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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.

With the news that the world’s oceans are running out of oxygen while humanity makes land grabs on habitats in order to blanket forest a fig-leaf for their unabated, voracious consumption and pollution. With the endless noise and light pollution of increased fish farm traffic up and down the west coast, implementing the Scottish government’s requirement to double output by 2030, regardless of animal welfare and environmental destruction. With hydro roads up many glens, industrial fencing marching with the West Highland Line from Glasgow to Fort William, creating in effect two Trump-like walls for wildlife to die negotiating, I asked myself the other day, is the outdoors still great?

Minus three on the tops, thirty mile an hour winds raking the last of autumn colour from the Cuillin ridge, laying down a white carpet ready for the arrival of the Winter Queen. Blasting down from the north, she detours out beyond St. Kilda, raising storm-seas in the cold Atlantic before swinging round Mingulay, resting on the raucus cliffs of Barra Head before howling in tonight to claim the mountains for her winter home.

A day off, what to do? With hot weather and a fair forecast for the Monday, it had to be a bivi up in the hills. I’d always fanced bivying on Slat Bheinn summit where it looks across to the wild east face of Blaven and gives aeriel views of Coire Uaigneich and so it was decided, intending to wander around the top, composing poems and jotting down philosophical gems in my notebook. The forecast mentioned increasing wind overnight, low cloud, then clearing. Turned out a bit wilder than that!

The summer on Skye continues with temperatures in the mid to high 20s, not much rain, soporific midges in the incessant heat and mountain burns down to low levels. I can’t remember a summer like this on the island. The BBC are now calling it “global heating” but it feels like a Mediterranean climate these last few months. Torrential rain and flooding across the country but the north west Highlands have been positively tropical since late April.

Getting ready for the next hundred mile ride I wanted to lighten the load and not use the Arkel Randonneur rack and bag. They’re great for commuting but I wanted to just use a seatpack for the ride but there’s nowhere to stow the pump. The Topeak Mini Dual DXG is a superb little pump and it comes with a bottle mount bracket. However, the weather up here is usually crap and I didn’t want it exposed to the elements all day. The solution? Make a wee bag for it.

In the mid 80s I’d discovered I loved climbing mountains on my own and sitting in the middle of nowhere enjoying the solitude and responsibility of decision my own route to getting there. Mobile phones or GPS didn’t exist and the consequences were of my own making. Not bad for a 16 year old who’s first foray onto a mountain was 4 years previously on Ben More at Crianlarich. Ten years later I discovered John Muir while cycling/sailing round the inner Hebrides and recognised a kindred spirit. The last twenty years have been spent exploring remote places in that spirit and last week I finally found a kindred place where that spirit lives and is kept alive. I went to Samye Ling.

In the mid 80s I’d discovered I loved climbing mountains on my own and sitting in the middle of nowhere enjoying the solitude and responsibility of decision my own route to getting there. Mobile phones or GPS didn’t exist and the consequences were of my own making. Not bad for a 16 year old who’s first foray onto a mountain was 4 years previously on Ben More at Crianlarich. Ten years later I discovered John Muir while cycling/sailing round the inner Hebrides and recognised a kindred spirit. The last twenty years have been spent exploring remote places in that spirit and last week I finally found a kindred place where that spirit lives and is kept alive. I went to Samye Ling.

An early start a week ago to get into the hills before the weather turned in the afternoon. Quiet, deserted roads from Skye, across to Achnasheen and over to Kinlochewe, pulling in to the nature reserve trails car park on the shore of Loch Maree as the camper vans slowly woke up, urinating grey torrents from their underside pipes onto the tarmac.