Glittering Prizes

The Proof - Monty Halls' Wilderness on the left, the MOD on the right

A visit to Applecross last week was a welcome break. We found a few changes since last there. The pub, always busy, is over stretched with the increase in traffic since the BBC invasion. What hasn't changed is the MOD's proximity to Monty Halls wilderness paradise and the stunning scenery.

We will go back in November for the unedited local weather, a decent seat in the pub and a chance to chat with the locals once they emerge from their summer hideout.




Food Miles

At the beginning of this year I claimed I would reduce my food miles and I now realise that I haven’t reported any of the things I have been doing.

I am lucky to live in Scotland. Here I have almost all I need within our borders. And Europe is so close that I can almost get away with buying the rest from there.

Here is a list of all the things I have changed this year;

All flour from Aberfeldy Mills
All honey from Dalmiur
All eggs local
All cows milk local
All meat local
All fish Scottish (our local butcher sells fish purchased weekly from Pittenweem)

I now buy only Scottish cheddar, soft cheese I make myself but I have still to get into the practice of doing this weekly. Parmesan from Italy.

I try to only buy Scottish fruit and vegetable, preferably from the farmers market. The big exceptions are bananas and lemons, I can’t do without bananas, but I qualify this by buying only Fair Trade – the lemons I’m still working on.


My garden is now beginning to bear produce so I am buying less and less as summer progresses. All my herbs are home grown.

The wine we drink is either home made or French.


One acquisition to the garden is Champion the Bean. The Centre for Contemporary Arts in Glasgow are currently running an exhibition called This Land is your Land. Part of that project is to give plants away to anyone happy to look after them. I took Champion. They also gave me two chilli plants which I called Cayenne and Abel. The bean was unhappy in its pot but is now thriving in a whisky barrel in the company of an Italian bean and a butternut squash.







Champion the Bean on the right of the barrel. The plastic tub is the beer trap I put out to give the slugs a happy time and keep then off the beans.





Glittering Prizes

Congratulation to James Kelman on winning the Scottish Book of the Year for Kieron Smith,boy. I finished the book last night and can confirm it as a worthy winner.

This novel uses a unique voice to chart the life of a small boy through the ages of five to twelve in post war Glasgow. I heard James Kelman discuss the book a couple of months ago where he stated that this is a book for women to discover how fraught with danger a little boy's life is. The story is touching, heroic and funny. It has been described as Kelman's best book yet.

Capercaillie and Cateran

It isn't every weekend that you share a stage with an international supergroup and then follow in the footsteps of marauding clans and cattle thieves. Not to mention the realisations that I am becoming addicted to Britain's Got Talent.

The weekend began at the Fintry Music Festival. The traditional music group I am a member of, Get Reel, was asked a while ago if we could support Capercaille. Unlikely you would think but a fact. Under the able instruction of our tutors Mike (Malinky) Vass and Barry (Spad)Reid we learned three sets to perform. This was our fifteen minute happening.

Karen Matheson passed through our rehearsal area back stage a couple of times and gave us smiles and hellos. I think she probably felt sorry for us as we screeched and droned.
At 8.00pm on Friday night we walked out into the stage in front of the packed hall of Fintry Sports Club and played our wee hearts out. The audience clapped along and gave us a massive applause. The Capercaille show was pretty fine too.

I have heard the bookings are now flooding in.


The Cateran Trail

I found a flyer in a magazine about a new walking trail in Perth and Angus. The circular trail starts and finishes in Blairgowrie. It follows the paths that the Caterans used and takes about five days to complete. Colin and I only had a couple of days so we opted for short sections.

The first section was from Bridge of Cally to Blairgowrie. The track takes a high route over the Cochrage Muir and give the walker wide landscapes of clean ploughed fields and up close and personal access to the many nestling birds in the area. At one point we were surrounded by lapwing mothers flapping over their youngsters, while the fledgling flustered round ground nests wondering what all the fuss was about.

We completed the section in a couple of hours and caught a taxi back to the Bridge of Cally Hotel where we enjoyed a well prepared and presented meal.

The Dalhenzean Lodge B&B, just up the road, was clean, comfortable and gave us the biggest cooked breakfast I have eaten in years. It was just the job to see us off on our next trip.

This time we opted for a variation on the Cateran trail so we could enjoy a circular route. This route took us past Loch Beanie where a fledgling oystercatcher was chirping and birlin in circles like one of those wind up toys you see in Chinese markets, the only difference was this little bird never ran out of spin.

Part of the walk took us on road but it didn't spoil the enjoyment too much. The thousands of lambs we encountered brought back to mind that age old puzzle - Why do such cute lambs turn into ugly sheep? It isn't right somehow.

