A Family By Design

by Olivia Rytwinski

  After we dumped our rucksacks, we headed down to the village pub, The Sly Fox. The well-stocked wood burning stove, made the atmosphere warm and inviting. We bought drinks and ordered food, then settled ourselves on a rustic arrangement of wooden stools and beer barrels around some tables. Locals filtered in, and as we were in the heart of prime hiking country, there were plenty of healthy-looking outdoorsy types. I looked around and admired the gnarled, unpainted beams and stone floor. I also noted the absence of any pretentious pub décor and wondered why we hadn’t visited the pub or area before.

  James vied to be heard above the raucous chatter and shouted to me across the table. “Another drink, Kat?”

  “Umm, go on then. Just a half thanks.”

  As we all drank more than we should the night before a long hike, Max’s accent grew more pronounced, and a sharp sense of humour came to the fore.

  Richard, a new club member urged. “Hey Max, you must know a few good jokes.”

  “I do indeed,” Max said, and cleared his throat. “An Irishman is struggling to find a parking space.

  ‘Lord,’ he prayed. ‘I can’t stand this. If you open up a space for me, I swear I’ll give up the Guinness and go to mass every Sunday.’ Then suddenly, the clouds parted, and the sun shone on an empty parking spot. Without hesitation the Irishman said: ‘Never mind, I found one.’”

  I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to have heard the joke before, but fuelled by high spirits and alcohol we all shrieked with laughter.

  “Another!” Georgina cried.

  “One more. The beer’s strong and my brain’s gone fuzzy,” said Max, resting his pint on his knee. “A sobbing Mrs Murphy approached Father O’Grady after mass. He said: ‘So what’s bothering you, Mrs Murphy?’

  She replied: ‘Oh, Father, I have terrible news. My husband passed away last night.’

  The priest said: ‘Oh, Mary, that’s terrible. Did he have any last requests?’

  ‘Indeed, he did, father. He said, ‘Please Mary, put down that damn gun.’”

  Max looked across the table at me, grinned and lifted his glass. “Slainte!” And downed the rest of his pint.

  More ear-splitting laughter followed, and we continued to share Scottish, English and Irish jokes until the landlady kicked us out.

  “I can’t for one minute see how you lot are going to get up Benn Arum tomorrow. You’ll never even manage to get out of your beds. Now leave,” she said, and ushered us through the door.

  After many goodbyes, thankyous and hugs, we staggered back to our hostel as instructed.

  At 7 am prompt, James rapped on our bunk room door.

  “Get up you lazy louses if you don’t want to be left behind.”

  Minutes later, we stumbled downstairs, all worse for wear. Georgina and I took a seat at the end of a long trestle table.

  “There’s nothing like a few drinks to give me the munchies the morning after. I’m ravenous,” I said, and tipped a heaped spoon of brown sugar onto my porridge.

  “Me too . . . I think. If this doesn’t revive me I’m in trouble,” said Georgina. She contemplated her bacon, eggs and black pudding but looked decidedly peaky.

  I glanced to the far end of the table where James and Max ate breakfast, apparently hangover free.

  Max caught my eye and gave a little wave. “Mornin’. Are you still up for the rucksack challenge?”

  “There’s nothing I’d like more,” I said, and gave a silly wave back.

  After I’d spent a few frantic minutes helping Max with his rucksack, we were out of the front door and on our way. We clutched our water bottles, desperate to rehydrate for the long climb ahead.

  A sunny and pleasantly mild October morning greeted us and despite our heavy night we felt excited. We headed up the narrow lane, sunken and hemmed in by drystone walls and after a few hundred yards turned up a rough but dry farm track. After a mile or so the track ran steeply up to a large run-down farmhouse. We drew closer. It was silent and still, and I thought it must be unoccupied. But then, without warning, two sheep dogs charged from an outbuilding, and barked frenziedly. One of them stopped in front of me; it snarled and bared its teeth, while the other circled us, growling and sniffing the air.

  “Keep walking and don’t make eye contact, they don’t like it,” Max suggested.

