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… Did I notice it had been drizzling for hours? Did I consciously decide that my pertex jacket could handle it? What was I thinking, crossing the Fiag plantation, when bigger raindrops soaked the fabric? Was it the sphagnum surface, so wet that one wouldn’t notice rain? Was it the mesmerizing repetition of heathery clumps, muddy throughs and swampy patches? The melancholy of this bleakest of places?
Anyway, when I crossed northwest of Druim an Claise Grianach and decided to use firebreaks to reach the road at the head of Loch Shin, I was soaked. The firebreaks split, got very wide, and very vegetated, but I made it to the road guessing which turn to take. Instead of walking 2 k in the wrong direction, I walked northwest to a group of small houses. Only one was inhabited, and my plea for a chance to dry out was turned down. A fast as I could I walked another 3km to Corriekinloch. It was either beg to be let in, or call it a day and camp. I just had to put an end to the shivering and the cold water running down my elbows.
Housekeeper Marian opened the door with a paint brush in her hand, looking perplexed. I stuttered my plea … and was welcomed in. In return for drying out, I had to suffer the humiliation of not only being offered a tumble dryer, but also of being looked at with a motherly eye, followed by ‘would you like a blanket, you look terrubly cold’. And please use the cooker. Hillwalker, self-proclaimed ‘experienced’, gets wet and is rescued by cleaning lady. There.