Caledonia Dreaming
As I walked up the glen to the hill this Saturday in the rain, I kicked myself for not getting out the weekend before. The weather was beautiful the previous weekend. But circumstances prevailed against, as they often do these days. Now I get away when I can, the days arranged in advance and fixed in stone. No more am I flexible, my hill time ruled by the weather forecast. I thought about the last time I went up a hill in decent weather. It was fourteen months ago, last September. I am the antithesis of Blue Sky Scotland. I dream of the hills in sunshine.
Bridge over the Allt Mhairc:
But there were compensations for Saturday's soggly slog. The rivers were full and brawling, the Allt Mhairc especially picturesque at its confluence with the Allt Diridh, crossed by an old packhorse bridge.
Crofting ruins in Glen Tilt:
And after a good bout of exercise and exposure, slopping drenched back through the forest, a red squirrel dropped the used case of a beech nut at my feet. Better than an afternoon sat in front of the telly I suppose.
Bridge over the Allt Mhairc:
But there were compensations for Saturday's soggly slog. The rivers were full and brawling, the Allt Mhairc especially picturesque at its confluence with the Allt Diridh, crossed by an old packhorse bridge.
Crofting ruins in Glen Tilt:
And after a good bout of exercise and exposure, slopping drenched back through the forest, a red squirrel dropped the used case of a beech nut at my feet. Better than an afternoon sat in front of the telly I suppose.
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