Wednesday 28 May 2003
Today Jims knees are very painful, so he can’t come with me to retrieve our bivvi gear. I take the 9.15 bus back down Glen Brittle, and start the very long walk through the bogs to the end of the Ridge at Ghars Bheinn. I am glad it is not now raining, and as I approach our camp spot from two nights ago I start to feel nervous. What if I can’t find it? What if I think I have found the place but I can’t see our gear? What if some one has taken the gear, how long would I look for it before deciding that I had not made a mistake and turning round without it? However, I count off the little rivulets and streamlets that cross the trail as I approach our site, and then find it with a short climb upwards. There is our boulder and the big grey bag. I am so happy. The load is absolutely enormous with enough camping gear, boots, waterproofs, for 2 of us all bundled into one massive sac. I feel like an absurd worker ant as I labour back to Glen Brittle. There are no buses for hours so I walk along the road a way and hitch a lift. A very kind couple stop to pick me up and of course wonder why I have such a large bag that I can hardly carry it. They are impressed when I explain our trip. Back at the tent there are chocolates waiting on my sleeping bag and I go to join Jim in the pub.
After this we pack up the tents and move to the Sligachan Bunkhouse where we have it to ourselves.
Thursday 29 May 2003
We potter in the sun at the Bunkhouse. Sit in the pleasant garden and eat as much as we can while listening to the cuckoos that are my special pleasure at this time of the year on Skye.
Obviously after a short while of idleness we start to feel bored so go for an 8 mile run up the Coruisk Path from Sligachan. Then we take our gear to the hotel where we have always wanted to stay because of its old fashioned ways and faded grandeur and big bay window looking out onto Sgurr nan Gillean and Am Bhasteir.
Friday May 30 2003
We get up early, and walk up Coire a Bhasteir . I walk up the stream as far as I can looking at the clear water running all sorts of ways on the grey stones, pooling into blue and spouting and sponkling. Jim goes scrambling on Am Bhasteir and Sgurr nan Gillean West Ridge, and Pinnacle Ridge for his descent, while I am content to stay with the stream and its delights. I return to the hotel as Jim is a long time up on the Ridge, and sit with a beer in the garden. I am in the room on the fround floor when Jim gets back, he comes up the window and as he is so muddy, he climbs in the window instead of having to go through the hotel in such a state.
With our washing and nobody else about
not at home 