One lamb made friends with us, I was tempted to stick him in my rucksack but in the end sent him back to his mother.

One lamb trying to make his escape

Chill out time

Eilean Shona - Scotland in miniature

Colin and I have just come back from a week’s holiday on Eilean Shona, a wee island off the west coast of Scotland. The ferry (small rubber dingy) picked us off the mainland at 5.00pm on Saturday, we were walked to our cottage and left to enjoy the peace. We had enough food, drink and books for a week.
Eilean Shona is a sort of mini Scotland. It has some reasonable hills to climb, a diverse international forest, lochs, fine walking, history, wildlife and a fabulous white sandy beach.




The Perfect Red Cottage

The island has a number of holiday cottages. We were staying in Red Cottage which was up a hill on the edge of a forest. There was so much storm damaged dead wood lying around we were encouraged to have a camp fire, which we delighted in doing most evenings.



Afternoon tea at the cottage

Being a mad recycler I was keen to keep the rubbish we produced and left behind to a minimum. The new estate managers, Rose and Ali, had told me that they hoped to create a vegetable garden. I asked if they had a compost heap for my vegetable scrapes, not yet but they had something better. Three pigs who were employed as environmental rotivators, churning up the vegetable patch and grateful for anything you threw at them.



The Three Composters


We failed to see the promised wildlife of pine martin, otter and sea eagle, but we did manage to see deer and grey seals and plenty birds. And we brought some wildlife back with us; the walk to the beach had us wading through some pretty long heather. As a result of this heather bashing both Colin and I have been plucking tics out of our skin ever since. I thought April would have been too early for Scotland’s nasties, but apparently not.



The sun sparkled beach - was it really April? Yes, that's why I still wore my hillwalking boots on the sand


WWF Earth Hour

Just because I was on holiday did not mean I forgot a very important appointment. At 8.30pm on Saturday the 28th of March, Colin and I sat in our wee Red Cottage and watched our wood burning stove glow while we turn off the lights for an hour.


Earth hour - check out how the rest of the country spent the hour

Monty Halls’ Great big illusion-delusion

Sand Beach on the Applecross Peninsula - like Monty Halls, Colin left the MOD submarine base out of the picture.(photo Colin Baird)


It is no secret that one of my favourite places in the world is Applecross in the North West of Scotland. Colin and I had a house there for four years and know the area well. Imagine our delight on finding a programme made there. We watched it with interest last week and again this week. However after the first week my enjoyment was derived not only from the scenery and seeing old pals but also trying to spot how many distortions the BBC can cram into the show.

For anyone who hasn’t seen the show, Monty Hall has moved to a derelict shed on a deserted beach in the wilderness of Applecross, with the desire to live like a crofter. He was able to entice the local population into helping make the shed habitable, this included a guy who was impossible to get hold of when we were there. What the programme fails to point out is that the beach, Sand, is the busiest beach on the Applecross Peninsula and the ‘remote shed’ is only about 200 metres from a MOD submarine base. Like some alien movie the existence of this base has been evaporated and erased from the world of Monty Halls. Those are the most obvious fibs, there are loads of others. I will never believe another thing on the telly again. The programme is worth watch despite Monty Halls believing real life crofters have solar panels to power their iPods and seems to be incapable of catching mackerel with a full kit of high tech fishing gear. Maybe the friendly locals omitted to mention to him that if he drove his landrover four miles down the road to Toscaig Pier and stood with a rod for a couple of hour he would catch loads of mackerel.

Goodbye 2008 - Hello 2009

2008

This Christmas, with the economic recession foremost in all our minds, I decided consumable home made goods would be a good bet as presents. I was a bit worried about the reaction but was amazed that everyone loved the idea and the gifts. The gifts ranged from small goodie bags to large hampers. I filled these with a selection of home made country wines, sloe gin, rowanberry liqueur, ginger wine, chutney, marmalade, pecan and maple tablet, rum and raisin fudge, brandy truffles, shortbread and cake. The best thing about these hampers is that everything in them can be recycled!







Glen Affric - Above the clouds




My year of firsts finished with a visit to a new Hostel just outside Drumnadrochit where I celebrated the arrival of 2009 with friends. The Loch Ness Hostel at Bearnock was luxurious compared to some of the places I have visited in the past. Warm, clean and accessible to the many nearby hills is just what is needed for a winter break.


I have not made a definitive list of first but know that I have surpassed the fifty mark. The highlights for me was my fabulous birthday treat to the Three Chimneys in Skye, the Connect Festival and reading out my poetry in public. It was a memorable way to celebrate my fiftieth birthday year and I know that I will continue to celebrate each new experience in 2009.





