Tag Archives: instituteofwander

OFFLINE DIARY MODE ACTIVATED

This blog – my diary and a hiking tips collection – is three years old now. And as much as I love updating it on a monthly basis, a time has come for a more private type of writing, at least for now. The gallery updates will continue on the gallery page. But the writing moves onto paper.

Trips, hikes and wanders that are stored offline for and from now, are:

  • Causeway Coast Way hike, Northern Ireland: 18-21.06.2018
  • Vormsi Island (Ormsö) wanderings, Estonia: 29.06-01.07.2018
  • SWCP (from Minehead to Combe Martin), Somerset + North Devon, England: 02-05.08.2018

 

Thank you, my dozen + sweet readers.

I shall return in some form or another. 🙂

 

Advertisements

Memories of Skye (May 2018)

KK, N, E.G, M.M and I visitied the Isle of Skye at the very end of May. I don’t think I should even note it down but… this time, Scotland was sunny. Again. Like it always is. We all got a bit sunburnt. Like one always does when visiting Scotland. The weather forecast was so adamant on the sun that no one even took any waterproof clothing. This is special.

IMG_20180605_113453_311

Thursday, 24.05

We flew into Inverness, took a car. Drove back to the airport, since N forgot his wallet and passport into the plane. Drove off again. Drove some more. Stopped the car at some point and smelled the air on the way. People had parked their caravans next to a large road and were grilling dinner. The air smelled of summer evenings and lower heartbeats. Mine was beating faster, though, because I knew we were close to the neighbourhood where the Cape Wrath trail runs…

We had dinner in a pub close to Skye bridge. It was light at 10pm. We were in the North and it was summer. The moon lit up the remaining snow on top of the Black Cuillins. A perfect view from the doorstep of Sligachan Bunkhouse.

Friday, 25.05

We had breakfast at the Sligachan Hotel, just a 5-minute walk from our bunkhouse. The views outside the hotel were so distracting that I was late to breakfast and the first one to leave. Just sitting outside, looking at those fast moving clouds was enough to fill my soul. #soulnutrients – mental note, never use this. 🙂

We then drove to Elgol and used Misty Isle Boat Trips to get to the shores of Loch Coruisk (and avoiding a 30+ km hike). The only way in on foot involves a long hike and is better with a night camp by the lake shores. Since we did not bring tents, a boat ride it was! Loch Coruisk… Ohh. Many legends are told of it. Dozens and dozens of travel diaries describe Loch Coruisk as otherwordly or eerie. It is told to be a strange place, hidden from the rest of the world by the Cuillin mountain range, with no quick access to its shores. People have gone there to search for the legendary kelpie, to meditate or to bask in the oozing awe which the secluded space creates.

When we reached the loch, all we got was blasting sunshine that was soon followed by some cold winds. Nothing was eerie apart from the absolute greyness of the waters. And that’s when I realised it. I had arrived with fixed expectations. I had arrived imagining the loch would greet us with goosepump inducing presence, immediately throwing us into an unknown fairytale world.

IMG_20180604_234754_779
Loch Coruisk.


As soon as I let go of that preconception, the winds stopped and the landscape transformed itself. Not into a gloomy night of rain (as you hear from the typical Scottish stories) but into a desert-like terrain of warmth and stillness. And now I’m 100% certain that there really are spots in this world that change their looks by magic

I like how sometimes, wilderness is only a boat ride away.

We spent the night at Skye Backpackers hostel. For dinner, we drove across the bridge again, and dined at a fish food restaurant located in a train station between timber ferries and train tracks. We literaaly drove our car onto the train platform by… following our logic. 🙂 A hint of Twin Peaks vibe was felt.

Saturday 26.05

We hit the road after breakfast in the hostel and then hiked the Quiraing Loop (Trotternish Ridge) for the morning (we started closer to Uig) and paid a visit to the Fairy Glens later in the day. I had not been ready for the people. I had not.

IMG_20180527_165210_010
The Quiraing.

Drinks and later dinner were enjoyed at the Ferry Inn. I had 4 beers. It was the first time this year I had 4 beers. (Not pints, though.)

