In which direction will writing take me? Online or the written page.

With the wind swinging round to the north east and the freezing level dropping onto the highest tops, I thought it would be fun, amidst the mayhem, to recreate an old photograph I have from almost 40 years ago, of a stove purring on a summit, sending plumes of steam into the cool mountain air. I also thought it would be fun to touch the freezing level.

With Phase 1 of leaving lockdown announced yesterday, to start today and the guidance to stay near or within your local area, it was off to An Stac with Mrs. Stravaiger.

The land is so dry it’s a relief to see grey curtains of rain wrapping the hills. Like chain mail hanging from a giant war horse jumping the Clach Glas ridge and trailing the over the Red Hills.

Another day of lockdown. Another day of traffic free roads, blazing sunshine and birdsong echoing in the trees. The allotted time spent on the bike, spinning on the quiet roads, looking longingly at the familiar mountains but loving every mile of the ride.

Another day, another lockdown. Sunny and windy with a brewing gale from the north, it was a good time for a spin on the bike. Just before Broadford it was a bit of a shock to see a snake of brightly coloured people crammed onto the quad bike track to the loch. It was the greatest concentration of humanity I’d seen in, let me see now, three weeks! Quite a shock indeed.

Being confined to the local area, working from home and avoiding social contact (hoorah on that one!), I had plenty time, like all day, to work on the bike.

Deserted roads. Deserted skies. Deserted hills. With the country in lockdown for potentially the next three weeks, the rules allow one form of daily exercise. From the front door. No driving to anywhere. Only one form of exercise, either walking, running or cycling.

Almost a year ago I betook myself and Fatty McFat Bike to the wonderful Isle of Rum. I made a wee film about the trip and looking back on it, the lack of people, the peace, the silence, were not only invigorating and renewing but those scenes now seem to hold a hint of prescience.

Walking up Beinn na Cro, a strong sun at my back, it felt like 4am on a midsummer morning. The softness of the light, the mildness of the air, the quiet road receding behind my bootsteps. It was weird.