And You Know You Gotta Go

‘On that train from Dublin up to Sandy Row’ – oh my giddy aunt. The best song of all time on the third best album of all time. Van Morrison you are (were) a genius. Madame George. I spent many a night in smoke filled rooms watching my hair grow and wondering at the beauty of this album and the extreme majesty of this, the best song of all time. How could you burst onto the world stage like this from nifty, but limited rock roots with Them?

I had to get up and go a long way today over the mountains south to Maol-bhuidhe bothy and beyond to be able to reach the Inn I was booked into tomorrow night. It was howling a gale. The family were worried that I was going back up into the hills I’d been blown off yesterday. I had a tin of warmed beans (yes Warmed!) for breakfast and a cup of tea. The most recent milk in Gerry’s fridge was a month old. I had it black. Simon (Gerry’s son) worked on an honesty policy. There was a cupboard with tinned food which you took and left the money for in an honesty box. During the week he works and stays in Aberdeen so the hostel is left open and if you want to stay there you go in and leave money for the night’s stay in an honesty box. This is a different freaking world and I like it, like it, yes I do! When we had the house in France we could leave it unlocked during the day. 

I took a different route up to the top. Longer but more sheltered by bigger mountains. A difficult river crossing though. We’ll see. I set off at 08.00 and went over the same bridge I crossed last night. Up the glen to the left – upstream not down this time – and round a river all the way up to a different mountain pass leading to the same destination as yesterday. The mountains were, as usual, awesome.

I got to the point high up in the hills where I had to cross the river and there was only a wire bridge. 

How lucky am I? The only people I’d seen walking for three days, since Rupe and Ollie, arrived at the same time. Two smashing lads from Perth up to climb two Monros today (mountains over 3000ft). The first one went over and showed me how to do it. 

I got over and continued to climb up, although the weather was grim and very windy. Looking forward up to the top of the glen I could see the clouds down to the level of my path, if there had been a path up there at the top.

My boots and socks, which had dried out in front of Gerry’s fire were long-since soaked and it was getting worse. Eventually I cleared the top of the ridge and started a long road down the valley, up another, down the valley, up another and down the valley to Maol-bhuidhe. As I struggled down the pathless, uneven and soggy mountainside the weather slowly cleared.

Suddenly the track returnd, however the streams and rivers were getting higher and more difficult to cross.  You have go to be kidding!

Eventually I came to the penultimate river crossing on a wire bridge with two overhead wires whereby you held a wire with each hand and walked across the bottom wire like a tightrope walker. 

After a few more miles I came to the last river between me and Maol-bhuidhe, seen here across the loch.

It was a deep and dangerous place and I could only find one spot where it was possible.  I waded across in my boots to keep my footing otherwise the flow would have carted me off. I was pisspot relieved to get to the far bank. Word of the Month – Pisspot. It was still only 18.30. In front of the bothy were the bodies of four dead deer, mutilated and decomposing. I didn’t like this place. It felt evil. It was twenty miles from anywhere and I didn’t want to stay.

I cracked on up the next valley, my pack getting heavier now. I pushed on and on until it was 21.30 and my strength was gone. I couldn’t even put Wilson up so I got out my groundsheet, a builder’s sheet I got for 3 quid, and folded it in half under an overhang and crawled in, fully clothed, wet-booted and all. At least I slept three or four hours.