Contact — Penelope Janu

Our day started with a long climb back into the heart of the highlands. The weather was fine, the breeze was brisk, the clouds were high in the sky. But then…

Another boot issue:

Mr Darcy: Why are you limping?

Me: These new boots are good for my sore toes, but the left boot hurts the back of my heel, and the band aid I put on last night isn’t helping. I wish I could hack off the top of the boot.

Mr Darcy: After today, I’m throwing your boots out.

Me: But I’ve hardly worn them.

Mr Darcy: I have a knife. I’ll cut the bloody top off.

See photo below. It was an excellent excision, and problem solved. But then…

My horse leg and more…

As you’ll all know, I’ve had a slight problem with my right leg (my ‘horse leg,’ because my horse fell on it) but it had always been manageable, and at the start of each day we hit the road in relatively good form. At the end of Day 6, the bottom of the shin of my horse leg was tender, but I put it down to the boots and loosened the laces. However, a few hours into Day 7, when we were well and truly in the highlands and the only way to (ultimately) rest was to keep on walking to our destination, my shin began to hurt A LOT. And as it was my horse leg, that had implications for my horse leg issue too. While we had generally been able to cover 4 km an hour, we were lucky to be making 3km an hour (I know this because, when Mr Darcy wasn’t looking sympathetically at me, he was looking at his Garmin and wincing). To sum things up, we left our excellent B & B at 8.15am this morning and, with only three brief breaks, we arrived at the next B & B after 6pm… . Not an easy day, but some nice things happened (and they were strangely linked).

Firstly, we were walking along a ridge with a mountain one side of us, a mountain on the other and a river down in the valley below, when we heard the unmistakable roar (now I know what it was, it was ‘an unmistakeable roar’) of a jet engine. There was no time to take out the camera (and I don’t think we even wanted to because it would have spoiled the moment) but a sleek black jet flew through the valley, seemingly only metres from the water. And then another one. And another and another. Four jets! It was amazing and VERY Tom Cruise in Top Gun! I even forgot the pain in my shin! I have tried to find an image of said jet, though this one is a different colour. Do jets come in different colours?

Secondly, other hikers obviously noticed my limp, because as we were overtaken on the track (there were more people hiking on this stretch, which is popular for day trips), hiker looked back very sympathetically at me (and Mr Darcy for being burdened with me). But then, one woman stopped, held out her hand and offered to pray for me. Wasn’t that kind? She wore a fetching headscarf and looked extremely pious and concerned, so of course I said yes. There was a little confusion (her English wasn’t great, and my Romanian is totally non-existent) because I had to put down my pole (that was propping me up) to take her hand while she said a few words. We waved her off (I didn’t like to attempt to walk and risk seeing her disappointed face that her praying hadn’t worked), but as she disappeared over the rise, holding bravely to Mr Darcy’s arm (which I alternated with the pole) we took off again. And then….

The third miracle! Tom arrived in person! To be honest, he wasn’t actually Tom Cruise, but his name was certainly Tom, and he was an American paramedic. Was the woman who prayed for me in fact a Scientologist? It didn’t matter, because Tom had backpack full of stuff. We weren’t sure what the problem was, but he provided a knee brace and a stretch bandage, with the following advice (in so many words):

Give this a go, and I hope the next 12km are easier than the 13km you’ve already done, but I can’t see how they will be.

Tom’s medical supplies (we tracked him down and returned them that night) didn’t really help, but it was thoughtful of him to offer them, and for other hikers to express condolences (many with understandable ‘I’m glad I’m not you’ expressions).

To pass the time, Mr Darcy and I spent a few kilometres thinking about how we would help each other if one of us collapsed. I’ve always joked that if Mr Darcy twisted an ankle or couldn’t walk for some reason, I would simply roll him down the hills. He’s never liked the idea of this, insisting he’d be more injured by the rolling than the initial injury. And he’s also been concerned that with my woeful sense of direction, if I left him in search of help, I’d get lost and have no chance of finding it. Also, while someone would eventually find him on the track, they wouldn’t be able to find me. But I digress. That was my plan for him. but it was me who couldn’t walk very well. This is our exchange about me:

Mr Darcy: If I could carry you I would, but you’re a bit heavy.

Me: You carry both our cases (around 20kg each) and a 5kg back pack down the stairs to the baggage transport people every morning, and I’m not that much heavier than all those things.

Mr Darcy: My back pack is strapped to my back, and our cases have handles. These items aren’t ‘flailing around’ or ‘out of balance’ like you would be.

Me: What about a piggy back?

Mr Darcy: My back pack would have to be on my front, and as we’re on uneven rocky paths, I might overbalance and fall. Anyway, even if I were able to to carry you and everything else, I don’t think I could walk much more than 50 metres.

Me: That’s something.

Mr Darcy: We have 11,500 metres to go. And if I collapsed, who would look after you?

Me: Point taken.

This was not a terribly heroic state of affairs, admittedly, but Mr Darcy was already carrying a loaded day pack to relieve me of carrying anything myself, and it was also a matter of strength and agility. He’s 82 kg and fit (most especially on a bicycle) and I’m 51kg. The path was rough. The day was long. The hills were high. The valleys were deep. It was NOT going to work. So we went through other options…

Mr Darcy: If I see anyone strong enough to carry you, I’ll pay them whatever they ask to do it.

Me: Thank you, darling.

Not seeing anyone with appropriate potential, we fantasised. What if an army troop went past, and the sergeant offered the services of his strapping soldiers (I could be hoist between them like Cleopatra on a chariot!) Sadly, this army troupe didn’t eventuate, and I kept hobbling all the way to Fort William. Which is why the final 1.5km (which was NOT in the guide book) was particularly unhelpful. Our B & B was also up a hill, and the room was on the first floor (also unhelpful, but Darcy, true to his word, carried our 20kg bags, and the back pack, up the stairs with nary a complaint).

To conclude, a nice cup of coffee and shortbreads later (plus a long shower), and I was able to hobble the short distance into town for dinner and an obligatory celebratory glass of wine (or two). 'It’s not about the destination, but the journey.’ I said happily as we walked back to our room. That might have been the wine talking, as it was quite a shitty day, but on the whole we enjoyed ourselves, and we did finish the walk of 170km in 7 days.

The good:

Undisputedly, more magnificent scenery! And much as the jets were out of place, we enjoyed them too. Particularly as my dad, who was in the airforce in the 1950s, told me just before we left home that he hadn’t walked in the highlands, but had flown over them many times while based in Scotland!

The even more good:

In an earlier post, I wrote about a young couple we’d seen on our hike. They talked, held hands, and picnicked together. No head phones or ear pods, laptops or phones. They wore sensible clothes and had sweat-soaked hair. And we’ve seen many young couples (and older couples and families) since then. Long distance walks - even day trips of six or seven hours - means that you spend a lot of time together chatting and laughing (and, granted, complaining) but you do it together, and it’s such a great opportunity to get to know each others’ strengths and weaknesses.

The bad:

I’m sure peri-menopausal, menopausal and post menopausal woman feel the heat more than any man. Sure, I start the day in as many layers as the next man, but within thirty minutes (or within 5 minutes if it’s a steep climb), I’m shedding layers like a cicada in the early months of summer. I don’t mind my feet and legs being hot, but anything above the breast line I find extremely uncomfortable (like a permanent hot flush).

Also, peeing is difficult for women, particularly on a barren moor with midges about (see earlier post).

The ‘I didn’t know that:’

Nothing tastes better than a cup of tea and a McVities chocolate wheaten biscuit when hiking.

Tomorrow, a final round up! 💙