Loch Gaineimh to Forsinard

On paper the trek to Forsinain through a network of forestry tracks looks like an endless slog; but so does walking across this crowded island I suppose. Luckily I found wide open spaces instead of the anticipated gloomy track sandwiched between claustrophobic lines of pines. A mixture of lochans and dubh lochans (dark pools) scattered across the vast sea of peat. A landscape almost untouched by humans. Also a landscape, that if touched by this human, would probably swallow me whole for the amusement of future archaeologists. According to the notices the RSPB have been felling forestry and blocking hill drains, thereby letting the bog regain control. And how did I repay their effort? By forcing them to look at an extreme close up of my ear canal as I sauntered past.

I passed the remote Altnabreac station, which most days does not see a single passenger, and wandered up to Sletill hill in the sunshine. The remaining isolated woods provided the only sense of perspective. As a modest amount of height was gained the horizon exploded and the emptiness of flow country was laid out in all its glory. The distant hazy hills of future days.

Normally you can rely on a decent stretch of tarmac to batter the feet and dull the soul but a wide grassy verge and more stunning scenery eased the miles past. I finished the day in good spirits as darkness fell. I'm now beginning to adjust to the simple rythym of the journey; the problems of the life I've left behind retreating behind the basic needs of food, water and shelter.