Our accommodation was in the fabulous 6-bed dorm in the Cowshed. This is the most fabulous hostel I have ever, ever staid in. The living room and kitchen area was also one of the fanciest living rooms I have ever been in. Cowshed in located on the hill, so the view from its wall to ceiling glass window looks straight at the water. With every night, our accommodation got better and better. I am happy it culminated with this.

N discovered his shirt was missing. It was not found.

Sunday 27.05

We had breakfast at a hippie cafe in Portree. We wanted to see the colourful houses – and we did – but then also realised that the best view of them is probably from the water.

We saw a wild fire on our way back. Thought it might be the shirt on fire. It was hell of a dirty shirt, you see. But no. It was a real fire. It is the second wild fire I have witnessed in my life and it punches strongly into your stomach. The devastation is quite strong.

We did stop at the bunkhouse of our first night to check for the missing shirt but there was no sign of a shirt or of other humans. We admitted our honest defeat.

As our good bye to the Isle of Skye, went to see the Old Mann of Storr. There was Viking treasure buried close to it. But that was a while ago. I like the fact that people are still flocking to big stones like they have always done. In many ways, nothing has changed.

Back to Inverness and then home. Still, it takes 10-12 hours to come home from anywhere on this island.

*

What was most surprising? How Skye was not wild. I think my imagination had prepared me for nature close to the Highlands where you can walk forever and still only be surrounded by trees and mountains. But the feel of Mini Patagoia was nonetheless magnificent.

 

The walks and wanders between April 1 – May 14, 2018. Or – where have I ended up?

The long introduction

I want to write this down so I would have it. But already I do not have the correct form or the correct style. I will write this only for myself, not keeping my 10 readers in mind, yes, only for me.

It is for those days when I feel like I’m stuck, like I can’t get out enough or when I do not get out enough but it is all for a chosen good.

It is Monday, 14th of May. Since the beginning of April, I have been out. I really have. Here is proof:

Hiking the South West Coast Path in Cornwall, England: 09–12.04

A surprise trip to Paris: 13–15.04

A London LOOP walk – 18.04

Hiking the Eden Valley Trail from Hever to Leigh in Kent, England: 19.04

Spring travels in Alsace: 25.04–02.05

A hike in Schwarzwald, Germany: 28.04

A day out to Hara Gulf, Estonia: 06.05

Family trip to Istanbul: 09-13.05

Wanders in the Pääsküla wetlands reserve: 14.05

In April, I walked 244.16 km. From May 1 to midnight of May 14th, I walked 140.02 km. So the last 1.5 months have brought me more than 380 km worth of proper wanders.

I wanted to do this in sections. Write down bits from each walk but it all became a burden. There are too many lists and rules I have made for myself that perhaps are slowly starting to lose their meaning. Other things have taken their place. And although I love, love, love writing about my hikes and walks, and keeping my analogue hiking diaries and tracking some distances, it is this blog that has started to feel like a burden. Perhaps it is because I have made it a rule to update it at least once a month. Or perhaps it is because I am writing a travel book (and have my book deal to prove it!), so I already have a lot of real travel writing happening as well. But mostly it is because the format is just not suitable. To write long-form, readable, witty and perspective articles takes weeks of time, and since my blog is not in my TOP 20 priorities, I will not take the time to keep it. But I still, somehow… like it. It is clumsy and dirty and gets away with fever lies.

I think this is just me trying to apologise to myself for cutting down on some extra stuff that I have made myself do. But the cutting down is good. And it is mostly because something happened last month.

The month of magical thinking

One day, when traveling in Alsace, we asked an old lady in a mountain cheese farm (mmm, Munster) why her dog only had one eye. “Aaah, the cat”, she said. And then she cut us more cheese.

And took us to see her cows. And a young cowling (yes, this word, what about it) licked my hand and her tongue was long and soft and lasso-like in its purple splendour.

“Spring is a vigilant time,” the old cheese woman said. “The wild boars and deer come to eat my rose buds. One day, I would like to take revenge on the village people down there, I don’t like them. I would like to catch a wild boar and take it down to their village so it would eat all their rose buds instead.”

