Category: Scottish National Trail

This is it! Final day. As always it is that mixture of excitement and loss that pervades my mind when I wake up. It’s early. Much earlier than I have been waking usually. My body knows a conclusion is coming. One way or another. I’m ready. Let’s go.

It’s a beautiful day. Sunbeams dancing on the water. I make my way slowly across the beach and begin the climb for the final test.

It’s not far, but it is like this last section is designed to test everything you have learnt on your journey and to put it all together in one final challenge.

Firstly, have you learnt to do all your online homework? Have you worked out whether the military area is going to be open or closed? Have you made contact with the bus driver, the ferry operator, the lighthouse on the other end to try and work out how you are getting off the trail? Do you know how you are going to leave this place?

Secondly, are you prepared physically? Are you able to climb numerous huge mountains? Walk through bog? Climb over barbed wire fences? Walk trackless for the majority of the day?

And speaking of, are you able to navigate through this landscape? Can you look at the map and identify the lochs? The mountain ranges? The general path that you should try and follow? Can you cross swiftly flowing creeks? Or, slide down muddy, slippery slopes to reach them?

It turns out I had mastered all these things. I cruised along, overcoming one obstacle after the next, moving ever closer to my final destination. The Lighthouse.

I arrive around lunchtime. It is like a ghost town, broken down cars and old metal fences singing in the wind. I walk into the cafe to find it empty. Take a couple of snaps with a plaque on the wall related to the Scottish National Trail. It is a very unassuming finale to an epic walk. And that’s okay. At the end of the day, there is only one person that the walk needs to live up to, and that’s me. Has it lived up to my expectations? My word it has.

This wee walk has delivered it all and I owe a debt of gratitude. It has loved me and stretched me and made me live outside my comfort zone on many occassions. That is, after all, why I do this. To live in joy and discomfort, and be redefined by it. Made resilient and strong.

I yell out politely in the cafe, and an owner arrives. She explains that three of the four sandwich options are unavailable. A cheese and pickle sandwich is the only choice. One of the finest tasting sandwiches I ever had.

There is still no definitive answer in relation to the whole bus / ferry combination required for leaving this place.

I decide my best bet is to walk halfway to the ferry, stay in a final bothy tonight, and walk the rest of the way tomorrow and hope for the best.

The final bothy is incredible. Right on the ocean and salubrious in nature. I have my own little room with bed pad and tables. There are a group of six other friendly “bothy hunters” in their own room, and they congratulate me on my achievement and pass the whiskey around. It’s nice to celebrate with anyone, even strangers.

On a whim I decide to walk up a massive mountain, hoping to look out to sea. The mountain is potentially the largest I climb on the whole walk! I get to the edge of the sea, and magic. Just magic. Sheer cliffs, inundated with seabirds. Inquisitive puffins, their little orange beaks and feet so recognisable, fly in close, buzz around me and fly off again. The sound of the seabirds is deafening. It reminds me so much of home I could cry.

I head back to the bothy and there is one last thing to do. I pull out my headphones and walk onto the beach. It’s 10pm, but the sun is just starting to set. There, on the beach, in front of the golden sky, I dance. Proud of myself. And made all the better for this experience.

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

Distance: 10km

It’s 6pm. I have a small wine, chips and I’m looking out over one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever visited. Needless to say, I feel pretty damn good!

I woke this morning to my old friend, the sun, peaking into my tent and precipitating good things to come. I have only a very short walk today, on account of the military range around Cape Wrath being closed. I could have gone in after 6pm, but decided, a nice, relaxing day spent beachside would be a fantastic prelude to the the conclusion of this epic walk.

The beach itself is accessible only on foot. A 4 mile (just over 6km walk) in and out, which gives it a mysterious, luxuriant feel. You only see it if you put in the effort. And the effort is so worth it.

The walk in is lovely in its own right, passing by a number of lochs set high on the moors. They are sparkling in a deep, blue shade that I haven’t seen over the past couple of weeks, on account of the beaming sun.

