A closer inspection of the river confirmed my worst fears. There was absolutely no point whatever in pressing on upstream in the hope of finding a viable crossing point - this river was simply not going to be crossable in its current state. So I turned around and by 3.45 I was back in Oban bothy once again. I realised that this meant there was no way I was going to be able to get a call through to Challenge Control until at least 24 hours after I had said I would phone them, and quite possibly longer; and that this meant they may well call out the Mountain Rescue to look for me. I also realised that this might turn out to be no bad thing, because I had no idea how long it would take these raging torrents to subside. And, basically, I was now trapped at Oban bothy and had no choice but to sit it out until either (a) the rivers became fordable once more, or (b) rescue arrived in the form of either a helicopter or a boat. (I was hoping for a boat ... the older readers among you may recall that the Scilly islands helicopter crashed into the sea in 1981, and that one young lad who survived lost his entire family. That young lad's older brother, who was drowned, had been in my class at school. And ever since then I really have NOT liked the idea of flying in a helicopter ...) So I settled myself in for a wait of indeterminate length, organised my food and planned how to make it last. Then, after eating a much more spartan supper than the previous day, I turned in for the night. And it continued to rain throughout the night, or so it seemed ....
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