West Highland What?
I was washing pots when it happened. A good bit of craic round a campsite sink. Them telling me how tired they were, me encouraging them that there wasn’t far to go. And so they asked me whether I’d done it before. I hesitated a moment before telling them I’d done most of it, but didn’t finish. They asked where I stopped and, on hearing Kinlochleven, looked at me with something approaching pity. “Why would you stop with only one day left? Were you injured? In too much pain?” The whole adventure flashed before my eyes. The dusky run to Drymen, Loch Lomond by moonlight, the long slog across Rannoch Moor and the struggle over the Devil’s Staircase. The seemingly infinite sense of possibility. Milngavie to Kinlochleven in one spontaneous run, rinsing out my body in the pursuit of a twenty-four hour completion. I shrugged and gave a wan smile.... View Article