Snap, and it's gone...

We'd had a lovely day.

We'd taken an early train from Crianlarich where we were staying, and then caught the ferry from Tarbet to cross Loch Lomond to the "wild side". The first wedge of rain mostly hit whilst we were on the boat, so we had really enjoyed walking up through the woods from the loch-side. There was a hint of magic with small waterfalls, trees dripping with moss and lichen in the clean air and the fun of meeting wonderfully docile feral goats on the way. When we discovered the bunkhouse by our route had a bistro which served real coffee, we thought that would just put the icing on the cake, especially if we could fit in a little time to have some of theirs on the way back.

The surprise dry spell meant a leisurely lunch by the RSPB hut (closed but offering good shelter and a picnic table), and we decided to have a look at their newly planted woodland area. The track was often boggy and not ideal, but definitely walkable. We had sticks, so I was pretty confident. We walked for about an hour, climbing gradually with some ups and downs, and the track got rougher and wetter. We decided it would be best to turn round so we'd have plenty of time to catch the ferry, and that cake was still a potential if we made good time.

Husband Jeremy (J - lovely bloke, tall and lean but stronger than you'd think, from years of cycling) remarked, "Ok, I want you all to be careful because this would be the worst place to turn an ankle", and I borrowed my son Ash's stick to add to my own because I had a bit of steep boggy ground to get down, and Ash is part mountain goat, so he really just uses his for fun.

So - I choose where to tread carefully - bits with well-rooted grass seemed to offer good traction - placed left foot and..... the whole of the grass, roots and all, parted company with the ground, sending me in a 5 foot skid on my left leg. My best efforts with poles kept me upright, but then my right food got folded underneath me and I went down. There was a definite crunching sound.

My younger son Rowan (takes after his Dad), tells me that I screamed really loudly, and high, but I remember it more as me falling to the ground swearing.

When I lifted my leg, the foot felt floppy and un-supported, and there were various grinding and crunching sounds. I wasn't going to be able to walk on this, and trying could create further injury, so I  stayed put as J reached me. Once he'd worked out that my top half was ok, he looked down at his crumpled wife, "You're the one with the outdoor first aid certificate. What should we do now?"

I was pretty sure that the ankle was broken at this point, so it was easy to answer. "I'm not going to be able to walk out. We need to call 999, get Mountain Rescue, give them co-ordinates. I probably need to stay here and keep warm." The ground was treacherous, and I didn't want my lovely boys trying to carry me on their own - I'm what charitable folk call, "a big girl".

I have to admit, at this point, I thought I might be in for a chopper ride to Glasgow, which I could muster quite a lot of enthusiasm for, especially as the forecast heavy rain was due in about an hour. We decided that my sons would go for help with the best phone and J would stay with me. Everyone gave me any spare clothing and I got wrapped up like a parcel, propped up against rucksacks with my leg up on another. J was instructed to take off the boot keeping the ankle in line to check I had blood flow (yes, but the foot was clearly moved sideways from where it should be - yikes!). J had his iPad, so he took a screen shot of where we were and gave it to Rowan, as the speed-merchant of the group.

Just as the boys were about to go out of sight, another family of walkers appeared around the corner. Out of talking range, I willed them to have a quick word and keep going, but there was then some milling about as phones were tried out (I wasn't hopeful, thinking, 'come on, the signal is crap, keep going!!'). Mountain goat boy reappeared to tell us the guy was going to get involved, then everyone disappeared and it all went quiet for a bit. J found this very hard - did a bit of fiddling with my wrappings, checked my foot, ran out of things to do and went for a wander to see if he could see anyone - straight across the leg breaking landscape of recently planted trees and holes. I couldn't watch, so I began to daydream about my chopper ride. J reappeared, legs intact (relief) and we sat and made small talk for a little while. Then the kids appeared with an old khaki sleeping bag they'd been given.
"We called 999, and someone's coming to get you." (Chopper - yay!)

A tall thin figure in an old jumper appeared, with a distance-eating walk that still made it look like he was on a weekend ramble. He was very calm, introduced himself as if we were meeting in a cafe "Hi - I live at the end of the road and I think we need to get you as near there as we can." And he set about making sure he agreed with my assessment of my condition before bandaging my leg and ankle.

(What about my chopper ride?) "Don't you think we'll get an air-lift or mountain rescue?"

"You need a more interesting injury to get the chopper out, and mountain rescue will be coming, but from the main road, so if we can get you closer, you're closer to being sorted out properly. You don't want to be here when the rain starts. I'm a scout leader and I've learned from experience." Aha - that explained it!

