The result of climate change or the return of winter?

Alpine glow on Bidien Shuish


On Friday we drove through scattered snow showers to reach Fort William before the big freeze happened. Our weekend with the Ochil Mountaineers had begun in seasonal style. The Àite Cruinnichidh bunk house at Roy Bridge was the perfect doss for a trip into the abundance of hills nearby. Saturday morning broke through with every drop of precipitation in evidence frozen white. Colin and I and one other OM decided the small Binnein Shuas (746) was a perfect excursion for our winter gear. It was so, so, so cold. What’s going on, November is normally the wet month? This was phenomenal, or maybe I had just forgotten. I certainly can’t remember the last time I donned my balaclava at the car park. We were like puppies let out in the snow for the first time. The three hours to the summit gave us plenty time to dawdle and snap the light.

Our return home on Sunday was just as incredible. At the summit of Rannoch Moor the car told us it was -8.5 outside. The landscape looked like a Christmas cake iced too early. It looked alien. Is this the beginning of the ice age we have been warned about or is it just that we have been due a good hard winter?

Judging from the number of businesses closed down in Fort William (not counting the troubled Woolies), it feels like the Fort could do with a bumper skiing season to pull the town back in full swing. Let’s hope this is the year.



Recipe for the birds

We arrived home with a bump from the dizzy clear heights of the high country to the fog bound Central Belt. The garden birds were down to their last few peanuts so I made then a special treat - Home made bird cake. This counts as a first because I made it first only a couple of weeks ago.

In a large pot melt half a packet of vegetable suet over a slow heat
Add a general wild bird food mix until the suet has been absorbed and all the seeds coated
Pack the crumbly mixture into half coconut shells or any other suitable container. It only takes a couple of minutes to cool and harden. Take outside and sit back to watch your afternoon entertainment; a feeding frenzy and a few spats too.


As I put the food out I couldn’t help worrying about the deer herd I saw down at road level hunting for some food. I hope they will not suffer too much with this early winter.

Just Read Barbara Kingsolver Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Barbara Kingsolver, author of the Poisonwood Bible, is famous for her novel writing but I suspect she is about to become the Al Gore of the literary world. This book chronicle the project she embarked on with her husband and two daughters; to live for a year eating only food sourced within a hundred mile radius of their home in Virginia. This fascinated me because it seemed impossible and I continually searched for holes in their theory. How would they manage without resorting to living through the winter months eating turnip and brussels sprout soup. They achieved it in style.

They did have the benefit of living on a farm and flexible jobs but it could not be denied that they worked hard at making this work.

I loved reading the book. At first I wished that I read it in February because I was itching to grow things but half way thorough I decided November is the perfect time because I now have time to plan how I can make a dent in our food miles.

While reading the book I dragged up a memory of someone trying this in Fife. Google brought me to the Fife Diet. I know Fife isn’t as exotic as Virginia but it is only fifty miles from me and I have to travel there anyway to visit my family so I found their resources most helpful.

Even if you don’t agree with Barbara’s view the book is worth a read for the exquisite and humorous writing.

I’m now off to order my cheese making kit. Thanks for the idea Barbara.

Echo Wall by Dave and Claire Macleod

Watch the trailer again


Last week I blogged the trailer for Echo Wall. This week I’ve been lucky enough to preview the Echo Wall DVD and can tell you that the full length version lives up to the thrills of the trailer.

Climbing was a mystery to me until I moved to Glasgow in 1998. Back then I sometimes accompanied Colin to the Glasgow Climbing Centre at Ibrox. There I would piddle about on a couple of climbs trying the reach the top of easy walls before wimping to the café in the rafters to sup hot chocolate and watch the show on the really, really hard walls. One night I noticed a dark haired climber who bore a striking resemblance to my horrible ex boss, I was fascinated, not by the resemblance but by the sheer eloquence of the climbing. Even I could recognise this climber was special. At the end of the night I asked Colin who he was. ‘That’s Dumbie Dave, he’s from Dumbarton’.

The climber was Dave Macleod, now one of the world top climbers as proven in his astounding film E11, when he pioneered one of the hardest rock climbs ever.

A year ago Dave and his wife Claire moved to Fort William to concentrate on their professional climbing and film careers. They might not like this comparison but they seem to me to be the Posh and Becks of the climbing world, but with substance and much more to offer.

