Neighbours (alive)

The way to Loch Loch is, as always, trying. With the bicycle parked at Daidhu, halfway on the way, the last human settlement, it still takes two or three hours, more, if you forget to pack your sleeping bag in plastic, it starts to rain, and you have to wait in a stinking shed with some agricultural artefacts. It's a steep hill to climb to Glen Fearnach, and the walk from Daidhu is up and down. It does not happen very often that I walk with more than ten kilograms on my back. I arrived way after sunset, and grope around for pegs in the darkness.

On the way out, I meet the people of Daidhu, a couple with several dogs. Him, working with his dog on his purpose-built dog playground, her, later in the car, with another dog. 'I saw your bike', and 'we were worried about you'. I could almost see Daidhu from the Sron nan Dias campsite, and their lights were comforting, and terrifying at the same time. 'A guy with a big pack, we heard, he is probably out for a while.' Considerate people. I sort of assumed that Daidhu was only temporarily inhabited, maybe by hunting parties, but these people live here. But what are they doing in their free time? Do they have any free time?

So far, the people in the glen have been like foxes to me, invisible, elusive, unrelatable. I see their tracks in the snow, sometimes their noises at night, or rarely the remainder of their food. That's it. There is no return to that idea. Also, it is difficult to relate to people in a normal way after several days of constant interior monologue. I'm not sure what they made of me, and I probably don't want to find out. I hope I looked marginally competent, that's all I'm trying to project. Being accidentally rescued while relaxing at Loch Loch will remain one of my nightmares.