A spooky Glen Affric below the clouds










2009

For me every New Year starts with bags of enthusiasm for my over ambitious plans. This year is going to be particularly special for me because I am due to become a grandmother for the first time in May. I also have loads of projects planned.

Here are a few;

Novels

I plan to finish my second novel, working title THE OOTLINS. I have been nibbling away at this story for the past year and although I know what needs to be written I find it hard to motivate myself whilst searching for a publisher for my first novel Torque. No more procrastination. The book will be finished this year.

Community Courses

I have recently been developing two courses to deliver into the community. The one that is attracting most interest is Surviving the Credit Crunch for Families. This can be tailored to any group. I use my past life experience of surviving the Miners Strike in 1984 but I also use day to day home crafts and all round canny practices.

The second course is the Guide to Successful Living which covers all aspects of health, wealth and happiness.

To find out more about these courses visit the website at www.moiramcpartlin.com

Carbon Footprint

My personal project for 2009 is to reduce my carbon footprint. Last year I made a good start on this but I think that with all this financial gloom around just now the time is ripe to push further to reduce the air miles on food and live on local produce.

I had a first stab at this yesterday.



Ta-Dah

As threatened last year I bought a cheese making kit. This first batch of cheese was produced from one litre of locally produced milk. It took ages but it is good fun.

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.

Five Firsts on my Fifty Week

Three Chimneys, Skye


What a fantastic time I had. I was amazed that I managed five first. A couple were expected but not five.

Fifty First Timer No. 22
Stay and eat that the Three Chimney’s on Skye

This has been on my wish list for year. The Three Chimneys is reputed to be one of the best restaurants in the world. I didn’t realise they also had accommodation, so imagine my surprise when I discovered my birthday treat was two nights dinner, bed and breakfast at this exclusive establishment.

The drive up through Glen Coe and The Great Glen was dramatic with sun and sheet rain. We arrived at the House Over-by at 5.30 with just enough time to gaze in wonder at the view, experience the luxury of the room and dress for 7.30pm dinner.

That first glass of chilled champagne fair went doon a treat.

My starter was succulent scallops this was followed by the freshest oysters I have ever slurped, they were juicy and ripe and perfect. My main course included a first (see below) - Lamb with heart, sweetbread and kidney. Yummy.

We were too full for pudding because every course seemed to be preceded by an appetiser - pan fried mackeral on goosberry puree was about five mouthfuls too small - we settled for coffee, some dinky little cakes and a dram to finish off. I could see beads of relief wave off Colin’s brow when we were informed the 25 year old Talisker was finished, I had to settle for a 10 year old.



Fifty First Timer No. 23
Eat Sweetbread

I am conscious that a number of these first include eating weird food, but I am a foodie, I have to try everything at least once.

When I was younger and lived in Fife I bought all my meat from a travelling butcher’s van – Bert The Butcher. He came every Wednesday and Saturday and I always bought the same thing, mince, bacon, beef, square sausage for Sunday Breakfast. Ladies would flock to the van. ‘ony sweet breads the day Bert?’ they would ask. I was always curious as to what the elusive and desirable sweet breads were

I later found to my horror that it was testicle. And I still did until I checked before posting this blog.

I thought I had no desire to try this but couldn’t resist when it was offered with the lamb dish. It was delicious fried but not as nice as the heart, which I think I have tried before.

How naive was I? I now find out that sweet bread is a gland near the heart.

There you go, another urban (or Fife) myth bites the dust.

Fifty First Timer No. 24
See a Minke Whale

After a luxurious nights sleep we ate our fill at the House Over-by breakfast table. Homemade muffins, breads, pancakes, oatcakes Scones and applesauce, marmalade, jam. There was also smoked salmon, fish pate, cheese, fruit and a smoked salmon omelette on offer. We had to at least attempt to walk some of this off.

The Three Chimneys is located in the south west portion of Skye, an area we had never explored before. We drove round tiny single track roads to Neist Point where a well laid out path took us to a light house which can be rented as holiday accommodation. Loads of sea bird activity just off the shore alerted us. Some children were screaming with delight and jumping up and down. We rushed down to see what was happening.

I stared at the sea for about ten minutes watching the gulls dive bomb the waves and was rewarded with the sight of a small black fin and then the sweep of a black curled back arching out of the sea and sinking below the depth before I could take the camera out of its case. There was no doubt with that shape and size I had just encountered my first Minke Whale, out for a spot of fishing. We hung around for ages hoping for another glimpse but we only saw a few black fins. I felt privileged.



