The Ghost in the Bothy by Ian MacDonald
In 1973, I was 25 years old, with 10 years of hillwalking experience behind me. I had been places, seen sights, done deeds, but nothing could have prepared me for the night of Tuesday 13 March, however.
At that time, as I had no transport of my own, I would take the last bus from Aberdeen to Braemar one evening, stay in a bothy overnight, then do a hill walk the following day. Another night in the bothy left the next day free for a leisurely walk to get the bus back to Aberdeen.
The word bothy covers a multitude of buildings of all shapes and sizes, from abandoned lodges to tumbled down sheds, and everything in between. For this outing I had chosen Coirenalairig, a semi-derelict estate cottage. One side of the building had collapsed, but the other was wind and water proof. It was very close to several mountains over 3,000feet, or Munros, as they are called.
That evening I got the bus from Aberdeen, where I lived, and it was dark by the time I arrived in Braemar. I stopped in by the Fife Arms for a beer before I set out, as the road I was to travel was pitch black and lonely, and there was not much to do in the cottage once I got there. It's a small village, so it wasn't long before I was clear of the street lights on the A93 road south. It meanders along the side of a hill, with a steep slope to the valley floor on your right where you can see the river wend it's way to Braemar. After about a mile or so, I recalled that some of my mountaineering mates had said they had a bit of a weird experience when they stayed there one night, but I didn't get the full story. ( I was later told the story, and have added it below.)
There are no more houses until you pass the farm at Auchallater, about 2 miles away. After that, the road rises slowly to the summit of the pass near the ski centre at Cairnwell. Then it falls steeply down to the distant Spittal of Glenshee. For me, though, another 2 miles or so beyond the farm was a lay-by which housed an agricultural storage type building and a telephone box for some motoring organisation or other. From there, a farm track led down to the Baddoch river where it was crossed by a somewhat unreliable bridge. As it was dark, I crossed on my hands and knees to make sure I didn't stand on a piece of rotten or missing timber and fall into the river below. Once safely over, it was only a few hundred yards to the house.
At that time, as I had no transport of my own, I would take the last bus from Aberdeen to Braemar one evening, stay in a bothy overnight, then do a hill walk the following day. Another night in the bothy left the next day free for a leisurely walk to get the bus back to Aberdeen.
The word bothy covers a multitude of buildings of all shapes and sizes, from abandoned lodges to tumbled down sheds, and everything in between. For this outing I had chosen Coirenalairig, a semi-derelict estate cottage. One side of the building had collapsed, but the other was wind and water proof. It was very close to several mountains over 3,000feet, or Munros, as they are called.
That evening I got the bus from Aberdeen, where I lived, and it was dark by the time I arrived in Braemar. I stopped in by the Fife Arms for a beer before I set out, as the road I was to travel was pitch black and lonely, and there was not much to do in the cottage once I got there. It's a small village, so it wasn't long before I was clear of the street lights on the A93 road south. It meanders along the side of a hill, with a steep slope to the valley floor on your right where you can see the river wend it's way to Braemar. After about a mile or so, I recalled that some of my mountaineering mates had said they had a bit of a weird experience when they stayed there one night, but I didn't get the full story. ( I was later told the story, and have added it below.)
There are no more houses until you pass the farm at Auchallater, about 2 miles away. After that, the road rises slowly to the summit of the pass near the ski centre at Cairnwell. Then it falls steeply down to the distant Spittal of Glenshee. For me, though, another 2 miles or so beyond the farm was a lay-by which housed an agricultural storage type building and a telephone box for some motoring organisation or other. From there, a farm track led down to the Baddoch river where it was crossed by a somewhat unreliable bridge. As it was dark, I crossed on my hands and knees to make sure I didn't stand on a piece of rotten or missing timber and fall into the river below. Once safely over, it was only a few hundred yards to the house.
Coirenalaraig is quite similar to this house, Baddoch Cottage, which stands nearby. (right). One difference is that there was no lean-to shed, and there was a an upstairs window on the gable end.
