A Long Night in the Highland Bothy

I parked my car in the Glen Doll car-park. My plan was to hike over Jock's Road, an ancient drovers road in the Angus hills. I'd been looking forward to this trip all week. A weekend of solitude and back to nature, very welcome after a week of incessant emails and telephone calls. I spend more and more time at work replying to emails. Even the people who work around me would rather send an email than just come over and talk to me. Never mind, work is far from my mind. Now I'm going to enjoy myself; on my own for two days.

I took a picture of the view from the start of my walk. I'm aiming to walk to Braemar, a village on the Queen's Estate and it's around thirteen miles over the mountains. Not too far but enough to make it challenging. I took a swig from my water bottle and hitched my bag on my shoulders. I was well equipped, even if the weather turns bad, which it is known to do when you get above three thousand feet. There is no signal up here so I switched off my mobile to save the battery.

I was deep in thought as I climbed the steep hill which was covered with evergreen trees. I enjoy trips like this. Yes, it would be better if I had someone to share it with but I don't.

I stopped for a moment, watching a herd of Red Deer. There were some spectacular antlers on some of the stags. I spotted a Royal Stag, a deer with twelve points on his antlers. The rut, the time of year where stags fight other stags for possession of the hinds, was almost over. I watched as they sniffed the air, a little agitated by my scent which was blowing towards them. Suddenly, they took off, leaping in the air as they ran. I saw a pine martin, quite rare and beautiful, darting from tree to tree with the expertise of a squirrel. I could taste the scent of pine coming from the trees, mixed with the smell of dampness on the forest floor.

Eventually I had reached the top of the tree line. Jock's Road is not a tarmac road. It's wild. The ground will be rough grass, heather, rocks and peat bogs for most of the walk to Braemar now. I noticed the wind getting stronger. Unfortunately it was blowing directly behind me, trying to propel me forward with each step I took. I pulled the collar of my jacket up, stopping the wind blowing down my neck.

There were spectacular views of the mountains as I climbed higher and higher. The wind was still strong and getting worse. Once I was on the plateau, it would be easier going. I was sweating under my jacket, this was the only tough part, shortly it will get much easier.

Finally, the ground leveled out. I had reached the plateau. I stopped and took a drink of water. The sky had gradually darkened, grey menacing clouds were forming. 'This could turn into a storm,' I muttered to myself. I'll do another few miles and then stop for a coffee.

The sky was getting darker and darker. I like it when the weather turns into something as doom-laden as this. It makes the hills look so dramatic. Doubtless the rain wouldn't be far away. The wind was making the walk over the rocks a little bit hazardous, it kept buffeting against me, making me stumble.

Then the rain came down and it came down hard. I wasn't concerned, I had a new pair of waterproof trousers and my jacket was waterproof anyway. I stopped and put the trousers on. I was looking for an indentation in the ground which would give me some shelter from the wind. There were plenty areas where the deer had wallowed in the peat bogs, I looked for one that was reasonably dry. When I did, I lit my gas stove, pushing it up against the side of the bog to shelter it from the wind. I made a cup of coffee.

Contrary to popular belief, a peat bog isn't a bottomless swamp. This one was quite comfortable. The deer had dug lots of holes and I was just taking advantage of one. I pulled out my map and compass and took a bearing, locating where I was on the map. Still a few miles to go. I packed my kit and trudged on.

The rain turned to sleet, then snow and eventually it was a complete white-out. I could hardly see my foot in front of me. The wind was ferocious. It was exhilarating to feel the power of the wind and snow. I was disappointed in my new waterproof trousers, I was sweating under them. They were supposed to be breathable.

I found another place which would give some shelter so I sat down, wondering how long this was going to last. Snow wasn't forecast but at the elevation I was at, snow was always a possibility at this time of year. I would give it an hour and see how the weather was before I made a decision to continue. I pulled out my Kindle and started to read.

If anything, the weather was just getting worse. I took another bearing, checking the direction I was heading. It was risky to keep walking in a white out but I needed to move. Provided I keep checking my compass, I shouldn't come to any harm.

