My friend tried to kill me!

Last weekend we ventured over and up in the western highlands of Scotland for a weekend of hiking and a science fair. Being from the Rocky mountains, I know what a mountain looks like. I know that they should be rocky and full of snow throughout most of the year, and have dangerous creatures wandering around ready to drag you into a cave and chomp on your head.

I know that storms can whoosh up out of no-where and lightning can strike at you just as easily as a rattler.

I know all of these dangers, and so gazing upon a wet, sloping mountain that doesn't even reach the height at which I grew up, I felt no qualms. There was no fear. I could easily hike up and back.

But I was wrong.

Two hours into the hike, I began to realize this sloping giant sloped a lot more than it appeared to. I found that half the damn thing was hidden by fog and the third hour mostly involved finding footing among snow laden rocks that were not at all secure in the hillside.

I found, upon reaching the top, that down was a lot harder than up. This being mostly due to the complete saturation of the ground, once we'd cleared the snowpack. I couldn't count the times I lost my footing.

And, in the scheme of things, it wasn't all that bad owing to no voracious hungry carnivores or the desperate need to run from an avalanche. However, I was still sore for three days and am now altogether sure I will not take any Scottish mountain for granted again!