The idea: walking the scottish highlands

300 miles through epic scenery

It was 5am when I sat bolt upright in bed, prodded Dave’s cheek and declared, “I’m going to walk the Highlands!”

“Great,” he grunted, rolling over and covering his head with a pillow. “Let me know when you’re back.”

I suppose it’s quite fitting that the idea came to me in a dream, given that I’m a dreamer. This was a dream born out of a dream, you could say. I have absolutely no clue why it came to me other than I’d since returning from Iceland having failed at walking 1000 miles I’d been cursing myself for not being hardcore enough.

“This should be a bit less … dangerous,” I nodded, as Dave’s snores floated towards my ears again.

I’ve obsessed about being an adventurer from the age of five, when I would sneak out of bed in the early hours, grab my dad’s climbing books and pour over black-and-white photos of serious-looking men. I’d smuggle them back to my room and explore the pages, my fingers trailing over cracked lips framing gaping mouths, icicles dangling off beards, nostrils blocked by frozen snot and shoulders weighed down by ropes.

I’d imagine what their eyes had seen, what strengths they’d drawn upon to complete their missions. What stories they had to tell.

All I wanted was to be like those men and to one day have a photo of my own face peeking out of a huge expedition jacket with a blizzard screaming all around. And a couple of icicles forming for good measure, of course.

Surely it was just a matter of training myself to be hardcore.

And to grow a beard.

Sadly, I haven’t managed to train myself to be at all hardcore, which is a matter of severe annoyance to me. Less annoying is that I’ve not yet managed to grow a beard, though there are signs of that happening as I slide down the bastard side of middle age.

In all seriousness I’m lazy, fat, have no stamina, lack self-belief and have appalling discipline. Hardly the stuff adventurers are made of. Tackling 1000 miles solo in a hostile environment knocked the stuffing out of me before I’d barely begun. Perhaps the Scottish Highlands will be kinder to me. Maybe.

I’m not sure I have what it takes. What I do have, though, is the idea. Perhaps that’s all I need for now.