I round the corner and see it. It’s a defining moment of the hike. Mountainous cliffs, reaching like fingers into the sea. And there, in the distance, at the very edge of this land mass, is the lighthouse of Cape Wrath.

Memories come flooding back when I see it. The towns, the camps, the food, the people, the waterfalls, the lochs, the mountains, the glorious weather, the ridiculous weather, dancing, crying, singing, shouting. Walking. Walking. Walking. This adventure is so close to finishing now. In that way that thru-hiking does, I’m feeling both immensely sad and intensely grateful at the same time.

I quickly find a perch to set up my tent, high on the grassy hills, looking straight out towards the Cape. My last night camping is similar to my first, in that sheep are the only souls with any conversational skills, sharing my campsite tonight. A couple of little lambs have already made a play for my walking poles.

I wander the beach for several hours, wandering over the rocky shorelines at both ends. A loch sits discreetly off the coast, and water flows in a little river, from there to the sea.

This time tomorrow, it should be done. Tonight, I savour the experience and the incredible view, as I listen to the waves rolling into the sandy shore. How very lucky I am to have the opportunity, will, and resilience, to do this.

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

Distance: 26km

Last night was a doozy. Straight up. Though the wall did it’s best to protect me, it was still a rip snorting ride of nerves, as the tent bent and buckled and swayed under the ferocious might of the freezing wind.

I remember just a couple of weeks ago, it was nighttime bliss, sleeping in a singlet and undies. Last night, by comparison, it was socks, double thermal leggings, singlet, thermal top, fleece jumper, and two hoodies. Despite that, I was chilled to the bone about the potential breaking of my home away home. The noise, the shuddering and shaking, the sound of wind screaming over the water, all of it made for a night of little sleep.

We survived though. The tent and I. And rose to a reasonably clear morning. The squalling rain throughout the night was no match for the drying power of the wind, and so it was a dry tent that I packed into my bag.

I started the day with the second of my road deviations. This time, I had noticed a creekside track indicated on the maps, which would take me several kilometres towards my destination. This was a great alternative to the original trail. Pure creekside, virtually no bog, and importantly, no dangerous rivers to cross. A great beginning.

Not so much the next 17km or so. A combination of the road walk and back on the actual trail into Kinlochbervie. Mostly it was bleak and dreary, the rain hitting hard the whole time.

The highlight of this section was realising that I was so close to the ocean. The smell of brine, seaweed and salt, fishing vessels, and screeching seagulls, all indicators that I am getting so close to my goal now.

I arrived, wet and hungry at the Kinlochbervie hotel at around 1.30. I’d been seeing signs about how welcoming they were, the hot food and drinks I could expect to receive, for quite some time now. Closed. Not opening until 3pm. Gutted.

I wasn’t going to wait around that long in this weather. I went to the shops and got a few supplies and then made my way to a little place I had heard about in Oldshoremore. These legends, Andy and Angela, allow hikers to set up camp at their retreat, with access to the showers and a little kitchen. Angela even offers me the use of a proper towel, and passes me a “little special” as reward for my efforts. A small bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Legends.

I sit in he kitchen now, enjoying things. It’s raining, but the forecast is for clearer skies over the next two days. I am ready. It’s time to bring this one home.

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

Distance: 34km

I’ve had to do a little bit of soul searching in the last day.  My rest day in Inchandamph was spent huddling in my room, maps and internet at the ready, whilst the rain pelted down outside.  It really didn’t stop all day.  And it got me thinking.  And it got me worried. And it got me focussing on my goals. And what I determined was this….

I’m here to walk the length of Scotland.  So faced with these rather atrocious conditions, I’m going to do what I need to do to achieve that. I look at the maps and decide that I am going to do two sections of road walking, totalling a distance of about 25km, which will move me past some of the more problematic areas of creeks and gorges that I would still have to contend with on the Cape Wrath Trail.

The problem, is “spate”. When it rains heavily enough that it drains from the steep sided mountains very quickly,  it leads to an enormous, rapid and dangerous rise in water levels. With all this rain, I’m really worried about spate.  Worried I’ll get stuck somewhere I don’t want to be.  This awful weather is set to continue, and I’m ready to complete my mission.