Sunset over Taransay from Horgabost camp site

Fifty First Timer No. 25
Visit Lewis and Harris

We left Uig in Skye on a CalMac ferry bound for Tarbert, Harris on Monday afternoon. We left the unusual sunshine on Skye for a murky Harris, where the clouds skiffed the roads. The missel soaked us during the ten minutes it took us to pitch our tent and carry our gear from the car to the pitch which was high on machair on a beach side site at Horgabost.
The campsite proved to be idylic so we stayed all week. White sand, bird watching, and the creaking gate call of the corncrake merged with the sound of crashing waves to lull you to sleep.

The next morning proved no better weather wise so we plumped to explore Lewis.
After reading Stornoway Way by Kevin MacNeil I expected a grim town, but Stornoway turned out to be a pretty little fishing town with fine brick buildings, an excellent art centre featuring local artists and crafts and a few good cafes. There were loads of pubs though and this is maybe where the tarred reputation of Stornoway stems from.

While we could still see the road from the mist we headed south to the Callanish Standing Stones.
These are described as the most spectacular megalithic standing stones in Scotland. They are impressive standing tall and fast against the western storms. There is something very touching about the fact that people gathered together and took such care 4000 years ago to erect these stones. I wonder then if they realised the fuss folks would make all these years later.

It was a good day to see the stones, not too many people milling around spoiling photo shots and quite dramatic backdrops.



Callanish Standing Stones





Fifty First Timer No. 26
Have a drink in an inflatable pub

I am pleased to say the weather improved. So much so we were forced to go for a drink in a pub. The main hotel in Tarbert is being renovated; the bar is out of commission for months, what could they do? They took a bouncy castle approach and erected an inflatable bar. It would have been perfect had it not been made out of plastic and had real window instead of painted on ones. Inside the bar on this hot day was like being inside the inside of a wellie. Everyone preferred to sit outside in the 24°heat.



Inflatable Pub, Tarbert






Back to auld claes and porridge



View from Skoon Art Cafe, Harris - The best plum and oatmeal muffins ever.

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.

Hong Kong V Scotland

Carbisdale Castle


I had planned to update this blog with stories from Hong Kong, but it is proving difficult because life back home has been as hectic and exciting as the holiday. However I still have to report all my Firsts, so I will start with another Hong Kong First and slot in some of the Scottish ones.

Fifty First Timer No.15
Eat Shark’s Fin Soup

I know some of you will be throwing up your hands in horror or even just throwing up at the thought of this, but when my principles started to niggle, I remembered the words of my Muslim friend when I once offered her Stornoway black pudding (made from pigs blood) for breakfast and she replied ‘Lovely, I never let religion get between me and my stomach’.

I now apologise and promise never to do it again.

I have tasted Shark’s Fin soup before but it was made from synthetic shark fin. The soup I ordered in Hong Kong was the real thing. The venue was the American Restaurant in Wanchai. The restaurant has been around for xx years. When Hong Kong was a popular R&R destination for the US troops during the Vietnam War the restaurant’s owners, hoping to attract the GIs, renamed their restaurant thinking it would sound welcoming. The name and the restaurant proved popular, so when the war ended they retained the same.

The waiter helped us to decide on the size of portions we needed and advised me that the soup was expensive, was I sure I still wanted it. ‘Yes sir’, falling into an American twang. Like most Chinese meals the food came at different times, what we would consider the second course was delivered first followed by the soup. Sharks fin soup is thick and gluttonous with fibrous strands of fin laced through. The taste is light and eggy which I found delicious, almost like eating noodles in potato soup. The meal was washed down with Tsing Tsao beers and buckets of green tea. Despite his advice, we ordered too much food which gave the waiter a good laugh at our expense.


Weekend wedding and more Firsts

Fifty First Timer No.16
Stay in a haunted castle

The weekend saw a few Firsts, most I will do again because it was such fun.

We attended a wedding party at Carbisdale Castle. The castle is perched on a hill just outside Bonar Bridge in Sutherland and is the Scottish Youth Hostel Association’s flag ship. I have passed it many times on the road to the far north and looked longingly at its towering ramparts and cosy welcoming lights twinkling through the trees, but this is my first stay there.

The castle was built in 1917 by the widow of the Duke of Sutherland. It was gifted to the Youth Hostel Association in 1945. The castle is reputed to be haunted but there was no evidence of ghosts this weekend, they were probably all quivering in a corner to avoid the noise of the ceilidh band, disco, general revelry and my musical abominations.

