7. Makenna
Makenna
My goal today is to take in some views. And to not think about the handsome man who for some reason spoke to me last night.
The memory of his smile makes that second goal quite difficult. But I can do hard things!
I’m making my way up Meall Fuar-mhonaidh, the highest hill bordering Loch Ness. I’m carrying a little cut-out of the loch’s famous monster to stage a photo. Mai jokingly asked for a photo of it, and I plan to deliver.
I pass through a gate marked “Hill Foot Path” and continue onward, past ferns and tall grasses, as the narrow path gently rises.
I pass a big patch of what I believe to be purple heather.
It brings back to mind the song Malcolm sang when he returned to the stage last night.
I push the handsome musician from my mind and snap a photo for mom.
I can’t send it yet; there’s no service, so the proof of life will have to wait.
I come to an open field and spot a large A-shaped ladder to take me over a fence. I’ve never hiked anywhere with a fence and ladder like this. It’s a fun little up-and-over.
As I amble through the open fields and over gentle hills, I find myself questioning why this is considered a difficult hike.
But as the terrain becomes steeper and rockier, I find myself out of breath.
As an avid hiker back home, this doesn’t seem any more difficult than the hikes I’m used to, but I’m really struggling to keep up my pace.
I pause at the bottom of a particularly steep-looking section and take off the long-sleeved tee I’m wearing over my favorite purple tank top. I’m glad I decided to pack it. I hadn’t expected to sweat like this. It’s almost like I have a fever.
I make it to the first of four cairns that lead to the top and question if I'll make it. I think traveling got to me more than I realized. I need a nap.
I make myself press on. I’m here and won’t be missing out on the views. Apparently, on a clear day like today, you can see the full length of Loch Ness, Fort William, and all the way back to Inverness.
It takes about twice as long as it should, but I finally make it to the top of the hill. It’s so beautiful. A hundred times prettier than the photos I saw when researching the trip. The good thing is, I can enjoy the view just as well while sitting. I find a nice patch of grass and do just that.
I pull out my snack but just stare at it.
I’m not hungry. Why am I not hungry? Hiking always makes me hungry.
I drink a little water and shove the bottle, with the snacks, back into my backpack.
I grab my little Loch Ness Monster cut-out and stand to set up the photo, and I have a sudden stomach pain.
Oh my gosh. Was there something wrong with the bangers and mash?
How long is the typical onset for food poisoning?
Or did I pick up a virus while traveling?
I’d intended to bring disinfectant wipes for my plane seat and tray table, but it was an errant thought that never made it onto the list. How can you tell the difference between food poisoning and a virus?
I guess it doesn’t matter at this point.
Maybe it’s just gas.
I hold out my fake Nessie and snap a terrible photo of it (her?) with the lake in the background. This is a missed opportunity if I’ve ever seen one, but I can’t do any better. I’m an hour and a half from my car. More, if I start feeling worse.
A fresh wave of heat hits me, and I stare down at the cool grass, contemplating lying down. Perhaps a rest is what I need. Something tells me, though, that I need to get moving.
The scramble down the rocks becomes exponentially harder as I grow weaker.
When I reach the previously neat and interesting ladder, it takes all my strength to climb over.
By that point, the hike flattens substantially and I should feel relieved, but I’m suddenly very cold.
I pause to put my long-sleeved shirt back on and take a sip of water.
I’m not sure if it will be helpful or not, but water always seems like the right thing to do.
I throw up a little bit. So consider that mystery solved. Water is not always the answer.
Why are there no other people here today? There’s no strapping young lad to help me the rest of the way down the hill. Did they all get together and decide today isn’t the day for hiking? Obviously, they were right.
I’m beginning to shake as I pass by the gate and the last of the ferns, and finally see my rental car. It’s been over two hours, and my body is about to give out.
There’s no service here. Nothing to do but drive until I can call someone.
I allow myself five minutes to rest in the car. I lean the seat back and close my eyes. The pain has moved to my lower right side and it’s sharper. I’ve never experienced anything like this.
When my time is up, I drive toward civilization like a great-grandmother in an ice storm.
I make it to Drumnadrochit and park at a church where I finally have service.
I call 999. Things have escalated. I can’t just go back to the cottage and sleep.
That’s not going to fix whatever I have going on here.
I’m not sure how long I lie in my car waiting for an ambulance, but it feels like an eternity. I’m on the edge of consciousness when a woman shows up at my door. Everything from there is a blur.