Hi, I’m Liepa and I am only an honorary member of ScotGEM. As I am the only Dundee undergrad doing the longitudinal integrated clerkship (LIC) programme in Scotland this year, I have been unofficially initiated into the ScotGEM tribe.
Week 1 of ScotGEM was a blur, meeting all those new and fabulous people… but one thing I do remember clearly is someone official saying: “You are not allowed to ride in emergency or medical helicopters.”
Fast forward to late October—the days are getting shorter, autumn blues are setting in, COVID was preventing most forms of socialising. I’d just gotten my van going after a long time in one place, so I thought a nice day of hiking in the hills would cheer me up. I’d done a fair amount of hiking before, so the Beinn Dearg four-Munro circuit near Ullapool seemed pretty doable. Cue the Jaws theme music…
I told my sister where I was going and packed a bag with extra layers, waterproofs, headtorch, and external battery pack. I checked the map on my phone and downloaded an updated compass app.
I set off bright and early to a grey but crisp morning, the autumnal forest absolute perfection. My cat followed me for the first mile or two but thankfully decided to wait in the forest for me to collect her on my way back down.
I reached the first Munro, Beinn Dearg, with a beautiful dusting of snow. It started drizzling as I checked off the 2nd and 3rd Munros, but it’s Scotland, it’s always drizzling. Donning my waterproofs, I summited the 4th Munro before 2pm. That’s when the fog descended like the coming of the dementors…
I leaned into the wind to keep from getting blown over and peered out from under my hood, the horizontal rain stinging my face. I followed what I thought was the descent trail… whoops…
The tracks were getting vague and I starting to accept that I had lost the trail, but to my left was a bog surrounding a river flowing downhill. I checked my map—following the river would intersect the descent trail at the lake—excellent! For future reference, there is oftentimes more than one river around.
I diligently trudged through the swampy muddy banks for a couple of miles, rounding a bend where the lake should have been. But there was no lake. Bum bum BUMMMMM!
Checking the map again, I thought I located the right river at last and I am just one valley over from the one I had thought I was in.
Okay. Pull it together. Don’t panic. Just cross the river, climb up the side of the ridge up and over to the correct valley. I followed the river down, looking for crossings every which way—no chance. I waded through, freezing cold water soaking me to the thighs. I crawl-climbed up the steep grassy ridge, clinging to wet tufts of grass so as not to slip back down to the valley below. I finally made it to the top and I peered down through the fog. Still no river, still no lake. Definitely lost now.
It’s getting dark and I’m starting to lose rational thought. That lake over there seems familiar—should I walk towards that? The headtorch comes out. Did I walk past that rock formation earlier? The headtorch setting goes up bright.
It’s fully dark and I don’t know which way is which. Oh yeah, my compass app malfunctioned ages ago. I regretfully dial emergency services, already pink with embarrassment.
It’s not going through.
It’s not ringing.
I’m stumbling through the swampland created by the hours of rain, up this hillock and that, desperately looking for just enough signal to call the emergency services. The fog is so dense and my headtorch is refracting from it.
Stop.
I nearly walked over a cliff. Must be more careful. I kept searching and nearly went over another cliff.
Time to call it a night.
I find a patch next to rock that’s more like spongy than full-on swamp and curl up with my back towards the worst of the wind and rain. And thus begins the longest eleven hours of my life, waiting for the light.
It’s 2°C so in-between the occasional hallucinations, I get up to do star jumps. I tuck my hands in my trousers (my winter mittens long since soaked through), too scared to sleep.
At about 7am I get through to Mountain Rescue and thankfully had previously downloaded the What3Words app as per the suggestion of a fellow ScotGEM student so they immediately knew exactly where I was… more than 20 miles from the nearest road. There wouldn’t be time for someone to hike out to get me.
Around 11am, I heard the chopper blades overhead. I couldn’t see it the fog was so thick, so what chance would my high vis vest have? I hadn’t eaten or slept in twenty-seven hours… could I be imagining the noise? What if it flew right past me? But it didn’t.
The helicopter paramedic ushered me into the chopper into one of those sleeping bag cocoon things and started doing a set of obs as it pushed off into the sky.
I was taken back to Inverness to find multiple missed calls from my GP practice asking why I didn’t turn up to placement that day.
Apparently, “Umm, so sorry, I was getting airlifted from the hills…” is a valid excuse.
My sister finally remembered I’d gone hiking and texted me another day later: “Are you alive?”
Well, I may have almost died, but I did get my helicopter ride… big thanks to my rescuers.
All’s well that ends well, but please, be careful in the hills, people.
P.S. I found my cat when I was able to drive back for her two days later. She’s the best cat.