And off we drove, our hands full of packages of delicious delicious cheese, with the cheese cutting grandmother waving at us, and the husky having gone into hiding.

Later, in the same day, I understood that the last time I felt inspiration was 4 years ago. In 2014. Around the time we were in Greece. Somewhere in the early summer. The second thing I understood was that inspiration physically feels like a very concentrated form of LSD. But not just a random drug trip but like a trip with a very clear goal that sucks you into it. Hence the concentration.

I was standing in front of a twirling metal OVERT (Open) sign next to an old winery on Monday, April the 30th, and that’s when I felt it, and that’s when I understood it. That very moment I also understood that I have not had more than 2 weeks off (in a row) for at least 14 years. And this is not normal. So I decided to take entire the September off and not put ANYTHING into my calendar. I have an entire summer to work towards it, so I think that it doable. But since these past weeks have shaped so many ideas already, I am beginning to feel like I don’t even need the month off. But I do. The main goal of that month is to discover what type of new ideas have I been nurturing over all those years. And what are the fresh thoughts that will come. I want to feel what my brain comes up with when it is not under a constant (yet ever so pleasurable) pleasure (yes!) to meet the deadlines for copywriting, house renovating, book publishing, travel writing, mountain training, etc., etc.

And I learned that there was a French Tour de France cyclist who always waited for others on top of a mountain because he was afraid to go down alone.

Out of France

On May 3rd I flew to Tallinn through Helsinki. I was asked to speak at a conference, and I did. The conference focused on the performative aspects of space, and had speakers from different disciplines and backgrounds: architects, mathematicians, sound designers, actors, etc. I talked about journey design for various user journeys, and how to create journeys and advetures in different fields and for different purposes. And flying over Finland is a happy thing on a sunny day because all the lakes reflect black the clouds like artistic graves with mirrors in them. There is another type of peace in the Finnish airspace, almost eerie. Something that makes you dream on ancient places.

And as soon as the conference was done, my friend took me to an ex Soviet submarine demagnetizing station. Submarines become magnetised when traveling around, I did not know that. So every now and then they need to be taken out of the water in order for them not to turn into mine magnets. There were lots of abandoned buildings in those forests (but there are loads of those left in Estonia, all from the Soviet days), lots of bird song and lots of moss. I asked my friend to stop the car on our way back. And to wait for me. I ran into the forest and listened to the raven and to the cuckoo and to some little fellas whose names I have no knowledge of. And the sun shone on the blueberry leaves and the moss invited me to stay. I can’t remember the last time I slept in a forest. Mountains, camps, swamps, etc. – yes. But not the forests. But this time the forest was calling my name.

Other strange things happened during this trip. Currently I feel like bringing an adventure journey I have been developing for 12 months to Estonia, and start from there. I feel like working with directors and actors, and in such a pure form, I have never ever felt it. And this feels funny. And light.

I flew back to London today – Monday, 14th of May. It was an evening flight, so I had the morning to myself. I took the cab (yes, I know, the environment) to my childhood bus stop and started walking. Soon I was standing by the first spring that I ever discovered. The water was still bubbling and it felt good. (Gods, I’m getting old.) The next place that I reached were some hills that felt like huge mountains when I was growing up. There were a couple I never dared to ski down from. And I walked up and down all of them today. “I can’t believe how small I have been”, was all I could think of. I really have been that small. But it was not a nostalgic visit. It was a courtesy one. I don’t know exactly how my plans will work out, but I do have my mind set on a dream mountain that stands 6000 m tall. My schedule-based training starts tomorrow. So there was an inner purpose to this visit that I had not been aware of.

I looked around in the wetlands that I took possession of as a kid, calling them my kingdom, dragging all my friends into forests and swamps until their parents started telling them off for being friends with me. I did not go on any of my old trails. My kingdom was given a nature deserve status about five years ago, so now it feels all different. There are wooden board walks and signs in the ground. But back in the day you had to know. And I still know where the rest of it is, constantly changing, constantly growing. Luckily, the board walks only spread out in one specific direction. All the rest is still out there, someone else’s kingdom, someone else’s peat coloured days with the May cuckoos singing their time in the pine forest background. And that makes me happy.