So, it will still be a continuous crossing of Scotland, with just a couple of small tweaks to help me get there safely.

With that decided, I quickly worked out I could be at Cape Wrath within 3 days! Problem….access to Cape Wrath is going to be closed for military target practice bombing! I can’t believe it! I’m going to have to drag out to an extra day. I’m ok with that. I’m going to have to be!

It is absolutely pouring rain all morning as I think about leaving. There are indications that it might clear up a little later in the afternoon, so I stay in my room right up to check out time at 10.30am.  Straight into it.  Saturated.  

I’m on one of my road walk deviations this morning. 15km into Kylestrome.  Despite the rain, the road walk is amazing! Incredible views of mountains and lakes. The road isn’t hugely busy, though I do suffer from inconvenient and rather humiliating splashing each time a car goes past.

It doesn’t snow, but it sure does sleet. The most dangerous factor today though is the wind, which is gusting in the region between 50 – 70 km / hr.  It’s enough to stop me dead in my tracks, which it does do, frequently. I’ve already started worrying about a potential campsite for the night.

For the afternoon I’m back on the trail and heading extensively uphill and over a moor.  I manage a few good viewing stints in between rain showers.  It really is beautiful.

By the time I reach the turn off to climb Ben Dreavie, the weather has socked in again and it is just a squalling white haze. I do as the trail notes suggest, and continue on the track I am on, down to the road, giving the mountain a miss.

On the road, I’m still thinking about camp. I’m aiming for an old house ruin, and I’m just hoping that I will be able to use it to protect my tent behind a wind wall. As I struggle against the blustery conditions, going backwards instead of forwards at times, I can still appreciate what I am seeing in this landscape.  It is THAT amazing. What’s more, the wind is whipping up giant water spouts that dance across the lake like restless souls.

Just as I reach the ruined hut, a fellow pulls up and offers me some space in some stables if I need it…though he doesn’t know the condition of the stables and I would need to retrace my steps about 5km or so. I thank him.  The truth is, that if I cannot pitch this tent in exactly the right spot to get some protection, I might need to take him up on his offer.

I have a look.  It’s not going to be comfortable, but there is just enough room to squeeze in next to the critical wall. I set up and dive into the tent, with no intentions of leaving for the foreseeable future. The wind is vicious.  If I didn’t have complete faith in the rock solid nature of my beloved Hubba Hubba tent, this would be a very scary night indeed.  It still might be I suppose, but within these walls I feel pretty safe and secure.  If not particularly snug.

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

Distance: 8km and 34km

It was a straightforward walk into Oykel Bridge where I was incredibly fortunate that a staff member, upon seeing me standing forlornly at the locked front door at 11.30 in the morning, opened up and proceeded to let me into my room.

Rest and relaxation.  That’s what I really needed. A shower.  What a treat.

I made my way to the little Fisherman themed bar, and was soon joined by the Cresseys, where we did have our much anticipated celebratory drink and catch up.  There are people that just exude warmth. This was these two. They reminded me of a young couple on a first date, the attention and care they gave each other, rather than a pair that had been married for more than 30 years.  It was lovely to be included in their circle for a while.  We were soon also joined by Gavin, a lad from Leeds, also looking to complete the Cape Wrath trail.

The following morning I said goodbye to my new friends for the final time.  As a solo hiker, I’ve always found that at some point, you need a champion to help you through. Dave was that for me.  Arriving right when I needed a little support, a friendly face, and a sounding board. He has been posting daily videos of his epic hike that are well worth checking out (here) …nice to have a little cameo appearance or two as well! And of course, the cause he is raising money for is one that has affected all of us in some way.  I wish the both of them all the best, in both finishing the trail, and enjoying a happy retirement together.

