It started, as it usually does, with leaving my husband unattended near the hiking guide book.
The hiking guide book always looks so innocent, doesn’t it? I suspect this one entered our lives in the coffee kiosk on a Cal-Mac ferry. I wasn’t there, because I was staring nauseously at the horizon.
And now, Husband was reading the guidebook.
“This one looks stunning,” he said, “and easy.”
“Show me?”
Hiking guidebooks are, without exception, written by Outdoorsy people. I strongly suspect most of them of being ex Special Forces. I also suspect they are researched in high summer – dry paths and daylight included. Every single time Husband picks up a guidebook I have to remind him to translate it into terms that us mere mortals can relate to.
So. We start with…
“Slightly boggy underfoot.”
Best beloved Husband, that means “Sarah will land bum first in a peat bog, probably whilst attempting to retrieve a child’s boots.”
“Easily forded stream…”
Darling, for you. With our little legs, the kids and I will be soaked to the knee.
“Good gravel paths…”
Excellent. This tends to mean what it says. On the way up. On the way down, this means 3km of surfing down a domesticated scree slope.
Ah – and here’s the key point. “Six hours” means “nine hours.” It just does.
“But the kids are older now…”
“And so am I. They’re not the slow coaches anymore, certainly not on the descent.”
Us, on Ulva
Husband looks mildly disgruntled.
“I thought you liked hiking?”
“I do. I love hiking. But we have to be realistic about these things. If I KNOW I am signing up for nine hours, one hour each way through blog, and a 3km descent on scree slopes, I know how many breakfasts to pack.”
THAT is what this blog is for. Hikers who rate climbs by meal stops and views, not metres and peaks bagged.
Welcome to Second Breakfast Hiking.