Echo Wall finds Claire behind the camera, filming her husband training for an attempt on a dangerous climbing route, a blank wall on Ben Nevis. Where this film differs for other climbing cinematography is that there is no Big Wall American hype or zoom-in shots of worried faces; no phoney tension build up or histrionics and no strangled cries of ‘OMG this is awesome’.

Echo Wall is clever. One powerful opening shot is a wide angle of the massive, terrible ice smeared cliffs of Ben Nevis and a single, small figure (Dave) moving up the face, the shot is super imposed with the climb’s name ‘Don’t Die'(XI). My heart stopped at that point and I began to bite my finger nails.

The training in Spain shows Dave climbing 'Darwin Dixit' (8c) solo (no ropes – very bad if he fell). The techno drum soundtrack choreographed the piece into a stunning new art form; a synchronism of man and rock. It was wonderful to watch and I still had some nails left.

The training on Echo Wall itself showcased Scotland at its weather worst and best. The highlight for me was Dave’s training run over Tower Ridge, a ridge that most people tackle roped up.

It was fascinating to listen to Dave’s philosophy on risk and to watch him on hand and knees on his hall floor making a reinforced thighpad (next years must haves) and explaining how it would give him a few minutes rest time on the climb just before the crux (the hardest part where he could fall off).

The actual attempt is arresting, I have no idea what Claire must have been feeling behind the camera and I wonder if having her there makes any difference to Dave’s obvious sound attitude.

I won’t spoil the ending for you but will recommend that, if you are planning to buy a Christmas DVD for an adventure hungry relative or Discovery Channel junkie, then this is guaranteed to thrill.

As a novice film maker, Claire must be applauded for the production of the film. The appropriate and evocative music is ModernTrad and very desirable to own. She would have been spoiled for choice of scenery shots in Scotland, in this instance the choices shows relevant locations, using the best light and angles. Even the fun shots of the pair digging a snow pack off the route lightens the tension and makes the whole project feel intimate.

I suspect we won’t see a perfume range produced by Brand Macleod but I predict that thigh pads and hopefully the movie soundtrack will be the next offering. Even an art installation at the Glasgow Centre for Contemporary Arts (CCA) is a possibility.

The DVD can be purchased from www.davemacleod.com and selected outdoor stores.

A fistful of firsts

Check out this new film by Rare Breed Productions. 'Echo Wall' is released this month and can be ordered directly for www.davemacleod.com.

Who needs manufactured Hollywood Blockbusters when you can witness real live thrills played out on the steep cliffs of Ben Nevis.



A fistful of firsts




Well maybe not a fistful but I love alliteration and sometimes I can’t help myself.

Saturday dawned with the water pouring from the sky and from the cold water tank overflow pipe. Colin could fix one but not the other. We decided to knock off a couple of things I had on my fifty wish list with the biggest and best of the day being in direct response to the weather. What better day to go to the first and only boat lift in the world – The Falkirk Wheel. Opened by The Queen in 2002 and just thirty miles from home, I am amazed it has taken me so long to visit this feat of Scottish engineering. While we waited for the boat trip we encountered many soaked and mud splattered charity mountain bikers who had just travelled the route we originally planned to take to the Wheel; the canal tow path from Anniesland. I am so glad we opted for the car.

The Boat trip lasts an hour and for our £8.00 we were treated to a running commentary by a crewman while we travelled the four and a half minute vertical journey from the Forth and Clyde Canal to the Union Canal, then a short trip through a tunnel and back again. It is too difficult for a engineering nitwit like me to explain the full principle of the wheel but it works using the counter weights of two gondolas, so uses hardly any power to operate.

Another first for me was, while travelling to the Wheel, we passed through Bonnybridge. Now Bonnybridge has been a fascination with me for years, ever since I heard that they have more UFO sightings there than anywhere else in the world. As we drove through I tried to suss out why aliens would pick this place to make an appearance. The town was a boom town during the industrial revolution, with good road, rail and canal links, but now it looks very much like a number of small towns in Central Scotland, a bit tired.

A second interesting fact I found out about Bonnybridge while at the Wheel was that they have more lottery winners per capita than anywhere else in the UK.