The snow was lying and getting deeper, great drifts were forming around me. I kept my head down and continued to walk through it. The wind was gusting at a terrible rate. One gust, worse than the others so far, tore my new waterproof trousers. It almost ripped them off my legs and one tear led to other tears. They were almost hanging by a thread to the elastic waist. I never expected something like that. These were new expensive waterproof trousers, I hadn't even worn them for an hour and they are useless now. I sat down again. Surely it'll die down soon.

My problem was the wind blowing from the north-east, driving the snow into the back of me. With no waterproof trousers, I was going to get soaked very quickly. I pulled my map out. There was an old bothy, Davy's Bourach, about four miles from the car park where I had left my car. There was so much snow falling that I couldn't triangulate my position on the map properly. I only had my compass for direction. From here, I estimated that the bothy was no more than three miles from where I thought I was. I had never been in the bothy before, all I knew was that it had a red metal door, a colour that was easy seen. And I also knew that for some unknown reason, the red metal door opens outwards, I read it in a newspaper article.

I headed in the direction I thought I should be going in. I was confident I could estimate three miles of walking. Nothing for it but to keep going. My trousers were soaking, completely wet through. The wind had a chill factor of at least zero because I could feel my trousers freezing hard against my legs. I'd never seen frozen trousers before. I cannot continue much further with wet and frozen trousers. The effort of walking through the deep drifts was making me sweat and the sweat was almost freezing against my body. I was starting to get concerned.

When I reckoned I had walked three miles I looked around for the bothy. Visibility was still not very good. I was shivering with the cold. I couldn't see anything. I walked round in large wide circles, seeing my earlier foot prints in the snow. I wasn't exactly lost, I just wasn't sure where I was. I was getting very concerned now.

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes the fates throw a lifeline. Just as I was on the point of giving up on the bothy, I saw a red box looking thing. Too small for a door but it's definitely red. I walked closer. It was the door, or at least the top of the door. The rest was buried in the drifted snow. God, that cheered me up no end. I had found it, purely by chance. I had waterproof gloves on, and they were genuinely waterproof. Using my gloved hands, I dug all the snow away from the door. It took ages but I managed it. I tugged the door and it opened.

This was a basic bothy. No fireplace, no furniture and no windows. It was no better than a cave. There weren't even floorboards, the ground was compressed earth and smelled very damp. But, it was shelter and it was reasonably dry and I needed that. I took out my stove and lit it to make coffee with some melted snow. My stove illuminated the bothy in a dull orange glow. It looked dark and foreboding. This place was designed to provide shelter and nothing else.

I took my wet clothes off and hung them from hooks in the roof. I was freezing cold. I took my sleeping bag out and laid it on top of my bivvy bag. I had an emergency foil blanket which keeps in the heat. I wrapped myself in the blanket and got into my sleeping bag, zipping myself up. It wouldn't take long to warm myself up. I berated myself for the trip ending up in an emergency bothy. I was annoyed about my new waterproof trousers getting ripped by the wind. I was annoyed that I was cold and had been caught out with the storm. Still, I was safe in here. My coffee quickly got to work, warming me up. I had some dehydrated camping food which I would heat up later for supper, once I had recovered.

I sat against the wall, nicely tucked up in my sleeping bag, and read my Kindle. The wind was still howling outside. I wondered if the snow would continue to drift against the door. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to dig myself out from the inside. The door was designed to open outwards. Maybe I should get up and check, maybe try clearing it again. I thanked myself for bringing the Kindle. The light from the Kindle was too weak to act as a torch but it did brighten up the darkness a little. It also gave me something to do on an otherwise boring Saturday evening.

All of a sudden I got a terrific fright. The door was banging loudly. I watched as a pair of hands appeared and prised the door open. My God, it must be another walker. I watched as he stood in the doorway, a giant of a man, with the snow swirling behind him. The wind was roaring through the open doorway. He was a big hairy lad, taller than I am but around the same age. He looked a real hunk of a guy in fact. He actually reminded me of Hagrid, the giant from the Harry Potter books. He was wearing, of all things, a kilt and tweed jacket. He stood there in the doorway, blinking his eyes, adjusting to the dim light. He smiled and waved at me showing lovely white teeth through a long bushy beard.

