Scottage, Day 3

I’m showing you these pictures not because they’re particularly nice, but because you’ll hopefully get a sense of the vastness, the emptiness, the grandeur that we experienced on Day 3 in Scotland.  We jumped in the car and headed to Selkirk, a town we unfortunately didn’t really get to see, being that we were clinging to life by the time The Walk was over. 

I leafed through some pamphlets and opted for an 8 kilometre hike through the scenic valleys and hills nearby.  The guidebook, which usually grossly underestimates the physical abilities of people, told me that we should allow 3-4 hours for this hike.  I read that to mean we’d be done in two hours, tops.  The weather wasn’t exactly idyllic, but it wasn’t dismal either: I didn’t expect much from Scotland, especially after Jocelyn and Dani told me they needed mittens in May!  The hike started with a 500 metre incline (I wish that was a joke.  Wasn’t it a huge hill, Steven?).  Near the top, we paused for water, to remove a vast majority of our clothes (that sounds awesome…I’ll leave that one alone), and to revel in the views from what we thought was “the top”.  Ha!  Amateurs! 

I was quite concerned when Steven, who, in a previous life was in the Royal Navy, could not ascertain where the path was (this happened repeatedly, giving credence to the fact that the map was out of date, rather to the fact that this guy got us lost.  It was so poorly marked, I couldn’t even joke about it).  We continued to climb for what felt like hours across what felt like scores of miles.  When we actually reached the apex, I had to stop for some sustenance. 

ONE banana muffin each. 

I thought we were going to die out there, especially when we happened upon the grubby, rusty, half-baked ram’s pen out in the middle of nowhere.  Oh, and when we saw the dead fox body (what in tarnation killed a FOX?!), followed closely by the long-dead fox’s SKULL.  We were going to die for sure, if not from starvation or exposure, from the surely enormous monster that was out here killing foxes left, right, and centre.  Or two of them: you take your pick.

We reached the reservoir; the oasis of our dreams at looooong last.  I thought all along that we’d long passed this infamous reservoir that appeared on the map.  Only when we reached it did we realize just how short a distance we’d actually come.  I nearly turned into Misery Guts again and sat down and cried. 

It was Steven’s eternal optimism that kept me going.  He was literally thigh-deep in mud and water (his jeans were completely soaked, boots filled with what can only be described as foot-sized lakes of water), and somehow he was all smiles, urging me forward.  “What an adventure”, he kept repeating.  Yeah sure, Navy. 

At the bottom of the famed reservoir was a road that led in the direction back to the car.  Or at least I thought so.  And since I’m the most directionally-challenged person I’ve ever known aside from my grandmother, I was even hesitant about taking this pathway.  However, the path to redemption, freedom, safety was in fact all of those things.  I nearly kissed a man walking toward us with his wife and dog: finally we were saved!  It sounds like we were trekking up a mountain from the story, but I was pretty convinced we’d never see the inside of that darling cottage again, I’ll tell you.

The man and his wife informed us that we were about a mile from the car, and I was all smiles (we matched!) once again.  I snapped some pictures of us in the most gloriously organized forest I’d seen in a long while.  Check out that orb, Mom!

Shepherd’s Pie, some good music, and a rousing round of Scrabble rounded out the evening.  At least that’s what the kids are calling it these days ;)