RSS FeedsNorthern Excursions. The Highland Adventure May 2006. Day 3.
by Andy on Tuesday, May 16th, 2006The morning arrived and after collecting up all the clothes which had mostly dried and packing our stuff, my brained kicked in at the prospect of continuing cycling with the huge amount of weight all in one place, on my back. After yesterday afternoon’s painfully strenuous slog along the road it was time to rearrange some of the weight. I had brought with me the trusty god-given gaffer tape which is by the way suitable for fixing pretty much any survival or near-death situation including fixing broken legs, using for a condom, or fixing broken frames, it also came in very handy for strapping stuff to the bike. Tom and I set about repacked and redistributing. I took my survival kit and strapped it under the bike seat, taped the tool kit to the handlebars wrapped in my towel which was refusing to dry out anyway, and the tent wedged perfectly parallel to the top tube in the frame securing with a small offering of gaffer tape. It somehow felt quite satisfying to use one’s initiative to ease the journey, and also to make the bike hold more of the weight like loading up a workhorse or mule. Soon we were ready to set off, said our farewells and rolled off down the road taking a short while to reacclimatise and wondering whether we should actually just settle down in Cannich for the rest of our lives. We had no spare v-brake pads left and Mark’s pads were wearing thin so we decided to ask at the caravan site, in the absence of a bike shop, as the site hired bikes. Initially we met with a quite stuck up woman who I felt was trying hard to ignore us and get rid of us. However, her husband turned up and was more willing to help along with a legendary Scottish old salt person. I cant remember the guy’s name but he was thick set, wearing overalls, stout steel toe-capped boots, had long straggly ginger hair and a broad smile and friendly, helpful persona. Eventually we had fixed up new brake blocks on Mark’s bike after initially trying to attached two left brake pads then realising I had the wrong ones a bit like putting on two left shoes. After expressing our appreciation for their helpfulness, we continued on stopping at a supermarket to pick up some more porridge and dried fruit. Then we began pedalling away from Cannich.
The next part of the journey would take us along Loch Affric and Glen Affric up into the Highlands proper, and eventually, hopefully to the shelter of the bothy although as I cycled along the rain-covered road with the rain still falling and the failure of making the distance on previous days, I wasn’t holding out. I cycled along the road and the weather began to clear slightly. Having started out wearing all my waterproofs and two or three thermal layers I was sweltering. We stopped by a power station which I believe was hydro-electric. It looked not unlike a communist bunker bad-guy’s lair out of an old James Bond film. Stripping down to shorts and t-shirt after riding in the rain the last two days was a great feeling, and brought out my silly humorous streak. I felt high-spirited and started cracking absurd jokes and talking rubbish. Our collective mood seemed to heighten as we continued on, cranking away in quite a low but comfortable gear. The hill started out at a fairly gradual gradient but started to get steeper. I was feeling fresh and had a fair amount of energy. The views across the valley on the left were stunning with tree-covered hillsides and bracken with the river running along through the valley. The sun’s rays warmed the earth and caused steam to rise in the cold air. We stopped for a flapjack break and celebrated the sun’s emergence by pissing off the side of the valley. Strangely enough the ability to not worry about who was watching when one weed was a symbol for being out in the wilderness. After a few restful minutes of flapjack munching and water swigging we continued on. The road began to flatten out as we reached a plateau. It was interesting to see the migration in vegetation as we made the transition from one height to another. The vegetation around us was almost temperate rainforest with dense tree cover and vines hanging down draped over ancient trunks. On the left side, we followed the river upstream as it turned from a placid stream in the lowlands to a wide river and white water rapids higher up. The sound of the water was very relaxing and provided a meditative effect. This seemed to translate into my legs which felt effortless swinging like pendulums in the big ring. The exciting landscape and feeling of progressing into a wilder, untouched Scotland gave me a excited energy and adrenalin.
Tom announced he wanted to take some photos as we passed a van parked on the side of the road next to a bridge which crossed over the river offering an excellent photo opportunity. One could see up the river to the waterfall, a haze of water droplets hanging over it. It was quite spectacular and felt like another part of the world entirely.
As you can see, these two retards got in the way of a nice photo. I think they were part of an OAP trip. I tried to stop the humanoid on the right from thumbing himself in the eye, but unfortunately afterwards he was left eye-less. As you can see he had already thumbed out the eyes of the poor creature beside him, left blind and suffering intense pain.
