Monday, August 5, 2013

There and Back Again: A Fyrish Tale

Today is Monday. And usually on Mondays we have a guest blogger, but I'm going to be our "guest" writer and share a Had I But Known moment. About a hike. A hike up a Scottish mountain. A mountain that is home to Fyrish.

I hiked this mountain path over ten years ago, when I was 23 and fit. In the lapse of 10 years I have since borne three children and spent too much time sitting at a desk writing curriculum and grading essays. I neglected to consider this fact when I suggested to Reay and Karen that we hike up to the Fyrish Monument one breezy morning. I also did not consider the fact that my mum-in-law is an avid walker who hikes Fyrish several times a year. Clearly my powers of reasoning were amuddle in that moment of outdoor enthusiasm.

We began our hike in an area that looked much like Hobbiton--it was wild and mossy and looked as though hobbits should be popping out of their underground hobbit houses to wish us well and cheer us on in our journey. It was shady and the ground relatively level. There were 5 of us in our merry band of hikers. Our spirits were high and conversation unimpeded.

We crossed a bridge, mounted large rock steps, and soon the easy path became less easy, as did the catching of our breath. My gait slowed more and more as the rocks beneath my feet multplied and the trajectory of the trail went up at a disheartening angle. Conversation lagged. It had truly become a hike.

I paused with Alan--Jonathan's Uncle Al as we lovingly call him--to look through a break in the trees. We had made progress. Already we had climbed high enough to overlook the fields and the firth. But we still had a ways to go. I gulped some water. Took deep breaths to slow my pulse. And we pressed on.

Alan the Conqueror pointing out landmarks.
One foot. Whump. Other foot. Whump. Step by rocky step we made our way to the top. Soon the path began to level out again, and the trees turned to scrub and thick grasses and heather. The wind strengthened in the absence of shelter, and it felt good against my neck and face now coated with sweat. And then I saw it. The peaks of Fyrish rising up from where earth met sky.

My spirit was buoyed, my legs lightened. We forged ahead, breathing deeply, smiling. The wind whipped across the summit, the grass bending flat to the ground. I stood, hands on hips, gazing at the loveliest vista I've seen since my last journey up to this peak. Had I but known what a difficult climb it would be, I would not have changed my mind. The breath-stealing view was worth every minute and each ounce of effort. I would have, however, had a different mindset in the launching out of this venture. I would have prepared my mind for the journey itself, not just the end result. Which seems, somehow, apropos to life, does it not?

A brief respite for the weary travelers.

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  1. Replies
    1. So glad, Karen! It was a great experience indeed

  2. So beautiful and it looks so cool there. Not 103* like here.
    What are the ruins called and what are they ruins of?

    1. 103*. Ugh. The ruins are actually called Fyrish Monument and it's supposed to be a replica of a monument in India. The guy who had it built was from India (when it was a British colony, so he was British, not Indian) and when he moved to Scotland he wanted a reminder of his homeland. And that is the full extent of my knowledge of Fyrish.

    2. I can see that in the style, now. Fascinating, the things people do to remind them of home. See, I would never, ever have known that if I hadn't stumbled across your blog :)


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