Loch

Chapter 4

Isla kicked at a patch of snow that stubbornly held on against the approach of springtime. Patches of green poked up through the many gray rocks and boulders that cluttered the summit of Ben MacDui. It was chilly up here, but she’d known what to expect and had dressed accordingly. Grizzly, it seemed, was not as well prepared. He shivered, stamped his feet, and paced to and fro. Trying to tune him out for a moment, she turned away and gazed out at the hilltops and peaks, some still speckled with snow, that encircled the mountain on which they stood. It was a beautiful sight, calming, but not sufficient to soothe her growing annoyance as Grizzly began to give orders.

“You should get some pictures of me from over there,” he pointed to his left. “I’ll look better from that side.”

“Couldn’t you just turn?” she asked, once again taking out her camera.

Grizzly seemed to think she was kidding. He stood shivering, hands thrust in his pockets, until she repositioned herself on his good side.

“Don’t you have anything in your pack you could put on to keep you warm? Some gloves, a few layers of clothing, maybe?”

“I do,” Grizzly said, “but layers make me look fat. I’ll put them on after you take your pictures.”

“In that case, let’s get it done in a hurry.” She focused and began clicking away. Meanwhile, Grizzly launched into a lecture about Ben MacDui.

“Standing at a height of just over thirteen hundred meters, that’s over four thousand feet to us Yanks,” he winked at the camera, “Ben MacDui is the tallest peak in the Cairngorms, and the second-highest mountain in England after Ben Nevis.”

“You mean in the United Kingdom,” Isla corrected.

“What’s that you say?” Grizzly asked.

“We’re in Scotland, not England. Ben Macdui is the second highest mountain in the United Kingdom.”

Grizzly smiled. “Ah, I understand the confusion. England is part of the United Kingdom, and Scotland is part of England, so it’s really all the same. Now, let’s get back to it. I’m cold.”

Isla grimaced and raised the camera. “Bawbag,” she muttered.

Grizzly finally turned and picked his way across the mountaintop, over to the summit indicator. Isla kept clicking the shutter, hoping he might take a spill.

The summit indicator was a stone disc set upon a pedestal atop a large cairn. All around it, arrows pointed to various hills and mountains, with their names and distances marked. The legend at the center denoted its purpose and dedicated it to the memory of an Alexander Copland.

Grizzly struck a pose and resumed his lecture.

“Here atop MacDuffs’s Hill, the summit indicator was set in place in 1925 by…”

“Hold on,” Isla said. “You do realize this is not a video camera?” She held her camera out for emphasis. “It’s not recording anything you say.”

Understanding crept across Grizzly’s face like the slow approach of dawn.

“Okay. Don’t you have a recorder or something?”

Isla took a deep breath, counted to five, and let it out in a huff. “I think I’ve got enough photos for now. How about you put on some warm clothes, and we find a place out of the wind to do the interview segment? Behind one of those, maybe?” She pointed to one of the many horseshoe-shaped stone walls that dotted the mountain’s summit.

“Are you sure you want to sit there? Some say the Grey Man built those.” Grizzly winked and waggled his eyebrows.

“I think the World War Two commandos who built them during training would disagree with you.”

A glint of intelligence flashed in Grizzly’s eyes. He tilted his head and looked at her suspiciously. “You know a lot about this place, don’t you?”

“I studied up on it in preparation for our interview.” That was true, though hardly the whole story.

Grizzly stared for a long moment, but if he doubted her, he didn’t say so. He opened his pack, donned a few extra layers of clothing, and then took out a tent which he proceeded to pitch on the leeward side of one of the stone bivouacs.

Meanwhile, Isla busied herself studying the summit indicator. She snapped photos of every inch of its surface, from every angle. After that, she stood and simply gazed at it, as if something of value would leap out at her.

“What are you doing over there?” Grizzly called.

“Nothing.” She whirled around at the sound of his voice. Pain shot up her leg as her foot caught between two stones and her ankle twisted. She fell hard, cracking her knee and scraping her palms on the rocky ground.

“Hold on, I’ve got you.” Ignoring her protests, Grizzly ran over to her, helped her to her feet, and supported her weight as they made their way over to the tent.

She hated accepting help from this buffoon, but he seemed to know about ankle sprains. He cautioned her not to remove her hiking boot, explaining that, should she take it off, the foot might swell, making it impossible to put the boot back on. He tightened her laces, propped her foot on his backpack, and laid a cold pack from his first aid kit atop her swelling ankle.

“RICE,” he said. “Rest, ice, compression, elevation.”

This display of competence, however limited, gave her hope that the article might not be entirely without merit. Maybe she could pluck some valuable nuggets from the dross he spewed forth.

“As long as I’m resting my ankle, we might as well talk about the Grey Man. I just hope we don’t miss him while we’re sitting in here,” she kidded.

“Don’t worry about that. He’s seldom seen any time other than dawn. That’ll be our best chance to catch sight of him.”

“I didn’t know we were spending the night. I’d have brought my own tent.”

“The tent is for you,” Grizzly said. “I’ll be outside in my sleeping bag. I don’t expect the star of the show to appear during the night, but I want to be ready if he does.”

