“It’s a bit steep,” I muttered.
“It is steep, the first real steep section of the trail.” And not the last, was what he didn’t say. “Take your time, and don’t look up. Just focus on what’s right in front of your feet.”
I fixed my gaze on the path and started forward. The damn pole came down on a rock and I stumbled. Again. “Dammit!”
Rory steadied me. “Give me your poles. It will be easier if you use your hands for balance on this section.”
He didn’t look like he was messing with me, so I reluctantly complied. He tucked them under his arm and bounded up the path, as nimble as a mountain goat, the showoff. He reached a point a few yards up and turned. “Come on, Amelia. You can do it.”
Cursing him under my breath, I slowly made my way up the rocky steps, using my hands on the steepest sections. Without the poles getting in the way, it was easier—which only made me curse him more—and it wasn’t long before I was edging around that boulder at the top of the path and making my way back to the bothy.
The others were sprawled out on the ground. I took off my pack and collapsed beside Linda, shivering as the breeze hit the sweaty patch on the back of my shirt.
Rory handed me back my poles. “These can be really helpful out here, but you don’t want to become so dependent that you can’t walk without them. Sometimes they aren’t useful, and you need to be able to keep going anyway.”
He went to sit by Tommy, leaving me feeling like I’d just been schooled. Again.
After five minutes, we were on our feet once more. I was still exhausted from the steep climb and found myself at the back of the group with Tommy. He smiled encouragingly. “We’re crossing a small headland now. When we reach the end of this section, there’ll be a good spot to have lunch.”
Knowing that we would be stopping soon kept me going, and it wasn’t too long before we slipped through a gap in an old stone wall and followed a soft, grassy track to a ruin.
“Lunchtime,” announced Tommy. “It’s about half twelve now, and we’re past the midway point for today.” My groupmates made an assortment of relieved sounds, clearly as eager for a real break as I was.
I flopped down in the grass and just sat there for a moment, taking in the scene around me. In contrast to the raucous cries of the seabirds and the crash of the waves out at Rubha Hunish, this was a peaceful spot, and my fellow hikers were quiet as they scarfed down their lunch.
As I ate my sandwich—slowly, as the sudden inactivity left me feeling a little nauseated—I gazed at the mountains in the distance. It was beautiful here, about as different from the suburban sprawl back home as I could get. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the fresh air, grateful for the soft grass that cushioned my aching body. When was the last time I’d sat in the grass? Years and years ago. Back home, the thought would never even cross my mind—there were ants and other biting insects. My pants would get stained or wet. But here, it just felt right.
Past the halfway point meant we’d done over four miles so far. ‘And miles to go before I sleep,’ I thought, recalling the line from Robert Frost.
I packed away my trash and eased my left leg in front of me, bending the knee so I could reach the boot laces. I’d felt a spot beginning to rub on the bottom of my foot as we’d descended to Rubha Hunish, and recalled what Tommy had said about blisters when we’d started out.
A shadow fell over me. Rory.
“You shouldn’t take off your boots when we stop for a break. Your feet might swell, which will be really uncomfortable for the rest of the day.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes. “I think I may have the start of a blister, though, so I should take a look at that, right?”
“In that case, let’s take a look.” He squatted down beside me.
Feeling rushed under the weight of his gaze, I unlaced my boot and tugged it off, scrunching my toes in relief. I started to yank off my sock.
“Go slowly with the sock, in case it sticks to the blister.”
Okay, so he wasn’t rushing me. I carefully peeled off the sock, foolishly glad that I’d had a pedicure before I left New York (“Skye Blue,” according to the label on the bottle).
I crossed my foot over my knee so that I could look. Sure enough, there was a blister forming right where the second toe met the ball of my foot. “Shit.”
“Let me see.” Rory took my foot in his hand, lightly tracing his finger over the blister. I couldn’t help the shudder that ran through me at his touch. Ticklish feet. Right.
“Sorry,” I muttered, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He went to his backpack, returning with the first aid kit. Kneeling beside me once more, he applied a blister bandage, placing the wrapper in the pocket of his shorts. “It’s a tricky spot for a blister because it’s hard to keep a plaster in place,” he said, wrapping first aid tape around the width of my foot, careful not to press too hard on the blister. His gentleness was surprising, given his earlier impatience with me and his overall gruffness. He smoothed the edge of the tape to seal it and sat back. “Hopefully that’ll do the trick. Does it feel okay?”
His silvery-green eyes met mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t form words.
“Amelia?”
“Um, yeah, it feels okay. Thanks.”
“You should probably open it tonight.”
“I thought you’re not supposed to open a blister.”
“Generally that’s true, but tomorrow is going to be a difficult day, and having a blister won’t do you any favors.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I pulled on my sock and reached for the boot.
“Show me how you lace it up,” he said.
Was this some kind of test? I laced up the boot and tied the bow.
He untied it again, then unwound the laces from the hooks. “A blister on the bottom of your foot means that it’s sliding around too much. If you lace them like this, it will hold your foot in place better.”
Starting from where the laces were going to go up the ankle, he crisscrossed them and brought the end through again as if he was about to tie a knot, then looped them around the hooks. He did that the whole way up, and then tied the bow. “How does that feel?”
