June 12, 2007
For the first two weeks, Leah and I camped in the Scottish wind, cold and rain. Setting up the tent in the drizzle is tricky. No matter how (or how fast) it's pitched, we're upright puddles when we finish. But, free of our rain gear and inside the sleeping bags, it's warm and dry. We sleep wonderfully, lofted on our Thermarest sleeping pads. In the mornings, I love waking to crisp air and birdsong. That is, until I flap open the tent's rain fly, pasting it to itself with water, and realize it's still raining, the wind has displaced the tent stakes, which in turn has slackened the tent enough to allow water to slowly dribble inside. And, there is really no experience quite like folding up a wet tent, and cramming it, without a hint of ceremony, into a backpack.
Don't get me wrong: we love Scotland. It's beautiful with green rolling hills, neatly parsed farms, placid cows, cliffs, burns, glens, birds, wildflowers and millions of sheep methodically ripping up grass with jerks of their heads. The best part, as far as we're concerned, is the public access to footpaths. Footpaths ramble all over the country and, the public's access to footpaths cannot be prevented, even if the path winds through private property--it's the law! How enlightened. Numerous times, I've heaved myself over a stile (a word the Scots use for a set of step over the wall of a field) to find that I was sharing the field with sheep, cows and, in one case, the backyard of a cottage complete with children's playset.