The conversation amongst ourselves as a group was fairly limited at this point and came down mostly to “matter of fact” comment or the occasional humorous anecdote about the scenery. I felt glad I wasn’t travelling anywhere in the minibus that was parked on the road. I hoisted up my laden bike and we carried on. The road ambled its way gradually climbing through beautiful landscape. Dense tree cover, raging river water, eventually opening out into the stunning Loch Affric after some prolonged pedal pushing.
The tree cover became sparser as we made progress further into the highlands. You can just make out in the photo a snow capped peak in the distance. There was evidence that the Loch was teaming with fish as one could make out many ripples on the surface and bubbles of air as the fish feed on insects on the surface. Reaching the Loch was definitely a high point in the journey as it felt like we had reached a place where the beauty of our location could be fully appreciated. I sat and gazed in awe at the glassy water with the light playing off it shimmering effortlessly. After taking some photos and nibbling on some nuts we continued on. It was good to feel we were making progress. The road surface was good with a slight downhill gradient helping along the proceedings. Having redistributed some of the weight onto the bike frame from my bike, the going became much less painful compared to yesterday. It was a big relief to feel a lighter pack on my back. The difference in weight was minimal but made a huge difference. The bike was holding out very well too which I was pleased about. I had been worried about the suspension pivot wearing through but my dad had cleverly thought to wrap a piece of innertube around the pivot before bolting it in. This cushioned any movement in the pivot. To explain further, normally the bolt that goes through the frame on the rear swinging arm and the bushing on the suspension shock will wear out after a period of time due to the movement causing the bolt to grind against the bushing or the eyelet on the swinging (wearing the frame… e.g. Not good). With the rubber cushioning this counter-acted any movement reducing wear. I am still employing this method and the bushing is still in very good order.
The road swooped on through the valley. We passed some motorcyclists and some walkers. The loch eventually became the river that fed it as we continued upstream. We filled our water bottles and I rejoiced in the freedom of being in the outdoors and away from all commitments and the quasi-normal grind. The road petered out and this was where we connected to an off-road firetrack and began a section of the route which I had found in an old mountain bike magazine. It was excellent to get back off-road as this was a big part of what I was there for. I blasted down the firetrack following Tom hopping over clumps of grass and puddles in the track. Ahead the view was quite stunning emerging from the trees and shrubbery. An expanse of water to the left, with one large dwelling at the far end on the bank with wisps of smoke dancing from the chimney stack. In the distance wild skies promised perilous weather covering magnificent highland peaks and snow capped mountains. The fireroad appeared to end and connected to a technically challenging section of singletrack just wide enough for the bike to pass comfortably. My inner-child screamed with glee at the riding feast whilst my motor-cortex vibrated and glowed at the prospect. Mark looked less enthused with the task. However, we all flowed along the track. My mind had gone completely inside itself and I was bubbling with excitement, the prospect of the ride ahead and sleeping in the bothy. We crossing a small slippery footbridge across an overflowing stream. The track widened out to land-rover track width. We passed a group of folk who looked like they were out of a health product advert. They we good-looking, possibly Scandinavian types which started an inevitable conversation about whether the women were fit. I argued that the brown haired one looked like Tom’s type because she looked like she’d been punched in the nose. I thought the blonde one was quite attractive, Tom fancied the brown haired one, and Mark was indifferent. We couldn’t really be arsed, as they had kids anyway and Hans and Jurgen in tow.