John and Kate, the happy couple, wanted a party and they certainly bagged their wish. The hostel can sleep over 180 visitors and we almost filled the whole place from Friday night through to a bleary eyed Sunday lunchtime.

Colin and I were attending the evening part of the wedding so we were lucky to spend Saturday in the surrounding area. We went for a wander round Dornoch, had scrummy home made Cornish pasties at the Dornoch Patisserie then walked along the four mile pristine beach to Embo trying to spot minkie whale in the Dornoch Firth. A pass remarkable supper was picked at in a pub before we tarted ourselves up for the party.

The ceilidh band played their ‘Gay Gordon’s’ ‘Dashing White Sergeants’ and ‘Strip the Willow’ for the group, the majority of who were hill walkers who skirled and whirled until the buffet was served. We then switch to the gyrating disco beats of the ‘70s and ‘80s.

When the official music stopped the party moved to one of the many lounges and this is where my other Firsts came in.

Fifty First Timer No.17
Learn to play a bodhrán

Fergus, one of the two Best Men is married to an Irish lady and came to the wedding complete with bodhrán, a traditional Irish instrument, under his arm. I begged for a lesson which he was quite happy to provide, he explained how to hold the single drumming stick and demonstrated the beat then said ‘right practice, I’ll be back in five minutes.’ Being a tenacious learner I did what I was told, but the others in the company moaned in horror, ‘you’re not really going to do that for five minute?’

The stick was as slippery as noodles in chopsticks, and kept falling from my hand. When Fergus came back he told me to relax and steer through the wrist. I did for a little while until my hand grew tired then I handed the bodhrán back to its rightful owner. I think I will add a bodhrán to my birthday list.

Fifty First Timer No.18
Play an electric guitar

Ranald, the other best man, took his electric guitar and amplifier to the wedding. I couldn’t resist a go. I strummed some chords and tried to pick out a couple of tunes, but the combination of previously drunk glasses of wine and the fact the shiny red and white guitar continued to slide over my chiffon dress and off my lap, did not make for a pleasant experience for the other hard core party goers, in the end I reluctantly handed the guitar back and looked out at the dawning day. It was time for bed.

I now apologise but can't promise never to do it again



Blonde Bird on a Bike

Someone who did not partake of too much wedding wine and was probably getting out of bed when dawn was breaking was Lucy. Lucy attended the wedding but rose early to arrive on time for her nine o’clock, Sunday morning start of her John o’Groats to Lands End Bike ride. You can follow her progress on her blog

http://lucymcnee.blogspot.com/

I have also added Lucy's Blog to my top favourite blogs.

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

Easter at the Ben Nevis Inn

No Room at the Inn

Fifty First Timer No.9

The forecast was ominous, snow and stormy winds. Ben Nevis, Britain's highest mountain was perhaps not the best planned venue to meet such weather. But the Ben Nevis Inn, crouched at the base of this giant proved to be the ideal doss.

We arrived on Good Friday to a check into the bunkhouse beneath the Inn. The bar was heaving with jolly hill walkers, but we were told by the harassed but cheerful staff that we would struggle to be served a meal.
'Oh no, I have been looking forward to coming here to eat.' I explained with genuine disappointment.
'We'll see what we can do, but you will have to go somewhere else tomorrow, we're full.' They had us eating grilled goats cheese followed by wild boar burgers within half an hour.

The bunk house consists of three sections opening out into a corridor. Each section has eight bunks. The kitchen is tight and the toilets scarce so it was just as well this club meet was small by normal standards. That evening Colin and I were joined by Lucy. Andy and Simon were to drive up on Saturday. The rest of the bunk house was filled with a mixture of foreign visitors, a group of five girls from Edinburgh and an assortment of walkers.

Colin met up with his climbing partner early next morning to catch the climber's Gondola up Aonach Mor. The cold weather had ensured fine winter climbing conditions on the Nevis Range.

Lucy and I, wary of forecast high winds, chose to explore the Glen Roy's parallel roads. These three parallel scores ring the glen like a series of tide marks in a bath and were caused by the formation of a glacial lake in different stages of freeze. Although from a distance they look like substantial tracks they turned out to be mere notions on a steep hillside.

On return to the Inn we were informed we had no chance of a meal, but then the owner decided we were a good bunch and yet again managed to accommodate us in between serving the Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team with chips while they took a break from a shout.

If you ever go to Fort William visit this delightful Inn and if they tell you they are full for dinner, put on a sad face. I am sure this friendly crew will fit you in somehow.

Highland hospitality is alive and kicking about at the bottom of Ben Nevis

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!

