The Haunted Rucksack

For many years I used my trusty Tiso 'tattie sack' rucksack. This was simplicity itself and designed for climbing and hauling up rock walls where anything that got in the way was an encumbrance. It was big enough for weekends and I lived out of it all my student years. When I bought a nylon hike tent, however, I felt I needed a rucksack more rigid and comfortable for carrying heavier loads. I bought a pack frame and  the separate canvas sack that fitted on it. It was comfortable enough but a bit awkward and spikey when travelling on public transport.

Looking north up Glen Tilt

One day I took a train to Blair Athol and walked up Glen Tilt, camping at the bridge across the Tarf. Next day I crossed the watershed from the Tilt to the Dee. The cloud was closed right down and I could see very little. It was October and the Red Deer rut was in full swing. I was surrounded by roaring, but the roarers and groaners were invisible. Soon I heard a different sound, the unmistakable, spirit lifting honking of a great skein of geese heading south through Glen Tilt. They sounded just above my head but I couldn't see them. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of taking part in a great natural process. Being alone and not being able to see these events seemed to make them more surprising and intense.

It was too early to stop at Corrour bothy so I carried on through the Lairig Ghru. I had walked this way several times before so knew what to expect. As usual, the mist was down as I boulder hopped past the Pools of Dee and started to descend the northern side. There was a stronger breeze here and I began to notice a strange sound. WOOOOOOO - WOOOOOO. It started as a low moaning and as gusts intensified rose to a loud whistle. This really worried me. In fact I was genuinely rattled. I'd read all that tosh about the Big Grey Man of Ben Macdui and mentally filed it away with the Loch Ness Monster and Flying Saucers as the domain of silly, confused people and Nutters. I began to think I was one of them, but said to myself,
"Pull yourself together. There must be a rational explanation."
I tried to concentrate intensely on the sound and pinpoint exactly where it came from. Surprisingly, it came from exactly behind my left ear. The windward side. I slipped out of the pack frame and dumped it on the ground. Aha! There were holes in the aluminium tube frame so you could adjust the position of the cross bar. The wind was blowing in the holes and creating a ghostly tune. I wasn't being haunted after all. Even so, that really spooked me. I still had an irrational fear that the rucksack was haunted.

The Haunted Rucksack. Offset drawing and watercolour.

Not long after this I sold it cheaply to a friend. He kept it a little while then gave it to another friend. This friend of a friend passed it to another friend who quickly passed it on to a friend who had a friend and this friend was an obsessive Munro Bagger. He used the pack frame frequently but never completed the Munros. He ended up in a mental hospital STARK, STARING, MAD!