Sundown on Stress Town
Every now and then, you get those days where you just need to escape. Less running away, more freeing the mind from the incessant stress and routine of day to day life. Funnily enough, there have been more and more of these days recently.
The 18th of May 2018 was one such day. My temple pulsed, my throat twitched, my stomach swirled. The information on the dual monitors in-front of me blurred together, things started to mean nothing. Sometimes it gets that way. Focus is lost because each day is indistinct from the last. The commute is the same, the requests are the same, the people are the same. I won’t bore you with what actually had me at the end of that day’s particular tether, but it is at points like this that I really believe you have a choice, and that choice is to either let the daily grind claim a sliver of your soul forever, or you can just fuck off.
I fucked off.
I left work at midday, rescued my daughter from nursery, and enlisted the assistance of in-laws to take over. I grabbed my camera, lenses, bought a hoisin duck wrap and sped off within national speed limit guidelines towards the Trossachs. If you’ve read my disappointingly small number of articles (time is a luxury) then you’ll know that I have visited Ben A’an before. It was a delightful trip back in February, and it seemed the ideal place to clear my head on this warm, spring day. Not too far, not too strenuous, and remote enough from day-to-day life.
It was hot. Very hot. Shorts probably would have been a better choice, but this was a trip with minimal planning. The ascent was a lot greener at this time of the year than it had been on my previous ascent. Loch Achray sparkled below as the afternoon sun danced along the gentle waves, and clouds of midges added a brown streak to the grasses and bracken that brushed along my legs. For such a glorious day, I passed very few people on the climb up the flatter path that leads to the base of Ben A’an’s main ascent. In fact, the only person that did see me caught me out taking a leak behind a rock near the bridge and waterfall at the start of the walk. Classic me, I suppose, marking my territory like some incontinent dog.
As the factor fifty began to sizzle on my skin, the dream-like arrangement of steps up the side of the rocky peak met my feet. Back in February, this felt like quite the strenuous climb. Right now, I found myself able to charge right up, no breaths, no stops. I would assume that was aided by determination rather than fitness.
The peak was empty when I reached it at around 6.30pm but voices on the light breeze told of others on their way. For a few minutes, I had the view to myself. Katrine – not perfectly still this time – stretched out to Stronachlachar and dazzled me. Ben Venue loomed gloriously to south, Ben Ledi watched on the from east, and Ben More showed off its last patches of snow to the north west. For the briefest of moments, I had silence and solitude. I parked my arse on the stony peak further from edge overlooking Katrine and broke into my food. Folk began to come and go, the sun slid lower down the skies, and the thin clouds burned away in the evening heat.
This was the kind of peace I needed. People unconcerned with me, going about their business, just passing by. The caw of a lone raven soared overhead, and the soft rush of the breeze shook the trees below. Ben A’an isn’t particularly high at 454 metres, but it is high enough that modern life below it is hidden from view.
While I ventured up onto the peak for some alone time, it transpired that my presence here was actually to be of use to a few visitors of the summit. The first pair were pushing bikes and had somehow managed to reach the top without realising they were reaching what was essentially a dead end. They sat on the edges of A’an, looking for somewhere to go, wondering what lay below them. I was able to helpfully point out the local area, directing them to a place they could refill their water bottles, and managed to set them on their way towards Aberfoyle.
A good deed!
The second fellow was part of a group and had powered on ahead while the rest of his group (consisting of his wife and a “bunch of Italians”) slowly made their way up after him. We had a decent discussion about the lay of the land, pointing of Ben Lomond and Ben Arthur and mulling over how good the impending sunset was likely to be. I don’t know the guy’s name, but it was bloody refreshing to be able to have a normal discussion about something interesting that wasn’t work-related. As deep orange crept upwards into the sky, my new friend apologised profusely that the tranquillity I was awaiting was about the ruined by a loud group led by his wife. Not to worry! By this point, I had had my peace and quiet and was also quickly realising that people don’t always mean stress and problems. In actuality, it was great to see other folk enjoying themselves and sharing in the pursuit that I was also savouring.
The camera came out as the sun sunk to two fingers from the horizon. Another visitor arrived at the top: a chap with a tent. He started off by telling me where he wanted to pitch, pointing out that watching the sunrise from the end of Katrine was going to be something rather spectacular. I felt quite the prick pointing out that the sun wasn’t going rise from the point it was quickly dropping into. Luckily, the guy took that in good grace, explained that he didn’t know the area well, and left me with a vague worry that someone was wild-camping without truly knowing where they were.
The sunset was astounding. It was easily one of the best I have been lucky enough to witness, and it made me realise how seldom I actually get the chance to see the day darken. I’m usually either busy at work or commuting at this point. Many of us sat and watched as our golden orb disappeared, and a red orange sky spread up into the deep blue and purple of the encroaching night sky.
I was back down the hill in fifteen minutes flat, sweating profusely from the exercise and feeling pretty good. It was round 10:15pm when I arrived back at the car and began to unload my belongings into the back seat.
Three cars squealed into the car park.
“We wanna camp,” a balding man yelled at me as he strode over with a purpose beyond anything I was expecting.
“Yeah?” I replied.
“Yeah! We wanna camp. Wanna do it on the edge of the loch. Can we or not?”
“Be my guest.”
“But can we? Are we gonna get fined?”
“I don’t know!”
“We need to know. What if we get a fine?”
“Then that’s your problem?”
“No, that’s gonna be your fault.”
Real life is never far away. The arseholes are everywhere, and the sense that I am somehow keeping shit going down here quickly returns. The weight is firmly back on my shoulder as I sit in the driver’s seat.
“In which case, I hold my hands up.”
I slammed my door and drove off along the edge of Loch Achray. As I turned right into Kilmahog, a yellow electrical warning light sprung into life on my dashboard. I was back in the real world alright.
