With plans to camp at Corrour Bothy and then summit the four Munros to the west—starting with Devil's Point—I set off from the Linn of Dee along the Lairig Ghru just before 4 p.m. My brother and his friend joined me until Derry Lodge, where they turned back, leaving me to continue alone.
The walk-in was peaceful. The path was great, the skies clear, and the air warm but comfortable. I was already imagining the footage I could capture the next day with my drone, and enjoying the view of the glen as I made my way toward my campsite.
Since it was only about 12 km to reach Corrour, I arrived before dinner, despite starting late. The area was lively, with at least ten tents pitched outside. I found a spot at the edge of the settlement and set up my tarp shelter for the next two nights.
Afterwards, I focused on dinner- cooking a boil-in-a-bag meal just outside my shelter. But I was immediately overwhelmed by what I believe was the most midges I've ever seen. I could tolerate them on my hands, but not on my face. So, I ate while walking in circles around the tents, trying to keep the pests at bay.
With hours more to entertain myself and feeling full of energy but unable to relax amid the crowd, I decided to go for a short evening hike up Carn a'Mhaim, just east of the campsite. I grabbed a small day pack and set off, retracing my steps along the path.
To save time and daylight, I cut off the path and climbed straight up the steeper side facing my camp. Within an hour, I reached the summit, no more effort than if I'd taken the trail. Standing there in the quiet, with the last light fading, I paused to reflect. It was the first moment I truly felt a clear mind, only noticing how full it was once clarity arrived.
After my reflective moment, I started back down. Night was falling, so instead of retracing my ascent, I navigated with my torch, aiming for a gentle slope with my compass bearing. Somewhere along the way, I went wrong- though I cannot think back to where or why. I first noticed when the terrain suddenly became much steeper than it should have been.
I realised I had drifted too far left, ending up near the top of a cliff to the east. I tried to backtrack, but as I turned, I slipped on wet grass and Heather. I grabbed at the plants to stop myself, but they ripped through my grasp, and I continued down further.
I fell through the path of a stream or waterfall, failing to grip the stones and shrubbery as I clawed at the cliff face due to the water coating their surface. Panic set in as I realised I was falling faster than I could control, and there was nothing I could do to stop. My leg caught on a small outcrop, which knocked me enough to the side to catch a ledge with my foot and finally stop my descent. I looked up and saw where I had taken my last step, over 20m above me, just before my headtorch flickered and dimmed, and I was left on a narrow ledge in complete darkness.
Perched there, I could see no way to climb back up, further down or the side without throwing myself back into another fall. My injuries from the fall added to the helplessness. I tried to use a backup torch, but it barely illuminated anything. I felt utterly useless and trapped, knowing help would struggle to get me out, and be hours away when I wasn't sure if I could hold my position for that long.
In the moment of falling, I didn't see my life flash before me- I saw the faces of those I love, and didn't want to leave behind. I realised, now I was no longer falling, I was facing a slower, uncertain end. I didn't know which step or when would cause me to drop, but I knew one would. Fear and panic flooded me, but then I turned to prayer. Instantly, I felt a strange calm—either I would be led to safety, or it was my time. I was ready for either.
Remarkably, I tried my headtorch once more, and it seemed to have regained its full power. Now back on full beam, I spotted a small rock I could step over. Precarious, but possible. From there, I spent the next hour and a half carefully crawling diagonally down the cliffside, focusing on each move, staying calm. Realising that my life was on the line, and truly accepting both possibilities seemed to help me stay focused rather than panic.
Eventually, I reached the bottom and could stand again. Though exhausted and injured, I knew I'd survive the night. Still, I had to walk another 4 km to reach my campsite, which was slow going. My headtorch had died again, followed by my back-up, leaving me with only my phone's light to guide the way.
In the dead of night, I finally arrived back at my tarp. I was overwhelmed. Wet, muddy, and battered, I quickly changed clothes and examined my injuries. Though they didn't hurt much, my mind was battered, and I spent the next three hours staring into the dark, reliving what had happened.
After a wonderfully restless four hours of sleep, I woke to the relentless midges. I decided to abandon my original plans and head home as soon as possible, packing up and setting off on the ~20 km walk toward Cairngorm without breakfast.
The journey took me through the rest of the Lairig Ghru- initially on a similar path to the previous day, then transforming into a boulder field that slowed me down, especially with my injured leg. I pushed through on snacks and sheer stubbornness, avoiding stopping to reflect on what I'd endured- yet it was the only thing on my mind.
Eventually, I reached the turnoff for Cairngorm, passing through narrow rocky sections between cliffs. The main road up to the ski centre was in sight, and I was relieved to see a bus that could take me home.
Along the way, I was stunned to see a small herd of wild reindeer grazing- an incredible sight, especially since I forgot there was a herd in Scotland. For a moment, I forgot all about the previous night's ordeal and simply admired these Arctic animals in my homeland. When the reindeer finally moved on, I waited for the next bus, since the other had passed by as I was trapped behind the reindeer, which finally arrived after an hour of reflection.
If there's one lesson I take from this experience, it's to never underestimate nature. I'm grateful to be well experienced in the mountains, but all it took was a moment away from focus and a small mistake for everything to fall apart. The wilderness is awe-inspiring, but it demands respect.
What struck me most was how life appears when stripped of trivialities. Watching the reindeer graze peacefully, ignoring my presence, was utterly beautiful. I believe that surviving that near-death experience heightened my appreciation for such moments of simple existence- something I hope to keep with me once my wounds are healed.
This walk has taught me many things, and I'm sure I'll learn more from it in the future. Surviving a situation I thought I couldn't face forced me to dig into who I truly am, and let them guide me home. Sometimes, it's only when life is on the line that we see the world more clearly- beyond distractions, superficial worries and our clouded perspectives.