There was March…

There was March.

There was snow.

There was trailer shooting in the snow.

IMGP5203

There were walks in the Ashdown Forest in East Sussex. Not in the snow. And in the snow.

IMGP5127

There was a bit of magic. And a lot of waiting for the spring.

Now, it is finally April. And all the proper walking can restart again.

This was the winter I did not get up to Scotland. And Scotland had the finest winter in decades. But what do you do. There will be other fine winters. And other mountains. And other times for visits – like May. ❤

Portugal. The much needed February sun.

It is the last day of February. A day of thick snow. And sun.

It has been the sunniest February of my life.

And the harshest winter of my life. Perhaps every winter is.

This year, I spent a good third of my February in Portugal.

This means that now I can definitely say that you should walk to the ocean when in Porto and visit the Convento dos Capuchos when in or near Lisbon. This convent of the austere medieval brotherhood makes all that Scandi minimalism look like the lush landscape of a lucid dreamer.

IMG_20180213_094906_368[1].jpg
Convento dos Capuchos.
But from the convent, you can walk through the forest of the Sintra-Cascais natural park. There is a man there, driving a small blue car, giving out homemade IPAs to travelers. The water comes from the local spring. The beer comes for free.

And after your walk you will reach a village. A village that is perhaps a 10-minute drive from the most westernmost point in the mainland Europe. But you don’t turn south but head north instead. Because there is a signpost to Praia da Ursa.

20180210_134646[1]

IMG_20180210_211807_434[1]
Praia da Ursa.
And to Praia da Ursa you should go. Not only to feel like a model in a Caspar David Friedrich painting and not only to witness a gang greedy seagulls keeping vigil over an odd dead fish on the sands. But to see weather beaten ladders attached to massive cliffs, to run from the ocean foam that asks you to dance whether you like it or not, or to just have a proper look at the wilderness next to which we are living.

To Praia da Ursa you should go. Everything else is optional.

IMG_20180210_205837_196[1]
Dead fish. Praia da Ursa.

Finishing 2017 in Dartmoor and in the Cotswolds

2017 ended very locally. Very beautifully, very painfully, very strangely.

In November, my lover took me away on a surprise trip to Dartmoor National Park. I have written about this phenomenon before – of going away without knowing where. And of how much I love it, and live for it, never knowing, never preparing. But what made it even better was the Wistman’s Wood. The forest I had forgotten about  for two years. And suddenly, there it was, at our doorstep. The weather was gloriously moody, yet not serious. There was more light than rain. The gnarliness of Wistman’s Wood was even better because we had not expected it.

IMG-20171105-WA0018

This is how my first Dartmoor visit stays with me: utterly gorgeous autumn lanes, forever meandering, forever narrow. Huge fir trees escaping towards skies, while tiny ones held themselves closer to the ferns. The famous tors were there just like in story books, and we climbed one. I will remember the nighttime mists, the flood lights and shadows we projected to the skies. The boggy meadows where you should keep to the paths. But of course, you do not.

I saw my first ever badger crossing the road we were walking on, saw a sudden stone cross appearing from the mists, hares jumping across rivers. It was a perfect trip, filled with stepping stones, late autumn moods, warm rooms, villages more real than Hobbiton, pubs more cosy than a goose mother could dream up in her feathery bed (and with actual geese and chicken visiting us at our table), amazing scones in a pub and just happiness, without the words ever getting used or thought about.

20171103_203236

*

And in December, a trip to Cotswolds followed with friends. It was supposed to be a quiet one, I know. Just relaxing, just sitting by the fireplace, going for short countryside walks, and all those things people do in Castle Combe. Drink sherry. Gently mock the lawn of the golf course. Yet somehow, I was never there in my mind.

25520999_10156039434105152_824731645_o
Cotswolds in December sunshine. (Photo brutally stolen from Rainer S.)

