Invincible! Incredible!

Friday around 5:30pm. 36 hours since I left home. Five buses further. Little sleep. And I am still tired from the L1-training. I convince the friendly bus driver of line 700 to stop at the parking lot where the mountain path to the Shenavall Bothy starts instead of at the official bus stop half a kilometre further. I am almost alone on the dimmed bus. Every now and then we traverse a heavy snow shower. Storm Bert is arriving but I am not aware.

Pitch black in the Scottish Highlands when I step off. No accommodation nearby so I decide to start the walk immediately. At the side of the road I repack my luggage in walking mode. A routine job by now. The bothy bible says that the path is easy and it takes around 2.5 hours. I talk myself courage since it is only early evening.

It is a steep never ending path. That is no surprise. I also read it in the bothy bible. I am well prepared. I can follow the winding path with my breast lamp. There is much snow. It is as if I am walking in the Sahara, but colder. My wheels sink deep. The stroller almost tips over regularly. No problem. I know how to handle this.

I suddenly find myself face to face with three large black calves. We all stand still for a moment. Am I the most shocked or are they? I start talking softly to them. Two let me pass easily, the third is wilder and gallops into darkness onto the path. A little further stands a white cow as if she is waiting for the cyclists in the Tour de France.

I forgot to fill my water bag. A small stream of water flows over a verge. I fill a bottle. A difficult mission as the water flows diffusely. Oops, my left foot sinks deeply into a hole. My boot gets wet inside. My foot gets cold. I drink some of the water, not too much. I remember warnings from Bear Grylls. Eating snow or drinking very cold water requires much energy in your central body and you can quickly become hypothermic. I carry my bottle on my body to warm the water up.

I look on my cell-phone how far it still is. About 2 hours. I have walked a third. Excellent. And halfway it will be downhill. Excellent again. But suddenly I am getting tired. I have a hard time letting my neutral mind prevail over my negative mind. I slowly continue. Much later I check the app again. About 1h50m. What? I am on the road for 3 hours already. I will not make it today.

I decide to pitch my tent before my lamp fades. That will be soon. Pitching a tent in complete darkness won’t work. Damn, it’s not flat anywhere here. I’m afraid that my tent, with me sleeping inside it, will slide down the nearby abyss during the night. Suddenly there’s a short flat section. But full wind. I’m compacting the snow a bit with my feet. Erecting the tent is effortless but my sleeping bag is right at the bottom of the hiking cart. I have to unpack everything. How am I going to get that mess sorted again in these conditions?

A problem for tomorrow. More important now is a hot meal. Not possible, the flame keeps going out. I eat some chocolate. I wrap myself up. I fall asleep and when I wake up the wind has picked up. It’s 3:30am. My legs are cold, even though I’m wearing 6 layers on top of each other. Some more than on the Kilimanjaro.

I pee in a bottle that I carry with me for that purpose. Having to get out of a tent at night is never a good idea. I am thirsty and have no more water, so you can guess what I drink. Not that it tastes magnificent, but it is nicely warm. Around 6:30am I decide to take my rucksack with the bare necessities and leave for the bothy. Walking will warm me up. The sun has not yet risen.

I have to cross a river, fortunately shallow. The snow is getting thicker. Sometimes I sink deep and fall. The path is still steep uphill. Heavy snow flurries. And the strong wind doesn’t help me. It becomes too dangerous. I turn back. All I see is my polyurethane tile. Where is my tent?

It has apparently shifted and tilted. Notwithstanding the fact my heavy hiking cart is inside in it. I have trouble finding the opening. The wind is blowing harder and harder. I’m afraid my tent will tear. Sometimes I have to push really hard to keep from tumbling. My legs are cramping. I look at my cell-phone and see I have signal here. I make a wise decision and call 112.

I can barely hear the operator through the howling wind. It’s 07:16am. I disconnect the line and connect an earpiece. I have only one percent of power. I quickly find my spare battery. I try again. We talk for 7 minutes. They ask me questions that I don’t understand. I try to explain in words where I am but they don’t grasp it neither.

I open my compass on my cell-phone and transmit my longitude and latitude. I have the impression that the person on the other end of the line has never heard of a geodetic coördinate system. I start panicking. I am asked to inhale deeply and exhale completely. Ah, we are starting a yoga class. The already mentioned L1-training of last week flashes back where we talked extensively about death. I imagine that I will soon see the film. It is my day of judgment. Although I regularly posit that I accept death whenever it arises, I feel the ego protesting right now. I hang up in frustration.

We are on the line again. It slowly starts to sink in that I have to open what3words, but what the hell is this thing. I really don’t understand its functioning. I see a square and a blue dot. That’s my location I suppose. But how do I pass it on? Ah, I have to pronounce 3 words. They are however in Dutch. I have not finished spelling when the operator says: “We’ve located you. We’re sending a rescue team. Stay warm.” I hardly feel relieved.

Hours pass. Sometimes I’m resigned. I don’t see it as a good sign. It reminds me of the almost fatal consequences of a bee sting of my niece in Crete. I also remember that car ride with my first love. We narrowly escape a ghost driver. So I’ve been living in extended time for a long time. I fall asleep. I wake up again. The wind keeps increasing in intensity. If my tent tears, it’s over. Through the thorn sail I enjoy the superb surroundings. It is snowing a little inside. I reflect on my first bothy tour, one and a half year ago.

I remark voice messages. I listen to them. They confirm that help is on the way but I hear something like “tomorrow”. I call back. They reassure me, they will come today. Not much later, three men in red suits are standing next to my tent. The first one immediately feels my temperature on my legs. From his reaction I can deduce that I am not very hypothermic yet. He helps me out of my tent. “These are not winter gloves”, is his first reaction. A little lower down on the path is a warm car. I get a hot drink. When he helps the others to clean up the mess I created, I start to cry heavily. A mixture of relief and disappointment.

I can hardly keep my eyes open. I am in very close contact with my essence. I am as in the Wahe Guroo Aquarian Mantra. That continues as we drive away. Their base is surprisingly close. The rescuers hang up the wet luggage in a large heated room. They wait for the police to pick me up. They joke among themselves as only groups of strongly connected men do. I sit there a bit crestfallen. They ask about my plans. No idea. I didn’t really had a plan when I arrived in Scotland and now I’m too confused. They ask if they can book a hotel in Ullapool, it will be £111. I nod.

The police admonish me upon arrival: “Respect your volunteering rescuers and don’t undertake any other dangerous adventure in the highlands. You would never have reached the bothy”. The bobby continues: “The higher you go, the more snow there is. Sending a helicopter would have been the only option. If you had had any signal, which is doubtful. And a helicopter can’t fly out today with the storm. You would almost certainly have died”. I swallow. “I am not lecturing you any further and will take you now to your hotel,” concludes the officer.

En route I visualize that it’s Christmas in Belgium. I am still not back and my wife starts to worry. She shows my last whatsapp message to the Belgian police. Days later a rescue team finds me under layers of snow. I am well preserved. Best wishes for 2025. Fireworks are set off.

I spend the rest of the day resting in my warm hotel room. Which is now also a dunghill because of all the wet luggage on display. Really everything is damp. Today I am exactly halfway through my second 40-day personal sadhana based on the Ajai Alai mantra. It is already late but it will help me not to interrupt the series. I chant the mantra even more consciously than usual. Today its meaning has gained an extra wise layer. Invincible! Indestructible! My bothy tour has yet to begin.