Make the summit of Barkeval still in full sun having shed my shirt again (shuddup: there's nobody about to be offended by my blinding whiteness and it's too hot) The view (away from me!) is incredible. Unlike Hallival, this peak is too short (591m) to allow me to look over its siblings shoulders, but it's perfectly positioned to see almost the entire island spread out.

Max's mention of yoga this morning comes back to me and I realise that the only assna I know (a seires of stretches called the sun salutation) I've also never done out of doors facing the sun... the summit's largely flat too. Several repetitions later and I'm sitting in a rough approximation of the easy pose (lotus position subsitute for those of us not limber enough to bend like that) watching distant glimmers of sunlight sparkling off the bay at Harris about four miles away and almost six hundred meters down. A faintly wonky cuckoo (every third call comes out as "cuck-aieeu" as if his voice hasn't quite broken) rouses me to put my boots and tee-shirt back on and start to make my way down the hill.