t breakfast the following morning, the three of us sat in the dining room admiring the view down the length of St.Mary's Loch. The woman running the hotel was very friendly and chatted to us continually as she served breakfast. It soon became obvious that she liked to talk as once we had finished breakfast, and with the task of serving us now complete, she launched into a sort of auto- biographical account of her life to date. The three of us sat there, breakfast long since finished, listening and making the odd comment while waiting for a pause in the conversation that would enable us to make a break for it without causing offence. Eventually, an opportunity presented itself and simultaneously the three of us began making noises about getting underway as 'we had a long walk ahead of us'. We said goodbye to Terry, who slowed by an injury walked alone, and headed off along the loch side path (above). This was a delightful section of the route and we strolled along in the pleasant weather taking in the views across the loch to the hills. At the end of the loch, we crossed a road and once again headed off into remote countryside, frequently taking the opportunity to look back at the view, which now began to recede as the surrounding hills, closed in around us. The village of Innerleithen (below) came into view as we walked along a ridge. It made a picture postcard scene, nestled below hills which seemed to stretch in every direction and I regretted that we would not actually be visiting it tonight as we were heading for Traquair and a hostel called 'The Bothy'. We arrived in the middle of the afternoon but the hostel was closed and despite knocking on the door, appeared empty. We weren't too bothered by this turn of events as the sun was shining and we just sat outside chatting and waiting for someone to return. We found an outside tap and re-filled our water bottles as boredom began to set in. After an hour or more, we began to decide that we might as well carry on, as there didn't seem to be any sign of the imminent return of the proprietor. We walked to the main road and found a telephone box to call home and then began climbing the track to Minch Moor. Nearing the top of the track we suddenly came upon the Minch Moor bothy which was unlike most of the others we had so far encountered. It was far too close to human habitation in our opinion and instead of being an adapted building was purpose built in the style of a log cabin complete with veranda overlooking the Tweed Valley.

We poked around for a while noting the remains of a barbecue that someone had thoughtfully left outside of the door but otherwise it seemed to be in good repair and we decided this would be our stop for the night. If nothing else, it had a fantastic view. The bothy visitor’s book had some conflicting views regarding this style of 'bothy' with one entry raging against the whole idea saying that it went against the whole ethos of the traditional bothy and should have never been built. We on the other hand held no such views and just saw it as a convenient shelter for the night. We made ourselves comfortable and were having a cup of coffee when we saw Terry struggling up the hill towards us. On the spur of the moment we decided to hide from him inside and lock the door so that he would be unable to gain access from the outside. Terry had been struggling with a knee injury since twisting it near Lowther Hill and would almost certainly be using the bothy for a rest if not an overnight stop. We huddled behind the door and held the latch fast like a couple of schoolboys as Terry limped up to the door and tried the lock. After a few unsuccessful attempts at opening the door, the air began to turn blue and we couldn't help laughing. We opened the door and let in a surprised but relieved Terry who called us a few choice names but grinned anyway. After attending to the usual chores, the three of us spent a pleasant evening sitting out on the veranda (below) like three cowboys chatting and drinking coffee as we watched the sun set on the Tweed Valley before trying to sleep on the uncomfortable wooden bunks.