Given to the Wild (second blog today)

Tom and Liz run a great B&B. Tom couldn’t be more knowledgeable about highland walking and Liz couldn’t be more of a perfect host. Arriving knackered you get a pot of hot tea and the best fruitcake ever, and I’m not a fruitcake man. Great breakfast, great, great breakfast. Five years ago Tom said he didn’t want gay people sleeping in a double bed in their B&B, although they could use twin beds. He’s an old guy like me but my historic prejudices have been slowly chipped away over the years like dried clay over my eyes. I am beginning to see light. He said he likes people, straight or gay, everyone’s welcome to stay. He just thinks sex outside of marriage is not right, that marriage is between a man and a woman and that gay hanky panky won’t take place under his roof; on religious grounds. 

The world descended on this little place miles from civilisation. Media, demonstrations and lawsuits. Tom dunt mention it so I don’t. He gives me great advice. How to lace up walking boots in a different way to alleviate blisters and not put strain on my Achilles. I had stabbing pains in my right Achilles and I was worried summat might snap in the middle of nowhere when I see nobody else for days (other than Rupie and Ollie). He knows the highlands and all the trails like no-one else could, giving me great advice on my route and best alternative routes. Nice couple. Outdated views. 

I set off for Achnashellac where I was originally going to meet Andrew but I can’t drag him into something that’s a physical challenge much more than an earthly pleasure. Particularly as I was close to quitting. I’ve contacted him to say we need a walk together in the sun and not this beastly maggot-farmer. When I worked at ITV the sub-titlers and dubbers used  to put ‘maggot-farmer’ instead of ‘mother-f???er’ into movies as the mouth movements were similar. 

The weather was windy and wet, with an expected temperature on the hilltops (including wind-chill factor) of -18c. Yep you saw it right. I’m walking in football shorts for flexibility but I put trousers on at night if it’s cold. My legs don’t seem to get cold. These were the dark views walking up and over to Achnashellac.

Once there I walked upriver, passing Gerry’s hostel, crossed the river on a bridge, walked two miles downstream and then cut up and into the mountains. My objective was to overnight at Bernais bothy in the most remote land I’d been in so far. From there down to Maol-bhuidhe bothy for the next night and then on to the Claunie Inn to dry out and eat properly. Drinking isn’t a problem. You don’t need to carry water, it’s readily available. As Van the Man sang –

Oh the water,

Oh, oh the water,

Oh the water,

Get it myself from a mountain stream. 

And it does taste so lovely. If you’re lower down the hillside the melting snow and rainwater pick up the peaty taste from filtering through the bogs, and pick up a slightly brown colouring. If you’re higher it’s clear and cleansing. 

It was a right slog up a steep mountain up to 2000ft and on the top of Eagan the wind was so strong I didn’t have control. It was blasting my backpack and spinning me round. There are some heavy duty cliff faces at this height in this location and I dived south over the brow of the hill to get away quickly from this awful, icy blast. I dropped down steeply, slipping but fortunately catching one of my walking poles between two rocks and I grabbed onto it until I got my footing safe. It bent a lot in the process but I didn’t have time to fix it. I scrambled down further and sheltered behind a rock to get my breath. I looked further down the valley, there was a forest plantation to the left and by now massive cliffs and waterfalls all round the head of this glen. 

I didn’t remember seeing a forest section on the map going down to Bernais bothy. I checked my co-ordinates on the GPS and found to my huge disappointment that in my haste to get safe I’d gone down the south east gully instead of the south west one. The south east one veered round to the east, round to north east and ultimately round to the north, back to where I had come from by the bridge across the river. I knew from the steepness of the drop I came down that getting back up would take hours with my pack. My boots and socks were as wet as usual and there was no let up in the rain. It was 18.00. Bugger!!! 

I decided to get back to Gerry’s hostel, which I’d read about on the net, and as soon as I got a signal I asked Maggie to give it a ring. Gerry had died in February and it wasn’t quite clear if it was open or shut. Eventually Georgie was able to confirm that they were open and were expecting me. It took me a further two hours to get back as stream and river levels were very high from the rain and I had to cross two of them before they merged, otherwise the flow of water down a steep hillside was too strong for any living being. I was exhausted so I had to choose exactly the right places. It took nearly half an hour looking for rocks that might not be slippy and were close enough together for a small jump or long step; and places where the consequences of a fall would be mitigated by a fast slope of torrent rather than a catastrophic waterfall. 

I rolled up at Gerry’s at about 20.30. Simon, Gerry’s son was there, as was Jasmine, a medical student at Aberdeen University who had just completed the Cape Wrath Trail on her own, south to north in trainers and thin jackets and leggings (out of financial restriction rather than Spartan tendency). Hero. She was on her way back to Aberdeen. There was no-one else, although the dorm that Simon showed me had five double bunk beds but was freezing. A fire was going in the hearth so I got my sleeping bag and a quilt off one of the bunks and hunkered down on the settee. I whacked a load of logs on the fire and found Gerry’s stash of vinyl. He was an absolute hoarder with piles of newspapers, trinkets, broken stuff. With my boots and socks in front of the fire I put Jelly Roll Morton on the record player followed by the Dubliners in session. Simon had pushed off to his own house.

I fell asleep fully expecting to meet Gerry by the firelight and talk to him about his earthly choice of music, but no such luck. 

Night, night.