Trails and trials of the writer who walks
It was that fine rain that gets you wet, as Peter Kay accurately observed. And it gets you much wetter than snow. My poncho had chosen this trip to perish and bisect itself and I learned an important fact about waterproof clothing: it’s only waterproof up to saturation point. Without the occasional break for a bit of blow-drying, the coat does indeed saturate and begins seeping through to the next layer.
There was a long section of this walk where the trail took the form of a water-filled gully straddled by fallen trees every few hundred yards. It seemed to go on for ever, and I began to feel decidedly shivery. I had checked prior to the trip that the Great Glen Hostel in South Laggan was open for business, feeling far too wet to attempt camping, but, horror of horrors, when I reached it (and there was nowhere else to stay for miles around), the sign declared ‘no vacancies’. Surely it couldn’t be full up? I wasn’t willing to take in this misfortune, so went up to the front door anyway. Door was open. Pressed the reception bell. Yes they had a bed for me. Phew! They had lost their power on the previous Thursday night (it was now Sunday) and it had just come back that afternoon. I was the first person to walk through the door since the power came on. No wonder the poor woman was wearing a fur-lined jacket. The hostel was very cold, I spent the rest of the afternoon reading under my duvet, as my two outer layers were in the drying room and would have to stay there all night as the drying room heaters had only just come on.
Still, nothing that a hot cup of tea and a bowl of mugshot pasta can’t cure.