View of Buachaille
Etive Mor - the great herdsman, as you climb the Devils staircase.
Blackwater Reservoir from the slopes Coire a'
Mhorair, the noblemans cauldran, this sits behind Glencoe to the north.
The Mamores from the top of the Devils
Walking into Kinlochleven - Ceann Loch
Leamhain, the black pipes carry water from Blackwater Resorvoir to the
power station in the background built to suuply the Alumimium plant (now
closed) with power.
Again it was a hard morning, the fourth in a trot, wondering around the
house nothing to do. Bernieís at work and Ewen is at uni while Susan and
Liam are at school, an empty they would call it but on your own in an
empty house this morning life is nothing other than bare. Yesterday was
hard at work, one day back and I was totally scunnert. I had only been
away from it for ten days but settling back in after the walk was hard.
However work was physically very easy in comparison and I would say it was
probably not as taxing on the old grey matter either. I hope I am not
going back a year after all doing the walk was to pull myself away from
the drudgery of day-to-day routines. I could cut the grass but that will
keep a little longer. Its more than grass cutting or selling beans that is
now required to beat the restless feeling that has come over me in the
past few days. Kenny suggested that there was a book somewhere to be
written, I donít know if I could do that, or where to start after all
every story has a start and an end and I am not sure if last weeks story
has concluded yet.
Itís nice sitting here, itís great to be alone, me myself surrounded with
about five thousand quiet souls and not a bad morning weather wise either,
one of the better ones of the year so far, certainly a feeling of spring,
almost summer about it. I like this place; there is great feeling of home
about it, where I want to be. I could have been here forever, it feels
that way this morning, and itís a good felling, secure and sheltered. I
could have done with this last week, every morning. I donít know if it
would have made the walk any easier, probably a bit easier but one thing
is certain it wouldnít have been as significant, experiencing it and
enduring the walk in amiable weather conditions rather than how we
experienced it most of the time anyway certainly turns the mundane into
something so much more exciting and I now know more enjoyable.
Maybe itís the fact that there is nothing
to do, after all I did say that I would not let this scenario rise again,
that no matter what, I would occupy myself, keep myself and my mind busy.
Keep my body active, stop the rot; well I hope thatís what last week was
I could just sit here all day in the back
garden, on the garden chair, on the decking looking at nothing other than
my neighbours mono-blocked and empty back yards, anyone looking out their
back window would probably say Ēlook at the sad man staring into nothingĒ.
They cannot see what I am staring at. Over the rooftops of the houses
below and in front of mine to the west I can clearly see the Campsies. I
stand up and I can see the top of Ben Lomond at a guess forty or fifty
miles away. Its good to know that I was an adversary last week walking its
line along the Loch and before that along the base of the Campies but more
important I had done a lot more than that and walked a lot farther. I need
to share that experience, I want to tell as many people as I possibly can
about my experience, they need to know, I am sure that is what they need
for the condition they live in, mundane-aye-tis. What I saw, the emotions
I felt as I walked from Milngavie to Fort William is a cure. This is not a
prognosis, more a diagnosis, but not a cure for the masses, but a cure for
me. You can find your own as I did.
How do you start?
Share, has everyone a story to tell? Aye
but itís getting started. The staring continues, from the coffee cup to
the hills. I move inside and go through the CDs. Something to cheer me up.
Jam side down jumps out at me; this is the start I need.
Thatís what friends are for.
What are friends for?
Who are my friends, what is a friend?
Where do they come from?
Where are they seen?
What is their purpose?
Where have they been!
Will I find them at my struggles?
Or at my lower ebb
Where will they be?
Who are they?
I think I know who they are.
But why canít I see them, theyíre never too far
Will I see them when I find myself walking alone?
In my deepest emotions, why am I all alone?
Questions I ask what are the answers
I hope they add up too friends that support
Because these are the people that god gave me
Not righteous, nor selfish, just good mates, to me
A friend they will find me
And know what I need
I shouldnít have a worry because they will allay my fear
I say to myself, will they be there when it gets tough
I hope so
They showed whenÖÖ