of occasion that is Corrieyairack may be over, but the memory of it lives on in a warm sense of satisfaction in my heart. Yes, my heart not least, because it needed a major quintuple replumbing job done on it some ten or more years ago. Today has proved, if proof were needed, that I've never looked back. Thank God for the NHS, the mountains, and yes to General Wade too, for making this magnificent experience possible today.