On the way back home I was tempted to stop off in Bonnybridge to bag another first, - buy my first lottery ticket, but then I remembered the reason why I have never bought a ticket before. I passionately believe that the lottery robs people not just of their money but of their aspirations. I remember in the olden days people pinned all their hopes on winning the pools, at least there was a small degree of thought went into that practice. The lottery is chance. Folks live from one week to the next in the hope of winning money to pull them out of the doldrums.

I know that the counter argument is the lottery gives to a large number of good causes, but it is my experience that the beneficiaries of the good causes are a different demographic completely for the poor buggers who spend large proportions of their income chasing empty dreams.

My first fifties are things I have always wanted to do, the lottery does not fall into that bucket. I know I will never buy a ticket.

First number three for this weekend was to cook a Sri Lankan meal. I am not sure if this is a cheat of not but I bought a packet of different spice at The Wheel Shop and yesterday I mixed them with the last of my garden potatoes and spinach to make a lovely coconut curry. The Hodhi Mix contains turmeric, dried curry leaf, mustard seed, mustard flour and Rampe. At first I thought this was a funny thing for a Scottish tourist shop to sell until I realised the producer, Therssy’s Village, is based in Portree, Isle of Skye.

Here, there and everywhere

Liz on the summit of Sgor na h-Ulaidh


Poor wee soul

This is going to be a short post because I have a chest infection and am splattering my screen with pea green mucus every few minutes. It’s enough to make even me sick.

The McPartlin Munroists

On Saturday I struggled up Sgor na h-Ulaidh (scoor na hooly) a rocky munro in Glen Coe. I wouldn’t normally leave my bed when ill but it was my sister’s munro compleation. The weather was perfect; high cloud, slight breeze in the valley, just a few drops of rain. A well deserved cheese burger was gobbled down in the legendary and hoatching Clachaig Inn followed by a stagger of about a mile to stay over night in a caravan my brother John had booked. The caravan, next to the Glencoe Bunkhouse, had great views towards the hills we had just climbed. It is a shame I kept everyone awake all night with my coughing. Well done Liz!



That makes three McPartlin Munrosits.



Fifty First Timer No.19
Fast Train to China

On the first full day in Hong Kong we booked a trip into China, it takes about a week for the visas to come through so we left the following Wednesday. Mr Lee picked us up at the hotel and deposited us at the railway station with grave instruction on what to do on arrival in China; hang onto your bag, do not get separated, do not declare anything, look out for the guide, if she is not there phone this number.

Our destination was Guangzhou and our guide, Eve, was waiting at the station along with her driver Mr Jang. Together they made our stay an enjoyable, entertaining and informative one. We were templed out, three day later, when Eve dropped us back at the station.

The highlight for me was getting up at seven the first morning to wander the river side streets and find them filled to the banks with people exercising. Tai Chi groups graced every inch of park, make do badminton nets were strung from handy trees, there was even a group of old men swimming in the mighty Pearl River. To say I was impressed would be an injustice, I was inspired. The Chinese, as a race, are temperate, hard working, and thin. What must they think of the arrogant blobs and lager louts who stagger and swagger in the West (and in some parts of Hong Kong)?




This is one of the markets Eve took us to see.



And Talking of Blonde Birds and Bikes

In my last post I mentioned Lucy’s John O ‘Groats to Lands End attempt. Well she has done it. Well done Lucy!

I am now off to bed with a hot toddy, antibiotics, Lemsip and Strepsils - I'll be better tomorrow.

Terrifying times two

The Inaccessible Pinnacle


The Inaccessible Pinnacle (the In. Pin) is the hardest munro in Scotland and you can see from the picture why that is. All hill walkers have to endure this torture before they can complete their round of 284 munros. I climbed this intimidating beast two years ago and I have no intention of doing it again. On that occasion I left my camera behind thinking I would have my hands full enough, so it was a treat to be a spectator at this momentous event.

Eight of us headed up the hill to meet this brute. The walk up the ridge of Scurr Dearg is terrifying enough for me. The Skye Cullin Ridge is the most exhilarating place in the world, but also the scariest. The photo shows three climbing the ridge and Colin abseiling off having completed the climb.

You can experience some of the drama of the In. Pin by viewing the excellent Gaelic film Seachd:The Inaccessible Pinnacle.


I think this is the ridge we walked along, but I cant be sure; I had my eyes closed most of the time.



