Although it was drizzling, Bryan was very keen to play golf in the country of its birth. In the morning quiet, we walked to the Braemar Golf Club, whose claim to fame is that it is the highest 18-hole course in Britain (elevation: 1,200 feet). Surrounded by the Cairngorms, I watched the game under an umbrella and lifted up the red flags in the holes. I enjoyed it for about 8 holes, when I started feeling a little too cold. We also had to hurry back for a group hike with Mary-Frances the day before her wedding. Nine of us strolled through the hills to a bothy, which I learned was an empty cottage that anyone could use. As we sipped champagne by Loch Calleter, a man showed up in a Land Rover with a rope tied around his waist. Mary-Frances asked what he was doing here. “Stalking,” he replied. It took me a second to realize he was talking about hunting. He pointed up the hill, where the stag he killed was coming down on the back of a white pony.