You may have noticed that there was no Jogle Blogle – Day 12 published yesterday. That isn’t to say that there wasn’t one, there was – and rather good it was too, even if I do say so myself. Unfortunately I ran into all sorts of copyright issues with the pictures I wanted to attach to it. So I’ll bung 10 quid forfeit into Steve’s just giving page at http://bit.ly/2Tzmjwi in aid of Macmillan Cancer Support (you can donate too) and plough straight on with the ominously named Jogle Blogle – Day 13.
It turns out that the only ominous thing about it was the weather, which was foul. Cold, cold rain. Not the most favourable conditions for climbing a mountain then, but it was there, and as part of Steve’s charity walk from John O’Groats to Land’s End, it had to be done.
Ben Nevis is the highest peak on mainland Britain and stands some 4,413 feet high. But the Jogler and his wife, Sue, aka the Jogleress were to have some company on this first of the 3 peak challenge my brother so foolishly decided to include on this little adventure. Daughter and son, Rachael and Michael (henceforth to be known as the Jogleressette and the Mini-Jogler joined them at Fort William as did the Jogleressette’sfella, Andy (I think they bought him along to take the photos. Besides, no one talks to him because he supports The Baggies – West Bromwich Albion, for our readers abroad).
The day started reasonably enough, damp but mild. Perhaps unwisely they trusted the Jogleressette with the map (Oh look, there’s the Jogleressette’sfella).
Fortunately they didn’t have to rely on her cartography skills as they found a handily placed sign, and let’s face it a bloody great mountain is quite hard to miss.
On the way up however the weather began to close in.
Now at this juncture I should like to thank the BBC for their well timed report on the evening news only a day previously. Ben Nevis, they declared, was a very dangerous place to go, before informing Joe Public (myself included) how many people had died on its slopes recently. Thanks a lot Beeb!
This Blogler was very relieved when I received news that the party had returned to base camp.
There was one important stop to make before that could happen though. The summit! Here they are proudly (and justifiably) displaying the Joglers tee shirt.
At the risk of incurring the wrath of the Jogler, I would like to point out that he may have been preparing for this moment for most of his life. Here is a picture of him at the age of around 5 or 6 with much the same pose and expression.
There was not much of a view however though the mist and murk. Freezing temperatures also meant that our gang returned the way they came to head for the warmth of a suitable bar to celebrate, which the Mini-Jogler and the Jogleressette’sfella did long into the night.
Let’s hope conditions are more favourable when they attempt Scafell Pike and Snowdon later in the trek.
The days stats were as follows:
Mileage 10.1, no I know it’s not a lot but it was uphill for heaven’s sake! It took 6 hours 40 minutes and 34 seconds in 30,979 steps for the Jogler anyway.
Totals to date, 221.33 miles. 452,014 steps.
Well I hope you’re all prepared for this. Today’s going to be a grueller! The Jogler and Jogleress are about to embark on their longest leg of the journey from John O’Groats to Land’s End so far. Day 11 of The Jogle could be make or break day on Steve’s charity walk for Macmillan Cancer Support – see his link here
Finally they reach the end of The Great Glenn Way and although it’s not the final destination it is a chance to rest up under the sign. If you recall the start point of that pathway was at the photogenic Inverness Castle. This end is marked by McDonalds, Morrison’s and an badly parked mini digger, a sure sign we’re getting toward civilisation. Nice hanging baskets though. My word, that hard wooden bench looks comfortable!
More wildlife as Sue befriends a mutt. How can she bend her back like that? Mine’s in bits and I’m only writing about this. Is it far now? No, leave me here, I’m only slowing you all down. Leave me a gun and I’ll hold all the Apaches off – don’t worry, I’ll save the last bullet for myself. Sorry, I think I’m delirious. Just carry on without me – I’ll catch up tomorrow.
