I made my 5 o'clock stop at the woods between Craigendowie and Bridgend. Continuing through Bridgend, I discovered that the dog walker I had spoken to at Waterhead lived here, and he was happy to take my water bottles and refill them for me.
Beyond Bridgend, the nature of the glen changes. This is now agricultural land. Cattle grazing. Large farmsteads. I made my 6 o'clock rest stop at the end of the track leading to Newbigging farm; and while I rested, a landrover came bumping past with a sheep trailer in tow. Yes, without a doubt we were now in land which justified its existence by producing food, not sport.
At Witton I paused to admire a horse which had just been brought in from turnout by its thirteen year old owner; and then the road turned, and took me underneath the power lines; and I had only a kilometer to go.
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