2 sandwiches and 6 cereal bars; 8 chubby wheels and 60 studs; and, one instantaneous generous over 55 Scot Rail railcard holder! Or, going hungry to save weight.

I have never before walked Scotland in the deer culling season.  Yet, on the very first October day I was taken by surprise by an eight very chubby wheeled motor chugging up the track to stop on the bridge next to me.  The men were not so chubby, even though they had taken the lazy way up the hillside.  The one was the gamekeeper, I suppose, who was most pleasant in asking me to keep over to the right as their rough track took them left.  I was only too happy to keep well away from their shooting.  Before, we parted I could not help asking,

"Is there not an easier way to control the numbers of deer?", I asked out of sheer bewilderment as to how they could possibly get close enough to shoot such twitchy and suspicious animals.  

"In New Zealand they fire out of helicopters at the deer beneath", the gamekeeper told me.  "We don't want to do that!"

I heard not a shot all day or all night. Only the wailing and calling of the stags in the glens below me (Jason and Jon have just told me that the rifles would have had silencers) as I climbed one Corbett and one Munro and enjoyed a long night's sleep on a far too empty stomach.  I was a little too zealous in saving weight and was also worried about my two chicken sandwiches for the two days, going off.  As a result, I had eaten them both by 1130 hrs on day one!

My 60 studs on each fell running shoe were great as I gingerly, step by step, descended an 70-80 degree slope from between the Munro and the Top.  Merrell mountain sandals for the walk in and the lightweight Innov8 shoes for the steep, wet, vegetated slopes worked brilliantly.  When I came below the cloud, I saw that it would have been more sensible to have gone on to the summit of the Top and come down the ridge onto the flatter ground where I pitched the tent.

That day was cloudy but dry.  Day two in my tiny coffin tent at 500 metres, pitched exactly on route, saw more cloud swirling over yesterday's summits but much more blue sky.  In the distance stood what was obviously my next two Corbetts but, behind the last was a really impressive steep, thumb like pinnacle that really did look something worth climbing.  Yet, I just could not identify it from the map.  It was only on my second Corbett of the day that it belatedly dawned on me that that was the highest summit and I had to climb it!  This was Streap.  Strangely, later in the afternoon, as I looked back, all was reversed.  This stately thumb sticking into the sky appeared only as a pimple on the ridge and what I thought was the second Corbett summit at the beginning of the day, looked much more interesting and dome like - it was the south east summit that I had gone over.

It was the summit of Streap where I met my benefactor.  We were both pleased at seeing another human.  I almost pounced on him in delight to ask for his opinion on the best way off the ridge and, out of putting myself down and certainly not for begging, I mentioned that I had run out of food.  Without a moment's hesitation, he said he would make me a sandwich.  It was a huge circle of a fajita from Waitrose, in which he placed cheese and meat slices.  Even more surprisingly, a third walker soon joined us on the summit.  My one last, remaining cereal bar I had later in the afternoon.  The first man all too correctly sussed that I was over 55 in recommending the £19 return Scot Rail over 55 railcard that he bought to get from Carlisle to Glenfinnan.  It was £44 return from Leeds to Carlisle, he told me.  I told him,

"You are a much better man than me in using such eco-sound transport.  I've used the car."

The return saw a walk out beneath the "mass concrete" of Glenfinnan railway viaduct that the plaque screwed into the concrete told me that it was made out of.  There was some effusive description of this prodigious piece of engineering that I cannot now recall.  Yet, I thought, what on earth was wrong with using magnificent stone blocks that was usually done?

That Tues night I had in the bivy tent on the back lawn of Glenfinnan Hotel, after quite a modest meal of soup and main course only, considering I had had two days of privations.  I met a Scot at the bar who was indignant over the blacks he saw in his country and thought Enoch Powell was right.  I replied that we had not seen rivers of blood and only occasional riots. “Immigration was being controlled by all the parties”, I mentioned.  “The very people in the UK Border Agency are like you, as are the politicians who make the laws.  They all agree with you.”