Extremely annoyingly on the trail, large fences periodically blocked our progress. The fences were about six feet tall and stretched way up the hill and down into the valley. This contrary to my preconception of ‘open access’ Scotland was quite the opposite. It was a huge mission getting the bikes through the gated sections. At the first gate we passed the Swedes, they gave us some very strange looks, as if to say ‘you know its just fifteen miles of barren highlands beyond here’. Yeah, and I looked smuggely at the woman, some primitive instinct kicked in as if to say ‘we’re more resilient than you’re men, we’re harder and would make better hunters’. Mark looks completely dishevelled at the task of getting the bike through the gate with the panniers on. I had a huge sense of adventure and excitement welling up inside me. We were getting further and further into my dream vision of Scotland with vast barren mountains, swathes of forest, raging rivers, waterfalls and tranquil lochs. We got the bikes through after deciding to lift Mark’s over the top of the fence in a moment of macho pure, teeth gritting, strength. My mind was drifting off into tunnel vision as we continued, enjoying every moment of the fast doubletrack, throwing my bike into the dips and round bends, glancing up occasionally aghast at the wondrous epic landscape like a background to a dream, almost an unreal floating entity existing in the clouds away from the part of the country I was used to. A feeling like falling into a trance whilst listening to one’s favourite music or being part of some real life computer game of pure excitement, control and exploration. All three of us jumped at the chance to hammer the perfectly suited mountain bike terrain producing wide grins all round, and pumping endorphins. We crossed the next gate and a dubious site presented itself to us. The track had become a river. It wasn’t even raining yet although the presence of this volume of water ensured the weather to come. A torrent of water eroded small trenches in the track cleansing the underlying rock of fluvial sediment. Miniature rivers and tributaries formed as natural processes started working on a miniature scale. We got onto the side verge where there was just enough space to edge along until it petered out. This left a couple of options, either to jump the stream, or play hop scotch over the few slippery rocks that had wedged themselves in and jutted from the water. This feat was the smallest of our worries as the biggest test was crossing the fully fledged mountain stream in flood with raging white water. I personally decided energetically to jump the stream and swung myself round a branch to steady myself, then managing to tip top my way across on the exposed rocks whilst using the bike as a support. Tom then did a similar thing and Mark did the sensible thing, albeit much colder, took off his shoes and socks in order to wade through.
The track became a torrent of water (attached to stream and small waterfall where Tom is looking).
Tom looks on whilst Mark walks through bare-footed.
The task of crossing the flooded stream was incredibly fun and provided a break to cycling. It was as though we had been given a task to complete and enjoy by nature or (dare I say it) God in which we revelled.
We were soon back on the bikes and hot footing it through the epic landscape. The trail flowed, dipped and swung to the right. We navigated slippery rocks, and a loose surface, doing little jumps off the verge and occasionally free-riding up onto the side of the track. We reached and passed another gate and it started to rain quite steadily. I pulled on my waterproofs. We passed a number of people going (the right way) heading back to the car park and civilisation (well right for them). I nodded in acknowledgement and they looked intrigued although fairly unsurprised I thought. Not uncommon to see mountain bikers in these parts I imagine although I could envisage a person seeing us and thinking they were just out for a few hours or were local and not riding from Inverness to Fort William on an epic off-road mountain bike adventure including staying in the famous and illusive mountain bothies as yet, just pre-constructed mental image, not a dream but an idealistic construct.
We pushed on. I tucked my head down into the collar of my coat as the weather drew in around us, like a blanket of airborne water. It was like a constantly spray from a power hose on disperse setting. I saw the loch beside me and wished that I could explore it further but knew we had to get to our destination. Our survival depended on it. Unthinkable discomfort awaited us if we did not reach the bothy - a night spent freezing in sub zero conditions, soaked to the bone, without suitable shelter. We reached another larger stream that was unrideable or walkable. I declothed myself of my shoes and socks and tip toed through the icey water. The feeling was more disconcerting than i had pre-empted, hurrying my progress. On the other side was a small patch of sand I sat on it and dug my toes in, feeling the out of context feel of sand between my toes next to this icey cold river in the mountains in Scotland was amusing. Mark and Tom arrived. Tom took off his socks, rolled them into a ball and threw them at me. I threatened to throw them in the water, then I threw them back to him Mark arrived and crossed the river. We sat behind a sheltered ridge and ate flapjack. All things considered we seemed to be making reasonable progress, although there was no sign of the bothy and it seemed that every time I asked Tom where the bothy was he would reply ‘its just round the next mountain’.
We swooped our way down a nice bit of track in much the same vein as before for a couple of clicks before we started to reach the end of the Glen Affric. We crossed over another deeper but thinner river. I soaked my foot trying to tip toe across, slipping on an algae-covered rock. We congregated at the other side and took shelter from the wind behind a rocky outcrop on the side of the track and munched on some Kendal.
