After a strenuous week at the Hostel, fraught with difficult customers and a failed date, I sought the therapeutic nature of the Munros, only to be reminded that not every therapy session is easy.

Setting off from Incheril Car Park, Kinlochewe, I followed the loch-side path that had recently carried me to and from Slioch.

The glen was awash with colour; little pink and white flowers littered the path, while every shade of green and earthy brown framed the tumbling falls. It felt like a paradise, a landscape that has remained largely untouched for centuries.

This should be a wonderful overnight trip. Regaining some stability and clear mindfulness before starting the new Month. 

My plan, get up my first Munro today – Beinn Tarsuinn, over the other side and find somewhere to camp, or worse case scenario, head down towards Carnmore Bothy on Loch Fionn. 

Setting off at Three PM, I had plenty of time.

I made quick time marching through the Glen, making my way along Lochan Fada and plotting a route to take towards the summit of Beinn Tarsuinn. I felt I had plenty of time, until I realised somewhere along that trek up the hill, I was beginning to feel the long day weighing upon me…

I had been working this morning you see and just last night, I was let down by a date that had me feeling hopeful. I needed this hill day to be a chance to clear my head, but I forgot to really check-in with myself. Did I have the energy for such a trip I had planned? 

I started to consider my daylight factor… I felt I needed to stop and set camp, the Sun sets quicker than expected when you’re out in the Munro’s – you can’t rely on your weather app to keep you informed when it goes down, because in the shade of the towering heights of the mountains, the sun sets quicker and it gets cold, very cold – you’ll want to set camp before that happens and stay warm.

Realising this, completing Beinn Tarsuinn tomorrow seemed like a smart idea, but I was 250m off the Summit and the cloud was forming up on the ridge and engulfing me entirely. This slowly started to feel a bit overwhelming as finding a place to camp became a difficult task.

Slabs of rock were an obvious sign to not need a ‘pat-down’ of your campsite, you needed to find a green patch and hope it would be okay, but when I found it, it was like a sponge freshly drawn from the bath. 

Disaster had struck upon me and about time too, I had lots of easy and successful hill days this past month, one was bound to be a failure. And this was it.

Thats when my old friend Anxiety knocked on the door.

Knock Knock Knock

Realising that I couldn’t find a place to camp on the side of this Munro, starting to feel a bit cold from all the sweat that had built up from my march-in, I had a sudden dawning realisation that I had forgotten my spare T-shirt and Jumper for a two day adventure. Whatever I did tonight, I was going to be cold…

What shameful planning.

Knock Knock Knock

There it was again.

Tight chest, feeling wheezy. 

Oh no, not my asthma, its been years since I’ve felt that chest tightness, please, not now. 

Knock Knock Knock

I began to spiral on the side of that hill, caped in the thick cloud of poor judgement.

And the Anxiety attack enters…

Remembering what I had been taught to navigate an anxiety attack; become sensitised to your surroundings.. What colours do you see? And my mind goes like this –

“I’m wearing a Green Jumper, 

There’s Green Moss on the floor. 

Separated by Purple rock. 

Ahh the colour Purple! My favourite colour as a Teenager. 

Follow the Purple, for how far can you see? 

To the downward slopes of the hill. 

Oh yes! OS Maps is Purple on my phone

Check GPS

How far off the path are you? 

100ft. 

Well head that way.”

And I became unstuck from the spot I had frozen into and began my descent. 

Once I had phone service I made a call to a friend, hearing her voice, laughing together at my situation, recognising that I had poorly prepared my trip. With her, she helped me off that hill and I made the intention to make camp at the Lochan, where all of our degrees in hindsight would say – I should have just done that in the first place. It was the perfect spot.

With it being close to 9 PM I went about setting camp.

Damn. I’ve never set this bivvy tent up before. All the decent camping spots seized by the few others who had decided to make the Fisherfields there mission for tomorrow. 

I felt very foolish. 

My critical-self had joined me for this hike  

With the Sun passing behind the hill, I felt that I had wasted a really good evening down at that lochan and the feeling of defeat told me that I ought to head home, this wasn’t the night for me. – Remember, I still didn’t have those spare tops. 

6 Miles to the car – I had to get going, true sunset was in half an hour, the pink sunsetting sky had an ominous feeling about it, with darkness following not far behind. Knowing that the Glen path was the only route back, it felt as if I was heading towards the dark shadows and fiery glow of Mordor and Mount Doom.

At this point, you wouldn’t think things could get any worse. But oh – as the song goes “When it rains, it pours” it sure felt like it could pour. Standing at the entrance to that Glen a message came in from my sister back south…

Grandad had gone into Hospital.

Not an easy message to receive when you’re fresh off the back of an anxiety attack in Scotland’s Great Wilderness. Now it was my turn to try and not die and steal my Grandad’s thunder. My sister and I did what we always do – we laughed. My situation was utterly ridiculous and the news tipped us over the edge of all seriousness. We had no choice but to make light of it.

Fortunately though, a small win was at hand, a Night Hike is something I am always prepared for. So with my walking poles set into sports mode. Headtorch clipped to my hat. I was ready.

Storming through that Glen at break-neck speed for as long as I could. I nearly stacked it and slipped down a slope as soon as I had set off. My rucksack evidently didn’t desire to call my trip so short…

As I marched back through that glen, out of GPS signal for over an hour, I had time to think about my Grandad and his inevitable ship from the Grey Havens.

I found myself wishing I’d seen him more in recent years, replaying old memories and wondering what he must have been thinking as he lay in hospital. Then, almost without realising it, my thoughts turned back on myself. I wondered whether the mistakes I’d made that day would one day become the stories I remembered when I reached my own final moments.

Will they make for good stories?

I think so.

I can hold onto that.

Walking Lochside at night can be rather terrifying. The waters of Loch Maree gently lap against the shore and I wonder what’s down there in the dark.. thinking of a man-eating water lizard that may be lurking ready to pounce at any lonesome hiker caught out after hours. Or the Deer that I startled, would make for an easy and less-expensive (for me) snack as they drink from the waters. 

I needed to get back to my car, my mind had wandered too far.

Swapping into the dry clothes I had forgotten to pack, I checked in with my friend who helped me off that hill and through a difficult spell. Maddy – thank you. 

But today, my confidence had been knocked. Shattered, even.

The hills didn’t solve anything that night. But they did show me where my limits were.

A difficult journey awaited us all.

And somewhere beyond the cloud, Beinn Tarsuinn remained unhiked.

-That Wandering Farmer