The slope by the waterfall in an evening rainshower was not the place to get one’s hopes up. It was dry when I unfolded the bag, and sun roused me the next morning, but I was off-colour: fitful sleep not helped by the end of the bedtime book, and an obvious energy deficit. And the pack was rolling around all over the place.
So I backed off, engaged the boulders and probably the highest-altitude ferns I have ever seen in this country, to gain the upper corrie, and found a way up and out from there. Unplanned explorations of this kind can bring unexpected surprises – on this occasion, one of the mysterious mossy, rocky pools of great clarity that are scattered around these parts.
By this point, it it was turning into a scorcher and I decided that to get my fix after all, I would try using the new shoes in the function for which they were acquired: running – as much of the long loop along to the Devil’s Point and out to Glenmore as possible. With that heavy pack, this was a curiously brutal form of training; but when I left it for the out-and-back, there was a glimpse of freedom.
Is it not all a glimpse, though: a night in shadow at peace with the elements, or a clarity of air that is rare in summer heat?
I think the next time will be a fast and light out-and-back in a day; or the lochan could be reached from the plateau and the gear ditched and picked up again after scrambling back up. As if one needed an excuse to return!