Back in the early 60s, long before any of us were married, we heard of a doctor's wife who was nurturing some wildcat kittens in Drumnadrochit and along with two of my pals we drove from Yorkshire camping along the way. What happened about finding the doctor's wife and the kittens I can't remember, but I know we ended up in the pub at Drumnadrochit. We befriended a local gamekeeper type and we drank an awful lot of beer. We had left our tents wild camped in the forest above the village. We should have known better, but the gamekeeper invited us back to his cottage so off we went taking with us one or two bottles of Scotch and imposed ourselves on the gamekeeper's long suffering, I guess, wife. We left there in the wee small hours.
I was in my tent with Pete (he now features here when we still walk together most Thursdays - Pete is now eighty three and I am seventy eight, so all that was over fifty years ago.) Not long after snuggling down there was the most appalling, blood-curdling, high volume scream from the forest that I have ever heard. We were petrified.
Pete said "What the **** was that?" Are you going to go and see?"
"Not likely" I said.
* The Great Outdoors Challenge: an annual event organised by TGO magazine when challengers cross Scotland coast to coast back packing, having plotted there own routes. This is not a race just a social event. Numbers are limited to 300 (I think) and this is always over subscribed.