I’ve only spent one uncomfortable night in a hammock.
The year was 1964 or 5 I think. It was in a bothy in Glengarrisdale on the northwest coast of the island of Jura. The very spot can be located with what 3 words at ///breathy.hotspot.cleansed.
A group of us walked from Inverlussa to the northernmost tip of Jura and sat in glorious sunshine watching the massive, fearful whirlpool and wild waters of the Gulf of Corrievrechan between Jura and Scarba. A fortunate breeze kept the midges at bay for a happy hour or so allowing us to wonder at the spectacular view before us. Awe inspiring!
We then made our way round to Glengarrisdale bay and stayed the night in the bothy there. We gathered driftwood and set a fire in one of the gable end fire places.
There was a notice warning of adders being quite common in the area and advising sleeping in the loft. There we found the hammocks. Coarse canvas, presumably sailcloth, slung from the rafters. I remember they were smelly, I recall they felt kind of damp, but most of all I remember feeling very U shaped next morning!!
We couldn’t find the correct cave to see Maclaine’s scull, we didn’t encounter any adders but we were woken up in the middle of the night by a fearful wailing and scraping sound from somewhere close below us.
Terrifying!!
Someone, feeling exceptionally brave, opened the wee skylight and we took turns at popping our heads out to see, in the ethereal misty moonlight, a herd of deer spread out before us with a stag scraping his antlers on the door.
There’s some grand modern pictures of the area showing how the bothy looks now on google.
Sadly when I was 15/16 the world hadn’t caught up with my imagination so magical devices for communicating images were never happening. Life was good but simpler then
(i.e. a plate with a UK VRM, not necessarily having UK on it).