'I found it,' he said and walked over to shake my hand. He introduced himself as Fraser. He was in a worse state than I was. A kilt is no use in these conditions. I suggested he hung his wet clothes from the roof. To my astonishment, he unbuckled his soaking wet kilt and stood there half-naked in front of me. He didn't have anything on under his kilt. My eyes were immediately drawn to his cock.

He unpacked his very light looking bag. I was delighted to see another stove. I had two spare gas canisters. If we keep the stoves going all night, it might help dry the clothes off for the morning. The temperature was dropping fast as the day turned into night. Almost certainly it was going to freeze soon. Fraser took the remainder of his clothes off, hung them up and sat, naked, against the wall. I realised then, he didn't have a sleeping bag. Not only was he improperly clad for the weather, he didn't have a sleeping bag either. He was freezing cold and his teeth were chattering. I wondered if he would be better putting his wet clothes on again. He can't spend the night like that. I quickly passed him a foil blanket from my bag. He unwrapped it, thanking me, and covered himself with it.

The two stoves were not making much of an impact on generating heat but they did quickly make another mug of coffee to warm Fraser up. As I spoke, my breath formed vapour. It was so cold. We chatted and got to know each other better. Fraser was from Dundee, a city at the mouth of the famous River Tay. Like me, he was hiking over the mountains and on to Braemar.

The plan was that his friend, Michael, had driven to Braemar and was walking to Glen Doll and they expected to meet in the middle somewhere and swap car keys so that Fraser just needed to drive back from Braemar and his friend drove Fraser's car back from Glen Doll, meeting up back home in Dundee at night. Simple. That way they could do the trip in the same day, no need to stay over and no need for added weight, such as a warm sleeping bag, to carry. I'd heard of other people doing that, swapping their car keys and taking each other's car back. It works well, except it didn't today. He had no idea where his friend was and no way of contacting him, mobiles don't work up here. For the moment, it would be better to assume his friend was heading back to the safety of Braemar. You don't want to be stuck on the mountain in this weather.

I got out of my sleeping bag, naked and wrapped the foil blanket around me again. I discovered a third foil blanket in my bag. They fold down to handkerchief size and are very useful in these conditions. I passed it over to Fraser who quickly unfolded it and wrapped it around himself.

I stuck my pot out the door and scooped up more snow to melt for water to cook our meal. I had enough food for two. It didn't take long before we had plenty hot water. Twenty minutes later and we had a mug of chicken curry to eat. I also had chocolate bars and passed one over to Fraser. We chatted as we ate. Fraser told me he was a coal man, a job that would explain his strong physique. I didn't think people had coal fires nowadays but it would seem plenty folk still liked their coal fire. We wondered about putting our clothes back on, would they dry out better with our body heat to help?

That would mean trying to sleep in wet clothes which would not be comfortable.

Even though we had eaten our curry, we were still very cold. The snow around the bothy would help insulate us but the core temperature was still below zero. Fraser was still shivering. I only had the one sleeping bag and a red bivvy bag. The sleeping bag fits into the bivvy bag. No way could two people fit in the sleeping bag, particularly the size of Fraser. The best I could do was unzip the sleeping bag and lie under it like a blanket.

I asked Fraser how he felt about sleeping beside me under the sleeping bag. We could use our body heat to keep each other warm. He got up, naked and stood in front of me with two foil blankets over his shoulders. He was only inches from me. He was a strong muscular good-looking guy, very fit and quite hairy. There was little fat on him at all. I wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but I daren't. He shook my hand, smiled and thanked me for my kindness.

I placed my bivvy bag underneath the sleeping bag, to try to insulate us against the cold earth. I shivered as I wrapped myself in my foil blanket and got under the sleeping bag. Fraser did the same and joined me. We were lying apart and the cold air was coming in the gap between us. I tried to make it sound quite light-hearted when I suggested we should snuggle in closer. I had an inkling, something my gaydar was detecting, that Fraser might enjoy being with a man.

We lay on our backs, staring up at the roof. I wondered how the clothes were getting on drying. God, it was cold. It was seven o'clock in the evening. Far too early to go to sleep and too cold to sit up. We talked. Fraser told me about his job with the coal company and carrying heavy sacks of coal up the stairs of the Dundee Tenements. I knew it was a hard job, dirty and strenuous. I told him about my job, as a Cost Accountant, and how boring it was. Technology was meant to make our lives easier, not create more work as we all battle through endless emails.