There was plaster off the walls and other debris on the floor, so every door made a crunching noise as I went in. First the outer door into the small porch, then the door into the hall, and finally the door to the room. The right hand side of the building was completely derelict, as the roof had collapsed, taking the upstairs floor with it. The left side, on the other hand, was completely intact- wind and water tight, even glass in the windows! Not only that, but there was a table, a chair and a single bed-frame to give a bit of comfort rather than having to lie on the stone floor. As I was on my own there would also not be any argument or doubt as to who would get it. In bothy terms, this was the height of luxury. |
I unpacked the rucksack and began to settle in. First job was to go back outside and fetch water for the coffee. More door crunching on the way out and on the way back in. Candles lit, coffee in hand, seat by the table and yet another look over the map.
It was around this point I became aware of noises coming from the room upstairs. Short, bumping sounds. A single "boomph" and a double "badoof". It sounded to me like there were two climbers up there, throwing down their rucksacks and boots. I thought this a bit strange for a couple of reasons. Firstly, there was nothing in the upstairs room- all the perks were in with me. Also, the one window had no glass and the door at the other end of the room was missing, gaping into the fresh air of the ruins. Secondly, there weren't many walkers and climbers in those days and the few around were very gregarious, always wanting to know who you were, who you knew, where you were going, how many Munros you had done, and the likes. They must have heard me come in, yet weren't bothered to see who it was. Odd.
The slightly unsettling thing for me was that the noises continued. You only take off your rucksack an throw it down once. Likewise your boots. I also began to think it was too dull a sound for the boots and too heavy a sound for a rucksack. After a while I decided that if they weren't going to come down to me, I was going to go up and see them. It was all too intriguing, and I wanted to find out exactly what was going on.
The stairway was not for the fainthearted. In the dark, it was difficult to see the condition of the supporting wood, and the bannister was missing. On the way up, as I slid along the wall, I shone the torch all over the remains piled up in the other section of the house. Stones, cross beams and roof slates all jumbled together littered the floor. Many visitors had retrieved a slate and written their name on it, with the date of their visit, and propped it up somewhere in the downstairs room (a somewhat different style of bothy book!). I swung the torch beam around as I reached the top of the stairs in order to see what was in the room. It was empty.
I didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't this. The room was in very good condition considering that state of the rest of the place. No plaster off the roof or walls, good solid floor, no rubbish or debris anywhere. No fireplace or damage, not even a mousehole. Nowhere for anybody or anything to hide. The entire contents was one flimsy supermarket shopping bag of the kind they used to give away free at the checkout. Nothing else. It almost looked as if someone looked after it. I slowly walked across the room, shining the torch all around, making sure I hadn't missed anything, picked up the bag and stuffed it into my pocket.
It was around this point I became aware of noises coming from the room upstairs. Short, bumping sounds. A single "boomph" and a double "badoof". It sounded to me like there were two climbers up there, throwing down their rucksacks and boots. I thought this a bit strange for a couple of reasons. Firstly, there was nothing in the upstairs room- all the perks were in with me. Also, the one window had no glass and the door at the other end of the room was missing, gaping into the fresh air of the ruins. Secondly, there weren't many walkers and climbers in those days and the few around were very gregarious, always wanting to know who you were, who you knew, where you were going, how many Munros you had done, and the likes. They must have heard me come in, yet weren't bothered to see who it was. Odd.
The slightly unsettling thing for me was that the noises continued. You only take off your rucksack an throw it down once. Likewise your boots. I also began to think it was too dull a sound for the boots and too heavy a sound for a rucksack. After a while I decided that if they weren't going to come down to me, I was going to go up and see them. It was all too intriguing, and I wanted to find out exactly what was going on.
The stairway was not for the fainthearted. In the dark, it was difficult to see the condition of the supporting wood, and the bannister was missing. On the way up, as I slid along the wall, I shone the torch all over the remains piled up in the other section of the house. Stones, cross beams and roof slates all jumbled together littered the floor. Many visitors had retrieved a slate and written their name on it, with the date of their visit, and propped it up somewhere in the downstairs room (a somewhat different style of bothy book!). I swung the torch beam around as I reached the top of the stairs in order to see what was in the room. It was empty.
I didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't this. The room was in very good condition considering that state of the rest of the place. No plaster off the roof or walls, good solid floor, no rubbish or debris anywhere. No fireplace or damage, not even a mousehole. Nowhere for anybody or anything to hide. The entire contents was one flimsy supermarket shopping bag of the kind they used to give away free at the checkout. Nothing else. It almost looked as if someone looked after it. I slowly walked across the room, shining the torch all around, making sure I hadn't missed anything, picked up the bag and stuffed it into my pocket.