A wild holiday

Callakille, Applecross

Callakille is the remote croft situated about seven miles north of the village of Applecross, Ross-shire. The house, owned by www.papastour.com creator Rosi Brown, is the perfect place to relax and allow the wild west wind to blow the stresses away. It was certainly wild and windy while I was there last week but the cosy log burning stove and the robust traditional croft structure meant I could just snuggled in with my books and my guitar on extreme weather days. The location of this house is perfect for a novice guitar player. Access to the rocky beach just behind the house means it is possible to venture out doors and experience breathtaking gulps of fresh air and marvel at the views of islands Raasay, Rhona and Skye.

I had few good walking days around the peninsula and in nearby Torridon, after which the award winning Applecross Inn welcomed me in from the cold, with a warm open fire and great grub. And because I am a frequent visitor to this part of the country I could catch up with old friends.
The Potting Shed Restaurant ,which nestles in a walled garden on Applecross House grounds, serves fantastic locally produced food for lunch and dinner, but at this time of year is only open Saturday and Sunday.


Home to winter

Winter's here and in a way I am relieved. I love my garden but I am glad when I don’t have to spend so much time weeding. The glorious coloured leaves of Autumn have scattered to the ground. Being an avid composter, I collected the leaves from the garden and filled two ‘Love ‘em and Leave ‘em’ biodegradable leaf sacks. The label on the sack tells me by next spring I should have ‘nutritional leaf mould ready for use’. Can't wait!

Eco Rant

Scotland's shame

Last week one of my friends commented that recycling was the ‘new middle class obsession’. He wound me up after my passionate plea to use less packaged supermarket food and buy locally. I was horrified when others in the group joined him, saying that they had no trust in local governments and believed recycling was a big con because all the recycled items end up in the landfill anyway.

I once heard an influential broadcaster state on TV that she will begin to separate her cans and paper from the rubbish when China and India does something about their pollution.

It was reported last week in a Sunday paper that Scotland is one of Europe’s worst recyclers with 71% of our rubbish going to landfill. No wonder with attitudes like these from intelligent professional people.

Ten years ago I worked in Sweden and Denmark. There were no individual bins in the office. All rubbish was separated into recycling bins. When Swedes and Danes moved to work in Glasgow a few months later they could be found wandering the office floor with empty cans and plastic bottles wondering where to deposit them, they were mystified at our lax attitude towards the environment. 4% of Sweden and Denmark’s rubbish ends up in land fill.

Does no-one care! My efforts might be small but at least I am taking control of things I can contribute to saving our world. I can do little to change China, or India. If I could I would.

Check out the waste aware website to make a difference







Tale of two cultures


Biosphere, Montreal


Culture One

Even though I love the mountains, I also love cities. I love the buzz, the hotch-potch of smells wafting from competing restaurants, the clatter and honk of the traffic, the sirens and the expressions on people’s face as they go about their business. So it was a treat for me to end my holiday in Canada with a drop into two cities listed high on my ‘must visit’ wish list.

After we parted company from our trusty camper-van, we took The Ocean to Montreal. This is a sleeper train that leaves Halifax daily at midday and travels down the St Lawrence River to arrive in Montreal at 8.00am next morning. Unfortunately Canada is thick with trees, meaning the views in daylight are restricted and by the time the train reaches the St Lawrence night has descended. Never mind, the food in the dining car is adequate for a galley kitchen and the bunks are comfortable. Sleep came late however because the train rattles along at a hell of a speed and lurches like a fairground ride.

Montreal
We spilled, disorientated, into streets filled with commuters. One lady stopped and pointed ‘you are here’ on our map and directed us to the best place to catch an early coffee.
In the café, above our heads, a TV blared morning news read in French. The waitress greeted us with ‘bonjour’. We soon discovered, back on the street, that French is the dominant language and culture. I fell in love with Montreal within minutes of arriving. The restaurant menus, the street signs, the toilet signs, all French. If it weren’t for the big trucks trundling along the roads I would have believed I was in France.

We headed for Old Montreal, by the river and found a boutique hotel, Auberge Bonsecours run by a very French matriarch, who dresses impeccably from head to foot in red and apricot. The bedrooms are furnished in red and apricot, even her dog is an apricot French poodle. And the breakfast she serves is a splendid feast of pate, spreads, cheese, ham and six or seven different varieties of bread (not forgetting the strawberry and apricot jams). What a wonderful way to start the day.

On our first evening we traipsed round the rejuvenate harbour area, dodging the ambush of restaurant staff trying to grab the trickle of custom in the dying days of the season. We settled for a French Restaurant 'Forget', which sat opposite our Auberge. The service was attentive and the caribou I ordered was lean and uncluttered.