Astoundingly, it is not raining.  Grey, but clear.  Light breeze. Perfect. I’m feeling good, and I get cracking. The first 10km offers a lovely creekside trail, dotted with fishing huts and solitary figures in waders looking to cast a line.  Gavin soon joins me, and we chat for a while.  Turns out we were both at the same Blues and Roots concert in Byron Bay many, many years ago.  Small world.

I soon leave Gavin behind though, as I’m feeling energentic and exhilarated and the landscape is amazing. As I have become accustomed to, it’s towering mountains on all sides, with the soft banks of the river snaking it’s way through the middle.  It’s soggy, but not as boggy as it has been the last few days, and I relish enjoying the day.

Eventually, I start a climb, powering my way to the top of the pass, where I stop to take a break.  I realise I’ve travelled about 24km and I’m only just taking my first rest stop. That’s the power of a nice day, spectacular scenery and a large pub meal and breakfast!

On the other side of the pass I can see the blue waters of Loch Assynt, surrounded on one side by Scottish fir trees.  It is so reminiscent of one of my favourite views from home, that I can’t help but feel a little homesick.

To end the day, another creekside track. This one narrow and rocky and requiring a little concentration, but it is easily negotiatiated. I am surprised and pleased when I finish up my 34km in just over 8 hours. It has been an absolutely wonderful day of walking.  Perhaps my favourite day. What a feeling to regroup, regather, and surge forward once again.

This article was first published on The Trek and can be found here

Distance : 18km

Different day, different scenario.  I woke up ready to right to right the ship.

Despite the rough day yesterday, it did what it needed to, which was put me in a position in which I had a number of options today.  All of them reasonably good.

Firstly, it did start raining during the night, though not as heavily as what had been predicted. Still, I followed through with my intention of getting up early to cross all of the rivers I needed to before things got out of hand.  I was away by 6.30am. No coffee.

I did have a plan though.  Get through the next 10 km, enjoy it, and get to the Knockdamph bothy. There, in the comfort of the indoor environment, cook up all the dinner I was supposed to have last night and as many coffees as I required. That was goal number one.  And I’m very good at chasing goals. Instantly my head switched from troubled to motivated.

The walk to the bothy was beautiful.  Cascading waterfalls eventually opening up into a steep sided gorge, orange rocks glistening in the wet, green trees sheltering the depths of the pools, serpentine in it’s nature.  It really reminded me of the amazing desert gorges of central Australia. Unexpected wonder.

Along the trail I enacted what could potentially be option 2. I emailed Oykel Bridge hotel, where I am booked to stay tomorrow night, to see if they had any space available for tonight also.  That is a wait and see option, but it gives me a frisson of excitement to know that I might be getting a hot shower tonight!

I arrive at the bothy at around 9.30am. It is empty, and I select the space that might suit me best if I’m to stay, and go about cooking up a storm. With a full belly I am able to complete other small tasks that add to my overall positive psyche. Drying the tent and packing it up properly.  Writing up my daily notes from yesterday. I feel like I’m getting back on top of things.

People begin to come and go, stopping in to get out of the rain briefly and have a bite to eat.  I’m pleased when a couple come in with three dogs in tow, all looking for treats and a pat! A familiar voice, “hello”, and I turn to see Dave, the surprise even greater because I hadn’t expected to run into him again.  We catch up on our stories.  He’s been taking an “easier” route than me the past few days – carrying a day pack only, going to accommodation in between days, and taking a less difficult route.  He sincerely tells me how unbelievable it is that I did what I did yesterday.  That I made is so far in these conditions and in this terrain. That I should feel very proud of myself.  Almost makes me cry. He leaves, knowing we will see each other at Oykel Bridge tomorrow where I will meet his wife (for whom he is dedicating his cancer walk), and we will have a celebratory drink together.  Our paths will diverge at that point, each of us left to finish our adventures on our own. 

I still haven’t heard back from the hotel, and so, having seen a big, fat, half tame rat running around the bothy, I decide to enact option 3.  I will walk another 7km to the School House bothy.  If I haven’t heard from the hotel, I’ll forget that plan and stay at the bothy. That is how it works out in the end.  The bothy is lovely however, and I have my own little room that I have been snuggled up in, reading, for the afternoon. I feel rested, well fed and relaxed.  I’ve got this. (I think.)