Once again, we got amazing weather for the entire trip, from Lacock to Castle Combe and beyond. I was tired. I was confused. I just never fucking recognise when the seasonal depression kicks in. I have become quicker at recognising it, for sure; now it takes me a couple of weeks to discover what is going on. Not that the heureka is the highlight of my month, but at least then I know. But being around friends and trees is always so good. Even if you might as well not be there. But maybe it does make a difference. You just can’t tell because of your disturbed brain chemistry. But what definitely helps is the sun, the neolithic stone formations, old mounds and trees with visible root carpets. And the goodness of people. And some ale.

IMG_20171221_145652_156
Into the light.

And that was how 2017 ended. All together, around 30 days spent walking, so a wonderful year filled with mountaints from Scotland to Wales and Uzbekistan. Not to mention the coasts and the forests. Yup. All will be good. Also this time.

The Days of Drinking Peat Water or Walking the Affric Kintail Way in Summer Boots in Late Autumn

Affric Kintail Way (AKW) is the newest long-distance walking trail in Scotland. Albeit being only 44 miles (71 km) long, it manages to offer a sense of wander together with a crunchy chunk of wilderness! All you need, is a tiny bit of patience to get out of civilisation and into the more remote areas. But patience is something all walkers have. Right?

Due of my previous engagements (trekking in Uzbekistan :)), my friend and I could not leave for our adventure earlier than at the very end of October. Which is a tricky time when it comes to packing. Winter kit would obviously be over-doing it, but summer kit does not offer enough protection any more. Our main concern was our boots – we are both dearly attached to our “summer alpine” style walking boots which offer about 20-35% protection from the rain only when arduously sprayed with the waterproofer in the morning. And our budgets banned us from getting waterproof boots before our hike, so… Off we went in summer ones!

IMG_20171111_081415_457

Day 1, October 28. From Drumnadrochit to Cannich: 23.34 km

This is the day the internet described as the “boring slog” and the “I should have just skipped this part”. Frankly, I have no idea what those people were going through when out on their walks, since day one was nothing but boring. Just now, when writing this up, I again came across someone’s walking diary where they admit to hating the first 25 miles on AKW. Hmm!? I think it is one of those “it is not what you are going after, it is what are taking with you” mindset things, for sure. Or something more mysterious. But because of all the warnings, we kept a keen eye out for the boring bits to surface and met with none.

We started our walk under the lovely Scottish sun (Kadri and I still are subject to a spooky weather luck every time we cross the Scottish border) (and I am aware it will end one day soon), only to run into a giant redwood within the first half an hour. My very first redwood! And we were just talking about visiting the States only because of them. Their bark was incredibly soft. But above all, they just felt old and strange and happy. What a start!

I managed to see a red squirrel later on, but actually spent the most of my day staring at the clouds. There was something happening which I had never seen in my life – massive rolls of apocalyptic carpets were twirling and floating above our heads, opening up a completely new level of wide for me. They changed the space, somehow, making me feel as if we were completely alone and the world had decided not to collapse yet but was thinking about it.

IMG_20171028_191102_495

You do have to walk on a lot of forestry tracks on day one. At one point, the living trees started howling behind the massive stacks of their felled companions. The howled similarly to a curious wolf or to a dog sentenced to patrol a very small territory. It was scary and heartbreaking. Later, when we were already starting to near Cannich, the forest once again started wailing, and accompanied us with the sound of windows and doors creaking open, as if a slow-motion art movie was taking place around us. Thinking about it later, I obviously understood that it is technically the other way around – doors and windows carry the sound of the forest with them, within them. But still.

In summary, the first day offered good straightforward walking. No chances of getting lost but definitely fewer people than on the first day of West Highland Way, for example. Also, fewer waymarks.

IMG_20171029_064238_871

Day 2, October 29. From Cannich to River Affric Car Park: 19.94 km

Day two of AKW is all about the forest. And about getting the first glimpses of the stunning Glen Affric with little islands poking out of the water and people casually gliding between them in their red kayaks. I was looking at them when walking amongst the trees, wondering whether they lived close and would they be out here in the rain as well. If I knew how to drive I would drive here just for this glen. And their kayaks!

As a side remark: lots of people mention not seeing much of the glen on their way on day two. I think none of them walked it so close to November when a lot of the leaves have already fallen. Because we certainly saw the glen constantly to our right, making our camera sensors buzz with its blue waters.