  “I think they’re wolves,” I said, and tried not to look at either of them.

  “Walk behind me, and they’ll get me first,” said Max. He laughed nervously and positioned himself between the dogs and me.

  They barked and prowled as we hurried onwards. Then just as I thought we were safely away, I heard a terrifying snarl and a pounding of paws close by. I swung around to see one of the dog’s rush headlong towards us, the hairs raised along its back, its eyes ablaze and intent on me or Max.

  “Holy shit,” I cried.

  “Kai! Kai, get back.”

  Immediately, the dog skidded to a halt, and its tail dropped down between its legs. It whimpered, turned about and slunk back to the doorway of the outhouse. I looked up and saw a man in the upstairs window with a pale naked torso and shaggy grey hair that looked matted and dishevelled. But I was far more frightened by the shotgun propped under his arm.

  He glowered down at us. “What the fuck are you lot doing? The footpath goes through the woods, not my fucking farm. Now get off my land, or I’ll set them on the lot of you.”

  James started to jog. “Christ. He’s deranged. Let’s get out of here.”

  None of us needed any encouragement to get a move on.

  I stole a swift glance over my shoulder and was relieved to see both dogs had sat down and were watching us with suspicion, but without any intention of threat.

  “There we go, just protecting their territory,” said Max, trying to make light of it.

  “Let’s find the proper path. Don’t want that mad bastard coming after us with his gun,” said Georgina, and jogged to catch up with James, her rucksack bumping up and down on her back.

  “That dog was coming right at you Max. Did you see its eyes?” I said.

  “You’re not kiddin’. I’ll be seeing them in my sleep. Do you think it was me it was coming for?” he added.

  “It was after one of us.”

  We hurried past the out buildings then continued along a stony path that rose sharply beside a narrow, fast-flowing burn skirting the edge of the woods. Well out of earshot we talked again, though less light-heartedly.

  “They should be chained up,” said Nick. “I love dogs, but they must have had one shit life to make them crazy like that.”

  “I can’t imagine him treating any of his animals well,” I said.

  “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Red sky in the mornin’, get off my fuckin’ land,” boomed Max, in a surprisingly good West Country accent.

  Relieved to be well away, we roared with laughter, and the mood of the group lightened.

  We walked hard for around fifteen minutes until I stopped and gazed back down and took a photo. Max hung back too. From our position the farm looked picture postcard and snug, nestled amongst the drystone walls, trees, and heather, and it reminded me of the model farm my sister and I used to play with. I knew the scene belied the hard, unforgiving existence for the farmer and his family, especially during the dark and freezing winter months.

  “These farms are no architect’s dream, but they can’t half withstand the weather,” said Max, and then peering through his camera lens took a couple of photos. “It’d be amazing to design a home for a setting like this.” He pulled a new film canister from his pocket and turned to face me. “Designing Eco homes is what I want to do.”

  “What about renovating old run-down houses or barns?” I said. “There’re a few nowadays, either in disrepair because of the massive costs of maintaining them or sold on by families wanting an easier way of life.”

  During previous hikes we had come across farmhouses and crofts, carefully renovated and given a thoroughly modern look, resulti
ng in stunning homes.

  Max leaned against a pine tree, one side of its trunk cushioned with pea green moss.

  “It’s expensive conserving and repairing the old wood and stonework and making it into something people can afford.” He took a long swig from his water bottle. “But nowadays so many of these old farm buildings have preservation orders so that’s the only option. It’s not just a case of knocking them down and rebuilding something new, though realistically, that would be a lot easier.”

  “But the farms and crofts are so integral to our landscapes. It would be a tragedy if we lost them all to modern buildings, even if they were designed to fit with their surroundings.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Max.

  I turned my camera on him and took a photo. “Would you live somewhere this remote?”

  “As long as I could escape to civilisation once in a while then I can’t think of anything better. My Uncle Melvin married a Scot, Auntie Joan, and they moved near here I think. Mum and Dad brought me to visit when I was younger . . .” his words trailed away.

  “Oh,” I said. “Better catch up with the others. I’ve got my map, but I don’t know the route. Can you read a map?”

