Badlands

I've stood at two thousand feet and watched the mist roll in so fast that I reached nervously for my radio.

I've hiked half a kilometer of bog in the pouring rain towards a cache, stymied by an uncrossable river.

I've gotten lost in terrain that is barren, featureless, and full of spooky cows.

I've had four different whiskies in an hour and almost convinced myself that I can taste the difference.

I've followed strangers for kilometers in the dark hoping that they were heading for a pub that was open.

I've watched a dog fetch rocks in a village deprived of tennis balls.

I've had a sandwich in the abandoned banqueting hall of a ruined castle.

I've been called "Frodo" by a scary man in a cloak, who says that the truth shouldn't get in the way of a good story.

I've watched the reflected sunset tint hills from heather-purple to Irn Bru-orange.

I've stood in silence so intense my ears hurt. Mostly at 3am, while looking for the campground toilets.

I've walked up grippy rock that made me feel like Spiderman on the way up.. but didn't make me feel any better about the trip down.

I've seen the Eye of Sauron disguised as the Wallace Memorial. At eye level, after bush-bashing my way up a nettle-ridden hill because I missed the track.

I've learnt that you can run from midges but not hide from them, and that if it doesn't contain DEET, it doesn't work.

I've been to the Highlands, and I don't have to go back.

blog comments powered by Disqus