Christoffer Petersen

When the going gets tough, you forget all about your feet! The rain worked wonders for the sweat, too. I knew this place, had driven through it so many times as a student, but can’t for the life of me remember what it’s called, and, in keeping with my frame of mind one year ago to this day, I’m not inclined to look it up, either. All I know from this day is that it rained, a lot. I had cider for lunch – always good when you get a fix in the middle of the day! And that my feet didn’t hurt quite so much going UP!

Also, going UP! I was gaining on cousin Stu, and let me tell you, that felt gooooooood.

To be fair, as cousin Stu often said, I am a year younger than him.

It’s probably why I got the wet side of the tent.

Speaking of which…

I love that tent. I mean, I love it. It was, however, about to be sorely tested as the rain gave us a good lashing, and the wind, well it could have been cousin Stu, but, to be fair, I think it was both of us!

What did I say about revealing too much in these blog posts? Not so, today! Chapter 8 is even referred to on the back cover of the book, revealing the moment when – spoiler alert! – Maratse hooks a young woman on the longline.

When writing this chapter, I realised I was writing a crime book. At least, my interpretation of a crime book. This isn’t Columbo or Frost, and neither am I pretending it should be. It’s definitely not Holmes. It is, however, simply Maratse. And, in this instance, before Petra really gets involved, Maratse’s sidekick is Karl, his unfortunate but very welcoming neighbour.

They smoke a lot, as many Greenlanders do – or at least did when I lived there. So, it’s natural, following the gruesome discovery, for Maratse to offer Karl a cigarette while he takes care of things.

Putting things on the map, this scene takes place north, or, rather, a little north and west of Inussuk (Niaqornat). See map above.

Chapter 8 is now LIVE for all patrons, from the “Behind the Scenes” tier for 25 DKK and up, on my patreon page.

There’s a lot to read on my patreon page now, not just Seven Graves, One Winter. Please ask if you want to know more.

Alternatively, you can buy  Seven Graves, One Winter (digital and physical formats) starting from $0.99 USD.

Sun shining. All good. I was a happy fella on day six. You know, I tell myself that, and when I look at these photos, I really believe it too. I want to believe it, because I know I was having a good time.

I mean, I had absolutely no idea where we were. I was craving cider from pretty much breakfast time until… Well, every day, really. I squirmed my feet into my boots – almost with a leather strop between my teeth – every morning. And, much to cousin Stu’s delight, I stopped at almost every brook, stream, and raging river to wash, then dry, then talc my feet.

Patience of a saint, cousin Stu!

And, the chats were great. We covered every family episode from as far back as we could remember, and further still after that first cider. Cousin Stu tactfully skirted around any mention of the fact that I have a BA in Outdoor Education, that I studied for it in Scotland, and I spent the first twenty years or so working in the outdoors. That I had regressed into a freeballin’ alcoholic really is by the by.

And, to be fair, as cousin Stu often said, we were making progress.

Of course, if I even cared at this point, I could tell you how far we had walked and, more importantly, how far there was still to go.

But the blood…

The cheese…

And the sweat…

Yeah, you get the picture.

I’m so pleased you don’t get the smell to go along with it!

Don’t think about it. Look at the pretty River Orchy!

Day five. Deep breath. I’ve got this. I mean, I’ve got it now, a whole year later. But I was trying to keep it together at this point. Cousin Stu had already seen through my cunning plan of slipping away to catch a train.

Damn him! Damn him to hell and back!

Another deep breath.

Not too deep.

Cheese and sweat and all that!

I think, at this point, I’d also eaten all the Ibuprofen. So, to say I was struggling is a little mild. But, to be fair, as cousin Stu likes to say, apart from my feet looking and smelling like roadkill, I was feeling quite good. Losing weight – all that sweating! And, we even had a chance to dry our gear at a campsite.

I was also consuming one or two pints of cider each night.

