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At the bottom of each post there is the word "comments". If you click on it you will see comments made by followers, and if you follow the instructions you may also comment and I always welcome that. I have found many people overlook this part of the blog which is often more interesting than the original post!

My blog nick-name is SIR HUGH. I'm not from the aristocracy - my middle name is Hugh which relates to the list of 282 hills in Scotland compiled by Sir Hugh Munro in 1891. I climbed my last one (Sgurr Mor) on 28th June 2009


Saturday, 2 June 2018

I haven't done the TGO but...

Reading various TGO* accounts over the last week or so there have been several mentions of Drumnadrochit, a village on the edge of Loch Ness, so already there is a mythical association which enhances my own experience in that location a long time ago.

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.


  1. Nice one Conrad.
    Btw - I spent a very pleasant evening re-reading your GR10 book recently. Happy Days.

  2. "Not likely" I said.

    No wiser words were ever spoken!

  3. I encountered a similarly blood curdling scream when camping in the Cotswolds some years ago - it woke me with a start but nobody else heard it. I couldn't get back to sleep after that!

  4. Phreerunner - Yes, I enjoyed this one. People who I have walked with often over the years have no doubt been subjected to endless repetitions of this and many other anecdotes, but most are too polite to stop you when your are launched for the nth time, so here I suspect I may have found one or two readers who have not heard this one before.


    The Crow - I have just commented elsewhere on the wisdom of your own words.


    John J - Like me, I reckon you considered it was better not to know. anyway it would have spoiled the story if I had found out.

  5. It's called head-in-the-sandism; Brexiters suffer from it chronically.

    Apparently I do not belong to the "us" that defines the group of people you belong to. My easily remembered anniversary (1/10/60) puts me beyond the pale. I'm surprised; you were present and I have photographic proof. In those days you wore your quiff flopping down over your left eyebrow, as described in the early James Bond novels. In those days you qualified as my best man; would that still apply?

  6. RR - Your reply is a bit like a Thurber conundrum: I'm not sure whether you are regretful or boasting as well as being surprised.

  7. Or perhaps I simply intended you to be unsure.