Day 10 of The Jogle. Into double figures. Uphill, down glen. A fairly leisurely start for our dynamic duo as they conserve energy for their big climb on Day 13 and indeed for their marathon walk into Fort William tomorrow (unless you’re reading this today of course). They did catch their first glimpse of Ben Nevis in the distance, worryingly capped with snow – more of that on Jogle Blogle – Day 11, because you would have to squint at these photos a bit!
But today was the day that they bade farewell to Loch Ness as they continued down to Invergarry on Steve’s charity walk from John O’Groats to its furthest counterpart in Cornwall. Pausing only to take a few more shots of the scenery, a selfie (thank heavens he’s had a shave – he looked a right scruffy Herbert yesterday [had to get a Dad saying in somewhere bro!]) and mugging a fellow walker to take a shot of the pair of them they dropped down from the high trail they’d been following into Fort Augustus. Isn’t the Jogleress little? Or is the Jogler tall?
Back on the trail, passing Cullochy Loch where apparently the royal family disembarked in 1958, such a momentous event that they put up a plaque. Perhaps this was the origin of the term ‘the royal wee,’ as they all obviously stopped for a trip behind the bushes. (Well there’s not much else there!)
Finally they passed the suspension bridge at Oich, built over the river of the same name in 1849 and designed by the appropriately named James Dredge, on their way to their overnight stop.
Day 9 of The Jogle Blogle. Will it never end? Bro and his missus set out just after 09:30 to continue their walk from Drumndrochit to the nights stop at Invermoriston.
If you recall (and how could you ever forget), Steve is walking for charity from John O’Groats to Land’s End with the 3 peaks thrown in for good measure. Wife Sue joined a couple of days ago and the two of them are now getting perilously close to their assault on the summit of Ben Nevis. With the weather distinctly ‘ish’ they donned wet weather clothing for the days trip around Loch Ness.
Anyway they called in at the Loch Ness pottery and cafe right on top of the escarpment there. where they settled for banana cake and tea. I guess they may have bought some pottery too, if they hadn’t had to lug it all the way down to Cornwall, visit their Facebook page at 
Back on the trail they paused only to get the obligatory selfie – notice my brother hogging all the limelight (needing a shave mate, or are you going for the Grizzly Adams look?) and Sue playing silly buggers in the middle of the ‘viewcatcher’ which frames the Munros some 25 miles north of Loch Cluanie and Pooh sticks on a bridge inspired by the drawings of local schoolchildren.
Oh Kate, could you top up the Carling please. Not right to the top, no. I don’t want the bubbles going up my nose.
Yes my friends, this is where the Jogle starts to get tough, so fasten your seatbelts and make sure that you’re well strapped in for this immersive account of Day 8 of my brothers walk from John O’Groats to Land’s End.
A lot!
Yes, they’re now on the trail to the first of the three peaks in this charity event for Macmillan Cancer Support (visit the just giving page 
So as you sit there reading this rather marvellous account, even if I do modestly say so myself, imagine if you can getting into a lift (elevator for our American readers) and going up for nearly 1/4 mile. Yes on this leg of the journey they’ll be ascending to 1243 feet which is more or less the height of the roof of the Empire State Building- and yes, I do know the antenna on the top makes it a couple of hundred feet higher, but you try doing it after a stale granola bar and a cup of weak tea for brekkie!
The trail is now mainly off road, so from this point there will mainly be interesting scenic shots and something that we haven’t had before – now that he has a companion there are some pictures of the Jogler actually Jogling, so you can tell that this is not some figment of my imagination.
You probably can’t tell from these mobile phone images but it rained constantly almost from the time they set out.
Raging torrents had to be forded and all the time the path was up and up and up… Blimey, I think my ears just popped.
Today’s obligatory wildlife shot is of a Bullfinch, but who cares – I’m now so hot and sweaty just writing this and this incessant driving rain! Will it never end!?
Finally, signs of life! At the highest inhabited Croft in Scotland they found the Abriachan eco-campsite and cafe. Blimey, that’s a rare old slice of cake, isn’t it?
