We go walking in the Scottish Highlands when we review Bothy Tales.
Bothy Tales – the blurb
I can move only with the aid of barrels of anti-inflammatory gel, sticking plasters and real ale anaesthetic. Martin and I descend from hours of walking to the small town of Middleton-in-Teesdale. I walk, stiff legged, into the campsite office and a plump, middle-aged woman looks up from her desk and can see the old timer is in trouble. “Oh, what a shame you weren’t here last week,” she says, pity radiating from behind her horn-rimmed specs. “You’ve missed him.” I look at her, puzzled. “Elvis!” she explains. “You missed Elvis.” Oh God, now I’m hallucinating.
Cooking on gas
I love walking and camping, although haven’t had the delight(?) of sleeping in a bothy yet. I’m also familiar with the areas Burns writes about. I’ve driven many a time through Glen Coe. I’ve stayed in Loch Carron and eaten at Spean Bridge. In a world where these places have become forbidden to visit reading about them was equally painful and wonderful.
At times it does seems as though all of the walks take place in winter with a sense of panic as night falls and the intended bothy is not yet met. Anyone who has stood with an ordnance survey map and even a sniff of a setting sun will understand the adrenalin this can bring. The fun and games of setting up camp in the dark, the excitement at who you are going to meet, the cooking on gas are surely equal to those of of staying in a bothy. Can I get the fire going? What will the toilet situation be like? Have I packed enough alcohol?
Burns chapters include the weird and the wonderful – alternative realities, hilarious encounters and even…a murder! Yet there are also serious ruminations about what it means to truly be in the wilderness. And how dangerous this can be. There are also tears amongst the belly laughs -the chapters where Burns writes about his father and the grief he carries are beautiful.
More whisky?
It’s a little random in it’s narrative and there are numerous mentions of coal and whisky but when you are walking, that’s what it comes down to. The finish line when you are (hopefully) warm and dry and can indulge in a sausage sandwich and a hot toddy knowing you’ve earnt it. Walkers, climbers and campers alike will read Bothy Tales with a rye smile and perhaps a glance out of the window wishing they were there. Others may roll their eyes at yet more fire starting tales. Actually if you’re the latter maybe don’t bother reading. It’s not really going to be your cup of tea.
Give me a Bothy
A book of this kind should fill you with wanderlust. I’ve just finished it and am so full I could burst. I want to be in the car, walking boots on, map in hand heading to the nearest Munro. So when we are out of lockdown be warned, if you happen to be walking up a mountain and you hear a strange woman singing ‘The hills are alive with the smoke from Bothies’ it will probably be me. I can’t wait!
If you like reading about walking in nature try The Salt Path by Raynor Winn.
