splish splosh - singing in the rain

I see it coming through the valley. The vivid autumn colours are slowly washed out by the white and grey of the approaching clouds and wet. I put on my waterproofs.The rain is, at first, fine but thorough. Steady and persistent but still sort of light. Then it changes into heavier rain, larger drops, more rain... and more wind. It turns into a relentless sort of wet. 

Me... approaching Loch Lomond from the north. The rain... approaching me from the south.

I am walking. I splish and splash forward. My mood darkens with the rain and approaching dusk. The campsite has decided to close early this year and does not accept visitors anymore. The lady is very unwelcoming, the first (and only) unwelcome I experience in Scotland actually. I feel like peeing in their yard... but I restrain myself. Maybe she had a bad day. So I eat a muesli bar, sip a bit of water and I trudge on towards a mountain bothy that is somewhere up ahead, about 5km further. My tent is my last resort. 

Wet woods and bracken and much moss... somewhere along Loch Lomond (the sun is courtesy of the next day)

Everything I see glimmers and glistens. Under the trees it feels like I experience twice the amount of rain. It drips and falls and pours at the same time. With each rush of wind the drops intercepted by the forest are released...ready to fall on me. Sometimes I think there is a lull in the rain but actually it appears that that is just the wind blowing the rain the other way for a moment, and not directly into my face.

Loch Lomond

The path is challenging in places, it winds up and down, over and through slippery rocks next to the loch. Scotland is wet in the best of times and the path fords hundreds of little brooks and streams gurgling and clattering about but today the path has turned into a river... or maybe the rivers have turned into paths. I find I do not see a clear difference all the time. I trudge, I trundle, I clamber, I slip and I slide forward through mud and wetness, and over rocks and fallen leaves. 

Loch Lomond - the path (also the next day I might add, I took no photos in the really rainy time)

The heavy grass and bracken leaning over the path slow my progress and assault me with wetness up to my hips. I blink sometimes when some mud is thrown up into my face. My awesome waterproof gear can not keep me dry from this onslaught from all sides. Slowly the damp comes in during the hours of wet. My walking speed is very slow and I realize at some point that I have stopped trying to find dry spots to step on on the path. I just sludge straight onwards, splish splosh...splish splosh, through puddles, bogs and streams, looking down...in a sort of trance. I wonder whether one should still call it a puddle when there is no end to it anymore. Also I wonder about where 'the internet' really starts, demented cows, and the lyrics to a song that eludes me (amongst other things)...

I feel tired and down, my thoughts turn in little dark spirals. I feel it happening and some doubts and negativity creep in. Will I make the bothy before dark? Why did I faff about and walk so slowly in the morning? What if there are scary people or ghosts in the bothy? (it is halloween and I have not seen anyone for hours... so my imagination runs wild) I can briefly lift my spirits by singing some silly musical songs; twirling a couple of steps to The Sound of Music, and swinging my hips (with rucksack) to Jesus Christ Superstar. 

Finally I glimpse a building on a small hill. My step feels lighter and I increase my speed. the building disappears from sight and the path winds on. Some time later I look up, irritated: "Where is this fucking bothy?" It feels as if I have been walking for ages...have I passed it without seeing? I peer through the gloam and dusk. The path climbs on and there is the bothy at last. Hurrah! I made it. 

Loch Lomond - Doune Byre Bothy - the morning after... Many thanks to the volunteers of the Mountain Bothy Association for maintaining this bothy.

No-one is there and dark is falling. I am a tiny bit scared but tell myself that surely anyone with bad intentions would not walk for hours through the rain to a bothy. I put on my head torch and go through my routine of setting up camp and making dinner...only now inside. There are three dry sticks and piece of cardboard inside which give me about 3 minutes of fire. Then it dies out again and I am left alone again in the cold and cold white light of my head torch and the large room. Luckily there is a guest book full of both funny and dull stories of ordinary nice people who have passed and stayed in this bothy all over the summer and autumn. I write a message while snuggled in my sleeping bag eating dinner on literally the last page of the guest book for the 31st of October. I sleep really well in the absolute dark and silence. My only visitors are some mice and a surprised mountain goat in the morning. No ghosts...or at least none that I noticed.

Hello to you too!

The next day wisps of cloud lift and fall and the sun beaming through the clouds brightens the day and my mood. I convince myself my (still just as) damp clothes will soon warm up when I am walking. I have been so extraordinarily lucky with the (mainly lovely) autumn  weather during my week here. I am in awe of anyone who has walked here in bad weather followed by more bad or intermediate weather. Chapeau!

Loch Lomond