When I was much younger than today, we used to have an annual caravan holiday at Dalnaglar in Glenshee, parking the van down by the Shee river on a croft run by one Jock Ritchie. He was well into his Highland Games, and the field to the East of the farm road was his practice area. There were no yokes or such modern fripperies. There were real stones, shaped by millenia of erosion, with handles or chains set into them with lead. We did have a wee go with them, but some of the bigger ones were hard enough to get off the ground, to say nothing of flinging them. I'm ashamed to say that in my near 61 years, I have never once attended a Highland Games, thus proving the theory that we never go out of our way to see what's on our own doorstep, but will bend over backwards when away from home.
Good on the young lad!