Well, after what was a most enjoyable trip to Beinn Eighe, last Sunday's adventure proved to be a wee bit more of a mixed bag. Andy, Colin and myself set out for Dalmally despite the forecast promising a mixture of showers, prolonged downpours, and lightning. So we can't even claim we weren't warned.
To be fair, wiser counsel had nearly prevailed when we arrived at the parking spot near Castles farm for the Beinn a'Chochuill/Beinn Eunaich combination. It was pouring, and nobody was actually enthusing about the prospect of getting booted up and leaving the car, so we elected to head back up to the main road in search of a dry building that served coffee over which we could pause and consuder. En route though, the sky cleared up just that wee bit, and we had driven a fair way that morning, and we couldn't find anywhere to sell us a hot drink anyway, so we returned to our prospective starting point.
The key reason why we actually alighted from the vehicle and began to walk was that nobody asked anyone else what they wanted to do. And nobody wanted to crack first and suggest we went with plan B, which by then had turned into brunch in Oban.
Now, I'm not saying it was a hideous mistake, because we got the two hills done, and the showers weren't quite constant, and the lightning stayed away, but not long after we left the second summit - probably about an hour & a half from the car - yon promised downpour commenced. Biblical, that's what it was. If attempts to drown Scottish hillwalkers through application of the elements appears in the bible, at least. I was wetter than the day me and Marion went to Staffa, and if you'd been there with us that day, you'd know exactly how wet that is. (Very, for those of you who weren't.)
It got sufficiently unpleasant that Andy had to break into a jog with Skye the weimaraner to try and warm the poor thing up, as she was so wet and miserable that she looked like she might have been thinking about developing a bit of the old dug hypothermia. Comprehensively nae fun, at the relevant time. Still, even though the deluge continued till we got back to the car, with consequent impact on attempts to get into dry clothing, Skye cheered up enormously, we got the heater in the Defender fired up, and we were only a couple of hours from home, unlike the last trip. So it turned out fine.
;0)
One of the things that kind of got me through that last 90 minutes or so with a degree of relative equanimity was the song buzzing about in my head. That happens to me a fair bit. (Hence the occasional Friday earworm thing.) I suspect it wasn't just the weather, but the recollection of that chap's T-shirt on Beinn Eighe that subliminally suggested the tune. Which is a classic anyway, so I make no apology for posting it. It's topical as well - we're in August!
To be fair, wiser counsel had nearly prevailed when we arrived at the parking spot near Castles farm for the Beinn a'Chochuill/Beinn Eunaich combination. It was pouring, and nobody was actually enthusing about the prospect of getting booted up and leaving the car, so we elected to head back up to the main road in search of a dry building that served coffee over which we could pause and consuder. En route though, the sky cleared up just that wee bit, and we had driven a fair way that morning, and we couldn't find anywhere to sell us a hot drink anyway, so we returned to our prospective starting point.
The key reason why we actually alighted from the vehicle and began to walk was that nobody asked anyone else what they wanted to do. And nobody wanted to crack first and suggest we went with plan B, which by then had turned into brunch in Oban.
Now, I'm not saying it was a hideous mistake, because we got the two hills done, and the showers weren't quite constant, and the lightning stayed away, but not long after we left the second summit - probably about an hour & a half from the car - yon promised downpour commenced. Biblical, that's what it was. If attempts to drown Scottish hillwalkers through application of the elements appears in the bible, at least. I was wetter than the day me and Marion went to Staffa, and if you'd been there with us that day, you'd know exactly how wet that is. (Very, for those of you who weren't.)
It got sufficiently unpleasant that Andy had to break into a jog with Skye the weimaraner to try and warm the poor thing up, as she was so wet and miserable that she looked like she might have been thinking about developing a bit of the old dug hypothermia. Comprehensively nae fun, at the relevant time. Still, even though the deluge continued till we got back to the car, with consequent impact on attempts to get into dry clothing, Skye cheered up enormously, we got the heater in the Defender fired up, and we were only a couple of hours from home, unlike the last trip. So it turned out fine.
;0)
One of the things that kind of got me through that last 90 minutes or so with a degree of relative equanimity was the song buzzing about in my head. That happens to me a fair bit. (Hence the occasional Friday earworm thing.) I suspect it wasn't just the weather, but the recollection of that chap's T-shirt on Beinn Eighe that subliminally suggested the tune. Which is a classic anyway, so I make no apology for posting it. It's topical as well - we're in August!
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