IMG_20171109_201048_316

Luckily, there is a spot marked as Classic View on the trail, so you don’t have to take detours to see the majestic glen when it first comes into view. I’m pretty chuffed about that spot. Just because I’m such a mountain/hill/forest person, so I never go out of my way to take in the beauty of glens, valleys or waterfalls. But luckily, the older you get, the more beauty you start noticing, so am looking forward to widening my intake of marvels.

The going is once again pretty straightforward but our journey was made magical by having to walk on silvery ground for quite a while. We even suspected frost at places but finally understood that it was just good old pyrite giving the ground the look of an Elvish rug.

All in all, the day starts with quite a long walk on a forestry track but when that is over and you can turn left to descend into the glen, things start getting pretty. First you are greeted by some of the healthiest ferns you will ever meet, and if lucky, dragonflies will take a flying break on your belly as well. And then there are the tree beards – thin moss and lichen curtains hanging from the tree branches. There is also an excellent lunch spot just in the middle of the way at Dog Falls with tables and a river view.

IMG_20171114_220737_726

In the setting sun, we set up camp at the very edge of River Affric Car Park, now also called the most glamorous camp spot of my entire life! Here you have real toilets and picnic tables at your elbow’s reach! I climbed to the viewpoint to see the last shades of the orange light, and once again concurred that life looks magnificent. Soon, the moon was shining bright and the temperature dropped below zero. What else would you want from a night out?

IMG_20171110_093536_831

Day 3, October 30. From River Affric Car Park to Camban bothy: 16.36 km

It took a long time for my friend to fall asleep – her sleeping bag was a bit too thin, as was her mattress. Eventually, she got the survival blanket from her bag and wrapped it around her. Nothing carried should go unused, right? I, however, woke up with a sweaty back in the middle of the night. In my moment of utter cowardice, I had put on too many layers before falling asleep and now had to start lowering the temperature inside my bag. I think the two of us combined probably reached the optimal sleeping temperture. Not a perfect consolation, but almost!

When I zipped open the tent in the morning the world was covered in frost. The outside was warmer than I had guessed. We cooked some porridge under the salmon pink skies and watched the double rainbow lose itself in the glistening trees. I had not planned on waking up in Rivendell but I was not going to run away.

It did take us a lot of time to get going. While this was the most glamorous camping spot of my life, it was also the longest time between waking up and hitting the road. I think we got lost in staring at the sky and trying to capture all the changing shades of it. 🙂

But finally, off we went, with the Alltbeithe Youth Hostel (the remotest youth hostel in the mainland UK) as our lunch spot in mind. Once again, the weather rolled over to the sunny side and the going became straightforward. Today we also met the first people on the road! (We had a little bet going on about this.) Apparently, they had had their tent nearly ripped off by the harsh winds of two nights ago – something we had no idea about (they were walking from a different direction).

There was a single small wind turbine standing not too far from the hostel. Seeing an odd man-made object in nature makes me think of eternity every time.

IMG_20171109_094858_334

After a very nice lunch (today we munched on things Kadri had prepared) things started turning boggier. We kept our eyes on the road, trying not to step on the wrong type of green moss. Soon, I found myself walking in the hoofprints of a deer who had probably used a similar bog avoidance system. There are no waymarks in this part of the trail but you can’t really get lost since most of the forkings lead back to the main trail, so the best thing is just to choose the path that offers the driest ground. And check the map if you feel like your gut and mind are starting to argue.

After all the delightfully winding paths, the Camban bothy came into view. But only after both of us had started seeing mirage houses in the highlands! I know there are records of legendary optical illusions which people see in the deserts, but nothing on the granite stacks making themselves seen as houses, right? I’m pretty certain it is a common occurrence among people with weary legs, and only needs to be researched and written down into a book.

