Ettrick Head to Moffat

18 April

Distance and accent: 13.3km, 130m

Weather: fine start but turning to rain on approach to Moffat.

A deflating thermarest that was skating around the tent floor like a Hessian sack on a slide, a pillow that refused to stay anywhere near my head (I refer back to the Hessian sack/slide analogy), and worst of all, and the thing that kept me awake, feet that refused to warm up.

If I'd had my long thermarest, the pillow would have been on the mat and wouldn't have slid. If I'd had my long thermarest my feet might have been warmer (it's also a warmer mat, not just longer, but then my feet usually require a hot water bottle even at home). If I'd had my long thermarest I could have laid on my back and my back would have been a lot happier. I rued my sleeping mat choice. 

The only thing that stopped me from getting up silly early was that I'd packed a lesser head torch fort this trip and whilst I could do a night walk with it if I had to, I didn't much fancy either the limboing-under-trees route, outer the over-Croft-Head route with it.

I managed to stay put until 4.30am and it was just before 6am after a nicer bowl of hot porridge and a cup of tea, that I got walking.

A kilometre later, I finally had some warm blood in my feet for the first timer since 10pm. That kilometre saw a prolonged pause when I got a phone signal and a notification that I had a voicemail. I nearly ignored it, but curiosity got the better of me. Retrieving the voicemail was a trial as my network provider had randomly decided that I hadn't set up my mailbox (I've been with that provider for years and it definitely used to be set up), and it then kept rejecting my responses to every stage of the set up process. I eventually retrieved a message from Mick telling me he was going to get up early and drive back to where he'd left new the day before, whereas I'd just sent him a message saying I was walking to where he was in Moffat. A quick phone call woke him up (turned out he didn't mean *that* early), but also told him that her could go back to sleep.

My walk back was uneventful, albeit a bit damp as it rained on me for about half of it, and I was back at Bertie by half past eight. Concerned about whether I needed to announce myself as a visitor at reception, it turned out that Mick had not only prewarned them of my arrival but had also sought permission for me to have a shower, which was a welcome treat.

 

No photos today. I took not a single one.  

 

Ettrick Pen, sitting as the only unvisited Marilyn in a sea of visited ones.