writing | Waking Moments
Spending our first Valentine's in a bothy while on a winter traverse of the Cairngorms.
It was a long walk in from Blair Atholl. We’d made our way up Glen Tilt and climbed the spur of Faire Clach-ghlais, soon to find ourselves knee-deep in snow. Battling through, we eventually got over the saddle of Meall Tionail and Conlach Mhor, before descending down a small glen to tonight's accommodation.
As we approached, we could make out the black shell against the white snow-covered landscape, and the blue-grey sky as the winter sun slowly set. Getting closer we could see the faint flicker of a candle in the window. The feeling of desolation and loneliness was replaced with excitement as someone else was in the bothy.
Feith Uaine bothy, better known as Tarf Hotel, exists in what is described as mamba country, as there are “miles and miles of bugger all” around. The work done to make it more hospitable by the Mountain Bothy Association should be applauded, but dampness is impossible to shake.
It is also nothing like any hotel I’ve ever been to. No warm shower or clean sheets, no kettle and complimentary tea & biscuits, and definitely no bar.
The bothy has had many guises, including a blackhouse and shooting lodge, even housing the 7th Duke of Atholl at one point. In December 1883 a man escaped from the Murthly Asylum and went on the run. He somehow found his way to Feith Uaine and stayed there for several days before being found and taken back.
It was eventually abandoned and fell into disrepair, before finding new use as a bothy in the 1960s, where it acquired the moniker Tarf hotel. An AA sign said to have been acquired by Scottish climber Graeme Hunter, was hung on the door, where it still resides to this day.
The bothy has four main rooms, three accessed via the main door and the fourth, which used to be an open porch, via a door at the back. There is also a locked storeroom. The three main rooms likely served as a living room, kitchen and bedroom with a fireplace in each.
We kicked the snow off our boots against the stone walls and opened the door. Meeting another couple, we said our hellos and went to another room to drop our rucksacks and look around. They’d staked their claim on the bigger room with the broader sleeping platforms, so we took the backroom that still had enough space for the two of us. It was dark, damp and cold, but better than spending a night in a dugout snow pit.
Not seeing any wood, we resigned to the fact there’d be no fire tonight, so we cooked, ate and chatted with the other couple for a bit, before getting changed and climbing into our sleeping bags.
We fell asleep as the candle flickered away into nothing.
First light seeped through the dirt-stained windows. I got that sensation when you wake in a strange place and wonder where you are. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I looked around the room. Still dark, but enough light coming in to see damp brickwork and the cold on my breath. Yep, still checked in at the Tarf.
Stretching out, my joints cracked and limbs creaked as warm air slowly escaped from the sleeping bag. Sally started to stir next to me. It had been an uncomfortable chilly night of tossing and turning, in and out of slumber, wishing for just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
The weather outside sounded wild, the wind blowing a hoolie and rattling the door as the rain beat a staccato rhythm on the roof.
“who’s turn to make tea?” I asked.
“yours….” like I even needed an answer.
Pulling my clothes from the bottom of the sleeping bag, I sat up and started whacking layers on. Getting out of the bag, I had a few minutes of cold while pulling trousers on over my thermals, and lashed boots on quickly.
“I’ll have some porridge while you’re at it, then poached eggs and a few slices of toast”
“sure you will, you want some smashed avo on that toast?” I laughed.
Walking over to the window sill where the stove was, I blew on my hands to warm my fingertips. I grabbed the lighter and turned on the gas. A gentle spark and the stove was running, a faint sniff of gas and the warm radiated. After a few minutes, the water boiled.
I dropped tea bags into mugs and slowly poured the water into each equally, the steam rising and causing condensation on the window panes.
“happy valentines pickle” as I handed over a cup.
After breakfast we packed, taking our time drinking coffee to try and wait out the shit weather. It wasn’t going anywhere so we accepted our fate and set off into the day. More desolate white and biting inhospitable winter.
“why do people put themselves through this?” I asked myself as Sally was breaking trail up ahead. Pulling up my hood I smiled, following her, knowing the answer.