Watch it bring you to your Knees, knees I wanna watch you bleed

16/09/2015
Cona Glen to Glenfinnan

Despite tramadol and paracetamol and a good tug on the whisky, and the fact that it runs out a waterproof membrane spread on a swamp is like a memoryfoam mattress, the knee was total agony all night. Any sideways pressure gave pain and I have to sleep on my side...so no sleep.
Again the sound of rain woke me, except it was the continued efforts of the local wildlife to take a bite of Inky.  Those midges are persistent. I reapplied a support bandage to my knee, cursing the lack of a splint or brace, and started boiling water for breakfast.
Of course it is far too dangerous to use a stove in a tent, so the stove had to be outside.  Here is how it goes...
Undo mesh enough to stick arms out.  Set up stove at extreme reach.  Brush ticks off arm.
Pour water into saucepan, slam on lid.  Push arms and pan out again.  Light stove, put pan on, pull arms in brushing off midges. Close net.  Kill all midges that have made it inside.
Wait.
Feel tickling, then pain.  Remove ked from scrotum and terminate with extreme prejudice.  begin to think that Rachel Carson was a complete loony.
When water boils reach out and get pan.  repeat procedure.  This time ked heading for back of neck, Terminate with hot pan.
Pour water into dehydrated meal then make tea in pan.


...bit of a rigmarole,  and of course in the back of your mind you know sooner or latter you have to go out and join the Midge Horde.  The dehydrated meal today was Rice Pudding from Mountain House.  Personally I would have thought that one of the easier ones to get right but it was utterly vile.  Oversweet and the rice really resisted rehydration.  The midge garnish didn't help.
After a strengthening cup of midge and tea I packed up the tent.  The knee was deceptive...for 5-10 mins after rest I could use it if I was very careful about my gait.  Thereafter it was a screaming ball of agony.  Left lateral collateral ligament I suspect.  I set off supporting that knee with two sticks.  of course that meant the other leg took the full weight and the right hip was not amused, but in a background grumbly way.  The weather continued lovely, blue sky, sun and fleecy clouds.  just enough breeze stirred up to inhibit our Insectile Overlords. And the views were lovely.  The track winding up the glen, the waterfalls, the fucking mountain...
You may wonder, injured as I was, why I did not go back.  Simple answer was that it was 2 days hike to civilisation back, one day forwards, with luck.  I ha seen nobody on the glen trail so sitting and waiting for help while the knee stiffened was a no go, and no phone signal at all.  Essentially it was walk on or face slow exsanguination by midge. You know how they tell you solo hiking is dangerous? This is why.
Oddly, well oddly if you are neurotypical, I was not upset at all.  Well I was irritated with whicheever tit designed the human knee, but the situation was fine.  because it was just a problem.  Look, evaluate, assign priorities.  LEAP methodology is an Aspie go to.  Spock was scampering around wagging his tail.  The problem was this...

Not an encouraging path, despite the lovely bits of low cloud swirling down the glen.  But onward it was.  I knew I had to cross a 350m saddle at the end and that the path degraded somewhat.  So on I went.
Normally walking has a rhythm.  Any hiker will tell you you fall into your natural cadence and it eats the miles.  Well here I was with no rhythm to speak of due to the improvised crutches.  To improve things further one of the parachutes, designed to stop the walking poles sinking into bog or snow, had been sucked off (lucky thing) by Camp BogMidge.  I didn't notice till later.  Also after 5-10 mins the knee would build into a ball of agony and I would have to find a boulder or a sheep to sit on to rest it before starting again.  I was sweating like two pigs in a sauna, nasty shock-sweat. So I was getting through my water pretty fast.  This continued to the head of the main track which ended in a sheep fold.  What my problem now was was this...

I had to get over that ridge, down the other side and then 5 km to Glenfinnan and aid.
There was a path, don't get me wrong.  I wish I had had energy enough to   take photos of the ascent.  The actual 350m ascent would not have bothered me at all if I was well.  But at this point even after rest I could not put my foot to the ground.  A 350m vertical hop is no joke.  But even if well the state of the path was something I would gripe about.  We had had at least a week of dry weather but the path was basically a stream.  There were butterwort and sundew, plants of peat bogs and pond margins, actually growing in the path.