As nothing had passed me on the stairs, the only way out was through the window. I looked out to see if I could make out anything outside. Nothing. Anything heavy enough to make the noises I heard would have made a bit of impact on that ground, I reckoned, but there was nothing I could see. Mind you, anything that heavy jumping out of this window would have damaged itself on landing, I thought. I spent some time in the room, but finally realised my quest was futile. I was walking round in circles trying to find something which obviously wasn't there. At length I went back down the stairs taking another good look around as I went.
Back at HQ, as I drank a last coffee, I noticed that the noises had ceased. Well, thank goodness for that! If my trip upstairs had achieved anything, it was to chase off the noise makers. I shoved the bed frame over a bit from the table end where it was so that it ended up nearer the middle of the floor. Why there? Why not? I was the only person here, I was quite happy with it there, so that was that. I lay for some time, enjoying the peace and tranquility of the isolation. I had lived all my life in a city and this escapism was one of the attractions of going to the hills in the first place. I got about half-an-hour of this quiet, with only the gentle sighing of the breeze for company, when, completely out of the blue, directly above my head, in the middle of the upstairs room, the noises started again. A cold shiver made it's way down my spine. This was impossible. Nothing/nobody had come in the door. I would have heard it. Similarly, nobody/nothing had gone up the stairs. Nothing had crossed the floor to get to the middle. I had heard no footsteps, paws or claws. Just a heavy thump, badump. Every few seconds, continuously. All thoughts of going to sleep had gone. Some serious thinking had to be done. There was no point in going back up the stairs, as the same thing would happen again. So I had to reason it out where I was. I didn't think it was human doing. I had heard tell of people playing tricks on others in bothys, but that was usually in a big crowd, with the perpetrator then having a good laugh at those who were caught out by their spooky prank. I had now been in the house for a few hours- nobody would spend so long keeping the charade up. If it wasn't human, then what?
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I now started to go through every animal or bird to be found in the area to see if I could come up with a likely culprit. For every one, there was a perfectly good reason why not. They could not enter the building, as far as I knew, but probably wouldn't if they could. And I had heard no scratching or other sounds of hooves, etc. I was stumped. My nerve was beginning to be tested.
There was, of course, only two options for the rest of the night- leave or stay. Where would I go at this time of night? The village was an obvious choice. I knew of an old partially burnt out shed near the center which had a wind and waterproof bit at the far end where I had spent the night in the company of a tramp after the Braemar games some years previously. That meant, of course, packing up, walking 4 miles, setting up there for the night, then walking back to Coirenalairig in the morning to start my hill walk. I HAD to do this particular walk as I had left a note back in Aberdeen detailing exactly where I would be walking, which hills, even which route. If I didn't come back when I said I would, then the emergency services would be alerted and know where to come looking for me. If I departed from that and anything went wrong, they would be looking in the wrong place. I always left a note like this, as there was no such thing as a mobile phone in those days.
An alternative was the stables at Callater Lodge. That's involved backtracking to Auchallater farm, then trekking up the track to the lodge. It was a lonely glen, and the walk always seemed much longer than measured on the map. Again, I would have to return to Coirenalairig in the morning. Irritatingly, it was a short distance away on the map, but that would have involved crossing over a hill in the dark - no way!
I knew what was liable to happen with either of these: I would get up late and decide I could not be bothered with the effort. And the weather forecast was pretty good for Wednesday. I wanted to do the walk, and in that case there was only really one thing to do. I would stay where I was.
Could I? Let's go through this once more. Was there any way I could come to any harm by way of any local wildlife? I went mentally through the list again and drew a blank. OK. What if it actually was human? I don't believe that anyone who would be around such a place at such a time would have gbh on their mind. I was still convinced it was not human. That left only one other possibility.
I had heard of ghosts appearing and causing people to be frightened. Similarly, ghostly sounds had had the same effect. But I had never heard of anyone as much as being injured by a ghost. If this was something of "the other world", then by definition, it was not of this one and therefore could not do me any harm at all. The only thing to do in the circumstances was to ignore the sounds (if I could) and go to sleep. After a while, I finally managed.