IMG_20171031_205940_003

Aaaand – there was no one else in the bothy! Reading through the logbook we soon came to a realisation that what we were walking in, were probably the only three consecutive non-rainy days of this autumn. And that we had both been talking to the weather gods with the same favour in mind: if you give us dry days at first, we can take anything you show us on the last one. * gulping sounds *

Fair enough, though, Kadri’s boots were properly soaked by now, and there was not enough coal to light a fire, so we did what any normal person would do: a slightly adjusted re-enactment of Bruce Robinson’s Withnail and I. There are few things some plastic bags and foot warming pads can not solve!

Day 4, October 31. From Camban bothy to Morvich: 16.76 km

So! The Camban bothy kind of has a double roof at places, creating a wind tunnel that magnifies some of the sounds. I woke up only once but was then certain that we would be stuck in this bothy for a long time, hiding from the storm. A creepy start to the morning of All Hallows’ Eve, for sure!

But the entire All Hallows’sinister vibe flew out of the door the moment I opened it. Because there was barely a drizzle and absolutely no wind outside! I don’t know about the sound mechanics of the bothy’s roof but it sure does fill your dreams and your reality with some special layers of imagination.

We had our porridge when sitting at a table, this time browsing through the bothy logbook, and me reading Robert MacFarlarne’s The Wild Place. There is valid geeky peace in reading books in locationally suitable settings.

The packing, of course, went quicker indoors, and we were soon on our way. The weather gods had indeed heard us. But at least they had not taken us too seriously. Our last day of AKW was a day of soft, drizzly rain, with a bit of real rain at the very very end of it, when buildings were already in sight. (Eewh, that strange feeling!)

The drizzly rain accompanied us when we crossed all the tiny mountain rivers and walked on the mountainsides covered in fast-moving clouds. These are the night-time dreams of my teenage years, so time gets blown open every time I walk in the clouds. And then there is the feeling of freedom – feeling hunger and contentment at the same time. I think this is my definition.

IMG_20171116_225753_420

IMG_20171106_225508_121

The drizzle traveled along with me when I had to climb 20 – 30 meters up hill to find a single crossing point for an especially wide mountain river. Of course, I could see it from afar but did not start planning much before reaching it. I think what nature (and yoga, funnily enough :)) have taught me, is to deal with the things/obstacles/issues when I get to them, and not worry about them too much beforehand. It is not a professional attitude yet, but it seems to be expanding, yay!

The narrow path next to Allt Grannda waterfall finally made me realise that looking at intensely vertical waterfalls from above and below is now definitely pulling me into a vertigo-like state. Especially when that bubbling water comes into your view quite suddenly. So, just to get a picture of the whisky-coloured cauldron, I had to drop my rucksack against the mountainside and press myself very strongly against the mountain as well, and only then reach for the camera.

IMG_20171102_230401_413

Everything changes in seconds in the mountains. The clouds, the wind, the light. For a second, I saw a row of bunnies chasing after each other in high spirits. Silly me! That was just a frothy and bouncy stream with tiny white waves jumping out. Soon afterwards, an actual heron did glide above the River Croe just before the Glenlicht House, so I counted my wildlife spotting a success. The porch of the Glenlicht House provided a lovely spot for lunch, but also notified us of the journey coming to an end. I did not know of the Five Sisters of Kintail yet. Nor that they have beautiful ridge walks on top… This day made me promise that I would return to Glen Shiel.

The last part of the Affric Kintail Way meanders between the striking towers that are the Five Sisters of Kintail. They feel like some oddly powerful children of the mountains of Glen Coe and the Liatach of the Torridon Hills. They are munros, officially, but they send you back towards civilisation in the most awe-inspiring manner.

IMG_20171102_070410_470

IMG_20171107_091911_798

So, if I were to write a 4-day hike description about the AKW, it would go as follows:

– Day 1 – stuff looks nice

– Day 2 – everything is getting nicer

– Day 3 – things are getting really beautiful

– Day 4 – omfg, omfg, omfg, omfg

On the last night we slept under a (high and real) roof. Hazel (at Ruarach Guest House) gave us whisky and cake, and a lift to a bus stop in the following morning. The people you meet, eh?

*

“Our years hold the times where all and everywhere is always beautiful”, I wrote then turning 30. I don’t know whether it was the release of the inner hippie, but that is time where the most maginificent times of my life started. Even if they mean drinking peat water.