“OK, let's do this.” I begin to climb down the steep hill. I am a bit too fast as I find myself sliding down the wet rocks. “Excellent, break a leg along the way, not that it's bad enough already,” I curse. My brain starts to come up with all the different ways how this will end up badly. There is no signal. Nobody knows my whereabouts. The last message I sent was to my sister and it said something as useful as "I intend to go to the Cuillin Mountains, they said there is a cozy hut there". When I opened the door of the bothy this morning, it looked like three more people will keep me company but all were out and about. So nobody knows about me, really.
This is Scotland. One minute, the sun is shining and the next one, you're stuck in rain and heavy fog. I can't turn around because it will soon get dark. So my best option is to climb down and head for the ocean. I have a good visual memory so I remember which way to go, roughly. I remember, but I can't see shit.
Next, the panic sets in. My hands begin to shake. Even better, now you trip and break your leg for sure! I take a deep breath. I have done this before, I have good shoes that carried me safely through worse terrains over the last five years. I slap myself and take the next step.
After an hour, I finally see the track again. I follow it and can feel sand cracking under my shoes. I make it to the beach. The tourist guide said that the last challenge is a cliff hanging over the ocean which is moderately difficult to climb. After the recent rain, all I see is a slippery wet rock two metres above the ocean and myself slipping and falling in the water. No way I am doing this, I'd rather sleep on the beach tonight.