Suddenly Mark exclaimed: “Shit, Where’s the map.” “It must have fallen out of my pannier straps when I took a fall earlier,” he added. I wasn’t aware Mark had taken a fall but earlier there had been another much smaller mountain stream which dissected and flooded the track for a few metres. Mark had slipped sideways losing all traction on his tyres, soaking his panniers and unknowingly dislodged the map, sending it on a voyage down the stream to a better existence. My reaction at first was one of anger. I couldn’t believe that could happen. I mean we were all adults here, prepared for the trip, right? Things like dropping the map just didn’t happen when one is fully prepared and alert. However, this soon subsided and I could see how it could harmlessly happen. I knew I probably had the most energy at that point so I decided I would track back a bit and look for the map. At least I felt strong enough to be able to back-track. The weather had improved and the sun was temporarily out. I ripped my way back up the track riding Tom’s bike for a change. I scanned the ground looking for the map but I couldn’t see it, my eyes flicking from side to side. I went as far as the first large river flooded across the track. The further I went the more I felt weary of the fact I was burning more energy than the other guys that I would need later on. Eventually after a couple of minutes, I turned back, defeated and pedalled back to the others. My mind was in a mild state of panic, considering the possibility of being lost in the most inhospitable area on the trip, bang in the centre of the the Scottish mountains. Tom had been following the map we had lost, however we were on the edge of the map and Tom discovered that luckily the next map contained enough information that we could find our way out of the valley.
Relieved we continued on. Mark apologised profusely, but it was an accident and could have happened to any one of us. He was obviously tired, as we all were, and was lagging behind a bit. I had to fight off feelings of frustration about this and the map incident. Although these were barely notable as they in themselves were really counter-productive. Instead I focussed on riding and making progress. We came to a junction in the track as it dipped round the corner. I waited after the brow of the hill and watched Tom as he arrived threading his way through a miniature rock garden. The track presented two options. The track to the right traversed through the next valley onto a plateau and the track ahead followed the Loch round. Tom checked the map and we took the right turn as the other wound round back onto ourselves. The going here was fairly good although my stomach was starting to feel really empty and my focus and persistence for ascending each consequential hill was beginning to waiver. My body and mind were saying “Andrew, you’ve had fun on your bike, its time to go home, refuel and have a nice bath”. The only choice however, was to slog on. Although the gradient had levelled out quite considerably there were many undulations, short climbs and descents needing energy sapping changes in body position and requiring a certain level of focus to avoid an accident. After peaking and troughing about another five times the track beared left and followed parallel with a flat river running through the valley lowland plateau. The water was covering the track intermittently with clumps of marram grass invading the side verges. The river held a foreboding eeriness, like the peat bog preserved corpses of victims of the highlands, a grand natural mausoleum of petrified creatures evolving and floating through the peat. A place where things which shouldn’t be alive, just might still be alive in the deepest darkest depths. My hunger and tiredness were engulfing me. My world was getting getting smaller like a box shrinking in, tunnel vision with everything blurred around my immediate sight. I was starting to feeling the claws of panic clambering up my back giving me an unpleasant feeling in my neck and back of my throat. I swigged my last droplets of water, I knew that we had to find the bothy sharpish.
Tom was fairly close behind me. I slogged along the track and saw a wind turbine attached to the top of a cosy, inviting looking wooden hut. A large grin widened across my face. The hut looked too good to be our bothy destination. It was ten foot by fifteen foot approximately and made from dark timbers raised off the ground on it’s supporting foundations. To the right was a large stack of firewood and a chopping block with an axe lying next to it. There was also a BOB bike trailer propped up against the side of the hut (a specially designed off-road biking trailer). It looked amazing, like the perfect highland survival retreat, it being my first sight of a bothy-esque shelter in real-life. Tom arrived soon after me and we exchanged whoops and smiles. A kind of feeling of ‘what to do next’ came over me accompanied by a very strange emotion which I had little felt before. It was one of camaraderie with a potential human community for purposes of survival and potentially procreation, possibly pillaging. Unsurprisingly I had to suppress this primitive, but altogether, refreshing hidden emotion which had welled up from the pit of the unchartered territory of my submerged soul. It felt drawn from an almost hidden inventory of survival criteria or options that were programmed into me genetically from ancient ancestors from which to draw on in such situations. Like a computer game where one had an inventory of spells and weapons to draw from carried around in a leather shoulder bag made from the hide of some mythical beast. To be more specific a computer game on the Commodore Amiga called Elf.
