The roadway and firebreak having ensured that the fire would pass to the east of Strontian, and with most volunteers bussed back to their regions, Rattray was in command of a situation which was under control. Leaving Mackinnon re-deploying local resources, he decided to acquaint himself with those remote areas about to be overwhelmed by fire. While the Fire Chief finalised an individual assessment and strategised, Rattray went to view a forest soon to die.
The morning was sunny and calm. Rattray drove out of Strontian village, parking in a natural lay-by beyond the head of Loch Sunart. Leaving his car, he climbed steadily up a path through natural woodland which gave occasional glimpses of pale blue sealoch between gaps in the trees, and eventually reached a rocky outcrop. Here the path ended and he sat on a natural granite chair smoothed by the passage of a tiny stream, dried up for weeks past. On that hillside perch overlooking the forest below and the distant line of fire advancing upon it, he mourned his dead.
A movement caught at the corner of his eye. He slowly turned his head and saw a vain stag, growing antlers lightly furred in velvet, regarding him with disdainful condescension. For several seconds neither moved. Unconcerned, the beast haughtily picked a way along the tree line and disappeared from view.
Rattray became aware of the bustle of small birds nesting nearby. Not an enthusiast, he could not identify their species. He saw the shoots of new grass like spear points penetrating the white husks of last year’s growth. An expanse of whitened hillside was being pricked by thousands of tiny shards of greenery. Very soon, the entire area would be good grazing for red deer.
Summer was coming early. This wild country, described as forbidding by so many, offered its singular hospitality to those best equipped to endure its harshness. Nature’s elite flourished in such environments. In cocoons of self-acclaim, modern man lacked the fortitude to be of their number.
He rose and stretched. The sun had escaped the grey-black canopy above fire to the north and glowed in blue sky. Rattray could feel its warmth on his face. There was no touch of breeze although tree tops far below were moving gently. It was a beautiful spring day. With reluctance, he began to carefully descend the steep path that wound between rowan and ancient Caledonian pine. Rays of sunlight flitted over him. He felt invigorated, glad to be alive.