My titles get worse. I'm such an imagination-tart. I was due to leave work early on the Friday for an overnight expedition with Graeme D and before I left I received an email from a friend who, shall we say, has led a colourful life. He had sent me a chart of a recent blood test precipitated by his friends including me suggesting that he looked more and more like Homer everyday. His liver enzymes were off the range of normal and all this after he had cut back to about 100 units a week. He finished by saying he was off the booze but who was up for a weekend trip to Amsterdam in August? Ye widnae credit it. I picked up Graeme and Lucy-lab at Tyndrum and we shot up to Glenfinnan for 1700. A pleasant walk in was marred by the ugly work of the hydro and silica gleam of JCB. It was a bloody eyesore. As we walked past Corryhully bothy, we couldn't help but notice the big hoose on the hill - it was like something out of the Shining - very alluring too though. Now the hard work began as we took to the stalker's path - the ascent up on to the subsidiary peak for Sgurr nan Coireachean was tough going but we made good ascent and it was just lovely to have a view for a change with no thunder-drizzle to contend with. At 2005, we decided to set up camp beside a convenient lochan for Lucy to paddle and cool down, as well as have some grub. At 2100, considerably lighter, we headed across to bag Sgurr nan Coireachean and take in the sunset. I acted like a right plank at the summit and we decided to head back to camp and open our cache of Kronenbourg and Highland Park. We sat and gabbed about life, lochans and libido (Homer's in particular) as well as trying to decide what it was about the hills we loved. I spoke more sh*te than usual but Graeme did his best to nod as I ventured towards insobriety and decerebration. Time for bed. Well, without word of a lie I had a fantastic night's sleep and only woke after a dream where someone was interrupting my presentation on Cryptosporidium and they wouldn't let me speak. Infection follows me everywhere. We packed up next morning and skirted SnC before the nice amble over to Sgurr Thuilm. From here, our idea to add Streap into this walk seemed optmistic and if Graeme had said to head back at this point, I would have torn his hand off. As it was, he didn't and we began the steep descent down to the glen, which was at times quite precarious. Having reached the burn and having lost 650m, we knew the hike back up to Streap would be both arduous and tough especially as the temperature had cranked up ten degrees or so. If Graeme had said to head..cut and paste. The initial climb was steep and hard-going - poor Lucy was whimpering or was that me? After what seemed an age, we eventually arrived just below Streap's summit and bagged it before setting off along the tasty wee arete. We found a 'curious diagonal slope' and headed off, which eventually took us back to the glen and the long, long, walk back to the car. I wish my mind would shut up sometimes, after having said my boots were great and I had no foot pain, the pain was more or less imminent and pounding. The car was a welcome vista and we shook hands on what had been a great 24 hours. As for Homer, I think he may be 'tatties'.
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