I usually try and get away for a weekend every month, it lets me escape from work emails, clear my head and provides some much-needed solitude. Every six months or so, my wife and I sit down at the kitchen table and agree the dates, which then get added to our big family wall planner.
More often than not these days, these dates don’t happen as planned, as kids, work, and life in general tends to run over the top of them – but it’s good to have a plan, even if nothing turns out quite like you want it to.
The transition from a busy family and work life to the places where I find some peace and quiet is something I have been thinking about recently, so I thought I would write a little about it, and see how it turns out.
The Transition
It starts a week or two before, a glance at the calendar in the kitchen with the columns for all of our names and activities, the one that keeps catching my eye amongst the athletics, swimming, cricket and tennis for the boys, is the two days marked simply as George/Hills.
I know where I want to go, I haven’t been there before and that’s half the pleasure, Bing OS maps in the evenings and making sure I have the right 1:50 OS map for the ground I’ll be covering. Weather doesn’t matter much either, winds too high, I’ll stick to lower ground, torrential rain, then it will just be harder to find a dry(ish) spot to camp, heavy snowfall is the main concern as I don’t want to get the car stuck in the layby I’ve left it in.
The Thursday night before, I trundle upstairs, prop the lid of my old metal “outdoor stuff” chest open with the piece of wood lying on the top and start to retrieve what I need, it’s dark in the cupboard the chest is stored in and the hallway light isn’t sufficient to see clearly so on goes the head torch.
Pack, sleeping bag, roll mat, warm layers etc. all come out and are strewn haphazardly at the top of the stairs before being carried down in an untidy heap to the open floor of the dining room, where they are sorted into piles for each dry bag – after so long I think they all know where they need to go. Usually one of my sons is perched on the arm of the sofa watching and asking questions.
It doesn’t take long before everything is packed, then it’s into the carrier bag lying on the dining table, it’s no gastronomic delight, but calorie dense and fuel, the usual fare, Haribo, Snickers bars, Pasta n sauce, oatcakes and peanut butter.
Packing complete it gets weighed, not that it matters, it’s what I need and it’s all coming with me.
“Boys, come and give me a hand” and we head out to the boot of my car, backpack, boots, hard-shell, poles along with crampons and ice axe if needed, a pat on the head and then it’s story time.
Friday
I’ve given up hope of a quiet Friday, it’s always the same, busy and never ending, a constant stream of people at my door, more emails than I can read, and the phone always rings when I have my mouth full of scone.
By 3pm its quietened down, most of us finish at 4pm on a Friday, but even so the Friday challenge comes in, either logistical, replacement parts needed straightaway or a problem on an engineering project.
I’m still answering questions on my way out of the door, answers flung over my shoulder as I depart “you’ll get me on the phone for another couple of hours”
Fighting through Aberdeen traffic and onto the Inverness road, Simon Mayo on the radio with listeners calling in with their plans for the weekend, taking daughters to ballet lessons, girls weekends away, football, lots of mentions of prosecco. For a long moment it makes me pine for my boys, but I know they have a good weekend planned.
Fish and chips in Inverness, balanced on the passenger seat and munching as I drive, the box slides around the corners and I need one hand to hold it in place.
A final chat with my wife before I disappear off the radar.
Radio 2 signal starts to fade as the hills come into sight and the load on my shoulders starts to gently, unbidden, slide off.
It started to rain at Inverness, light drops at first, but now as darkness starts to fall it comes on heavier and the wind picks up. I’m on a single track road now and paying attention, Red deer like to stand in the middle of the road just after blind corners, I’ve nearly clipped a couple.
Not far now, I’ve driven this section on google maps, there is a layby on the left somewhere – “Bugger”, I’ve just driven past it, there’s no one behind so I reverse and pull into it.
I turn the car off and sit for a minute, eyes shut listening to the rain batter off the roof, a half smile, half grimace then run through a checklist of what I need to do before I depart. Wallet, keys, waterproofs, phone case, map, head torch. I take a deep breath, the interior light flickers on as I spring into action. Five minutes later I am ready to go, a last pat down as I run through where everything is – lost car keys on a Sunday night is not a pleasant experience.
I shiver – cold and I have a few kilometres to go before I get to where I want to camp tonight, it’s been a long day and I’m starting to feel it, my eyes squint trying quickly to adjust to the darkness. I hate using a headtorch when I’m walking at night, I like to travel quietly and unnoticed.
I start up the hill, the ground squelchy underfoot and frequently entangled in the high heather, before I know it I hit a deer fence, I make my way to the nearest strainer post and wobble my way up and over the other side and head on. The ground is steeper here, I’m breathing heavier and sweating freely now despite the wind and rain.
The ground in front of me becomes clearer as my night vision returns and soon I hit the bealach I was aiming for.
Just off the top I find a flattish piece of ground which is reasonably dry with a large boulder at its back, I crouch down and press the ground with my knuckled hand, wet but not boggy, it’ll do.
I stand for a moment, I’m fairly well out of the wind here, but I can’t make out anything in the darkness as the ground drops away in front.
Pack off, tent out and flysheet up with the door facing out from the hill for the view in the morning, I put large stones on the guy lines as the forecast is for the weather to worsen during the night. Inner tent up and dry bags inside, the damp ground has water running down the inside of my trousers from my knees when I stand, despite the waterproofs.
Roll mat out – its self-inflating, but tonight I’m tired and have no patience so I blow it up and throw my sleeping bag on top of it. Shell jacket off, pack stowed away and head torch on for a moment to put everything in its usual place and where I can find it in a hurry. The light cast around the tent glowing golden from the yellow inner, dry socks on, warm top and hat and I’m in my bag – head torch off.
I lie there on my back breathing softly; the only sounds are the rain on my tent and the dull whistle of the wind as it passes through the high ground above.
Then it comes, the deep resonating sigh, I’m back where I belong – even if it’s just for a day or two.