Wow! Not only is the Jogler breaking through all sorts of barriers, 1 week in, over 100 miles and 100,000 steps walked, but now the Blogle is getting in on the act too. We started Day 1 with a meagre 16 views. Yesterday on Day 6 we attracted over 100 views on the blog site, that’s not counting all the interactions on Facebook and Twitter. Keep up the good work sharing, retweeting and generally spreading the word you wonderful people, my brother Steve is doing this for a great charity after all – check out his reasons for walking from John O’Groats to Land’s End along with the 3 peaks thrown in for good measure on his just giving page at 
So, setting out from Evanton our Jogler continued along the lesser known trails he’d discovered the day before. Ominously there were warnings of ice once more, but none encountered – lucky that as our brave walker had left his crampons at home.
Eventually though the inevitable happened and as Steve traversed an unmanned level crossing he found himself once more on the dreaded A9.
Eventually the road crossed the Cromarty Firth, via the aptly named Cromarty Bridge. What a strange coincidence they should both be in the same location. Mindful of the ice warning, Steve was keeping a keen eye out for penguins, but only managed to spot this solitary heron. That’s the wildlife done for today then.
The Jogler now found himself on the ominously named Black Isle, but contrary to expectations found a warm welcome at the local Spar in Culbokie where we give a shout out to the kindly serving ladies who allowed our elite athlete to sit and devour his mars bar and orange lucozade (disclaimer – other confectionery and energy drinks are available) in the chair in the corner reserved for collapsing old folk. What!? No, I never said a word, but I know what you’re thinking. You lot can be so cruel sometimes!
And so on to the highlight of the days adventure. As mentioned yesterday, as part of a covert operation, Steve’s wife Sue, a trained medical professional was dropped in to meet up with our Jogler in a secret rendezvous earlier in the day. Pausing only to bury her parachute beside a convenient haggis nest, our ‘Jogleress’ made her way to the meeting point and duly stuffed her face with a cheese and onion cob. Nothing untoward there you may think, but she was in fact attempting to use the onion smell to mask her unenviable task in examining Bertie Blister. She needs a citation in my opinion, her husband has now been walking for a week and she was only just about to re-supply the Hobbler, sorry Jogler, with a change of socks!
After a thorough assessment, Bertie was pronounced ‘not too bad,’ and the pair set out, past the Black Isle brewery (Steve does appear to have become quite addicted to their produce, perhaps in attempt to mask the undoubted pain in his foot). Over the Kessock Bridge, Steve – as he did on Day One – failed to spot any of the dolphins which are supposed to frequent these waters. Perhaps the Whale and Dolphin Society of Scotland should revoke his honorary membership.
They passed the home of Inverness Caledonian Thistle, took a wrong turn and bumped into Cromwell’s clock tower, restored and all that remains of Ollie’s citadel which was demolished at the start of the Restoration of the monarchy. (Not only do you get geography and nature here folks, we also give you history!)
At this point Steve bid a thankful farewell to the A9, on Day 7 he and his travelling nurse set out along the Great Glen Way.
And so we leave you, dear reader, with a few random views of Inverness and the days statistics:
And so for the Jogler, day 6 turned into a bit of a damp squib – or at least a very overcast one. But make the most of it bro – the bank holiday is coming and we all know what that means, it’ll be peeing down no doubt! Once again Steve managed to avoid the A9 on his journey south from John O’Groats to Land’s End, so a minor victory in avoiding the traffic as he headed out of his overnight stop in Evanton.
If you’ve ever wondered where old oil rigs go to die (and haven’t we all at some point in our lives), the answer is Cromarty Firth. In the distance my brother could make out the unused platforms stored up waiting for the price of oil to rise and the business of drilling the North Sea to become profitable again. Perhaps if the oil barons weren’t involving themselves so much in fracking that day may come sooner rather than later – I suppose it all comes down to which part of the environment you want to destroy first. (Bit controversial that – blimey, I’m starting to sound like Ben Elton, remember him?)