His words put Isla at ease. She took out her notebook and recorder, shifted into a comfortable position, and began the interview. “Why don’t you start by telling our readers about the legendary Grey Man?”

As Grizzly launched into his description of the cryptid, his entire countenance changed. No longer was he a puffed-up phony, preening for the camera. He was knowledgeable, sincere, even earnest at times as he held forth on the subject.

Am Fear Liath Mòr, Scottish Gaelic for The Big Grey Man or The Auld Grey Man, was a mysterious cryptid known to haunt the summit of Ben Macdui. Most reported sightings were not sightings at all, but climbers hearing its footsteps crunching the gravel as it stalked them. Those who caught a glimpse of the creature described the Grey Man as thin, covered in dark fur, and standing anywhere from six feet tall to three times the height of a man. Some believed it to be a Yeti-type creature while others considered it more of a supernatural being. All, however, agreed that its presence induced terror in those who encountered it.

“There have been many accounts from reliable sources, such as professors, naturalists, and experienced mountaineers. Some think it’s merely a legend, but time will tell.” Grizzly lapsed into a reverential silence.

“You really believe this stuff, don’t you?” Isla asked.

“I believe in possibilities,” Grizzly said. “I don’t just take it for granted that all legends are bogus. I know at least some of them are real.”

“How do you know that?”

Grizzly pursed his lips, considering. “Personal reasons. I don’t really like to talk about it.”

That surprised Isla. She’d figured there was nothing Grizzly wouldn’t want to talk about. The man hadn’t shut up since the moment they’d met, but now he seemed lost in his thoughts.

Suddenly, as if waking from a dream, he gave his head a quick shake. “I’m going to set up outside. There’s food and water in the pack. Call me if you need anything.” He picked up his sleeping bag and headed for the door. “I’ll come and get you if I see anything. Otherwise, I’ll wake you before sunrise. Fingers crossed that we’ll see something remarkable.”

When he was gone, Isla turned to a blank page in her notebook and began writing her article. She preferred longhand for the first draft. Her thoughts and words seemed to meld better that way. She decided to focus on the mountain itself: its history and its stark beauty. The hunt for the Grey Man would merely be the framework for a meatier piece designed to entice tourists to visit this lonely mountain.

An hour later, her work complete, she allowed her thoughts to drift to the summit marker and the inscriptions on the top. Nothing had stood out as being unusual. She wished she were home right now, cross referencing her notes with the high-resolution photographs she had taken. There had to be something there. The latest clue seemed genuine.

After thirty minutes of fruitless pondering, she accepted that she’d make no breakthroughs by merely thinking about it. She had no appetite, but still took a few minutes to dine abstemiously on granola, nuts, and dried fruit. With no service on her phone and nothing else to do, she decided to call it an evening. A couple of ibuprofen washed down with water, and then she was curled up in her sleeping bag, trying to clear her mind.

The alarm on her phone went off far too early. With only the greatest reluctance, she slipped from the warmth of her sleeping bag and into the chilly air inside the tent. There was no sign of Grizzly or his sleeping bag. Apparently, he’d held to his pledge to remain outside during the night. Her opinion of the man slightly improved, she put on her coat and gloves and crawled out of the tent.

She found the cryptid hunter sitting on his sleeping bag in between the tent and the shelter of the rock wall. He held a steaming cup in his gloved hands and gazed toward the east, where the first streak of gray painted the horizon.

“Is that coffee?” she whispered.

“It’s only instant,” he said. “You can have some if you like.” He inclined his head toward a thermos and a tin cup.

Isla helped herself to a cup of the bitter liquid. Oddly, she occasionally enjoyed a cup of instant coffee. It brought back childhood memories of camping trips with her father, sitting around the campfire, listening to him spin tales of Celtic mythology.

“Did you light a fire?” she asked.

“Wing stove and a sierra cup,” he said. “The flame is tiny, so we don’t have to worry about scaring away the Grey Man.”

Isla didn’t know what either of the items he listed was, but she didn’t really care. She was just happy to have some coffee.

“How’s your ankle?” he asked.

“Better. I barely feel a twinge when I put my weight on it.”

Grizzly nodded. “When we leave, we’ll take the easy way down, just to be safe.”

“Thanks for that.”

They sat quietly, drinking coffee and watching the sun rise. She found herself thinking that this would be a romantic moment were she with someone other than Grizzly. At least she’d reached a point at which she could tolerate the man. In fact, the silence they shared was almost companionable. On the downside, dawn was breaking and, as expected, they’d caught no sight of the Grey Man.

At least I won’t have to rewrite the ending of my story, she thought.

Grizzly stood, stretched, and yawned. He suddenly stood ramrod straight. “Oh my God!” He grabbed her by the shoulder. “Look over there!”

“If you’re trying to wind me up, it won’t work.” Isla turned and looked in the direction he indicated. Her breath caught in her throat.

In the midst of the morning fog, at the western edge of the summit, stood a tall, wraithlike figure.

“Am Fear Liath Mòr,” Grizzly whispered. “The Grey Man!”