I thought I would test the water. I told him I was divorced three years ago, was gay and had not long split from my last boyfriend and was now on my own. Until I meet someone else, some day.

He wiped the floor with me when he said he was also gay and single although he thought, that one day, things might develop between him and the guy who was walking from Braemar. He wasn't really sure if Michael was gay or not. I didn't expect that. I asked him how he felt about being naked, in a dark cold bothy in the middle of nowhere, with another naked guy. He turned on his side, put his arm around me and whispered in my ear, 'I just love it.'

I lay there, thrills running through me. God, he is gay. I thought he might be. My gaydar was working just fine. He's big, he's handsome and he's all man. I felt my cock stirring at the thought of him taking me. I turned on my side, away from him, and pressed myself against him. He put his arm around me. I could feel his cock against my ass. It was getting hard.

I turned, to face him, our cocks touching. 'Are you sure? I asked him. 'Mm...yes...,' he replied. I reached down and took both our cocks in my cold hand. He was bigger than me. I slowly pulled our foreskins back, running my thumb over our cock heads. I was getting excited, even with the cold. He had a lovely big cock. God, I could have so much fun with that. I ran my hand over his hairy chest, teasing his nipples. He kissed me, his tongue teasing my lips. I held him closer to me, feeling his hard fit body against mine. He thrust his hips as I wanked us both. I needed his cock. I slipped down the sleeping bag and let my tongue trace a route to his lovely cock. I breathed in the scent of his cock. I felt the precum, oozing out. I licked the tip, tasting the precum. I licked his balls, I licked right up and down his shaft and teased his cock head. Slowly, I started to take him in my mouth. He moaned as his cock slipped through my lips. He was getting harder and harder as I took him. I wanked him, long slow strokes and he responded, thrusting into my mouth. Clouds of vapour came from every breath I took. I was frozen, my teeth chattering and really turned on. It didn't take Fraser long. I felt his cock stiffen. He held my head and then he exploded in my mouth, jet after jet of hot sexy spunk spurted in my mouth. I swallowed, moaning loudly as I took his load.

I stuck my head out of our sleeping bag blanket and licked my lips. I kissed his bearded face, letting him taste his spunk on my lips. He teased my nipples and slid down the sleeping bag, grasping my hard cock in his fist. He squeezed my cock and then took me slowly. God, it was exciting. This man, who I only met an hour or so ago and he was blowing me. I let out a long moan as he brought me to the edge, I spurted, time and time again and he took it all, every drop of my spunk. I lay on my side, breathing heavily, recovering from a great orgasm. I put my head on his chest, breathing in the scent of him. He held me close and we lay there, contented. Meanwhile, It was still getting colder outside the comfort of the sleeping bag.

I took a deep breath and quickly got out of the sleeping bag and felt our clothes. They were still soaking wet. A few hours under the stove and it's made little difference. I changed one of the gas canisters. My shirt wasn't as wet as my trousers were though. That was good as I didn't want to put on a soaking wet cold shirt in the morning. I wondered about putting my shirt on, let my body heat dry it out. It was either Fraser with his arms around me or a cold damp shirt around me. I'd have Fraser any day. I jumped back into the sleeping bag and Fraser wrapped his strong hairy arms around me. I shivered in his arms.

With the wind howling and the temperature at least minus five degrees, we couldn't expect much sleep. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet. It was going to be a long night. We lay there, in the flickering gas light from the stoves, wrapped up together and spoke softly. Fraser really was an interesting guy. He had worked with the coal company since he was a teenager. 'A job for life,' he joked.

Our breath was still forming clouds of vapour as we spoke. I was wondering what I had in my bag that could be used. I reached over and rummaged in the pockets. I discovered another emergency foil blanket. Great. That will really help. In one of the other pockets I was amazed at what I found, a jar of vaseline. I carry it for putting on my lips and hands in weather like this. I grinned and showed it to Fraser. He laughed, 'Prepared for every eventuality eh?'