It was blowing hard when…

It was blowing hard when I left Guirig Halt. The train stopped there and I got off. It was already black dark. I was the only passenger to alight. There is no platform at Guirig Halt so I had to climb down to track level which is a wee bit of a struggle with a rucksack on the back. A guard leaned out to check that the doors were secure. In the light from the train itself, I could see his face. He thought I was mad. Perhaps he was right. Most people would reckon that late on a December night was no time to be heading off to the hills alone.
The guard blew his whistle and the train pulled out leaving me, alone in an empty expanse of moor. I watched the glow of its windows recede into the murk. Heard the drumming of the deisel grow fainter and fainter …. until I had only the wind for company.
There are no buildings at Guirig Halt, unless you count the wooden hut where the rail maintenance men had their tea in the days when there were such things as rail maintenance men. But the place is not entirely bare. There is a fir plantation and that sheltered the path for the first few miles. It was too dark to see the lochan at Carn but I could hear the waters lapping on shingle. I could also smell snow in the wind.

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