I’ve never been a big drinker, but I stopped completely the day we arrived in Greenland as I could see what alcohol did to small, remote communities. But, on the other hand, the thought of cider at the end of the day got me through the day.

That and cousin Stu.

Patience of a saint, that man!

And then, the chance to give the shuttlers another blast of freeballin’ cheese ‘n’ sweat… Well, small pleasures and all that!

The views were nice, too!

Oh, and if you’re wondering what happened to the map, and why I’m not telling you about each place, the flora, the fauna, and really trying to sell the whole “hike the West Highland Way” idea.

Honestly, I was living day to day, as my feet rotted away with toenails turning black and… Yeah, at this point, I had a pretty good idea that my wonderful Scarpa hiking boots were NOT broken in!

To be fair, as cousin Stu often said, I hadn’t worn them for over twenty years!

Bit of pain. But I’m a fighter, you know? Tough as nails. No worries. I can’t remember just how many days I’ve spent on Loch Lomond. Granted, it was in a canoe, but apart from that, I know this place. It used to be a happy place, too.

I mean, it’s pretty. Very Lord of the Rings! But then, if Old Man Willow had swallowed me up at this point, I wouldn’t have put up much of a fight. With blisters growing on top of blisters, blood, cheese – what gets left behind under a Compeed plaster – and more blood… life was grand. Really grand.

The rocks were not!

I also need to give a quick shout out to cousin Stu’s tent. Lovely tent. Lovely. Leaks like a sieve, but only on my side of the tent. Curious that. And lovely. Of course, what it meant was that all my dry clothes that I placed on my side of the tent, got absolutely soaked. To be fair, as cousin Stu often said, my clothes did a bang up job soaking up the excess water, which kept our sleeping bags dry.

Hmm.

Wet clothes are heavy.

But to be fair, they were my clothes, and it was only me carrying them.

This photo (above) was taken a couple of nights earlier. Which means those wonderful hiking trousers I’m wearing… yeah. Sodden. All my underpants, too. You didn’t want to know, but sharing is caring, and I was carrying everything. Not sharing. But I discovered that my quilted waterproof salopettes (yes, quilted, hence the sweating) had wonderful side zips that went from ankle to armpit, and, well, you didn’t ask, but I was freeballin’ most of the West Highland Way at this point, zipping up when people passed us (we rarely passed anyone – not with my speed) and then zipping down when I heard those bloody shuttle hikers coming so I could give them a quick blast of what I like to call “cheese ‘n’ sweat”, which is a far more authentic West Highland Way odour than fresh sheets and shampoo!

But, to be fair, as cousin Stu likes to say, we chose to carry our gear.

Hmm.

Fair warning, however, from this point on cousin Stu helped me remember that I used to drink, and he also encouraged me to use the middle finger. Sorry if that offends, but if you’re still reading after the blood, cheese, and sweat, well… just know such gestures are not personal, not aimed at you, dear reader, but are wholly therapeutic!

Loch Lomond, a.k.a. the devil’s playground. This was supposedly the flattest section of the West Highland Way.

Flat, my arse!

I mean, my arse is flat.

The path along the shore of Loch Lomond is full of ladders, boulders, rock walls, and all manner of obstacles. I mean, it was like doing crossfit while wearing an army pack.

Don’t even get me started on the bright and chipper “hikers” with their walking sticks and tiny daypacks. They sent their packs along with the shuttle service, while spending the night in a hotel bed. Their “Good morning!” as they sped past me every day did not a happy Chris make.

Me?

I had sweaty cousin Stu and the midges!

I was also having a bit of a flashback to the murderous Scot I had as a protagonist in my Scottish novella: Fell Runner. Only, I wasn’t running!

To be fair (something cousin Stu often said) he had to put up with sweaty me, too. Although I was also quite bloody, and started lancing the blisters with a pocket knife!

To paraphrase a favourite film, “I love the smell of cheese in the morning!”

I just wish it didn’t have anything to do with me and my feet!

Here’s Loch Lomond where I stuck my feet for long, long periods of time!