The highlight of our second Montreal day was the Biosphere, a remnant of the ’67 Expo exhibition. Here we attended a passionate lecture on wind farms, geothermal energy and natural water treatment, all deliver by Veronique, who oozed zeal but was regrettably tinged with a little cynicism after all the knock back this kind of work receives. Keep up the good work Veronique, we will win in the end.

Our Pick Up Truck

Canadian Dream - Revisited

We thought we'd try something new. Nova Scotia is a big province and to make the most of our time there we decided to hire, what Brits call a camper van and North Americans call a RV. This is our little baby, a skip chained to a Ford pick-up truck, but it was great fun.

We trundled up to Cape Breton to experience the famous Cabot Trail. We found our first well positioned and well equipped camping spot at MacLeod's, situated between Inverness and Dunvegan. Cape Breton was weird for us because all the place names are identical to those in Scotland and all the road signs are in Gaelic, as they are in the Highlands here.

The highlights of Cape Breton were;

The freedom of the camper van. It was fantastic to pull off the road to admire stunning views of crashing waves and snaking roads, put the kettle on and grab a ring side seat for lunch.

Meat Cove; This neat little community sits on the Northern tip of Cape Breton. The road is windy, steep and rough in places, and at times our trusty pick-up lurched and groaned, but despite the protests we made it.

Four Mile Beach, begins at SugarLoaf, Cabot's Landing, where John Cabot landed and discovered North America. This thin stretch of land forms a pristine beach, embracing the calmer East Coast Atlantic waves.

Hideaway Campsite, Dingwall. Along side MacLeod's this was one of the best campsites we stopped at. As the name suggests this site is sheltered within a wood, but its raised position awarded us spectacular views toward the Atlantic. As with all the sites we visited the facilities are clean and adequate.

The National Park. Cape Breton National Park maintains the environment around the Cape Breton Highlands. Like Kejimkujik Park, they have designated walks for tourists to tramp.

At the visitor centre we were warned of the high moose population. We thought, like the red deer in Scotland, the moose may be observed from a safe distance. Not so. In the park we had four encounters with moose on the Skyline Trail. One moose, having a grand feed on the trial, refused to move at our approach. We tried to skirt round her, but she began to look agitated, so we make a swift retreat. These beasts are huge and not to be messed with.

One night there was a fierce storm and our wee home morphed into a rollicking boat. Although it was a surreal experience I felt secure chained down to the sturdy truck.

Introducing...



From pick-up to classic

My brother Mike loves everything American. The music , the country, the people. Unlike me he has no need to pour over an atlas to find his holiday destination, the US is large enough for a lifetime of holidays.

His over-riding love is American cars. Ever since I was a wee lassie with skint knees and a pony-tail I have been aware of Mike's obsession. Now being in need of big toys he can indulge himself.

He recently sent me this rare shot of his current car and his previous car separated by the yellow car. They are all General Motors F-bodies: his old Chevrolet Camaro 3rd generation ‘80s, the yellow Pontiac Transam 2nd generation ‘70s and his current Pontiac Firebird 4th generation ‘90s. His ambition now is to become a real redneck.

Mike has agreed to become a guest blogger on this site, so look out for more 'Redneck News'

PS. Look out for ET in this photo!

Back on Scottish soil

Sorry for the Absence

Well it just didn’t happen. I had hoped to blog some of my holiday experiences on the way round but the truth is I didn’t want to spend time indoors, away from the glorious Canadian sunshine, to write this blog.

Canadian dream – revisited

Glasgow, Scotland to Halifax, Nova Scotia in less than five and a half hours is pretty good going and the time difference is only four hours. I walked out of Halifax airport into a welcome 27C into a sunshine I hadn’t felt for years.
But even though Nova Scotia experienced an Indian Summer over the last few weeks, their tourist industry closed on September 2nd.

The highlights

Peggy’s Cove - This neat little fishing village, with its granite rock formations scattered around timber fishing houses, form the backdrop for some stunning photo opportunities. A tall lighthouse perched on massive rocks give the tourist something to aim for. Peggy’s Cove gave me my first encounter with a ‘Fifth Wheel’, a motor home the size of a Double Decker bus, strapped to a truck. These monsters are trundled back and forth across this vast country. Why do folks find the need to carry their entire homes with them?

Caledonia and The Kejimkujik National Park - On the map Caledonia looks to be a significant town, in reality it is one street with a supermarket, a hardware store, a junk shop and a diner. It does however have one great little bed and breakfast.