You sank in a couple of inches whenever you couldnt find a rock to step on.  And it was one hiker wide so pole hopping was tricky.  I had to look where to place every pole.
Add to that I was out of water apart from a tiny slurp and dehydrating.  The water on the path was so peaty even my filter would not clear it and so I was desperately looking for a clear spring or stream.  That ascent is a memory of pain, sweating, shivering and cold.  it was a hot day but I was getting shockier by the minute.  But I knew that the only way was up, baby.  So it was hop step hop step rest repeat...
eventually, within 50m of the saddle I found a spring.  And I made hot sweet tea.  Much hot sweet tea.
I know that you should not do this.  Experts tell you never to give hot sweet tea to someone going into shock.  Frankly experts can snort my sweaty, 3 day hiking taint. Hot sweet heaven, helping down 2 fruesli bars because my blood sugar was getting very low and I knew this was the dangerous bit.  Packing away the tea things I made off.  Long John Inky.
Reaching the saddle was soooo good. But then...like many saddles this was a watershed, and this one swampier than many I have seen.  The path down to glenfinnan sloped gently here but it was as good a specimen of upland peat bog as I have ever seen, and I have been pulled out of a few.  On another day the stratification of the peat, the standing water with its limited wildlife, the multitude of moss species and acid loving plants would have fascinated me.  Today I was mainly focussing on the fact that I had one leg and one pole, as the other one sank 2 feet at every attempt to put it down.
This really was where I became adept at using sphagnum moss species to help me place my feet.  At Camp Bog Midge I had cheated and used the fact that heather is not a bog plant to help me find relative ground.  here there was no heather, and no tussock grass which elsewhere I would use.
This is the sort of thing....

Now you see the red patches?  those are your friend.  Honestly.  That moss, Sphagnum capillifolium, the acute leaved bog moss looks like this close up:

It prefers drier feet.  Given an option, tread on that.  Need I tell you the trial and error involved in that information?  Anyway after the ascent having to cross the Dead Marshes was not fun.  at least they were cut by streams with clear water so I didnt run low again.  But by this time it was 2.30pm.

I had lunch because I was running on empty again.  Then I started on down once more.

After the Dead Marshes the path began to slope more quickly and to improve, though it was badly eroded in places.  Here I began to meet mountain bikers who were walking up in order to ride down. I suspect these people are more than a little deranged.

getting down to the glen bottom took me 4 hours, and the light was starting to fade.  The path on the valley floor seemed a hell of a lot longer than billed but eventually I made it to the monument, and its visitor centre.  Which was closed.  And I found out that Glenfinnan village is 50m up the valley side .

I actually passed out from pain twice hopping up that road, each time as I sat for a rest.  In the end I got to the station which was billed as having a bunkhouse, only to find a sign saying bunkhouse full.

I hopped down the road to the hotel...also full.  But the lady said to knock for John at the station and ask as sometimes he could help.

John, bless him, runs the station museum and bunkhouse.  He is one of those guys with no personality but a heart of pure gold,  He saw the state of me (covered in mud to the waist, bandage and splint made of two sticks on the knee, white, pale, sweating, grazed forehead from passing out on the road) and said he could put me in the volunteers quarters for a couple of days, unless I preferred to be taken to A and E.  I knew that A and E would involve long discussions about Ehlers Danlos and a lot of aggro, only to be prescribed rest and painkillers, which I had.  So I gratefully payed him for the volunteers quarters.  I got in, stowed my stuff, undressed, rinsed the socks and put everything to dry on the radiators (RADIATORS!!!!) and had a hot shower in actual hot water which was hot and watery.  All I needed was a couple of Ben Cohens and all would be right with the world.  the volunteers quarters, by the way were here:

Yes gentle reader, I was showering in a snow plough.

After making tea I assessed my needs.  My food supplies were low and I knew that the hotel had a resto...so instead of allowing myself sleep I hopped across and ate the Fish and Chips of the Gods.

I may also have had a beer or two.

Then hopped home to the plough, crawled into bed, washed tramadol down with whisky and slept the sleep of the just-been-rescued-from-shocky-death-by-a-trainspotter.