A place name speaks a thousand words. So let’s start this post with that name: The Devil’s Staircase.
Two of our writers finished their walking portion of the West Highland Way yesterday, understandably not wanting or unable due to injury to meet said Devil. I and the other three writer friends might have made the same decision, but for the assurance that the TRUE test of the path was already behind us (See Day 4). Recall the English gentleman I met after rock climbing from Inversnaid to Interarnan. And I quote:
“Oh you’ve come through the worst part by far.” He and our guidebook assured us that the name was harmless. The staircase would not be so bad. The hard part would be the steep descent after.
"It will seem like a stroll," he said.
Liars. Both the Englishman and the guidebook.
But before we hit the Devil, this area plays an important part in Scottish history and topographical fame. Just out of Kingshouse, the first thing we saw rising ahead of us was the spectacular-if-intimidating Buachaille Etive Mor, one of the most famous munros in Scotland. The country is known for it’s colorful, misty, rocky munros — defined as any mountain over 3,000 feet and which has been officially deemed a munro by the Scottish Mountaineering Club. At the foot of this particular munro, one of Scotland’s bloodiest battles was fought. During the 1692 Massacre of Glencoe, members of the Clan MacDonald were betrayed and slaughtered by the 10th Earl of Argyll. This grisly scene to ages of conflict.
If you are a Bond fan, the area is also important. It's where the most breathtaking scenes of Skyfall were shot. Given that I was married to a Bond for many years, that my kids carry that name, and that we have seen every Bond film ever made, I had this spot marked on my list of selfie-musts.
After a couple miles on fairly easy terrain, we took a sharp left. Behold, the Devil’s Staircase.
When I first saw the staircase I ached for a taxi. I admit it. Let’s just get this out: in truth, I’ve wanted to take several of the outs I set up for the other walkers. I am just too stubborn. Too led by the ego. At this point I was pretty clear I will be pay for it in a wrecked knee and I am asking myself was not stepping off the path worth the possibility of surgery? When this is over I plan to have a good long talk with myself about my personal competitiveness — that is my competition with myself.
(An aside: If you are following this and hope to join me on the path in years to come, I should stop my whining and assure you IT IS WORTH IT in amazing and countless ways. And you can bet I will be setting up shorter walking distances, breaking up these harder sections into manageable pieces with adequate rest time. Doing so would be well worth the three or four extra days.)
The Devil was a deeply angled switchback climb straight up. Straight up just like the name indicated — a staircase. At the end, my fellow writers were nonplussed about this climb. "That wasn't so bad," one of them shocked me at the end.
I, on the other hand, THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE. And in fact stopped to write a poem about death! It hurt that much. I have no real reason for this except that mentally I believed the book and the English dude. When it turned out to be harder than their assessment (at least for me), I got mad. Hiking while mad, makes the hurting worse. Note to self.
Just like every other day, and childbirth for that matter, arriving at the top suddenly made the climb worth it. The staircase carried us up to the highest point of the West Highland Way (1,800 ft). A cairn built there by thousands of walkers took my breath away and standing by it I felt a heart beating in its stones. I closed my eyes, placed my hand on one of the rock, and placed the other on my chest and listened this way for a long time. My own pulse, the pulse of the rocks, the pulse of wind. It was so peaceful standing there in driving rain.
I waited there for my friend Cynthia to finish the climb and watched as she placed her stone on the cairn. The look on her face. It said “Triumph.” This was her last day of walking and she ended with aplomb.
What goes up must come down. It was a long, long, long way down into Kinlochleven, the largest town we’ve stopped in during this hike. How strange to see buildings, cars, streets, a co-op. This town is also home the region’s massive waterworks.
Nine miles altogether, five miles of it downhill. I feel a knee replacement in my future.
The prompt yesterday was CHALLENGE. Apt. This was, for me, the most challenging day. Last evening the prompt for our session an image. Each of us was given a Soul Card with an image and asked to write how it might reflect or speak to us. It makes sense to me that the writers would choose to keep these thoughts private. But here are some words that I found.
The Void Who Speaks to Me
I say to you: I am here
you say to me: but where is here?
I say to you: you are not lost
You say to me: but am I found?
I say to you: There is time enough
You say to me: in which universe?
I say to you: don’t worry, storms always move on
You say to me: I’m not worried, but what shall we serve them when they arrive?
I say to you: love with reason
You say to me: isn’t love the reason?
This is how we navigate the path
With questions following the answers
Cheryl Murfin, West Highland Way, 2019
Non-Existence
I cannot take this moment with me
Nor this one
Nor this
I will not be remembered
Nor will the moments I once owned
They will not remain memories at all
What I have seen and done
Whether I turned right or left
Whether the devil beat me or not
Images of a single life
These will not change history
History has its own course to run
I will soon forget the exactness of this ray of sun
The weakness in my ankle as I climb
This sweat on my brow
They will fade away
They will join me
Not forgotten, but completely disappeared
Into the splendid nothingness
Of existence
Given into non-existence
Cheryl Murfin, West Highland Way, 2019
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