“Dolphins, get up, run, dolphins near the hill” dizzy from sleep I pulled on clothes and staggered out into the bright sunlight. Dylan was already on top of the hill waving his hands in urgency. I chambered up, and there were the fins gliding up and down in the bay, occasionally jumping into the air. A whole pod, enjoying some fishing under the first bluish sky we’d seen since arriving. A lone seal starred up at us from below.

My solar charger and I sat on a rock and began recharging our batteries. Warm sun and happiness, but perhaps I needed the grey days for this to feel so good.

Dry at last and with the slow puncture finally dealt with, the hills weren’t defeating me. The black treacle of yesterday’s lochs now more of a silver blue. Then splash, splash, splash. The trout were rising, like we’d never seen before. Dylan is on the scent and a fishing license obtained and a picnic lunch delivered he is off up to his calves in icy water.

Those who speak of the romance of a baguette on the bank of the seine, have they tried a loaf by a loch on a cushion of moss? Cheese and bread never tasted so good, a gentle, teasing breeze, gossiping birds and the water sparkling like a lady dressed for the opera. Shall I dare hope for a trout for dinner?