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The farm at Elleric gives an impression of a calm, peaceful place; its front flanked by a lush green lawn which leads onto fields full of satiated cattle; its rear framed by the might of Ben Sguilaird.
Leading off towards the east and the lower end of Glen Etive rises Beinn Fhionnlaidh, an undistinguished Munro of some 959 metres.
The initial approach through the farmyard, passing the cottages is gentle. From there the climbing begins over rough terrain, continuing towards the east via grassy hillocks and hummocks that sap strength from both legs and mind.
Only at around the 650 metre mark does the hill offer some faint hope of interest; the small lochans here on the level part of the ridge lead the way to rockier ground with a well trodden route to guide the walker towards their goal.
Other distractions had aided me in the walk thus far; the soft, low bellow of the rutting stags in the glens, gathering their mistresses to them.
Small herds of deer were seen on the distant hillsides, teasing me with their appearances, then vanishing as the camera came to hand.
Views behind me of Ben Sguilaird and Loch Creran grew bigger.
During a brief rain shower, a rainbow grew from the glen floor to the clouds that gave water to its birth.
Aonach Eagach glimpsed into view, as did the great Ben; shrouded in cloud, covered with a dusting of snow it resembled an old man casting a glancing, disproving eye upon the lesser hills that looked up to it.
Onwards and upwards as the day progressed, the walking a delight, a gentle meander through a rock strewn field of granite.
At the top I could only wonder at the views, naming tops for fun.
Not much of a hill?
Beinn Fhionnlaidh may not have a lot going for it, its lower paths disappeared through the lack of hikers, but then you stand on the summit and get pictures like this,
and this.
Considering I could have been in the supermarket, I know what I would rather have been doing