Tom drowned his last reserves of water. I consulted with him about what we should do. He immediately replied “well we should go and see who’s in” in a typical tom ‘matter of fact’ way. This seemed a good idea although I felt apprehensive for some reason feeling slightly unwelcome and cautious. The building had a certain feeling of not being occupied, which I couldn’t put my finger on. The weather was overcast with the sky a blank canvas with wisps of grey, and around us about five bleak highland mountain peaks their summit’s hidden by cloud. From the side of one of the peaks jutted a craggy silhouette of a tree clinging onto the fibres of life. I considered it’s potential for firewood, aside from the absurdity that this would present, including climbing a mountain side to obtain sparsely available fuel. I carefully ascended the steps to the cabin entrance and took a look around. The porch contained all manner of outdoor wear shoes and coats, no lights were on in the building and the place was dark. I thought there was no one in. I knocked a few times and after a second or two a guy appeared and asked if i wanted to speak to the ranger. I said I did and a short blonde haired chap appeared. He looked like a dwarf, something out of Lord of the Rings, a hobbit maybe? He had matted short blonde curly hair, crooked teeth and a small round weather-beaten face. He spoke directly and unabashed, “You want a room?” “You don’t take card do you?” I replied. “Er, No.” He said sharply with a grimace. “Only cash, I’m afraid.” “We’re heading for the bothy.” Tom reported. “Ah yes,” “Its just over the shoulder of that hill”. Dwarf-man (ice-ice, baby) informed, pointing to a ridge about one kilometre away down river. “Is there any fuel in it.” I incurred. “Ha, no you’ll be lucky.” “Any trees around there? I added. “None, no” “A previous group may have left some wood, but I doubt it.” “People have been chopping done fence posts for firewood.” Dwarfman gave as an example. My heart sank. I had been looking forward so, to a roaring fire to dry my things and warm my cockles (easy now). It was my motivation at that point. “You might find a bit of bog wood… Petrified wood in the river or in the peat. If you’re lucky”. There was about as much chance of that as Fanny Cradock turning up to cook us an evening meal. “Bugger it,” I thought. “You can buy a bag of coal off me” Dwarfman said. “Ah, but you don’t have any cash do you.” He rhetorically added. Strangely enough at this point my mind quickly moved forward as the chance of having a fire deteriorated. The faster I needed something for survival, the quicker my mind moved onto finding the solution. We had a small gas stove. Hopefully it would have enough left in it to cook our evening meal and breakfast as there was no chance of starting a fire. We conversed further with Dwarfman. I was interested in him, as was Tom. However, Dwarfman seemed fairly indifferent as though he saw a fair few people like us. I enquired how he got his supplies and he told us that he cycled a fifteen mile off road round trip on a touring bike with a trailer from where we had just come from e.g. Cannich each week. That was pretty hardcore. It gave me respect for him as a cyclist. I also felt quite envious of his job looking after the hostel. It was simple and rewarding, helping and putting up travellers. Mark turned up just as we finished the conversation. Tom and I filled him in on the details. Mark sat down on the bench outside the timber building and with the etiquette and coolness of someone at afternoon tea, anecdoted that he was starting to feel rather tired with a mild edge of concern. This coolness under pressure further sealed my respect for Mark (along with the fact he was an off-road unicyclist and a generally descent bloke). However, this did trip a switch in my mind of heightened urgency to get to our destination. As we continued, my world shrunk to about 3 metres around me with the highlands around swimming awkwardly in the distance like parallax scrolling from an early ‘Sega Megadrive’ game like Road Rash. The colours of the landscape, grey, cold, flecks of green and brown looked like grey brain matter in another universe. The track continued unrelentingly through another stream although this time I just powered through soaking my feet. The track then climbed painfully on loose rock to the brow of the hill. I looked back at my fellow humans calling on their inner strength to carry them along and felt proud of us in the situation. Although I wondered if I had this time bitten off more than I could chew. At the brow of the hill the track skirted the side of a small hill tantalisingly concealing what lay around the corner. As I clambered my way forward, swinging my legs at the pedals, my heart jumped out of my mouth hitting the floor and pulsating like a trapped animal as I saw the beautiful stone shape of the bothy. I pedalled over a stream and through a small area of bog, threw my bike to the floor, turned, did a ‘tarzan-roar’ and shouted to Tom who was approaching looking bewildered. We had made it to the bothy.
