Easter lamb at the Wool Centre, just four days old. ‘Will I be Harris Tweed when I grow up, Mum?’ ‘If you’re lucky…’
Rather more Scottish-looking scenery above Aberfoyle.
I fell in love with this house in the woods at Clashmore which is perfectly in scale with its surroundings. Its owner was very friendly and told me all about Rob Roy, whom I knew nothing about.
The mortsafes at Kirkton: hugely heavy iron coffins in which in the early 19th century the recently deceased were stored to preserve them from bodysnatchers. Presumably you could be buried once you’d rotted sufficiently to be of no value for anatomy lessons.
Muir Park Reservoir, where I’d planned to camp but it was much too exposed and boggy.
…and an excellent Highland supper.
Eating the last of the Aberfoyle pies by the Water of Ruchill at Auchinner.
The controversial Camping Management Zone whose signs urbanise the countryside outside Callander. However, when you see all the fire rings and broken trees around Loch Venachar, you understand the reason for it.
On the West Highland Way, these strange-looking aliens were not from space but Switzerland.
Advanced navigation skills are essential on the West Highland Way…