Montrose basin...

...and a very yukky one at that.

The tide was well out when we got there and there was hardly a bird in sight, but then I wish I had a fiver for every time I'm told them that the geese don't come in to roost until late afternoon. Didn't really matter though.

We had enough to be getting on with trying to navigate the "path" . You would think that higher ground would be the way to go to keep your feet dry, but looking at the tracks in the mud, I think every cow, deer and goose int he area had the same idea. Winding our way through unbelievably prickly gorse pushes we regularly came across bits where there had been substantial trampling such that the "mud was a good few inches deep. Occasionally it was more like thick soup. It was the green bits that bothered me. Cows don't really wait until they've reached dry land. When they have to go, they go.

Still, reasonably stout walking shoes and a pair of trousers meant I was OK. Not so much the daughter. She had been told that we were heading for Montrose and so she had on a nice jacket with short sleeves - and a pair of cropped trousers. Between the wet poo and the gorse there was one heck of a lot of shrieking, swearing and laughing I can tell you. She got it on her legs, her hands and all our shoes looked as if we had cow pats attached to them.

Nothing else for it to keep going though. Going forward was actually better than going back. Having done the return leg on minor roads, three hours later we were back at the car - with surprisingly dry, if mucky feet.

Oh, and by that time the geese were coming in!