I awoke on Day 4 feeling more exhausted than I had in a while. The previous days exertions had taken their toll and there was a mild sense of melancholy as I realised we had now passed the half-way point of the holiday. The end of our trip away was looming on the horizon, and I wasn’t relishing my return to full-fledged civilisation.
The silence of the Highland Mountains and the wild terrain were so far apart from the bustling streets and busy roads back home. Getting away had been the best thing I could have done, as it gave me a chance to truly be at peace, if only for a few minutes on the side of a mountain. The minutes were now ticking away to the point of which we’d have to pile back into my car for another long journey back home. I was hoping those minutes would tick slowly.
Adam was, as per usual, still fast asleep as I rummaged for my glasses and ventured downstairs. To my surprise, I was actually the first one up. I quickly visited the bathroom, copy of the Scotsman from the first day under my arm. I had been reading a page a time during my free moments over the course of the week. I’d been up to so much, that I was still in the middle of the sports pages. Scotland were preparing for some important qualification games in the European Championships with Georgia and Poland.
I perused the pages while seeing to something else and then decided to try the shower to see if the hot waters failure to work the other day had merely been a blip. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. The water was ice cold and wasn’t getting any warmer. I instead had a brief wash in the sink, the old whores bath, and went off to get some breakfast. By this time Luc and Adam were stirring and Pete was fully awoken.
After breakfast, Luc and Myself set to boiling the kettle and cleaning the pots and pans (The dishwasher was no longer working due to the water issue) while Pete nipped outside, for what we thought was a search for firewood. I’d been outside the previous night in search of an axe to chop some of the humongous blocks that were now at the bottom of the wood basket.
The cottage was fitted with a delightful fireplace and we’d been greeted with a full basket of wood when we’d arrived on the first day. The wood had been finely chopped so that it would fit in the fire but also burn efficiently. As the week had worn on, the wood had gotten progressively bigger in size and, as a result, much more difficult to fit in the fire. There was more wood available for us to use, but this was also bigger than we needed it to be.
On Wednesday night, I had ventured into the garden in search of an axe to chop the wood into easier to manage chunks. The cold wind, pitch blackness and deathly silence had made the whole experience an unnerving one. It had felt like a scene from a horror movie or a particularly scary level in a game video game such as “Silent Hill”. I kept expecting a terrifying villain to leap from the shadows and throttle me. Thankfully, a mad marauding Scotsman didn’t see fit to pummel me half to death and then throw my quivering body into the surrounding Loch. Unthankfully, I was unsuccessful in my quest to find an axe. To be honest, with four Englishmen living at the cottage, the owner had probably felt it prudent to remove as many sharp objects as possible to avoid any injuries.
Pete had put on his boots and headed out to the garden after breakfast, and I assumed it was to pick up where I had left off. Knowing Pete as I do, I was fully expecting him to triumphantly march into the cottage a few minutes later holding an axe in one arm and a felled tree under the other. However, as Luc, Adam and Myself attended to the dishes, Pete started to become conspicuous by his absence. I had a look at the garden, and couldn’t see him. I glanced further down towards the dock and then I realised something rather unnerving. The boat was missing.
A list of possibilities suddenly went through my mind, and I didn’t like any of them. Had I failed to tie the boat up properly the day before, leaving it to float aimlessly into the Loch? Had Pete taken another boat into the Loch himself in effort to retrieve it? Had the boat been stolen? Had Pete caught the dastardly boat thief in the act and paid the price? Had he been kidnapped in order to be held for ransom? Would I end up having to drive up to Dingwall with £1000, made up solely of Scottish 20’s, in an unmarked bag to negotiate his safe release?
These of course, are the thoughts of a mad man. Hello, nice to meet you, has anyone seen my camel?
I frantically stuck my head out of the door to inspect the situation and my eyes quickly scanned right down towards the Loch. In instinctively thought that this would lead me to Pete’s location and I was absolutely correct. Pete was sitting in the boat in the middle of the Loch, sitting being the operative word. He wasn’t rowing, he was just sitting there as the natural current of the Loch moved the boat across the water. It was like he was in some kind of meditation.
Maybe he’d enjoyed the tranquillity so much from yesterday that he felt he had to get more of it? Or maybe he was looking for more bottles that had been thrown into the Loch? I decided not to call out to him and rather just let him enjoy the silence (great song by the way) while keeping a close eye on him from the kitchen window as we continued to wash and dry the dishes.
Luc and Pete had chastised me earlier for washing a plate with cold water. Pete had even gone so far as to say it didn’t count as washing it. This has surprised me because I had used the washing up liquid and the plate looked pretty clean to me. Maybe the lack of heat meant the germs weren’t fully defeated? As a result, we had to wait while Luc would continuously boil the water in the kettle. It made the washing up an arduous process and rather time consuming.
Pete finally returned from his solo voyage, seemingly energised by the experience. It turned out that he had been looking for some more bottles, but hadn’t had much joy. He announced to the room that he wanted to go for another boat ride. I’ll be perfectly honest and say that this idea didn’t enthuse me as much as it did Pete. For one, the pleasant weather of yesterday had been replaced with a greying cloud that looked certain to burst into rain at any moment. In addition, I was absolutely knackered from yesterday and the thought of going through it all again didn’t fill me with a longing for getting back in the boat.
They say you should try everything once, something I vehemently disagree with. For example, I wouldn’t suggest trying suicide once, because chances are you wouldn’t get another go at it. Same for fighting a Lion to the death with your bare hands while wearing a suit made out of steak. You might make it out alive, but the odds are somewhat stacked in the Lions favour. As for the boating on the Loch, I’d tried it once and I had decided that I wouldn’t want to try it again until I’d had a good few days rest and had bought some more appropriate boating attire.
We got a quick update on regards to the water. A man was on his way to take a look at it and we were to leave a key for him under a plant pot should he arrive while we were out. Morning was coming to it’s end, but there was still more to happen on our penultimate day, of which I will detail in the next chapter.
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