Fear and Loathing in a Peat Bog

Last full day at Clachtoll and smarty pants here said "let's go up that track signposted the old clachtoll peat road, it's 3.2km and comes out at Stoer, it'll take a couple of hours and we can be back in time for a toastie, loads of cake and a few hours at Achmelvich beach this afternoon; wrong, Wrong, WRONG.

After realising we had to walk a mile to even get to the start of the track we still felt okay, but after about 2k inland mum started freaking me out, "we should we heading east again, we're still heading north west, the sun should not be here, are you sure this is the right track Elaine?" And this was after we had had to negotiate the big Bertha bogs of Mordor where the path had been flooded. I started thinking my map reading skills may in fact be utter pants. It was also getting affa hot and we'd nae water with us: aye, that's us, the sinclair Stuarts, mountain rescue's "what not to do" poster family.

Another few kilometres so of walking through rivers of squelchy fossil fuel and the path gave way to nothing. Nada. Zilch. At which point Dad saw a far off weather worn way faring post in the distance, went off to investigate and promptly went missing. It was a popular pastime, as Dave and Sam were already missing because they had been distracted by some frogs and dragonflies about 2 hours earlier. After some time of shouting like the lassie from highlander in any direction looking for family members, dave and sam appeared behind us. Then dad appeared on the horizon shouting that was the way. He thought. Well, he was 49% sure.

Blimmin Norah. It was a way and a half. Off-roading over mini mountains of peat bogs (whose stupid idea was it to go hillwalking a few days after Hurricane Bertha? that would be moi!) with no path and trying to see if we could find the next way faring stick in the distance. At one point, I thought I may have led us all to our death and wanted to puke up, I'm really great in a crisis like that you see. Luckily, the other adults were normal, well adjusted humans with much more sense than me but infinitely less of the panic stuff. But I could sense the fear in their eyes. Dave did say I should be sacked.

6 hours later and well after the toastie shop had closed, the cakes had been eaten by some sensible non hill walkers and the sun was on its way down making it far too late to go to Achmelvich beach, we left the wilderness behind and found Stoer. ThenI realised we'd a mile or two to get back to the house so I headed off to get the car to come back and pick up the others (to assuage my guilt).

Marvel of the day: the kids, who didn't moan, at all.

Understatement of the day: 3.2km, it was actually about 12km all in as I hadn't included the Stoer peat road in, the walk to and from the staff and end, and most memorably, the off-road scary up and down mini mountain, round lochen and by froglet navigate by the odd post bit of the walk.

Best bit of the day: finishing up heading out for some well earned tea at Lochinver, where I proudly recalled my embellished tale of bravery in the wilderness.

I think I need a cup of tea. Post traumatic first world problem stress disorder. I may even have a Motherflippin chocolate biscuit too.