and got into the car with Ethan.
The
rocky landscape where Ethan and Peter dropped me off began with gentle slopes.
Peter had recommended the location to me. Apparently there was a wonderful view
from up on the ridge.
At
the start, I met a few other hikers, but the farther I walked, the more
isolated it became. I was in good shape because of the regular swim training,
and in spite of all the painting utensils I was carrying, I made good progress.
With every step I took, the view became more and more beautiful. Soon, the
coast of the mainland appeared in the distance. Farther up, a little distance
away from the cliff, I set up my easel and started to paint. It was phenomenal.
The blue sea, reflecting the green slopes of the mountain. Would I ever manage
to capture a view like this?
I
was so immersed in my work and captivated by the beauty around me that I didn’t
notice the wind picking up. It was only when I started to feel really cold and
was struggling to hold the paintbrush that I stopped and looked up at the sky.
It
didn’t look good; Bree had been right after all. Dark grey clouds were piling
up over the mountains, while beneath me the sea was crashing thunderously
against the cliffs. I should go back.
I
hurriedly packed my things together, pulled my jacket around me, and walked
back in the direction I had come. The wind was almost knocking me off my feet
now, and the path seemed mercilessly long this time. That morning, I had simply
walked without thinking, but now I had to admit that I didn’t know how long it
had taken me for the ascent. And to make matters worse, the path ahead reached
a fork. I didn’t have much time to deliberate about which direction I should
take, so I chose the path that led downwards. But after a while, I noticed that
the path was starting to climb again, and the air was becoming denser with fog.
I cursed inwardly—why hadn’t I brought my cell phone with me? Because the
reception in Scotland was usually non-existent, I thought, answering my own
question. Turning back seemed to be the only option, and by the time I got back
to the crossing, I was completely out of breath. I decided to leave my things
here; I didn’t have the energy to carry them any farther. Hiding them all under
a bush in the hope of finding them again later, I tucked the food and water
bottle away in my backpack.
The
path began to lead very closely alongside the edge of the cliff, so I knew it
wasn’t a good idea to follow it any farther in this fog. The wind was
strengthening by the minute. I hesitated, then decided to keep going. As I
went, I left a stone as a marker here and there, just in case I had to turn
back. Concentrating fully on the path ahead, I completely forgot the cold.
Every step required my full attention. There were trails everywhere, but I
didn’t know whether they were from animals or people, let alone whether they
led somewhere. A few times I had to sit down in the damp grass to rest, but I
always forced myself to get up and walk on. By now I had completely lost my
orientation and was hoping fervently that I wouldn’t find the cliff path
blocked.
One
cautious step after the other, I made my way down the mountain. I looked at my
watch—half past five. I could only hope that Peter and Ethan were out looking
for me. And, more importantly, that they would manage to find me.
Utterly
exhausted, I eventually came to a small tree plantation where the branches
offered some protection from the wind. I didn’t know whether to go on—would
someone find me here? With trembling fingers, I opened the water bottle and
drank. Then I ate the last sandwich. It was squashed, but I didn’t care; the
rumbling of my stomach was almost louder than the wind.
Then
I waited.
Despite
the cold, I fell asleep, waking only when I heard someone calling my name.
Confused, I looked around me, then suddenly remembered what had happened.
Tentatively, I tried to stand up, but my legs refused to obey.
»I’m
here,« I
The
rocky landscape where Ethan and Peter dropped me off began with gentle slopes.
Peter had recommended the location to me. Apparently there was a wonderful view
from up on the ridge.
At
the start, I met a few other hikers, but the farther I walked, the more
isolated it became. I was in good shape because of the regular swim training,
and in spite of all the painting utensils I was carrying, I made good progress.
With every step I took, the view became more and more beautiful. Soon, the
coast of the mainland appeared in the distance. Farther up, a little distance
away from the cliff, I set up my easel and started to paint. It was phenomenal.
The blue sea, reflecting the green slopes of the mountain. Would I ever manage
to capture a view like this?
I
was so immersed in my work and captivated by the beauty around me that I didn’t
notice the wind picking up. It was only when I started to feel really cold and
was struggling to hold the paintbrush that I stopped and looked up at the sky.
It
didn’t look good; Bree had been right after all. Dark grey clouds were piling
up over the mountains, while beneath me the sea was crashing thunderously
against the cliffs. I should go back.
I
hurriedly packed my things together, pulled my jacket around me, and walked
back in the direction I had come. The wind was almost knocking me off my feet
now, and the path seemed mercilessly long this time. That morning, I had simply
walked without thinking, but now I had to admit that I didn’t know how long it
had taken me for the ascent. And to make matters worse, the path ahead reached
a fork. I didn’t have much time to deliberate about which direction I should
take, so I chose the path that led downwards. But after a while, I noticed that
the path was starting to climb again, and the air was becoming denser with fog.
I cursed inwardly—why hadn’t I brought my cell phone with me? Because the
reception in Scotland was usually non-existent, I thought, answering my own
question. Turning back seemed to be the only option, and by the time I got back
to the crossing, I was completely out of breath. I decided to leave my things
here; I didn’t have the energy to carry them any farther. Hiding them all under
a bush in the hope of finding them again later, I tucked the food and water
bottle away in my backpack.
The
path began to lead very closely alongside the edge of the cliff, so I knew it
wasn’t a good idea to follow it any farther in this fog. The wind was
strengthening by the minute. I hesitated, then decided to keep going. As I
went, I left a stone as a marker here and there, just in case I had to turn
back. Concentrating fully on the path ahead, I completely forgot the cold.
Every step required my full attention. There were trails everywhere, but I
didn’t know whether they were from animals or people, let alone whether they
led somewhere. A few times I had to sit down in the damp grass to rest, but I
always forced myself to get up and walk on. By now I had completely lost my
orientation and was hoping fervently that I wouldn’t find the cliff path
blocked.
One
cautious step after the other, I made my way down the mountain. I looked at my
watch—half past five. I could only hope that Peter and Ethan were out looking
for me. And, more importantly, that they would manage to find me.
Utterly
exhausted, I eventually came to a small tree plantation where the branches
offered some protection from the wind. I didn’t know whether to go on—would
someone find me here? With trembling fingers, I opened the water bottle and
drank. Then I ate the last sandwich. It was squashed, but I didn’t care; the
rumbling of my stomach was almost louder than the wind.
Then
I waited.
Despite
the cold, I fell asleep, waking only when I heard someone calling my name.
Confused, I looked around me, then suddenly remembered what had happened.
Tentatively, I tried to stand up, but my legs refused to obey.
»I’m
here,« I
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