Half and a bit of a hill, a bruised coccyx, and...

... a paddling pool.

Cracking last day on Skye, heading for a nearby hill, and the promise of some great falls and pools on the way down (which we'd been wild swimming in three years ago). The sun was out, and it was hot going as we started to climb steeply onto a ridge. Very steeply. Too steeply.

There are times when an idea gets into your head, and for both of us today that thought was, "What happens if we slip here?" The incline was ridiculous, and nothing to stop a tumble for a good couple of hundred metres. Discretion was the better part of valour, and neither of us were enjoying the exposure much, which wasn't really the way to spend a last day.

So we descended a bit, and rounded to the path beside the falls and pools that was supposed to be our way back down. Of course irony bit hard, and scrambling on some rocks alongside the water, I was stepping up a section, the grip gave way completely, and I found myself falling 3-4 feet onto a narrow rock below. Wind completely knocked out of my sails, buzzing head, ten minutes sat back down, drinking water.

Mel's offer to turn back was turned down. After the ditching of the climb I was into a JFDI mood, and we pushed on up the path. But by eck each step was painful.

We decided to get up onto a bealach that was to come down from the hilltop. 450m for that point wasn't particularly high, but the going was rocky and moving, and I was taking my time. The views, however, were great - out to the Red Cuillins in one direction, and over Loch Slapin in the other (in the extra).

Coming back down was as slow as going up, given the going underfoot, but there was the promise of a dip in one of the pools. Sadly the sun had disappeared behind cloud, so a swim was a cold step too far, but tired feet appreciated dangling into one incredibly deep plunge pool (which happens to be at the exact spot I'd fallen on the way up).

An eventful day (oh, got a training ride in early doors too, as I mulled over in my head the ramifications of the general election).

Home tomorrow (and quite glad that the forecast here is terrible, while it's good at home, where the cat will be waiting).