Stay in bed

Sometimes you think there are signs (omens) cropping up to warn you off from a particular course of action.
 
I was heading to deep Ardverikie wilderness today. Last night the main A86 trunk road had again become blocked by land slide debris just a few miles east of Roy Bridge. I had warned the engineer by text last night that I may be delayed or possibly have to cancel. The morning road report was still indicating closure. I set off at my normal time and slowed right down as I approached the section I knew to be affected. Indeed mud and gravel had spewed across the carriageway but a digger seemed well advanced in scraping up the debris. A few hi viz clad workers stood watching the digger progress. I got out and asked if there was any chance of getting past. I was grateful for the positive nod and he gestured to the digger operator to go to the side. I trundled carefully over the gravel and mud and there were several similar patches over the next mile. What a relief, I phoned the engineer to confirm I was on may way again.
After leaving the A86 the drive continues for about an hour on the estate road to get to the meeting point. (Yesterday's blip) The survey site was a good 90 minutes away by Argo and unusually the engineer (A) had been able to organise a self drive hire. “A” a very capable and clever engineer comes from a background in agriculture so is well familiar with such kit. The previous day he had transported the outboard and inflatable boat we were going to use for the bathy survey on a very remote hill loch. This morning my survey kit – a few heavy boxes, lead acid battery, heavy tripod, various poles- was the payload. It was a bumpy ride and in the upper stages I opted to walk ahead and scope out easier spots for A to cross hill burns and peat hags.
The Argo stopped perhaps about a hundred yards from the loch and I was already locating a good spot for my base station set up. I beckoned A to advance and he shouted, “It wont start”. There was no phone signal and we had already opted for the walk out if it wouldn’t restart. A was away for about 35 minutes hunting out a couple of bars of signal to get technical advice. I had concluded from the repeated clicking from the starter solenoid that the battery was flat. We had a look under the bonnet for any loose connections, but it all looked sound. A gust blew the bonnet down on A’s head. Thankfully it is a lightweight plastic cover and it sounded worse than it felt. The survey data was a huge priority for A’s office. I did some shore survey work while A got the boat and outboard ready. It took an eternity to get the outboard to start. It had been sitting on the moor overnight in heavy rain.
The survey got underway, and faced with that long walk out at the end, coverage was trimmed as much as possible. The survey actually went very well.
 
Some of my kit I could leave behind, but other boxes had to come down the hill (I needed them elsewhere in the morning) and A had offered to carry as much of my kit as possible too. His boat and kit was committed to another night on the hill with the Argo.
I don’t think my rucksack had ever been so full or heavy. I could barely lift it off the ground to get it on my back and we faced a 6km walk across the hills to the starting point. My progress was painfully slow, and the best comfort (least pain) was achieved by walking bent forward. A is younger than me, and a talented fell runner, but he had a box to carry by its handle to his side. He was constantly switching its position for relief. Coming round the last shoulder the destination point came into view but probably still 2 miles away. Though easier under foot by this stage the pain was mounting on every joint and muscle. If I had stopped, I doubt I would have restarted. What a relief it was to finally get the load off my back.
 
The next time the road is blocked I’m going to stay in my bed.