It was curious not to be hurrying down the road into Newtonmore. Even the benches were utilized, and contentedly so to take in what will have been the last visit for some time. I have a vague notion that there might be a useful bus down toward Laggan; but there is nothing left in the immediate area.

Coffee from the miserable garage, pot-luck with the farm tracks, gratitude that the cloud kept the heat off. Incipient showers and colours that have passed into summer. The position is as fine as everyone says it is. The badlands around the Tromie and beyond looked very good, set at an angle that shows just how far back the country extends from the road … surprisingly so, in fact … a kind of seeing that goes beyond the cataloguing of views. How few gaps in the horizon there were.

To spin things out at least a little, I headed off the other side and down to the stony river. It was good to be back in the bogs, full of bright colour; some PT and a jog to the carpark, and then came the tarmac and benches and platform on what had become a very hot afternoon.

Much preferable to an out-and-back, and just as much preferable again, one imagines, to ending with a march along the A86. Most of the ride back was spent trying to be as inconspicuous as possible because of the noxious scent from one of the bog pools. Perhaps that is why the door seemed to shut faster than usual.