Hill of Rest

April 13. Thursday. Rest Day at Fort William between West Highland Way ending here yesterday, and Great Glen Way beginning here tomorrow. 

Whew. This is the third time I have started this post. I keep accidentally deleting it. Let’s see if I can save it as I go - carefully - this time. 

So let me start with the lovely B&B where I am staying here in Fort William, Guisachan House. Here’s the view out my window. 

My day began with a wonderful breakfast buffet (if you are very very good, if you read all the way to the end and leave a warm and loving comment, maybe I will include a photo of breakfast tomorrow). 

I have decided to stay for breakfast and start my hike late (8:30 or 9:00 instead of 5:30 or 6:00). This is not only because the breakfast here is so delicious (though it certainly is) but also because I am still very shaken by my “near death experience.” Somehow I feel less attracted to the joy of walking in darkness, watching the slow process of daybreak, and having the trail all to myself after yesterday’s experience of having the trail - and all the driving rain-sleet-snow, all the fierce wind, all the very cold air - all to myself. (Although thanks to my blog I really did get to share it with you, which made all the difference). 

On the other hand (I wonder how many hands there are going to turn out to be here), I noticed that after breakfast all I wanted to do was curl up into a tight little ball and hide from the world. I realized that just as it was important for me to keep moving to fight the hyperthermia it would now be important for me to go out and take a walk to fight the trauma-induced passivity and withdrawal. 

This reminds me of a sculpture I posed for, and the companion poem I wrote for it, as part of the Real Women Project. Maybe you don’t remember (or never knew of) that project (commissioned by my friends Cathy Conheim and Donna Brooks).  It used sculptures of naked women and poetry (and eventually many other media) to celebrate the inherent beauty in the varied sizes and shapes of women, and to combat the narrow norms for beauty that make it hard to see beauty in ourselves and one another. Here’s a link if you want to know more. 

http://realwomenproject.org/sculptures.shtml

When I posed for a sculpture Trine the sculptor invited me to discover a pose that was emotionally authentic for me in that moment. I found myself curling up in a fetal position as if to make myself invisible. 

Here is the poem I wrote to go with the sculpture:

River at 50

In her pain, she curls up into herself
as though loss has helped her to know herself newborn and naked, again:
an infant without any mother, 
a snail without any shell,
a bud much too frightened to flower.

Both poem and sculpture evoke for me my tendency to withdraw and avoid anything that might in any way resemble, or evoke the memory of, trauma. So I told myself I simply had to get out and walk. And it was so fun when I began to walk and breathe the fresh air to hear a little voice in my head shout out “I’m alive!” I think the air here has a uniquely fresh smell and I suspect it is related to the constant rain  

It was so much fun to feel curiosity and wonder blossom in me again. So much fun to not take for granted the miracle of working hands  I can lengthen and shorten my poles, loosen and tighten their wrist straps, get things out of my pockets and put them back, use my iPhone to navigate my walk and take photos, and snap and unsnap and zip and unzip my own pants. How amazing to be able to do all the things that fingers can do.

I walked to the base of nearby Ben Nevis, highest mountain in the UK at 4413 feet. I don’t know quite how, but what is visible in this photo is a lower peak Meall an-Suidhe (which translates into English as “hill of the rest” -sounds almost paradoxical, doesn’t it? - hill means challenge, effort, climb. The opposite of rest) Anyway, the hill of rest apparently conceals from view the real top of Ben Nevis which is twice as high.

I totally enjoyed the walk (which went a short way up the mountain - almost 1000 ft I think ) and the views 


The sun peaked out for a moment as I was heading back. 

I had found a route from my B&B (using my AllTrails app) that was almost all footpaths and no roads. But one of the footpaths surprised me by involving a stream crossing. I was very careful - this kind of wet and not especially flat stones are the kind my shoes just love to slip and slide on. And even here where other people are around and help us readily available, a fall would not be a very good thing. So I put my poles down and made sure they were securely planted. Then I placed one foot and made sure it wasn’t skipping (at least not yet) and only then did I lift my other foot (I was going to say “my last foot” - the poles really make me feel like a four-legged animal and I really love that feeling. )

Shoot - it’s past my bedtime and there are all these on the other hands (or feet?) I wanted to write - different directions I wanted to go - reflections during my walk today on how yesterday’s “adventure” really might relate to the whisky trail and the psychoanalytic pilgrimage. I wanted to tell you about a song version of a Bobby Burns poem that I discovered (I was trying to find a Burns song that felt like a jig do I could send it to my wonderful cousins Alice and Richard who start every day with a morning dance). And the song I found just chanced to be about whisky and dancing with the devil (well, it was about the devil dancing off with the excise man so the Scots could make their whisky in peace) but that goes way beyond coincidence don’t you think? Clear evidence that I am into something with all these totally unrelated ideas. It was fun to have the Burns song resonate with the places I visit here and books I have read related to Scottish history - the rebellious Scots who did not welcome English domination and taxes but fought fiercely for their freedom. 

And to go off in yet another direction (on another hand, or foot? Let’s be careful not to slip on a wet stone here …) I am very moved by some of my glimpses of Scottish culture. Walking to dinner tonight I walked through a garden and saw these two signs

It’s interesting to compare “Keep Scotland beautiful” to “Make America great again”. One evokes a lost mythical past, a sense of angry loss and entitlement and superiority. One is about cherishing what is and accepting the responsibility of stewardship for it. I sm idealizing Scotland? Of course. But isn’t it fun to find a country one can even momentarily idealize?

Another odd thing - in general Scots seem a bit indifferent to rules. They were not very zealous about customs for example and none of the places I’ve stayed have demanded to see my passport. But they seem to take picking up dog poop very seriously. There are lots of signs posted saying leaving dog poop is a crime and will result in a fine. One sign had 40 pounds as the fine, and that was crossed out and replaced with 80 pounds. There was even a sign urging people to report it if they see someone leaving dog poop behind. (Reminds me of all our “If you see something , say something” signs that urge us to report if anyone leaves behind any personal property or luggage that might be concealing a bomb. So we worry about bombs being left behind, and they worry about dog poop. 

I also noticed one sign said that leaving dog poo could cause blindness in children. I just googled and found that the National Health Service has a concern about toxocariasis - an illness caused by worms found in cat and dog poo (the UKers seem to use the word poo not poop). 

It interests me that having a national health service - despite its flaws - does lead to a strong orientation toward public health and disease prevention. The Scots may not be into all rules (such as those enforced by the excise collectors of a few hundred years back) but they maybe take disease prevention seriously. Maybe that’s part of the stewardship ethic implied in “Keep Scotland beautiful.” 

Somehow I don’t think “Keep America beautiful” works quite as well. Probably because most of us who live here are descendants of settlers and immigrants and not of indigenous people, the phrase itself rings with complexities. 

It’s not getting earlier and thus blog is not getting more unified and coherent. Time for me to go to bed. I will see you tomorrow for a very good breakfast and then we will start in the Great Glen Way. It’s a short hike tomorrow, about 10 miles, and then an optional 3 mile walk to the place I will stay (or I can call and receive a ride). I am tentatively planning to walk it. So here’s an overview of the walk in the six stages I will be walking it. 

Oh there is so much more I wanted to write. So many more pictures I wanted to show you. Let me just end with a photo of the outside of this B&B where I am staying. And let me thank you for walking with me and hope you will join me tomorrow on this new walk.