of ignorance and bliss

I survived The Hike… or more fitting, the Death Trap.  When I signed up for this fundraiser on the Isle of Skye, I had no idea that I was just possibly signing my life away.  Really, how could a 3,000 ft. peak in Scotland be any more difficult than a 14,000 ft. peak in Colorado?  I’ve scaled mountains, crossed rivers, served my time in the wilds of the Rockies.  What does the Isle of Skye have on them? 

The Isle of Skye has the Black Cuillins.  That’s what.

It is true, you know, that ‘ignorance is bliss’.  On Saturday this past weekend, I was perfectly blissful from the time I woke up in my B&B room looking out over the gray waters of a loch (lake) across the road, and as I drove along the road winding its way around the mountains of Skye, and even when I met my guide, Jillian, who would lead myself and three other blissfully ignorant women up the mountain that day.  We were ignorant and blissful. 

And then Jillian handed each of us a helmet and a harness. 

‘Oh no,’ we said, ‘You’ve mistaken us for the other group.  They’re doing the technical hills.  We’re doing the long, intense, and difficult hike, but not technical.  No, no, we don’t need these… do we?’  ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘Thaet ye do!’   

The four of us and Jillian drove to the trailhead of the three peaks we were scheduled to climb that day: Sgurr nan Gillean, Am Bastier, Bruach na Frithe.  Once there, we started our ascent, which consisted of about two hours of hiking on a normal mountain trail and then an hour of climbing over a steep scree field to the top of the ridge, by which time we were already donning our helmets. The peaks were clothed in a soft billow of cloud, which made them seem less formidable, but also gave them an eeriness fit for Mordor. 

The helmets we could understand.  It was the harnesses that gave us worry. 

And they should have.   At numerous times on the nine hour hike, we found ourselves in those harnesses clinging to the rock face with all our strength as we groped for hand and foot holds, trying not to look down at the 1000’ drop below.  Always, it seemed, we were on the edge.  The edge of the rock.  The edge of the mountain.  And with the cloud blocking our view, it seemed we were on the edge of the world.

We climbed vertically in those harnesses. 

(Don’t be deceived by this smile!  It’s actually an, ‘I’m going to kill whoever got me into this mess’ kind of smile!)

We clamored horizontally in those harnesses.

We descended vertically in those harnesses.  

At the top of the peaks we saw views like this in our harnesses:

And just below the tops, we saw views like this in our harnesses:

And the fact that we didn’t fall into The Trap or off the mountain (not that they’re different) is because of Jillian, our wee but fierce mountain guide:

In truth, if I hadn’t been fully ignorant of what it was that I signed up for, I probably wouldn’t have had the guts to do it.  Personally, I don’t like the feeling of having my legs shaking uncontrollably while climbing up a rock chimney, or the feeling that I can quickly find myself dangling in mid-air if my foot slips on the one-inch foot hold while spread eagle around a boulder 1000’ up.  No thank you.

But it was a fundraiser, after all.  And I believe my team of ten people raised over 1000 Pounds, so it was, all things considered, a success.  We didn’t die, and homeless youth will gain from it.