Mark arrived grinning. I burst through the door and into the small building. It had a solid oaken-door with peeling green paint. Inside, in my altered, exhausted state of mind, it felt like the heating was on full. It was incredible how the shelter from the elements felt like such a considerable change in temperature. Inside the building it was dark. It was built from huge lumps of stone chiselled from the landscape, covered in soot from the two fireplaces at each end of the bothy latticed into great timber sleepers forming the frame of the building. It contained two rooms downstairs and even had an upstairs room for sleeping. My memory of the bothy for some reason, is one of warmth and safety. It’s incredible to think that looking back the bothy could be misconstrued as an evil place like something out of a twisted horror film to a lay-onlooker. A dark building in the middle of nowhere, but I felt nothing but safety. It is my prevailing memory of the building. I do remember considering the above thought whilst I was in the bothy but busying myself and it being a thought generated by bad films I’d seen rather than myself or the situation. I had an insight into what it must be like in a society not as developed or harking back to a medieval or historic age where a building such as that would have been home. The situation was simple; death or illness loomed outside and survival existed inside the bothy. The bothy was a natural place for a human being to be in that situation. I considered hardly anything but these fundamental elements of being alive. I could think of a hundred people who would have gabbled on about it being a very scary place, or commented “that’s not my idea of fun” but then I could think of a handful of others who would revel in the situation. There was evidence of previous revellers with names and initials scratched around the fireplace. Entering into the bothy was a fireplace across the room on the right filled with coal dust, rubbish and remnants of previous fires. There was a door on the left into the other downstairs room with another fireplace. Around the fireplace sat a circle of rocks for use as seats like an ancient burial monument, Stonehenge in miniature. There was a table in the corner on top of which stood a number of empty bottles of spirits. One of the bottles was a small Jack Daniels Whisky bottle. It had a few tiny droplets of whisky in it. I had been disappointed we hadn’t picked up some whisky and the whisky in the bottle seared down my throat and with the emptiness of my stomach created a huge warming effect. I can still taste that in my mouth when I think about it. The combination of my brain, so turned on to the idea, mixed with anticipation, happiness, exhaustion and the strength of the fluid exponentially increased the experience. The mind plays tricks in such situations.
We spent a fair amount of time changing our clothes, hanging up wet socks in the rafters and getting settled in as the light gradually crept away from the day and sunk into eternity. Wrapped in my fleece I ventured outside and basked in the surroundings. I felt cradled by nature and life. Strangely enough in the situation of being in the bothy, I felt more like we were a family unit. There was no need to make trivial conversation to make up for the dullness of surrounding of a small town pub or messy suburban bedroom. The scale and gravity of the situation and surroundings made up for all that, it created it’s own orbit, its own little universe. It could have quite easily been an incredibly visceral and vivid dream or a role playing computer game, a complete paradigm shift.
There was some spare gas in the bothy but none of it fitted our stove and there was no fuel for a fire even though I sorted through the remnants of ash from a previous fire to come up with a bag of small pieces of coal. We didn’t have enough kindling to start the fire and collecting any from outside was fruitless because the ground was so damp. Tom started cooking our evening meal. However, we were unsure how long the gas stove would last and needed to cook breakfast with it before we could get back to civilisation and get some spares. Eventually we ate some flavoured rice mixed with smash, tomato purée and milk powder for extra protein. It filled a gap but was hardly satisfying even if Tom did make the best of our supplies which were running rather low. After eating and sitting chatting for a small period of time we headed up the very steep ladder-like stairs, and laid out the sleeping kit, ready to sleep. We passed comments to each other about how amazing the place was, and how fucking incredible the situation was. I wrote some notes into my notebook, jotting down scruffily some keywords to jog the memory. Then it was head-torch out, and we attempted to sleep. My sleeping bag was very thin and freezing. It was an extra-light, compact one, but I wished I had brought my slightly heavier but warmer alternative. In the night I resorted to getting inside the tent to get keep warm. The tent created a huge amount of condensation which made me very damp and was very unpleasant. I slept lightly in random bursts and apparently snored violently, ferociously beating Mark and Tom with my nostril flaps. During the night it seemed we all awoke at the same time in synchronisation. We heard rustling downstairs. Deciding that it could be rats, Mark and Tom went down to have a look, feeling surprisingly energised at the time of the morning, I thought. My recollections of the event are rather hazy as I was half asleep. I felt like I was in a dream. However, outside of the door of the bothy was a huge herd of wild deer gathered in the shelter of the bothy from the wind. Mark and Tom were incredibly excited about it and reported that it was an incredible sight. The weather through the night was intense rain which hammered down onto the roof. On the timber floor of the upstairs space were marked areas where the rain leaked and a saucepan had been placed in order to catch the water. I think in any normal situation this would have annoyed me a great deal. However, I was very tired and strangely content and it seemed such distractions never reached my conciousness. I awoke in the morning soaked in condensation whilst Tom and Mark lay warm and dry in their sleeping bags.