Aunt Nettie’s is run by Cindy and dominated by Abby, the mad Jack Russell terrier who ensures that the premises is kept squirrel free by terrorizing the garden tree. As soon as the front door opens Abby tears across the lawn to her tree yapping like a raging… Jack Russell.

A few miles up the road from Caledonia is the Kejimkujik National Park. The walks presented by the rangers vary through high forests of old hemlock to loch side rambles. I am sure the best way to see this park is by canoe, but being a land lover I opted to chance meeting a black bear on the trail.

After a hard day on the trail Colin and I ate at the nearby diner M & W’s. This busy dinner is run by the wily Marilyn who tempted me with the mouth watering pastry of her home made blueberry pie. She worked the diner, May through to October from 8.00 in the morning till 9.00 at night as well as looking out for customers to her store next door. But even after closing and leaving for home, if a hungry body turns up at her door she will feed them.

One such hungry body I met was a biologist who had trailed through the park. He was studying the decline of loons, the result of mercury in the water and their food. It seems that even in protected areas pollution still creeps in by way of rain fall. The poor guy had been eating trail food for five days; all he wanted was a plate full of grease and a big piece of pie.

Tip - make the most of everything

When I go on holiday I always try to leave the house clean and tidy. I don't go mad with the cleaning, just enough to make a difference.

When I arrived home yesterday it was wonderful to walk through the door into a sweet smelling, bright, shiny house.

I then proceeded to erupt my rucksack all over the floor and make a complete mess of the place, but that was OK.

Blisters on feet and hands

Southern Upland Way

My usual lazy Saturday morning was disrupted this week. A 6.15am rise was required to transport me to Wanlockhead in the Scottish Borders to begin a long, long stage of the Southern Upland Way. But because this was a charity walk for CHAS, my moaning was kept to a minimum. Wanlockhead claims to be the highest village in Scotland, and judging from the freezing mist that welcomed me when I left the nice cosy car I realised the this boast was true.

The stage Colin and I did was Wanlockhead to Beattock. The freezing hill fog persisted as we climbed Lowther Hill. This hill has a huge 'golf ball' aircraft tracking station on top, and although I walked within feet of this marvel, I detected only a notion of a globe in the gloom. As the mist sprayed my face and dewed my leggings I realised that this fine moisture was beginning to soak through to my skin. I had no alternative but to don waterproof gear.

The terrain was undulating to say the least, as soon as my legs became accustomed to the climb they were asked to descend. A gentle wee stroll across a dam head was followed by a steep trudge along a switchback ridge. Fifteen miles into the walk I felt the beginnings of a blister. Miles later a visitor's car park sign told me I had only two and a half miles to walk to reach Beattock: it was far from encouraging. This last section was on The Crooked Road and the name says it all! What the sign failed to mention was that the way was peppered by herds of cows lorded over by a massive bull. My blister were forgotten while I manoeuvred past the beast.

After nine and a half hours and twenty plus miles of walking, with over a thousand metres of ascent, I finally peeled off my boots and socks to reveal first degree burns weeping on both ankles. Splendid!

Tibbie Shiels Inn

My reward for this endurance was a night B & B in a local hostelry. The Tibbie Shiels Inn is an old coaching Inn originally run by the widow of a Border mole catcher. The Inn sits on the southern edge of St Mary's Loch, surrounded by rolling heather splashed Border Hills. As I hobbled into the bar and guzzled a pint of the local beer my earlier ordeal began to fade. The menu was uninspiring but I could have eaten a scabby 'dug'. In the end I gobbled up an unremarkable mixed grill before the kitchen closed at the ridiculously early hour of 8pm. The accommodation was a strange mix of antique chairs and white DIY cabinets. 1960s net curtain screened our view of the car park and although the shower worked, a scorching hot bath would have been preferable to the pitiful hot trickle. But the bed was clean and comfortable. A duvet was forgone in favour of a traditional honeycomb blanket and simple hand made quilt.

The owner, a formidable elderly lady with an impeccable white coiffure, took no nonsense from her clients. The Inn's quirkiness was spoiled for me by the sadness I felt. This historic coaching Inn treasure has grown old and tired, but I can imagine that such an operation takes time energy and lots of capital to make it work.


Food for free

The two trees in my neighbours garden drip with jewels, rubies waiting to be plucked. When he invited me to help myself to the ripe plums I jumped at the invitation. A jelly pan full of plump juicy fruit made hardly a dent in the tree's offering. 12lb of fruit was collected in minutes. That is a hell of a lot of stoning. 6lb I tackle right away and soon had a gallon of wine brewing. The rest will be chopped up for jam and chutney tomorrow night; after I have been out to check up on the progress of the sloe bushes in the hedgerow

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.