So here we are, Rannoch Moor, one of the last wildernesses in Europe. The road is flat, the road is long. The scenery impressive. You do feel like you could be one of General Wade's soldiers marching to subdue the highlands. Or perhaps a Jacobite saying cheers very much for the roads, that's helped us quite a lot actually to launch an attack on the ruling British Army. Either way, there's plenty of time to think and poeticise. Rannoch, by Glencoe by T. S. Eliot "All the way, the road had been among moors and mountains with huge masses of rock … giving it the aspect of the burial place of a race of giants … anything so bleak and wild, and mighty in its loneliness, it is impossible to conceive" We don't encounter too much in the way of wildlife, however I do find a caterpillar and I am not sure which butterfly or moth it will become. Answers on a postcard, although postcards probably won't reach Rannoch Moor. We have our lunch tucked underneath an old bridge and are surprised to find a flock of chaffinches quite keen to share our sandwiches. A bit of a surprise, I expect to see the soaring eagle and not the humble chaffinch. But both are welcome. It feels like a bit of a trudge now but we've passed over Rannoch Moor and into Glencoe, where we can see in the distance the fabled Kingshouse Hotel, the only accommodation for miles around. We're told there's a wedding so we can't eat in the bar and the prices are extortionate, but we eventually persuade them to allow us to purchase some food without sitting in the restaurant. There are stunning views of the mountains all around. We're grateful that we set out fairly early as whilst we're having a beer the heavens open and a lot of fellow walkers arrive very wet. Jennie does wish it to be known that a bunk bed in a hostel block is not normally considered an acceptable standard of accommodation. However it was either this or a very pricey hotel room. I'll take the top bunk then. Water off a duck's back.
Matthew
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