At this point tourist man (Charlie) reappeared to help as well and there was some discussion, because it sounded easy, but I hadn't just fallen because I'm a klutz, it was pretty treacherous. Anyone trying to carry me had to negotiate a nice steep bit of slippery track with a sprinkling of leg-breaking hummocks, whilst unable to see at least one of their feet, all the while trying not to drop their load of one-footed "full-figured female".

The first idea was for me to wear a ruck-sack like a leg harness, and them to try to carry me by the straps. It worked just about as well as you'd imagine - so I was a hanging on to Charlie and local guy at each side, trying to keep a ruck-sack nappy from falling off my legs, whilst hopping down a hillside. Actually it soon turned into sitting on one man's knee, hopping down onto the knee of another person - like a really bad 1970's party game. Fortunately the steepest slope was a short section, and after 10 minutes, we could move onto mark 2 person carrier - which was to lie me in the opened out sleeping bag and then drag-carry me. If you ever fancy a novel and slightly odd experience I can recommend it. The sensation was part buttock massage, part sudden cold butt soaking as the bag dragged through a puddle. It was especially handy that the way my legs lay in the bag meant that the broken one was well supported.

The going underfoot was still very difficult for the team and my ample assets made the job more difficult for my carriers, who were just hanging onto the rolled up sides of the bag, so they had to swap round and rest every 20 yards or so. They were soon all pretty ragged so we had another discussion. Charlie had managed to drive half-way along the track, and suddenly remembered that he might have some useful straps or ropes, so he ran back to his car whilst the rest of the group looked around for anything that might help us to McGuiver my means of transport. By the time Charlie reappeared, we had a selection of thick fence posts and some other bits and bobs.

He began,"I couldn't find the straps, but we do a lot of kayaking so I have this emergency stretcher!" There was initial rejoicing, but it soon became obvious that it would be sore on the hands so the fence-posts were laced through the stretcher handles. Then we needed to add a rope, so I ended up running a quick class on how to do knots that don't suddenly come undone... I can tell you that I was very keen to help them get their round turn and 2 half hitches right!

Now placed in the stretcher, my legs weren't so well supported, so we improvised by tying a cardigan around my lower legs and sliding a buff over my feet so the good leg could help the bad one. I had started to shiver uncontrollably with shock though, so the effort of steering my duff leg with the good one was considerable.

We rounded a bend and I heard my bearers cheer as they saw a policeman join us and someone from the mountain rescue. They "just" had to get me over a gappy wooden footbridge and up the steep but dry slope on the other side and there was a police car to take me the rest of the way. The gang fairly romped up the hill and gently set me down. At this point, my local rescuer disappeared, and I didn't really get chance to thank him properly, especially as a spit of rain announced the storm he'd predicted was nearly on us.

From then on, everyone followed strict protocol, asked me how I was and told me their name, like a slightly strange formal party. I'm sad to say, I don't remember any of them, but I didn't have my dance-card with me, so I hope they understand. To add to the fun, I realised the my body's high adrenaline had presented me with another problem - "Any chance of using a loo very soon?"
"Oh aye, don't worry, we'll organise something."

I was slid along the back seat of the police car and we drove very carefully back as the rest of the party followed on. My driver bemoaned not having his normal 4X4 on the very rough track, but he did well enough that my leg was feeling more comfortable as we finally reached the car park and the waiting mountain rescue folk. They didn't seem at all upset at missing out on the chance to tramp off in the pouring rain to pick up a fat wifey. Their medics still got to do their stuff though, and I was assured they had "made arrangements" to help me with my other problem...  A very nice young lady ("I'm a junior Doctor, I do this for fun on my days off") assessed my leg, applied a field splint gadget and then helped me to their "facilities" - which turned out to just be a bit of tarpaulin between 2 vehicles... I can tell you that it was quite an experience and involved one person holding my leg in the air, another my clothing and another offering wet wipes as I leaned against the vehicle. Fortunately the rain really got going after that.

The ambulance arrived soon after and I was wisked off. I didn't get chance to thank my rescuers properly, but hoped the family managed to. Without them, I'd have been on the hill much longer, and soaked through.

So - lessons learned -

No1 - best not to break the leg!
No2 - it may be useful to start your own party's rescue to save time (though severe injuries and incoming bad weather might earn you a helicopter ride).
No3 - the wonderful Mountain Rescue really do give up their spare time.
No4 - my family and passers by did a fine job

And No5 - which I'd like to have learned about 10 minutes earlier than I did - UK ambulances carry kit to help folk with broken bits to relieve themselves in relative comfort.