I started to worry about the Knoydart river crossings. I’d needed crampons and axe the previous day, but now the mountains were alive with meltwater cascades. “You could probably give me your snowshoes too,” James said, eyeing my colossal pack. At last I’d be able to camp without risking getting all my kit drenched again. On a dull, mild morning I met up with my brother and we trekked together into Knoydart – but not before I swapped my faulty tent for the spare he’d brought with him. Later, after he’d picked my brains about the trail, Skye mentioned that he was filming his trip but didn’t know what to do with the footage: “I’ve never had a social media account.” Half joking, I told him he wasn’t missing much. He was 16 years old and hiking Land’s End to John O’Groats via the CWT. “I might hike on to the next bothy,” he said when I asked him if he’d be staying, but in the end the temptation of fire and rest was too great. He switched off his headlamp and stood there for a moment looking a little dazed, as if only just realising his fatigue. I’d just settled down in front of the fire with new friends Mike and Louis, each of us enjoying a dram, when the door opened and a lean figure stepped through. Unusually, I was the oldest person in the bothy that night. At last I found a little real winter on the mountains edging Knoydart, which I explored while I waited for James to join up with me. With calmer weather and a bothy roof over my head, Glenfinnan offered the chance to reset. I had a faulty tent, all my gear was soaked, and I regretted every choice that had led me to that moment. I ended up in a B&B in Salen wondering what the hell I was doing. Then, on a flat road at sea level, a gust blew me off my feet. As I staggered along paths turned to rivers by 32 hours of rain and sleet, cursing every kilo in my abominably heavy pack, I thought I’d give myself a break by doing a bit of road walking. Insane winds drove me down from the high ground. The forecast (which my brother James was texting to my SPOT X daily) promised nothing but storms. #The pathless extended ending fullWhen I reached the Ardnamurchan lighthouse on a storm-lashed day in early February, and stood on the slick rock of the foreshore while shielding myself from the full force of the Atlantic blast, it felt far from the journey I’d imagined. The plan had been to hike through Ardnamurchan before joining the Cape Wrath Trail at Glenfinnan.
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