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

Distance: 33km

The bothy was full last night.  A group of female bike riders competing in a race and some younger blokes hiking, all trapped by the rivers and unable to progress. I got the impression they weren’t that thrilled that another person had shown up.  Later, another solo female hiker (the first I have come across this whole trip), Anne Marie, arrived as well.  It was nice to have somebody there that was willing to converse.

All five of the girls had beds on the floor upstairs.  I must admit to feeling somewhat grateful for this female cohort of sleepers and remember thinking how inspiring it was that all of us were out here toughing it out in the wilderness.  Not long after that…cacophony.  Absolute cacophony. Those bike riders sure could snore! I really hadn’t been expecting this level of loud. Sleep, was not a possibility.  In the morning they roared awake at the crack of dawn only to find that the creek was still too high to cross, so back they tromped, not bothering to keep their voices down.  Anne Marie and I stared blearily at each other, packed up our stuff, said goodbye and goodluck to each other, and left.

So it was that I was in a very different headspace today.  My plan, such as it was, was to basically go twice as far as I had been planning on, to ensure that I could take advantage of a light rainfall day.  I had a creek crossing I was aiming for, knowing that rain was set to stream in again overnight. That thought, on no sleep, was a little depressing.

I set off.  Uphill and across the moors.  The landscape, as usual, was amazing.  The track and terrain, a wet mess.  Imagine just trudging through a half filled bathtub full of grass and mud and stones.  That’s what it was like.  Every step takes effort and concentration.  The going is tough. And the tough are not going very fast at all.  It takes almost 4 hours to do the first 10km.  I have a couple of day hikers pass me in the opposite direction, but then see nobody else for the rest of the day.

It is lonely and draining.  I’m trying to keep my spirits up, but I’m slipping and sliding and crash to the ground a couple of times.  Luckily, no injury. The second 10km finishes up with a long, steep downhill on a rocky scree slope and made even more treacherous by the waterfall that’s pouring down the path.  Again, it is incredibly slow going.

I reach where I had originally intended to stop for the day, exhausted and somewhat strung out.  I consider what to do, and in the face of no particularly easy option, decide to push on.  “I’ll just see where I am at 6pm” is my thinking. Up, up, up I go again. Despite the gradient of the slope, I’m enjoying a little respite on a well maintained forestry track.  That peters out though, and suddenly I am left to my own devices to contour around a mountain range.  It’s already well past 6pm, but the grass is a swamp and stopping not an option.

An old song by Shawn Mullins that I haven’t thought about in years starts running through my head repeatedly. “Everything is going to be alright. Rockabye. Rockabye”. Over and over and over again. Carrying me along.

I push on. My nerves are starting to fray. “This isn’t fun”, my brain is saying. Wet feet all day, sludging through the wet grass and mud, no track, can’t see where I’m supposed to be going, getting hungry, heavy bag, tired, getting late, nowhere to camp, struggling. Everything is going to be alright. Rockabye.

Suddenly I see the creek I have been aiming for. The old ruins in a spectacular setting. I can tell, even from right up high, that I will be able to set up camp.

I reach the ruins and quickly ascertain that I was right.  The ground is dry and flat enough to camp.  I pull my tent out and am accosted, absolutely annihilated, by a swarm of midges in a bilious rage.  I had been beginning to think that I had some sort of superpower in keeping midges away, having gotten this far without encountering them. Now they showed me who’s boss. I get the tent up and dive in.  As quick as I am, there are hundreds of them in the tent.  It’s now after 8.30pm.  I’m so tired and despondent that I don’t even feel like eating.  I snack on a sachet of tuna, but that’s enough. All I want to do is lie down, wrap myself up, and hope things improve.

Everything is going to be alright. Rockabye.

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

Distance: 30km

I feel pretty proud of myself this evening.  I put the work into a plan for today, and it feels like it paid off.  A hard day made easier.  Success. Though still very hard!