I wiggled my foot. “A lot tighter, but in a good way. I didn’t know to do that.”
“When you buy boots, you should always go to a shop where the salespeople know what they’re doing. They can make sure they fit properly and advise you on how best to tie them.” He stood and picked up his pack. “Re-tie the other one, too. That should hopefully prevent more blisters.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I tied my other boot the way he showed me.
He nodded once and then walked to the center of the group. “Anyone else think they have blisters? Now would be a good time to tend to them before we hit the trail again.”
Rory was full of really great advice. I just wished he was less of an ass when he dispensed it.
Twenty minutes later, our lunch break was over. Backpacks were repacked; trash was stowed away. And thankfully, I wasn’t the only one groaning as we got to our feet.
It was fairly easy going for a while until we once again climbed to the cliff tops.
“Guys, hold up here for a second,” said Rory. While everyone gathered around, I took a few photos of the view out to sea and down the coastline. “The next bit—almost until we get to Flodigarry and our stopping point for today—is tricky. We’ll be along the cliffs, where there is often no path. And though we haven’t had much rain here lately, the ground may still be wet underfoot. Take your time, and pay attention,” he said, looking at me.
I didn’t roll my eyes. Much.
As promised, the next hour or so, as we picked our way along the edge of the cliffs, was harrowing. And it wasn’t really wet at all, which made me wonder how much worse it would have been.
Coming from Long Island, where aside from some bluffs on the north shore and a few scattered hills, everything was dead flat, this scenery was just breathtaking. I’d
been on the Pacific Coast Highway once, driving from San Francisco south to Los Angeles, and this reminded me of that. Only there were no guardrails here.
There were more of those weird, twisted sea stacks, like the ones we’d seen at Rubha Hunish. I stopped to look at them.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before?”
Molly stood beside me, her bouncy blonde ponytail so like Carrie’s it hurt to look at her. I quickly turned back to the sea stacks. “No, we definitely don’t have anything like that in New York. They seem—lonely somehow, like they’re almost in reach of the shore they used to be part of, but will never again be able to touch it, the seabirds their only company until the sea reclaims them.” The words tumbled out of me, and I cringed. “Sorry, that was really corny, wasn’t it?”
“No, actually. I thought it was lovely. And quite sad, as well.”
I was startled to see her wiping her eyes. She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, don’t mind me. I cry at everything. Megan always teases me for it.”
“I do, too,” I replied. “And my best friend always teases me for it.” Carrie, I think you’d really like Molly and Megan. They’re so much like you and me.
There wasn’t much chatting as we walked along the cliffs, with everyone intently focused on their feet. That, too, was a refreshing change of pace from the people back home who walked through the city glued to their phones, stepping off the curb into traffic without looking up. Even I had been guilty of that once or twice, but after watching a texting mom with a stroller nearly get creamed by a taxi, I never did it again.
We descended a steep, grassy section, also precariously close to the edge of the cliff, then finally reached the lower level. There was a collective sigh of relief.
“It’s pretty easy from here,” said Rory. “We just follow the coast until we reach the path that will lead us into Flodigarry. No more hills to speak of. You guys have done brilliantly today.”
It was an easy walk around the coast. The sea was a glorious deep blue, which contrasted sharply with the green of the grass.
And then we reached the path that Rory had mentioned, which climbed up. “No more hills, eh, Rory?” said Gordon, voicing what I was sure we were all thinking.
“Aw, come on, Gordon, that’s barely a wee bump.”
“We have to work on the language gap,” Gordon mumbled. “When you say ‘no more hills,’ we assume the rest of the way is flat.”
“This is Skye. Nothing here is flat. Come on, now, you can practically smell your afternoon tea. Just over the wee bump and we’re there. Almost.”
Almost, but not quite. I sang some of my favorite songs in my head to distract myself as we ascended.
A little while later, we trudged into a tiny village. “Welcome to Flodigarry,” said Tommy. “The hostel is just up this way.”
We followed him up (!) another path to the hostel, where Scarlet greeted us with a wide smile. “Well done, guys—you got through your first day of the Skye Trail! Eight miles down.”
It didn’t sound like a lot. I’d walked more than that in less time on more than one occasion. But that had been on flat pavement, and this had been along the edge of cliffs and up and down steep paths. I hurt everywhere, but I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Carrie would be so proud.
“You made really good time today,” she continued. “How do you feel?”
The response was a combination of enthusiastic chattering and pained groans. She laughed. “That’s the same response I get from everyone at the end of the first day. No one can really sum up the energy for actual words.”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s just after four now, and I’ve booked you a table in the restaurant at the hotel next door at six, so you have some time to relax and put up your feet before dinner. Anything to add, lads?”
Rory stepped forward. “Great job today. Tomorrow will be challenging. It’s over seventeen miles, with difficult, exposed terrain, and you’ll be camping tomorrow night, so enjoy the bunks, showers, and bar food tonight. Tommy and I will meet you out front at nine a.m. Have a good night.”
“You’re not joining us for dinner?” asked Mike.
