I managed all of the West Highland Way with only three drops of rain last year and seemed to dance around the raindrops by and large during our summer trip this year.
This week in Glencoe has been wet, and the Highlands have got their own back. I guess it was only matter of time.
We stayed at the quirky Red Squirrel campsite, with its questionable loos yet awe-inspiring views.
Not only were conditions wet on the outside, they were damp on the inside, too, and the tent didn’t really dry out properly until Wednesday, when there was a brief respite (and a chance for us to clamber over the Pap of Glencoe – but more of that later).
Still , a welcoming fire roared in the Clachaig and, occasionally, in the fire pit near our tent.
Despite the rain, I still had that empty feeling on that long drive home along the A82 and, as if to rub salt into my midge bites, an early train journey for a meeting in London today.
The forecast looks good for the weekend, though. Time for the bivvy, perhaps?