High Wire

Last week I visited the Centre For Contemporary Art (CCA) in Glasgow. This venue has the best seafood chowder ever, but they also have pretty exciting shows. The exhibit showing was High Wire by Catherine Vass. Vass's film installation documents a high wire walk; 150 foot-long wire slung 265 feet up across the tops of three of the Red Road Flats. These flats are evidence of the idealistic housing developments in Glasgow in the 1960 and are now due for demolition. They also feature in the fantastic Andrea Arnold film Red Road.
The installation was filmed in July 2007 using four cameras and viewpoints. I remember hearing the walker, Didier Pasquette being interviewed on local radio the day of the walk and thinking, as the gale force wind waffled down the microphone, this man is mad!

I won't spoil the ending, but will confirm that this is one of the most exciting art installations I have ever witnessed.

High Wire is on at the CCA until Saturday 24th May. Check out the seafood chowder too.

Sun and Snow

The perfect combination? (not quite)

(photos Colin Baird)

Here is my sister Liz and me on the steep snowy slope of Sgurr Choinnich in the West Morar Forest, just south of Achnashellach.

We had planned to camp! Instead Liz found a great B&B in Lochcarron. The Old Manse B&B fed us up before our epic and provided roasting hot baths and squidgy soft beds to soothe our tired bones.

The planned walk through Achnashellach Forest, up and over munro Sgurr Choinnich, a short ridge walk to a second munro, Sgurr a Chaorachain, and the seven kilometre traipse back to the car, should have taken us eight hour max. What we were confronted with at the first sight of these monstrous hills was buckets of new snow. What was described in the book as a steep clamber up a ridge was at one time a grade one ice climb. The snow was so soft it crumbled beneath our boots leaving us digging ice axes in for extra purchase.

After hours of climbing we at last topped the summit ridge. Imagine our horror when, having thought we had the day cracked, we were met with a section of narrow ridge plastered with piles of snow. A huge cornice hung, cracked and ready to fall, on one side, unstable avalanche prone run out on the other and there was no way of knowing where the solid part of the ridge was. One foot forward could have meant either crashing through the cornice to fall two thousand feet into the corrie on the north side or tumbling down amongst tons of avalanched snow to be buried in the south valley. Not much of a choice.

It was too dangerous, we turned back, there is no point taking risks. We were scunnered but, after a careful descent down the ridge we had just climbed, we were safe. The hills are still there to be enjoyed another day.

The unexpected snow meant we were very late back to Lochcarron and had no choice but to eat in the local bar of the Lochcarron Hotel. The burger was adequate, but I will seek out a tastier alternative on my next visit there.



So near and yet so far

reason for the silence

My Computer had a seizure, but it is well now and backed up with belt and braces.

Ben Alder Cottage (Photo Colin Baird)

Fifty First Timer No.6

Stay over night in the haunted bothy Ben Alder Cottage
(or A woman and her shovel)

And I am sorry to disappoint the ghost hunters of the world but the only thing this bothy is haunted by is vermin.

Four of us walked twelve and a half kilometers from Rannoch Lodge to Ben Alder Cottage. We had estimated our ETA based on normal walking pace and heavy sacks. What we failed to take into account was boggy terrain and the extra four kilos of fire fuel we each carried in our back breaking rucksacks. The result of this logistical error was four very tired walkers ploutering about in near darkness with only a twinkle of a light, way in the distance, to guide us to our destination. We eventually stumbled into the packed bothy five hours after our departure from the car.

This Mountain Bothies Association bothy hunkers at the foot of Ben Alder, a fine mountain, which is situated in the wilderness between the A9 and West Highland Railway Line. It is a pretty remote spot. The stone building has three rooms. The largest room has a sleeping platform and a stove, the middle and smallest room has a couple of bunks and the third room, the only one free for our occupancy, has a floor to sleep on, but also a fire.

In my novel Torque, character Frank walks into a bothy and produces from his rucksack a bag of coal and kindling, tined oysters and pancakes. My writing buddy disputed the feasibility of this load, but as I sat sipping my gin and tonic, crunching pistachio nuts beside the peat briquette fire and looking forward to couscous, salmon and a wee dram, I knew I had captured the experience accurately.

The other bothy occupants had traveled vast distances by car to then to either cycle, walk or canoe into this magical spot. The weather was freezing but dry and next day my party enjoyed a spectacular walk onto Ben Alder over steep ground and some crisp snow fields. That evening we enjoyed our G & T sitting outside on mouse chewed chairs and watched the moon sparkle on Loch Ericht. The previous company had departed in search of other bothies and shores, but we were joined by two guys from Sheffield who had carried a bag of coal over several mountains. The ironic thing is that Ben Alder is one of the few bothies where wood is plentiful from the near by forest and saws and axes are available for use.

