The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson
God, where the begin? I feel like I've fallen into to some crazy dream. I suppose I can't say too much right now, might ruin the plan. Sorry for being so cryptic! I remember when I used to blog about cases, Sherlock would to get so frustrated when I didn't start at the begining so I suppose there's where I should start from now.
(Oh, I'm at the Inn by the way, surprisingly there is internet!)
So I got the train all the way up to this middle-of-nowhere station called Dalwhinnie (nothing to do with horses, apparently) without much happening, I slept most of the way actually. From there, I'd decided to follow an old drover's trail that led through the Cairngorn mountains to Mr. Ian Hudson's imaginatively named Walker's Inn.
When I got off the train, it was an absolutely beautiful morning (I'd come up by the sleeper). The sky was completely blue, there was only a soft breeze and the old path, when I reach it, was smooth and wide. It seemed the perfect day for a walk and I soon found that there were two other blokes off the same train as me who were planning the same walk. They were both a bit reserved, not unfriendly, just a bit unwilling to talk much. I'd hoped we could all walk together, but they both seemed in such a hurry that I didn't even get a chance to introduce myself before they'd set off at such a pace that they were soon out of sight on the winding track.
They were both far taller than me (although I admit that's not so unusual), both blonde and both dressed in very serious, proffessional hiking clothes. It was a bit strange, because despite their similarities, they didn't walk together or even seem to know each other - they were both in such a hurry, so intent on walking that they had no time for anything else.
One of them seemed kind of familiar to me. I had a vague feeling that maybe I'd seen or met him during my time in the army or something. I didn't say anything though, to be honest I thought they'd noticed my limp and hadn't wanted to get stuck walking with a slowcoach. Did I mention it was back? Not all of the time, but it has sort showed up a few times again over the past year. I know its in my head and I'm not sure what triggers it, its just something I have to live with.
Anyway, thats how I started out on the path alone and, I soon realised, terribly underprepared! I had no map, no compass and was just wearing jeans, a shirt, my old army boot and a thin jacket. A word to the wise, when walking in Scotland - bring waterproofs! Even if its the most beautiful summer's day imaginable, even if there's not a cloud in the sky when you set off! I was about what I guessed was half way through the walk, when the sky started to darken. Dense, evil-looking clouds rolled towards me, hiding the tops of the surrounding mountain and blocking out the sun. It couldn't have been much after 4 in the afternoon but it was more like late evening - there was so little light. Everything went downhill from there; the wind picked up and up and up and the threat of rain seemed more and more real.
To make matters worse, the once clear track had dwindled to tiny footpath that, in the gloom, was almost indistinguishable from the surrounding moor. I think it must've been about the time when it started raining that I wandered off the path. And this wasn't just rain, it was unlike anything I've every experienced. I was walking directly into a wind so strong it seemed knock the breath out of me, I had to lean forwards to stop myself from being blown over. To accompany the wind, the rain got heavier by the minute until I felt as if somebody were lobbing freezing bucket-loads of water at me.
Needless to say, I was soaked through, freezing and completely disheartened. I was lost. It was almost pitchdark by this point and I had no tent nor any means of finding sheltler. I couldn't help but imagine some poor hiker coming across my frozen body the next day - it really did seem hopeless. And I had almost given up.
That was when I saw the light. Tiny and warm, flickering in the distance.