Off we all went in a large group. It wasn’t always going to be so large. In fact, over breakfast, all I knew I was going to do was try and teach Andrea how to use an ice-axe (about time), thus quickly explaining why I was to carry two ice-axes all day. But somehow when we were climbing into the van, everybody was there. Maybe it was a case of winding down blues, or knackered induced apathy or just that the rain and low clouds had put all these superheroes (or maybe wimps?) off a bash of the Five Sisters or some such trek.
But out piled everyone by the foot of one of the smallest of the footmounds of the Five Sisters. Up went everyone through the gorse – or the stream if you were David, Louise or Lizzie. Into the cloud. We hoped that the sun might just bring a bit more contrast and highlighting to our views of Loch Duich but the cloud cover was well fastened down for the day.
We stopped for lunch with our usual impeccable timing. i.e. it started to rain. This meant that the rock we were sheltering under was a little difficult to scramble over, thus explaining the blood and cuts on Louise’s hand. But admitting that enough rain was enough we struck out for the top of the tip. It seemed surrounded by short but steep rocks which meant that 1/2 the party skirted round looking for an easier way (the excuse being that Lizzie’s legs were too short). But a few minutes later we had conguered all.
We looked for snow, • we searched for snow, but it had retreated. There we were, offering to throw ourselves on it, endanger our very lives but it had run away. So my axes were never to be used and we’ll just have to teach Andrea (and Phil and a few others) some other time.
So off we bounded down to the van, some bounding down like lambs with burnt backsides, others carefully testing every step case it set off a land mine. But eventually we all coagulated in the van.
In trying to prove that ‘nothing’ is the answer to the question ‘What’s the difference between a Marshalls Van and a four wheel drive landrover?’ Dave took us further and further down an ever narrowing path, shame that the road was so close and parallel to us. He gave up and gave us a demonstration of reversing virtuosity.
We piled into Cluanie Inn. With our gaseous Heavy we sat around discussing the last week and the next year. As in the old tradition next year is getting out of hand already. It now encompasses more people (since there’s no way we can keep our mouths shut when we get back) and an Annual Dinner (slightly presumptive to call it that when you’ve had only one let alone when you’ve had none!) at Cluanie Inn.
So back to the Lodge, Dave W. trying to hide the bottle of Scotch secretly bought as a thank you for the other Dave and which was given to him over our last supper evening meal. It wasn’t the only alcohol washing around as we tried against not quite insuperable odds to finish of all the drinks. We succeeded. It was probably all that alcohol that made me so lousy at remembering how many defonzilled elephants were lined up in full battle array. Anyway we tried to wake up again by running round the house playing Sardines. I don’t suppose that my hiding place of under a sleeping bag in a cupboard had much going for it. The sound of every movement was amplified and though we could only get four in the wardrobe, it was fun (especially when it was so dark). But at least it had the virtue of being guick. Phil’s hiding place on the other hand had the virtue of being clever, too clever for some like Andrea who went to bed. It was to be a little longer before w e all found Phil, all said what good fun it all was, and all went to bed.
Mark.