The cottage toilet is a shovel and The MBA had pinned clear instructions on the door as to where to go with your shovel and how to act responsibly when shitting in the woods.

This fantastic image of Loch Ericht with Ben Alder on the left was taken on the walk out. The air was so still even the fish were scared to disturb the calm.




This same image turned on its side gives an interesting insight into the courtship rituals of the native ducks!

Glad to be alive

Dangerous Playgrounds

I spent this weekend in the Cairngorm National Park with Colin and his climbing partner Stuart. They had planned a full weekend rock climbing, I was tagging along for inspiration. But the weather, as usual, had the last say. Saturday dawned windy and dreich.

We tramped over to Ben Avon basin, to avoid the noise from the Thunder in The Glen, Harley Davidson Festival. The rain lashed across the Cairngorm Plateau as we picked our way down the precarious path into the basin.

At one point, as I looked over the edge at the steep drop into a gorge where the river tore over jagged rocks, I thought 'I wouldn't want to fall now' the next moment my foot missed the path and I felt my body tumble backwards. I frantically grabbed the heather and kicked my feet into the cliff, my fingernails scraped the earth but failed to catch. Miraculously I slithered to a halt on a slimy rock that sloped into the water, inches away.

'I'm OK.' I shouted. But when I tried to move I began to slide towards the river. I was shaking with fear. Colin scrambled down and together with Stuart helped me back onto the path.

When I looked over the lip into the gorge, the full extent of my luck hit me. I could have broken a limb and just as easily cracked open my skull. Even now I wonder at how one's life could change drastically in the course of one moment in time.

We abandoned the path and the climbers moved to the Northern Corries in search of drier ground. I limped, bruised and shaken, back to the car to reflect on my fate. On the way I met an old couple sitting by a plateau cairn. They had just climbed over 500 metres up a steep crumbling ridge.

'We're celebrating.' Said the white haired old gentleman.
'Our eightieth birthdays.' added the bright eyed old lady. 'We thought we would try to reach the plateau, one last time.'

I had found my inspiration.

The boys met me later at Glenmore Lodge for a drink and grub. Glenmore Lodge is The Scottish National Climbing Centre situated at the foot of the Cairngorm Mountains, a few miles from Aviemore. The place is full of roughty toughty climbers and has an atmosphere of adventure. The food is bog standard pub grub, but hit the spot.

We camped in Alvie camp site and drank wine while we watched the stars fight with the clouds. Sunday's forecast was promising.



Sunday was cold and blustery. I walked with the boys over boulder fields to the base of the majestic cliffs of Coire an t-Sneachda.



I left them to play and headed up Cairngorm Mountain to check out the new funicular railway. On the summit I met truck loads of inadequately clothed tourists freezing in the near winter conditions. Most had bare hands and heads. One women was crying. Visibilty was poor, but a wall of cairns provided a man made marker back to the Top station. The railway does not allow its passengers to move onto the summit so presumably these tourists had walked up. Thankfully the railway allows these poor misguided souls to journey back to safety in their little train.


The intrepid climbers managed to scramble up one of the easier climbs wearing full winter garb, so the weekend was not a total waste for them.


Why can't Brits queue?

The most dangerous part of any weekend in the mountains is the journey there and back on that notorious road, the A9. Last night was no exception. Horse boxes from the Blair Athol horse trials slowed the heavy traffic, and major roadworks brought out the worst in everyone including me.

Why is it that in Britain, at the first sign of roadworks all traffic moves into the inside lane even when there are huge instructions 'Use both lanes while queuing '? It is because they are scared they'll be stranded in the outside lane, despite the 'Merge in turn signs'. If you dare try to use both lanes, arrogant drivers stagger the middle line, preventing anyone passing them, either inside or outside.

Don't these idiots realise they are making the queue twice as long as it need be and slowing the traffic almost to a stand still. It seems their small brains haven't worked out that 'Use both lanes while queuing ' and 'Merge in turn' is not some evil plot by the roads department to prolong the agony, but a sensible way to keep the traffic moving. IT WORKS, if only drivers would let it.