“Not tonight. Tommy, Scarlet, and I have some things to go over, so we’ll have our dinner early. We may see you in the bar later. Speaking of which, even though you’ve earned yourself a beer or two, trust me when I say you don’t want to walk tomorrow with a hangover, so take it easy.”
It would be a relief to eat our dinner without the guides there. I was tired and aching and didn’t want to feel obligated to pretend otherwise, especially in front of Rory.
The room I was sharing with the other ladies had several sets of bunk beds. I chose a lower bunk by the window and sat down, grateful to be off my feet. I switched my phone off “airplane mode,” which I’d turned on so it wouldn’t drain the battery while I was out in the middle of nowhere.
No messages from home. I tossed the phone to the bed.
“Well, we survived the first day, ladies,” said Pat.
“Barely,” I said. “I had to keep stopping when we went up the cliff. My only excuse is that I have no hills anywhere near me with which to train.”
“You said you’re from New York?” asked Linda. “The city?”
“Long Island, not too far from the city. It’s very flat,” I added, and we all laughed. I rummaged in my pack for my shower stuff and a change of clothes, eager to stand under the hot water.
“What made you come do this trek by yourself? That’s so brave of you.”
I froze. Brave? If they only knew. “I… My friend was supposed to do it, actually,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “But she…got hurt…and couldn’t do it. So here I am.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But now I understand why you were taking so many pictures,” said Pat.
I felt my cheeks get hot. “You noticed?”
“How could we not?” asked Molly. “Every time we stopped, there you were, snapping away. At one point, I thought Rory was going to have to drag you down the path.”
“Personally, I wouldn’t have minded that,” said Linda.
Everyone laughed but me.
Chapter Five
Rory
“Well, first day’s in the bag,” said Tommy as he flopped down on his bed in our shared room and immediately started playing on his phone. “I think they did well, even the pretty Yankee lass.”
I tugged my shirt over my head, tossing it on the floor with my socks. “You’re kidding, right?”
He looked up. “You don’t think she’s pretty?”
Aye, she was pretty, with all that long, shiny hair and those expressive brown eyes. That wasn’t what I was questioning.
“No, I mean you think she did well? She got a blister because she didn’t tie her brand new, clearly-not-broken-in-properly boots the right way, and she barely made it up from Rubha Hunish. She stopped every thirty seconds to take another damn photo to post on Instagram or Twitter or whatever to impress her friends back home. She was so fixated on her phone at the bothy that she didn’t even realize we’d all gone ahead already. How is that doing well?”
“You’re being too hard on her, Ror. She wasn’t the only one with a blister. The climb up from the Hunish is a tough one. And so what if she takes a million pictures? That’s what they’re here for.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, rummaging in my pack for clean clothes. Amelia’s obsessive picture-taking wasn’t my problem until she held up the group or put herself at risk. Then I’d have to say something.
“I’m not sure what your problem is with her, man, but you might want to lay off a little. At the end of the day, these folks are here to have a great time. They’ve paid to have a great time. If the guide’s a dick, that puts a real damper on that, you know?”
Clothes in hand, I sat on the edge of the bed. “I know. I just think she’s too much of a novice to do the Skye Trail. You saw how terrified she was when I gave the safety briefing this morn
ing—she was practically shaking. She probably came out here on some whim, and has no clue what she’s doing. She should be on an easier trek where she won’t put herself in danger.”
I pictured her velvet-brown eyes, shining with awe as she stared at the sea stacks, sparkling with mirth as she giggled with the other lasses earlier, narrowed in anger when I’d told her to go to bed last night. And then I imagined them wide with shock and fear as her inexperience drew her too near the crumbling edge…
I scrubbed my hands over my face to banish the vision. “Anyway, I need a shower.”
Tommy stared at me for a long moment. He knew me too well to be fooled by my poor attempt to change the subject.
“I think you’re wrong about her,” he finally said, returning to his phone.
I rolled my eyes. “What, do you like her or something?”
He grinned without looking up. “And if I do?”
A flash of—something—went through me at the thought. I just as quickly brushed it off. “Whatever. Just remember that tomorrow’s a tough day and you need to stay focused. And so will she.” I started for the bathroom.
“Rory.”
I turned back. “What?”
His expression was serious. “Just give her a chance. She came here all by herself, to do this trek with strangers. If she wanted an easy holiday, she’d be sunbathing in Aruba or some shit, not getting blisters and strained muscles in this place, you know?”
I sighed. “I do know. And you’re right. I’ll be better tomorrow.” I nodded at his phone, which had chimed no fewer than ten times in the past two minutes. “You’d better deal with whoever that is—the lass from Fort William? I’m gonna hit the shower.”
After dinner, I took a long walk in the surf to clear my head, letting the sea air fill my lungs and the cold water soothe my feet.
The first day was always challenging, as we had to get a sense of the group’s skills. Plus, we had to set a good example and give a good impression of Scotland By Foot. You haven’t done a brilliant job with Amelia, though, have you? No, I hadn’t. And that would have to change. Tommy was right. I needed to stop being so hard on her.
Under a Storm-Swept Sky Page 3