  “Are you kiddin’? Nah, hopeless.” Max marched off, then he turned to me with a grin and said, “Come on Katriina, you’re holding me back.”

  By the time we reached the upper boundary of the woods, my heart pounded and I felt roasting hot.

  “Good, they’re waiting for us.” Max pointed to the others, rucksacks off and sitting down in the middle of the path.

  I drank a few gulps of water. “Thank heavens for that breakfast,” I said, breathing hard.

  As we progressed, the path became steeper and rockier and I tried not to sound breathless as I matched Max’s unrelenting pace. We caught up and were allowed a welcome respite, and I flopped backwards using my rucksack like a reclining seat. I gazed up at the sky, still with the odd spot of blue peeking out between the ballooning clouds.

  “OK gang, let’s get going,” James instructed. He looked comical standing with one leg propped up on a rock.

  Max held out his hand. “Here, want a haul up?”

  I gripped his hand, but as he started to pull me up his feet slipped from under him and he fell forwards, almost in slow motion, and landed face first between my breasts.

  He lay there for a moment then peered up at me. “Oh my God! I am so sorry.”

  I looked at his blushing cheeks and realised how absurd we looked. I giggled. Max joined in, as did the rest of the group, and it took several minutes of uncontrolled hysterics for us to compose ourselves.

  “Hey Max, I think you’re being a bit forward,” James managed to splutter.

  “I just slipped. I swear.”

  “Didn’t look like it, mate.”

  Georgie chuckled as she walked alongside me. “Blimey Katriina, if you and Max carry on at this rate, you’ll have met his parents before we get to the campsite.”

  I cringed. “How embarrassing was that? I am such a clunk.”

  “Any other bloke and I’d think they’d done it on purpose, but Max, no, a total accident. It was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time and such a wasted photo opportunity.”

  Benn Arum was a steep mountain with two false summits and it lulled climbers into a false sense of achievement. At one point I wondered if I would make it to the top; my leg muscles burned and my back hurt, but finally we found ourselves on a long narrow ridge with a crinkled skyline and jagged summit within sight. I felt vertiginous up on the exposed ridge as clouds swelled and rolled overhead, and the bitter wind jabbed at our uncovered skin. As was usual on these walks we were entirely focused on reaching the summit, and I felt delighted when we overtook a couple of serious looking walkers.

  The wind groaned and intensified as we scrambled up the last few metres to the peak. We stopped and gazed at the spectacular views and took group photographs. I tried not to look too eager when Max asked me to stand for a photo on my own, and I hastily pulled my flapping hair off my face.

  “Come on guys, we need to move,” shouted James, above the roar of the gale-force wind. He pointed theatrically to the skyline behind us. Dense, black clouds drifted towards us at a dramatic speed, and I knew it would be risky to be up on the exposed peak when they passed overhead. Lunch would have to wait, so I grabbed a bag of jelly babies from my pocket and handed them round as we searched for the track to take us back down.

  “Guys, this way,” yelled James.

  The storm gathered momentum and the clouds released an ice cold torrent. The path soon became treacherous. Loose stones shifted beneath my feet and with my rucksack unstable in the wind, I almost lost my footing time and time again.

  Max gripped my arm. “What’s that?”

  I looked through the low-lying cloud and sheeting rain to an unnatural bright green shape, barely visible, fifty or so metres away.

  “I don’t know,” I yelled, as the wind whipped my back and the rain sliced into me.

  “I think it’s a person,” said Max. And without further hesitation he clambered over the rocks.

  I shouted a warning to the other’s backs. I realised they couldn’t hear me above the storm, and I knew I had to follow Max. If somebody was injured, then he or she needed help. I climbed over the rocks, and boulders, convinced it was a body. Max reached the figure. He removed his rucksack and squatted down. He turned to me, and I saw the look of fear on his face.

