Galavanting Storr

Rendezvous The shortest day of the year was among us and light was nothing but a tease during our time in Scotland. We would yearn for a peek through the overcast like a pubescent boy trying for a look under a skirted girl running up the stairs. Our patience was tested with the weather, our mornings started with shivering downpours and temperamental gusts of wind. But we were never discouraged and pushed through the day crossing our fingers not to be pushed off the mountains.

Hiking Old Man of Storr Sweat started to surface, my body perspiring, small beads of sweat form above my lip. It didn’t take long to warm up as we squished through mud ascending Old Man of Storr. I was taken aback by the deforestation, but it contrasted beautifully with the infinite moss, blanketing every rock. I was surprised to see and feel how wet the mountain was. It was peppered with wryly rust-colored shrubs, plastered with shades of gray, and sprouted with wheat colored grass. It was the result of the ocean and desert fornicating behind Mother Nature’s back; its beauty was unreal. My heart throbbed seeing glistening pools of water between sunken in areas of the mountain, small lakes that trickled down the edge, like an over-poured drink.

Dave and I weaved our way around some other hikers and found ourselves in awe once we reached the top. I couldn't help myself. I dragged my fingers over the cracks of the boulders which were filled with rubbery sprouts that tickled the tips of my fingers. My senses were overwhelmed and we took everything a step further when we crawled under a fence to another side of the mountain that was off-limits to those passing by. Luckily, our host gave us the inside scoop. You'll be thankful you threw your leg over the barbed wire. You'll be greeted by a cliff and no one else to bother you. Dave took his moment of peace to pee over the cliff. Typical.