The forecast for today was a little grim.  Heavy rain throughout the night and into mid morning.  And so many rivers to cross.

The plan was simple:

1. Expect to be wet all day

2. Walk on the good track through the heaviest period of rain, aiming to arrive at a known to be tricky navigation point as the rain is expected to ease, approximately midday.

3. Hope that the forecast was correct, that the rain will ease and I have the opportunity to cross the first major river crossing (at the top of two waterfalls) following a little bit of a downpour lay period. Be prepared to camp in the area if the crossing is going to be too dangerous and wait it out.

4. Assuming I can cross, navigate slowly and carefully around the mountain contour, leaving the designated track and descending to the creek to cross again where I can find a good spot.  Follow the creek on the opposite side to meet the track again later on at the loch.

5. Maintain composure and concentration for all water crossings, making sure I secure my phone properly each time.

That was the plan.  And it worked! I split the day into little sections, aiming to complete the previous task prior to thinking about the rest.  I left the hotel in the pouring rain at 10am. It never let up for the next 12km whilst I reached the navigation point at Loch Fada, but then, a clearing. Just as had been predicted.

With the fog dissipating, I followed a series of little white cairns upwards, eventually reaching the waterfall creek crossing.  I took my time with this, following the river further upstream.  Eventually, I found a spot to cross that I was more than comfortable with. Stage 3 completed.

I navigated around the contours, the sunshine occasionally beaming out from behind the clouds.  The landscape was magnificent in it’s remoteness. I left the track early and descended down to the creek where I could see it was still narrow enough that an easy crossing was possible.  On the other side, I started a bit of a slog to walk creekside towards Loch an Nid where I would pick up the trail again.  It might have been a slog, but the relief I felt to be across the river and know that I could continue was well worth it.

And from there, all it took was a lot of resilience, physical exertion and concentration to eventually reach the Shenavell bothy.  

It takes quite a bit for me to admit when I am proud of myself, but I don’t mind saying it for this one.  I crossed countless knee high creeks, slogged through mud and had wet feet all day, but made it to the bothy without a negative thought. That’s a straight up win in my books.

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

Distance: 17km

It may have taken some haggling, but the sleep under the comfortable, heavy doona was well worth it. I’m feeling somewhat revived today following the last couple of draining days. What’s more, it’s a relatively short hike into the town of Kinlochewe where a single room, and a rest day, at the hotel awaits me. It’s supreme motivation to get cracking.

It is still showery, though interspersed at times with moments of dazzling sunshine. Looks like I’m going to have to just get along with the rain, as the forecast is predicting more of the same until the completion of the walk. I guess I’ve had a lot of practice recently in this sort of weather!

It is a steep climb out of the valley through forestry plantation to begin with. At the top, the track widens into easy trail for a long, gentle descent. There are mountains all around, but none are as magnificent as the white quartzite stack of the the Beinn Eighe massif.

Just as I am about to start another steep climb I spot a friendly face. It’s Dave coming up the track. He suggests walking together which would have been nice, but I’m fixing for a break and recognise that I’m significantly slower than him on the hills. I don’t need that pressure today, so we wave each other off and continue.

On the other side of the hill, I can see the road / track I am on leads straight on down to a bitumen major road leading into town. The trail is telling me to turn right though, and follow a path all the way into town. I trust the trail and turn right. I shouldn’t have.

I am soon faced with an overgrown and spectacularly boggy path which eventually leads to several calf height creek crossings. It is a pretty miserable way to end what has generally been a spectacular day of walking. I straggle into town wet and muddy to find that the hotel won’t open until 4pm for check in.

What to do? What to do? It’s raining and there is no shelter. I head to the toilet block across the road (luckily open!), strip off the wet gear and pull out my waterproof socks. Feeling much more comfortable, I backtrack to the service station and settle in for some lunch, coffee and book reading.

What a relief to get into my room though and collapse onto the bed. I’m going to enjoy a shower, dinner and wine (and not necessarily in that order) immensely tonight.

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

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