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Copyright Oggbashan November 2003
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Edited July 2006
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I should have known that I was out of my depth. Brian had more sense. He chickened out of the challenge but I had too much male pride and I was overconfident. Surely if two women could do it I could manage just as well.
Now I owe my life to their competence and skill. Humiliated? Yes I am. Grateful? Yes, that too. Have I learned a lesson? Yes. Was I an idiot? Yes.
It all started, as many disastrous ideas do, in a bar. We were in the students' union bar of our local university where we were meeting after an evening class.
The four of us, me Donald, Brian, Maureen and Sarah were discussing what we would do at the Autumn half term. We had a half term because we were adult education students on a local history course. The genuine students around us didn't have a half term.
Brian and I said we hadn't got anything planned because we would be at work. That brought protests from Maureen and Sarah. They worked too but we wouldn't have any homework for the weekend. Why weren't we doing anything? Weren't we adventurous?
Brian suspected a possible trap and kept his mouth shut. I wasn't so careful. It wasn't that I had drunk too much. I was halfway through my first small glass of lager.
"So what are you doing," I asked, "that will be adventurous?"
"We are going hill walking," replied Maureen. "Why don't you join us?"
"Not me." Brian said emphatically. "At this time of year I like to be warm and dry. It is too cold for hill walking."
"It's not cold if you are wearing the correct clothing," Maureen objected. "Come on, can't you accept a challenge?"
"Yes," said Brian, "but I know when I am out of my depth. I can walk. I can climb hills. I can't stand getting really cold. Even the prospect of a weekend away with you two isn't going to tempt me to do something I wouldn't enjoy and would probably regret."
"What about you, Donald? Surely you wouldn't let us helpless females go out on the hills alone?"
Maureen was teasing me. She had already accused me of being a male chauvinist because I had suggested that backpacking alone through SE Asia was not a good idea for single women. I had actually said "people on their own" but she talked me into a corner and forced me to admit that I thought it was even more dangerous for women than men.
Sarah joined in. She put her hand on my arm.
"Donald, please. I'd like you to come."
That was unfair. Sarah knew that I was attracted to her. So far she had turned down several invitations from me to meet away from the evening class. Now she was offering a whole weekend with her. I turned my head to look at her. That was another mistake. She was smiling at me with slightly parted lips. Her dark brown hair fell either side of her face. Her brown eyes were looking straight into mine. Like any other infatuated male would, I fell for the appeal in her eyes.
"OK. If you want me to come, I will. I don't know what I am letting myself into but I am willing to try. You know what you are doing. I don't. You know that I will be the one who will need looking after. I expect that you will have me panting along well behind you..."
"...if you are, you'll get a good view of Sarah's legs, won't you?" said Maureen. "They'll be an incentive for you to keep up with us."
Sarah aimed a mock-slap at Maureen.
"Maureen, can I help it if he's fallen for my charm? I think he likes me. He'll find out this weekend what I'm really like, won't he?"
"I think you have been set up, Donald," Brian added. "I'm glad I'm out of it. Good Luck. You'll need it."
By the end of the evening Maureen and Sarah had scribbled down a list of things that I should bring. I agreed to be the driver because I have a four wheel drive vehicle. I would pick them up at six o'clock on Friday evening. The drive to the hills would take about half an hour if the weather and traffic were kind. We would walk to a barn that belongs to Maureen's aunt, sleep there overnight and start hill walking in the morning.
By Friday evening I was worried. I had tried to get the things on the list but I wasn't happy with the quality or durability of some of the kit. I was used to walking in summer and the weather forecast threatened some sleet and more rain. I envied stay at home Brian. A weekend with Sarah could have too high a price.
I loaded my borrowed backpack in the car and collected Maureen, then Sarah. As we drove out of town a light rain started falling. At this time of year it had been dark before I finished work so I hoped we didn't have to go far from the car before stopping for the night. They might know what they were doing and where they were going. I had no idea.
As we started to climb into the hills the rain got heavier and there were a few ominous snowflakes in it. Just before we reached the farm where we would leave the car the rain had turned to sleet with a stiff breeze. Sarah directed me to park the car in an open-fronted shed next to a tractor. Maureen went to tell the farmer that we were there and where we were going which is the normal procedure for winter walking in the hills. If we weren't back when we said we would be he would call out the rescue services.
I heaved the heavy pack on my back and struggled with the plastic cagoule that was the only fully waterproof clothing I had. Sarah had to help fit it over my backpack. She looked much better equipped. Her backpack was waterproof and her jacket and trousers were designed for extreme weather. When Maureen returned she prepared herself very quickly.
Maureen led the way with a torch. We left the farmyard and turned into a metalled track that led uphill. Even after a hundred yards I was sweating inside my cagoule and my face was frozen from the sleet.
Half a mile later the track became a narrow footpath. I was stumbling in the girls' wake because my cheap boots were new and weren't broken in. I heard running water ahead. Maureen stopped. When I caught up with them she said:
"Donald. This bridge is slippery. I'll go over first and shine the torch for you. You come next and then Sarah. OK?"
"Yes," I said. Even that one word was an effort. I was out of condition not having walked for a couple of months and that pack was heavy.
Maureen walked carefully across the plank bridge. I could hear the running water but I could barely see it, not because it was a long way below the bridge, it wasn't, but because there was a mist above the stream.
Halfway across, following Maureen's torch, my foot caught on something on the bridge. I raised it but my pack overbalanced me. I fell backwards with a splash into the stream. The water wasn't deep but was running fast. I tried to get up. My cagoule was full of water and my pack was dragging me down. My head went under several times as I struggled to free myself. I thought I was drowning.
In desperation I pulled the scout knife from my belt and slashed through the cagoule several times. Then I could get the pack off. The shredded cagoule vanished downstream. I grabbed the pack and waded carefully to Maureen's side of the stream. I passed the pack up to her and then dragged myself up the bank.
