Quite a few people are about to launch themselves on a journey, and many of those are blogging (and probably tweeting, twittering and, possibly, wittering) about their forthcoming attempt to walk a couple of hundred miles or so across the middle, relatively wild bit of Scotland. Readers of blogs who aren’t about to set off on this particular trip may well be excused for the glazing of their eyes at the constant stream of lists of equipment and what it weighs and so on and so on.
TGO challengers, particularly those chosen few who’s privilege it is to make their first attempt can be empathised with if they have the odd qualm or even the occasional butterfly about it. (If they haven’t then they’re idiots, frankly and probably won’t be at Montrose at the end)
Those of us who are about to make yet another attempt – in my case, my eleven-and-a –halfth (sic) – may also be aware that the outcome is in doubt.
But we set off with nervous optimism. We are optimistic about the weather. We are optimistic that if the weather is dire, that we’ll cope well enough. We’re optimistic that when we meet other challengers on the way, somewhere, perhaps in a remote and unlikely spot, that the meeting will be friendly and positive and that new, cherishable memories will be formed.
And we’re optimistic that our puny, or otherwise fat and failing bodies will be cajoled into carrying us and our listed gear over all those tussocks and across those difficult streams.
It’s good to be optimistic.
It’s a bit late for Beltane, but here’s a short late-spring bit of optimism (maybe a bit too fast for traditionalists – but at least it’s cheerful) I’ve done my packing. The pack is resting now, waiting for the addition of a few forgotten items, suddenly remembered at random times.
Here’s my best wishes for everybody about to set off on the TGO Challenge, and also for those friends doing something else.