A Scottish Story – Day 30, ” My name is Spartacus”

Distance: 25km

I sleep incredibly well. At some point, around 4am I guess, I get up to go out to the “outside bathroom” and the sun is just starting to rise. The mountains glow in an otherworldly yellow and I linger outside the bothy, just watching. It reminds me how lucky I am. It is beautiful in it’s vastness and remoteness.

The reminder is needed, because in the morning, rain. There are four of us now. Nicholas from Germany having arrived later in the evening. He tells me he saw the young fellow from yesterday at the top of the Falls, information which gives me much relief. We set off together. Immediately, we have a river to cross. The floodwaters have eased a little though, and one by one we navigate through the rocky stream.

The words “We are a team!” are shouted into the wind. Twenty minutes later, after a hefty downpour, I am alone. Too slow to keep up with the rest of the team. I don’t blame them. The wind is biting, and I am moving slowly, feeling lacking in energy today. I’m going to have to rely on myself.

I walk around a loch. It is beautiful even though it is grey and windy and bleak and pelting down with rain. The easy to follow track eventually peters out and I am navigating through the trackless moors. Water, bog and stone are everywhere. The giant peaks look on, unimpressed, as the rain batters down. It’s a hard slog. I reach the pass and look down. Mist and cloud obscure my vision. I do my best to keep to the barely discernable path.

After an age I finally reach the bottom. A swollen river. With an impossibly ridiculous single trip wire bridge to cross. I’m definitely not elegant enough for that. I find a place where I think I can ford successfully and go for it. Level achieved!

I could kiss the rocky 4WD track on the other side. I eat, drink and plough on. I’m heading to Craig. I hadn’t been planning it, but over the last few days I had heard about a hostel called Gerrys which was right on the path. “It’s…..an experience” was the general vibe. I was wet, exhausted, needing relief. I was determined to stay. I had emailed a couple of days ago, but no reply. I would have to deal with Gerry myself.

I arrive around 4pm. There is the sound of wood chopping in a shed. “Hello!” I yell out. A scruffy looking fellow with a beard, died blue and tied in two plaits emerges from the shed. “Hi! Are you Gerry?” A look. “No. I’m his friend Spartacus. I’m looking after the place for a few days”.

I know very well this is Gerry. I’ve heard about him. And I am determined to stay. I smile my best smile. “Well, is the hostel open?” “Well. I suppose so, but you’ll need to pay cash”. This I don’t have, and I tell him so. He suggests I catch the train, get the cash, and return via train. I tell him I’m not doing that. I tell him what I’ve been doing, how far I’ve come, and about my home. This piques his interest, I can tell. I press my advantage. “I’ll pay you an extra 5 pounds if I can send you the cash in the post as soon as I can”. And just like that, Gerry agrees.

My relief is palpable. I try not to let it show. I am told to sit in the woodcutting shed for 5 minutes before coming inside. This I do. Inside, I am stripped of my wet gear and told I must wear a pair of scruffy slip on shoes. No, I can’t wear my sandals. I am led to the 10 bunk mixed dormitory room and shown my bed. And, the EXACT location I must put my bag. I do all of this with my utmost charm. I know I’m turning him. I ask for a towel and am initially denied. I talk through my ordeal of the day. I am granted a towel.

Eventually, I come to find Jerry very endearing. Others arrive. Jac, a little pocket rocket who only has 52 Monroe’s left to bag (mountains over 3000m, there are 282 of them), and Robin, who is at Munroe number 200. Later in the evening, sitting warm and content by the fire, which Jerry tends to ardently, drinking hot chocolate and listening to Chopin and Mozart on the record player, I feel incredibly at ease.

My last thought of the night is looking up at the springy wires of the bunk bed I am sleeping in and remembering all the times as kids I repeatedly and consistently pushed my unfortunate brother or sister with my feet. It makes me smile. With that splendid memory, I drift off to sleep.

This article was originally published on The Trek which can be found here