Morning broke. It was daylight, but obviously still quite early. Half-awake, I vaguely wondered what the time might be. CRASH!! I was on my feet in an instant. It was as if a large breeze block had crashed to the floor just a foot or so from my head. If this side of the House was about to collapse, I didn't want to be here when it did. Looking around, there was nothing out of place. Everything was exactly as it had been last night. Impossible. I got dressed and took a better look round. Nothing. I even tried looking outside and in the ruined part of the house. Still nothing.
It was early, but light and promising to be a good day, so I decided that the best thing to do was to get going. A quick breakfast and off I set. As I left, I noted that fingers of mist were pointing their way along the A93 and I made a mental note to keep an eye on the situation as I went up the hill. However, as you could imagine, my mind was more concerned with what had happened to me over the past 10 hours or so. The sun was up, the sky was clear, and the going was dry underfoot so I made good progress up the Baddoch glen.
There was, of course, only two options for the rest of the night- leave or stay. Where would I go at this time of night? The village was an obvious choice. I knew of an old partially burnt out shed near the center which had a wind and waterproof bit at the far end where I had spent the night in the company of a tramp after the Braemar games some years previously. That meant, of course, packing up, walking 4 miles, setting up there for the night, then walking back to Coirenalairig in the morning to start my hill walk. I HAD to do this particular walk as I had left a note back in Aberdeen detailing exactly where I would be walking, which hills, even which route. If I didn't come back when I said I would, then the emergency services would be alerted and know where to come looking for me. If I departed from that and anything went wrong, they would be looking in the wrong place. I always left a note like this, as there was no such thing as a mobile phone in those days.
An alternative was the stables at Callater Lodge. That's involved backtracking to Auchallater farm, then trekking up the track to the lodge. It was a lonely glen, and the walk always seemed much longer than measured on the map. Again, I would have to return to Coirenalairig in the morning. Irritatingly, it was a short distance away on the map, but that would have involved crossing over a hill in the dark - no way!
I knew what was liable to happen with either of these: I would get up late and decide I could not be bothered with the effort. And the weather forecast was pretty good for Wednesday. I wanted to do the walk, and in that case there was only really one thing to do. I would stay where I was.
Could I? Let's go through this once more. Was there any way I could come to any harm by way of any local wildlife? I went mentally through the list again and drew a blank. OK. What if it actually was human? I don't believe that anyone who would be around such a place at such a time would have gbh on their mind. I was still convinced it was not human. That left only one other possibility.
I had heard of ghosts appearing and causing people to be frightened. Similarly, ghostly sounds had had the same effect. But I had never heard of anyone as much as being injured by a ghost. If this was something of "the other world", then by definition, it was not of this one and therefore could not do me any harm at all. The only thing to do in the circumstances was to ignore the sounds (if I could) and go to sleep. After a while, I finally managed.
Morning broke. It was daylight, but obviously still quite early. Half-awake, I vaguely wondered what the time might be. CRASH!! I was on my feet in an instant. It was as if a large breeze block had crashed to the floor just a foot or so from my head. If this side of the House was about to collapse, I didn't want to be here when it did. Looking around, there was nothing out of place. Everything was exactly as it had been last night. Impossible. I got dressed and took a better look round. Nothing. I even tried looking outside and in the ruined part of the house. Still nothing.
It was early, but light and promising to be a good day, so I decided that the best thing to do was to get going. A quick breakfast and off I set. As I left, I noted that fingers of mist were pointing their way along the A93 and I made a mental note to keep an eye on the situation as I went up the hill. However, as you could imagine, my mind was more concerned with what had happened to me over the past 10 hours or so. The sun was up, the sky was clear, and the going was dry underfoot so I made good progress up the Baddoch glen.
I was almost at the top when I remembered about the mist, stopped to turn round and got the most pleasant surprise. A temperature inversion meant that Scotland was buried in mist to a depth of about 2,000ft. My pace increased and soon I stood on the dip between Carn a Gheoidh and Carn Bhinnein. The view was stunning. Just as I had read about it, it was like standing on an island, looking out over a sea with other mountains sticking up like other islands. Nearby was Lochnagar, further over were the Cairngorms, and that must be..... I was interrupted by the rumble of a great explosion. I turned round to see a huge spume of mist rising up like a giant finger pointing to the sky. A quick glance at the compass confirmed what I thought- they were blasting at the quarry at Kirkmichael, on the road to Pitlochry.
