The Angry Corrie 7: May-June 1992
2245. Inverlael. I lock the car and cycle up the forestry track to Glensquaib. No lamp is required.
2310. I leave the bike against the plantation fence and pull on boots. The high tops up the glen show occasionally through their shrouds of cotton wool. Following the stalker's path by the River Lael, it is very quiet. Only the waterfalls can be heard, as one by one they are passed. Drinking water is warm. My shirt sticks to my clammy skin. The coire lochan is reached. Now it is dark. A sandpiper panics somewhere to the left. I feel tired. My eyes struggle to define the scree on the slope I am climbing.
0100. I am in the orange bag. TISO, it says.
0215. I am still in the bag. The chilly sweat has prevented sleep. The sky is perceptibly lighter. I push on, following the Silva needle. What's this, a dyke? This is the one the book mentions. I follow it upwards.
0245. The top of Beinn Dearg. The mists are shifting. They are mainly below. I see Loch Glascarnoch dimly to the south.
0400. The boulder field towards the top of Cona' Meall. Two ptarmigan go belching off in protest at this intrusion. I ponder the consequences of a snapped ankle. I see Wyvis to the east while attempting, without success, to swallow sandwiches.
0440. Meall nan Ceapraichean. They are all there, on the seaboard, in violet. Stac Polly, Suilven, Beinn Mor Coigach. Dextrosol...
0530. Eididh nan Clach Geala. The sun streams across this vast country. I leave the summit and surprise two hinds and a calf. A gruff bark. Then another, and they are gone.
0630. The bike is where I left it. It strikes me as strange. The forest is alive with chaffinches and sun. A small tent is pitched near the car. I consider a "Good morning campers!", then think better of it.
0730. I pull into the ferry car park, switch off the ignition and fall asleep.