Outclassed by the Scottish Highlands

I descended into the western hinterland, down into territory most people won’t bother with, just frozen peat hags and silent erratics left for the hare and the deer. It was a good walk, the kind of walk where folds, creases and hollows seem pregnant with meaning, heavy with themselves. The wind returned on the approach to the only Munro on the trip, Meall Ghaordaidh, a name which may derive from the Gaelic and mean ‘rounded hill of the shoulder’.