by Caberfeidh » Fri Jun 12, 2015 8:48 am
Aaaarrrrrrrrr, shiver me timbers, aarr! There was the time I was hiking over a misty moor in highland Perthshire, a heathery open moor, only on this particular day it was so misty all I could see all around was an encircling wall of white mist. As I progressed in my own bubble of white-walled nothingness, I saw a strange apparition appear, floating in the air about six feet off the ground. A white disembodied skull, with long white hair flowing in the breeze as the skull bobbed gently up and down. I got quite a fright as I saw this, but as Martha Reeves would put it, having nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide, I approached closer, hairs tingling on the back of my neck, eyes staring, until I got close enough to see that it was only an old hank of sheep's fleece stuck on the end of a coil of wire from an old wrecked deer fence. Phooey.
Another time, hiking up to Bob Scott's bothy from the Linn O'Dee one winter's night, climbing kit strapped to my heavy rucksack, I wearily made my way along past the old ruined sheilings. A half moon showed between ragged clouds torn by the wind. As I passed the ruins left by the glen's inhabitants of ancient times, I heard a low, breathy whistle, or wail behind me. I turned quickly but could see no-one on the moonlit track. Perhaps it was a bird. I carried on, only to hear the breathy "Oooo-Oooo" behind me again. It was so close and loud I was sure it was some one taking the mickey. I twisted round suddenly, as the noise was happening, but it stopped instantly, and the brightly-moonlit track showed a complete absence of anyone. A herd of deer moved across the flood-plain of the river. The wind hissed over the tumbled stone walls of the old sheilings. I wondered if some of the guys from the bothy had been out gathering firewood and, seeing me coming, had decided to give me a fright.They were likely hiding behind the old walls, giggling to themselves. I carried on regardless, only for the spooky noise to start again immediately, right behind me. I twisted around ready to punch whoever was doing it, friend or foe. It stopped but started again, right behind me, in the direction I had been walking. "It" was between me and the bothy! I turned again, and again it was behind me, a traditional ghost story "Woooo-oooo". I could feel myself getting pale in the face, shaky in the knees and if I had spoken my voice would have quavered with fright. What I needed here was a weapon. Not being equipped with a Ghost Busters' style backpack,I figured an ice-axe in my hand would provide a reassuring psychological boost. I reached back to pull my ice axes from the lower straps of my rucksack and the spooky, breathy "ooooo" sound stopped. I let go of the axe handles and the noise started again. I gripped them and it stopped. They were Stubai Sierra Extreme ice tools, with a hollow tubular shaft. The wind had been blowing across the shaft ends, making a sound like someone blowing across the top of a bottle...
For real spookiness though, the Galloway Hills are the spookiest, giving a constant unnerving feeling of being watched. It is not just me; I mentioned this in a bothy and another bloke agreed that he felt the same way there, a feeling not felt elsewhere. I have camped in Glen Coe, infamous for the massacre of the MacDonalds, I have camped on Skye near to old battle sites, I have even dossed in graveyards, but the Galloway Hills are the spookiest.
