Sunday, 6 November 2011

Holliday-ing in Mallaig (Part Two)

I think I just reached the end of Day Two with this...

So morning after Fish 'n Chips (or... Chips) we planned to do a bit of scrambling up various hills, to an interesting looking loch, about three or four miles away according to the map, I think. This sounds so much more dry when talking about it.

We started off by taking an immense -and unintentional- detour, over and around a completely unnecessary (one of many) hill. Even falling up this hill, we were trying to negotiate our way through marsh. It's very true what papa said when we were setting out with regards to keeping our feet dry; the further you go, the less you care.
This all culminated in us being forced to either almost entirely retrace our steps, or find some way over a particularly inconventient fence.

We chose the fence.

At last we could continue trooping in the general direction of the lake. We sort-of followed a river.

There was a path also shown on the map. However I think that in the Highlands, 'path' must be defined by 'anything which isn't just grass'. The path itself was a miniature stream, but at least beneath the water the ground was reasonably firm. The worst, and best, bit was when it sort of petered and we found ourselves struggling through thing-deep mud.

I generally found myself walking infront of Sylwia, and she had somehow miraculously managed to keep her feet relatively dry so far, unlike the rest of us (myself included) who had by this time settled down to an impassive tramp. Quite a number of conversations ended up going a bit like this;


'squelch, squelch, SQUELCH.'

"Don't step there, Sylwia."

(from behind)

'squelch, SQUELCH'



"Yep, that's the spot..."

We stopped under an overhang for lunch (egg sandwich mmm...), at the side of the river.

We were actually already reasonably close to the lake, walking the length of a valley but going upwards at the same time so you couldn't see it until you pretty much stepped in it. My ex-geography teacher would have fainted with pleasure:- morraine dammed lake, outwash plain (where we are now), scree, misfit stream... I could go on (but I won't).

And then after ten more minutes of scrambling, here we are;

Really rather spectacular.

Then we turned around and marched back.

But much quicker this time. Cycling, running, walking; always faster coming back. Sometime when we were again making our way through the main marsh, papa spotted a herd of deer running at the end of the valley, they were in single file and ran so speedily, right up the side of the hill (at this point I'm feeling extreme jealousy).

We just came through the gap in the hills. Yes, that's me, no, I'm not impaled on the post... it is intentional.

By the time we found a road (loosest sense of the word), nobody could really get much more wet, but the mud was so irritating that we went for a wee paddle in the roadside loch.

Mind you, even before the wash, our state of nuddy-ness could hardly compare with these guys;

I think Sylwia wanted to take him home. Papa has had a lucky escape, but is now in danger of finding himself with a pet pig.

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