It always starts with a warning.

Sron Uladal on the Isle of Harris in Scotland. Yes, I’ve climbed it. Well, to be precise, my husband climbed it. I skipped the last half mile and instead opted to make the eight mile trek back to the van on my own. I’d had enough of our English guide, Graham, and I was worried my knee would not hold up for the fourth climb in so many days. I craved peace and quiet and I needed to distance myself from his attitude.

From what my husband told me later, that last half mile was the easiest climb the group had done all week.

I really should have stayed to finish the hike, but I was afraid I’d bash Graham with a rock.

Hiking eight miles alone - which no responsible paid mountain guide would ever have allowed, especially since it was spitting snow and the sky was growing increasingly threatening - was exactly what I needed to get his bile out of my system. The farther I walked, the more at peace l I felt, and the more I appreciated my surroundings. At the halfway point, I met up with two crofters, their dogs and sheep. They spoke more Gaelic than English. The only Gaelic I know is slainte (health!). Regardless, we shared bread, cheese, grapes, cookies and a bit of whiskey. The makeshift feast made me feel better. Best of all, I spotted a nesting pair of the golden eagles Graham had been blathering on about, but you know when you blather instead of remaining quiet, you tend to miss things. Oh, he turned such a lovely shade of green when I told him.

Graham aside, our trip to the Highlands and the Outer Hebrides was amazing. I’d wanted to visit Scotland for years and years and years. Once I’d had my knee repaired and managed a hike across Costa Rica six months later, I knew I could handle Scotland, so the following year, off we flew across the pond.

Don’t delude yourself, hiking and climbing in Scotland can be treacherous. Pathways are rarely marked, the footing is difficult to say the least, the climbs steep and dangerous and pretty much everything ends in a cliff edge. More important, the weather is unpredictable. The day might begin with sunshine, but within a few hours you can find yourself caught in a blinding snowstorm, or torrential rains, or fog so thick you can barely see a foot in front of you.

Regardless, the Highlands and Islands of Scotland are beautiful beyond compare. The beaches on the isles of Harris and Lewis alone are worth the trip.In fact, we stayed at the beach where the Lewis Chessmen were found.

Adrenaline junkie that I am, I said…bring it on! And then I met Graham.

You see, we signed on with a company that provides mountain guides for small groups. The trip was described thus - hiking along well-defined trails, twelve to sixteen miles per day, with occasional easy to moderate climbs. Aware that hiking in Scotland can be challenging, I called overseas in advance to make certain my knee could handle the ascents and more importantly, the descents. I was assured this trip was considered easy. I mean, titanium screws can do a lot, but not everything. Unknown to me, Mrs. MacKenzie, (the MacKenzies accompanied us), had phoned as well because she’d recently had surgery for a detached retina and her vision was still blurred. She too was reassured the footing would be fine. Insert evil laughter.

My husband and I had already spent two days hiking around Inverness and Loch Ness when we were joined by the MacKenzies. The four of us in turn were joined by two English couples - a pair of sisters and their husbands. Our guide was supposed to be Scottish, a man very familiar with the local history and terrain. I said as much when an Englishman met us all at the Inverness train station. Big mistake.

“Oh.” I tried hard to mask my disappointment. “I was expecting someone else.”

Graham: “He’s taken ill so I’ve been asked to fill in. I usually don’t do these trips. I prefer to guide the more difficult winter trips or the trekking trips into the Himalayas. But there was no one else available.” Exaggerated sigh. He made it clear he was very put out. “Don’t you people know how to pack for trekking?”

Me: Instantly apologetic even though we were paying good money for his services. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but, uh, we’re staying for three weeks altogether so we need some clothes other than our hiking clothes.” (We had each brought one backpack for the hiking trip and one smallish suitcase for our stay on Loch Ness and our visit to Edinburgh, which I did not feel was excessive. Of course the English brought one backpack apiece because they planned to return home at the end of the week.)

My husband and The MacKenzie helped Graham secure the luggage to the roof of the van while Mrs. MacKenzie and I made introductions to our fellow hikers. My husband and The MacKenzie are physicians, as was one of the Englishmen. The other was a geologist. The two sisters were a nurse and a social worker so I figured we’d get along quite well since we were all in the medical and/or scientific fields, more or less.

When everything was properly settled on the roof, Graham asked, “Is there anyone who gets car sick?”

I tried to signal my husband to keep his mouth shut, but of course he volunteered, “My wife gets car sick. She should sit in the front.”

Crap. Stick me with a guy who hates Americans why don’t ya.

And off we headed to the car ferry to Ullapool.

Oh, and just so you know, I can pronounce two Scottish words - gorrrrrse and Inverrrrfarrrrigaig. Inverfarigaig is lovely. You don’t want to run into gorse.

To be continued…