RIDERS ON THE STORM
BATTERED BY WIND and soaked by sheeting rain, we tramped along the boggy banks of the Abhainn Rath. It was dark now, and we’d already braved several minor river crossings in the pitch black. Walking through the long grass felt like wading through treacle. We were hungry, cold, exhausted. Surely we’d been going for far too long – had we missed the bothy completely?
“Look – over there!”
Somebody’s head torch caught the stark outline of a building in the distance. There it was! The mood changed instantly. Suddenly we were whooping and calling out to each other, delirious with excitement at the prospect of a cosy bolthole from the weather.
Because of its remoteness, we’d hoped that the bothy might be deserted; but it was still a relief to open the door and discover it was completely empty. Behind those insulated walls, the wind and rain seemed muted. Quickly, the four of us divided into two teams. One group went to fetch water from the river whilst the other got the fire going.
Soon the first flames were flickering in the grate. We huddled into their heat with cups of steaming hot chocolate and started swapping stories