Which leaves me, the Blogler, drumming my fingers on the desktop wondering what else to tell you, loyal reader, given the paucity of information feeding down to Blogle headquarters. I can of course add the obligatory pictures taken by our stroller, so here they are.
And! Oh yes, since you ask – Bertie Blister (it now has a name) is no better, no worse according to my brother’s self diagnosis. But in a rather exciting development, even as I type this report, moves are afoot (afoot, get it? Oh dear, I make myself laugh sometimes) to remedy the situation. One of the N.H.S.’s crack nursing staff is already making her way to Birmingham International Airport and will be parachuted in somewhere near Inverness at a secret location.
Yes – Steve’s wife, Sue will meet up with him armed with potions, lotions and various field dressings to attend to his injury. In an act of selfless bravery she will then accompany the Jogler for the next two weeks waiting for Bertie to surrender or Steve’s foot to drop off, whichever comes first. For the duration of this mission she will go by the code name – The Jogleress.
Don’t tell anyone though, it’s a secret, let’s just keep it between ourselves. Hopefully she’ll also bring fresh supplies to the walker – let’s face it there are only so many times you can reverse your undercrackers before they start to get a bit riffy! I’ll update you on the success or otherwise of the mission tomorrow. In the meantime here are the stats for Day 6 of the Jogle.
On the way there he did manage to follow the coast road rather than the A9, which meant some moody weather shots and that he thankfully did not have to leap out of the way of every passing juggernaut. Here are a selection. Nature at its best eh! With the obligatory discarded plastic bottles in the foreground of the coastal shot. People of Britain I salute you!
Not in evidence however were the Otters, So rather a misleading road sign then.
And so into Tain and his stop for the night.
It was raining in Helmsdale as Steve Robertson left on the next leg of his charity Jogle, pausing only to snap this picture of the harbour. John O’Groats is a fading memory and Land’s End a distant dream.
For instance this stone is inscribed, ‘TO MARK THE PLACE NEAR WHICH (According to “Scropes Art of Deerstalking”) THE LAST WOLF IN SUTHERLAND WAS KILLED BY THE HUNTER, POLSON, IN OR ABOUT THE YEAR 1700.’ I’ve no doubt that the brave hunter also posed for a selfie oil painting of himself and his bloodied trophy in a manner similar to big game heroes of today.
Coming across an abandoned petrol station near Brora our eagle eyed Jogler noticed blackbird chicks nesting in the void above the nozzle of the closest pump.
After snapping the war memorial clock tower alongside the Brora river, Steve stopped in at Linda’s Cafe for his lunch, Jogled past Brora Rangers footie ground with a capacity of 4000 
Then in the same village, more quirkiness as witnessed by this Land Rover wheel arch window box.
The origins of this Iron Age ‘broch’, or drystone hollow wall structure, at Carn Liath are unclear, but archaeologists class them as ‘complex Atlantic roundhouses.’ (Stick with us folks, this is better than the Open University!
And in contrast to the dismal start, the Jogler was able to enjoy the evening sunshine down by Golspie harbour.
Here we go, eyes down look in, Day 3 of the Jogle. Firstly an apology from Mission Control, the Blogle omitted to mention the mileage yesterday. So, Day 2 was a distance of 18 miles, giving a total of 40 miles.
The walk was a touch more scenic than the previous days – there were bends in the road for a start. Around one such corner he came upon the River Bothy Tea Room as recommended by those wonderful folk at The Blends. Now have you heard the one about the Irishwoman, the Irishwoman who lives in Australia and the Irishwoman who lives in Australia’s, Australian daughter. No, neither had I but that’s who the Jogler shared a table with in the packed establishment as he finally got his lunch (highly recommended by the way).
At some point the road changed from lovely fresh tarmac to a rougher, more uneven surface, which plays havoc with blisters apparently. The cloud closed in and the closing miles to Helmsdale were wet and miserable.
Day 3 stats are as follows,
mistybooks 
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