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Carn Bhinnein was soon conquered and I was on my way back east. The ground underfoot was bone dry as we had just had a long dry spell, and the sun was beating down. Very easy walking in warm conditions meant that I made good time to the last Munro, The Cairnwell. After that, it was downhill in more ways than one. The side of the hill is covered in equipment for skiing, and when there is no snow, the damage is obvious. Just before I reached the road, I re-entered the cloud. I reckoned that if I turned left, it was not too far to the visitor centre and cafe, so I didn't bother adjusting my clothing. Thus on this driech dank dismal day, the confused cafe customers saw the somewhat surreal sight of myself in short sleeved T-shirt, breeches rolled up past my knees, socks rolled down over my boots, strolling across the car park, trying to look normal. As I entered the cafe, I reckoned I deserved the open-mouthed looks I got.
While I indulged in coffee and cake, I adjusted my legwear and donned a shirt and jersey. This seemed to allay the worries of the assembled audience, who went back to their teas and conversations as if nothing untoward had happened. A bit of a plod through the mist and I was back at Coirenalairig. Now what? There were only two options. The first was to unpack and unwind, enjoy the sunshine for what was left of the daylight, followed by an early night. I chose the other, and safe in the tenement I called home, with the permanent rumble of the city in my head, I slept well and long that night.
I have pondered hard and long over these events and am no further forwards than I was then. That few people I have told about it have made suggestions, but nothing they've said fully fits the bill. That I could hear, nothing entered the building or went upstairs. Nothing crossed the room to get to the middle. But that is where the noises restarted. As for the early morning crash..... Any suggestions?
Personally, I have simply stood the experience alongside the other things that have no explanation by modern western science as to how they work, e.g. dowsing or acupuncture. I know they work, but I know they shouldn't.
Since that adventure, I heard from one of the old crew I used to go to the mountains with that they, too, had a weird night at Coirenalairig. Several of them were there on a somewhat windy night and couldn't get to sleep for the noise of rubbish being blown about upstairs. A delegation went up and tossed all the offending tin cans, bottles, etc, into the ruins of next door. After making sure that everything had been disposed of, they went back downstairs. Once they were in bed and all was quiet, a single tin can rolled the entire length of the upstairs room.
While I indulged in coffee and cake, I adjusted my legwear and donned a shirt and jersey. This seemed to allay the worries of the assembled audience, who went back to their teas and conversations as if nothing untoward had happened. A bit of a plod through the mist and I was back at Coirenalairig. Now what? There were only two options. The first was to unpack and unwind, enjoy the sunshine for what was left of the daylight, followed by an early night. I chose the other, and safe in the tenement I called home, with the permanent rumble of the city in my head, I slept well and long that night.
I have pondered hard and long over these events and am no further forwards than I was then. That few people I have told about it have made suggestions, but nothing they've said fully fits the bill. That I could hear, nothing entered the building or went upstairs. Nothing crossed the room to get to the middle. But that is where the noises restarted. As for the early morning crash..... Any suggestions?
Personally, I have simply stood the experience alongside the other things that have no explanation by modern western science as to how they work, e.g. dowsing or acupuncture. I know they work, but I know they shouldn't.
Since that adventure, I heard from one of the old crew I used to go to the mountains with that they, too, had a weird night at Coirenalairig. Several of them were there on a somewhat windy night and couldn't get to sleep for the noise of rubbish being blown about upstairs. A delegation went up and tossed all the offending tin cans, bottles, etc, into the ruins of next door. After making sure that everything had been disposed of, they went back downstairs. Once they were in bed and all was quiet, a single tin can rolled the entire length of the upstairs room.
Would I go back? I returned to Coirenalairig 2 years and 3 months later, again on my own, to do some hills up by Coire Kander, on the other side of the A93. This time all was quiet. No sounds other than that of the wind gently sighing on the way past. It was as if whatever I had defied last time decided it was not worth the effort of trying to scare me this time.
I often think about that night, and ponder on what actually happened, but I have come to accept that I will never know for certain. |