Full of promise ...

I love this bit of path, snaking between the gorse bushes along the shore of Loch Eck. Just at this point it's dry and inviting, easy underfoot, promising a pleasant walk the whole length of the loch. It's a walk I've done - though never in this direction; I've cycled it from here once and have no recollection of the return ride. 

Today, however, our walk was curtailed: not far from this point, round the bend, down the gully, over the bridge that the friendly man was only today repairing, we came upon a sea of churned-up mud. As we embarked on an attempt to traverse it we realised that it wasn't just mud, and worked out that the loch side had been used for a silage pile dropped off for cattle to feed on, and that their descent from the hillside coupled with the heavy vehicle used to transport the feed had rendered the track impassible to anyone not wearing boots - boots, frankly, whose subsequent condition didn't bother the wearer.

And that, O Best Beloved, is a wordy description of how we were defeated by a load of _ _ _ _.