  The stranger lay face down over a boulder. I noticed a dark, rain-soaked patch of blood on the back of the skull and when I moved a few strands of long hair I saw a deep wound, with loose skin and exposed bone. We turned him over and carefully lowered his head back onto my rucksack. I placed my palm against his cheek and to my relief I felt some warmth, despite his deathly pale skin. Not dead, at least not yet. He looked young, early thirties, his hair long and loose, and he had a neat goatee beard. Oddly, he wore a jumper, jeans, and casual trainers, but no coat or rucksack. I felt down his neck and searched for a pulse. It was discernible but fast and weak.

  “What shall we do? Where are the others?” asked Max, and looked back.

  “They didn’t stop. One of us should go for help.”

  Max took my hand. “Please Katriina, you go. You map read, and hopefully the storm will soon pass over.”

  Torrential rain seeped through my coat and clothes, and dripped between my breasts and shoulder blades, but as it hadn’t been forecast I hoped he was right and it might soon move on.

  Max still had hold of my hand.

  “If you’re sure you’ll be all right?” I said.

  He nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s him I’m worried about.”

  “Thank God you spotted him,” I said, and withdrew my hand.

  I removed my woolly hat and eased it onto the man’s head. “I know, use your tent to protect you both. If he freezes, he’ll die of hypothermia let alone from that wound. And you’ll be no good to him if you get too cold.” Although I put on a brave face, I was terrified he’d die before we found help.

  Max unstrapped his tent. He delved into his rucksack and pulled out a T-shirt. He placed it under the hat and against the wound. “It might stem the bleeding.”

  As Max opened the tent it filled with air and flapped wildly in the wind. Between us we secured it over the injured man. Max sat close to him and tucked the canvas beneath his legs.

  “Talk to him Max, about anything. He might be able to hear you, and it might help him to hang on.”

  When I crouched down and hugged Max, I thought I felt his fingers stroke the back of my head.

  “I’ll be back soon.” I turned away and set off to find the path.

  Relieved of my rucksack, I picked my way over the rocks and jogged down the track as fast as was physically possible in the conditions.

  Two hundred yards down, the path narrowed and cut steeply below a rocky outcrop that hung above me. The path was obvious, and I felt sure I was going the right w
ay. Rainwater poured off the rocks above me in miniature waterfalls and a small stream flowed down the path and filled my boots with water. I figured I would catch up with the others soon. I felt wet, cold and uneasy, and annoyed with James that he hadn’t even noticed we were missing.

  The path emerged through a steep sided gully and widened out, although the mist and driving rain meant I couldn’t see more than a few yards in front of me. I reached a fork in the track and stopped. Neither way looked more obvious, and so I consulted my sodden map. I estimated my location and turned left, and hoped it led down to the road that ran between Glassford and Kilberry. Once there I could flag down a driver to help us, or hitch a ride.

  As the rain began to ease and I was no longer blinking the rain from my eyes, I drew back my sodden hood. I gasped as a rush of ice-cold water tipped down my back. I heard the familiar clatter of shifting rocks, stopped and spun around. I felt a shot of adrenaline when a few yards back up the track a dark figure emerged from the swirling gloom. With long straggled hair and green jumper, I thought he must be the injured man but miraculously recovered. He moved rapidly towards me, running despite the slippery surface underfoot. As he neared there was nothing in his features to acknowledge he had seen me and afraid we were going to collide I quickly stepped aside.

  “Hello,” I said, as he drew alongside. I thought I detected the tiniest of nods before he had hurried on past. My gaze flew to the back of his head, but I could see neither a wound nor patch of blood to identify him as the man I’d left fighting for his life. I knew he couldn’t be the same man but thought he must be a brother or a close relation.

  “Wait! I need to speak to you,” I shouted.

  I set off running after him, but stumbled and fell and landed heavily on my hands and knees.

  “Bloody, fucking hell!” I cursed. I leaped back up and rubbed mud and grit from my hands. I scanned the way ahead and all around me, but the figure had disappeared despite there being nothing nearby to conceal him. Maybe I was going nuts because of the situation and I’d only imagined seeing him. I was wasting time. What if he had already died? Max would still be awaiting help, cold and alone, possibly succumbing to hypothermia.