Day Three: The Tactical Retreat That Was Actually Quite Sensible

We woke up refreshed. This was unexpected and very welcome. The woods that had seemed like a compromise the night before had, it turns out, done us a genuine favour. Apparently the wind had been throwing itself around outside with some enthusiasm through the night. We heard it, distantly, the way you hear something that isn't quite your problem. The trees took the hit. We slept. This is the sort of outcome that retrospectively makes a slightly cramped campsite feel like inspired planning rather than desperate necessity.

Coffees. A moment to sit and think. The morning was gorgeous.

The Decision. ​Here's where the tactical brain engaged, ​and I use "tactical" in the most generous possible sense of the word. ​Looking at what lay ahead, ​up and over into Glen Orchy, then again over to Tyndrum, and looking at the state of our ankles, we had an honest conversation about what we were actually capable of. The conclusion was that attempting those hills on legs in their current condition was the sort of decision that sounds brave and is actually just stubborn.

So we backtracked to Dalmally instead. Then the A85 to Tyndrum.

This was the right call. I'm confident about that. I'm also aware that "we walked back the way we came and then along a main road" is not the most heroic sentence in travel writing, but here we are.

The shop in Dalmally deserves a mention. Actually, the concept of the shop in Dalmally deserves a mention, the knowledge that it was coming, that there would be cold fizzy drinks and sweets and small sugary things that have no nutritional merit whatsoever but are absolutely transformative to morale at mile whatever-it-was.

We stocked up. We sat for a moment. The old military road we'd followed in is exactly the kind of place I want to live. I mean that genuinely. It's the sort of road that makes you understand why people write poetry about Scotland, even if you're not the sort of person who reads it.

The final stretch along the A85 was, to use a technical walking term, a slog. Perfectly fine tarmac beneath our feet, which the ankles appreciated. Cars occasionally requiring us to step aside, which slowed things down. The scenery shifted from the sublime to the functional.

But you know what? It got us there. Sometimes that's the whole job.

Coming into Tyndrum was one of those moments that earns its place in the memory. We got to the hotel. We booked something that involved actual food on actual plates in an actual restaurant. We went shopping for the days ahead, food, supplies, the sort of restocking that makes you feel like a competent expedition member rather than two blokes who've been limping along a main road.

We are sore. We are a bit banged up. Andy's ankles are unreliable and mine aren't much better and I have a blister that I'm no longer pretending isn't there. But we can see the journey from here. The whole shape of it. And that changes everything. The fancy meal was excellent. We are well fed, well stocked and ready for the next leg.

It is raining all day tomorrow...