Midnight Moll's dinner parties

 

What do I remember of my first visit to Caithness? The flatness, the stone fences, and the wind. Gorse in bloom. Warm, friendly people who claim to be Wickers, which means they come from Wick, and have no truck with Gaelic and Jacobite woes. These people claim their heritage from the Norsemen and are proud not to be of any clan.

We hit lucky with our visit to the Castle of Mey on 10th April. Recently widowed Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother saw it during a visit to the area in 1952, fell in love with it and decided it must be saved as part of Scotland's heritage. She bought it for £100 and spent her summers there, gradually restoring it. She set up a trust before she died, and it went to her grandson, now Charles III.

It was Easter Weekend when we were there and the Castle was open to visitors. The huge wall protects the castle from the worst of the winds off the sea, and shelters the walled garden. The castle seems a huddle of chimneys and odd little towers, a delight, almost a child's idea of a castle. Once through the gates, we walked round to the front of the house, which faces south across the fields.


Surprisingly, the day I was there the wind shrieked in from the south! and we were glad to get inside those huge doors. Once the nine-inch key had safely been turned in the foot square lock to keep out unwelcome visitors, we enjoyed our tour with Mr Jackson. Just the three of us, through the drawing room, the equerry's room, the sitting room, then up the spiral stairs to view the bedrooms. One housed a romantic four poster bed in a room designated as Princess Margaret's room though she never slept there because she thought the castle far too cold and always went back to her quarters on board Britannia in Scrabster harbour fifteen miles away.

Down a set of stairs so steep the Duke of Edinburgh claimed they reminded him of being aboard ship, (and I wondered how the aged Queen Mother managed them) and into the dining room, the pantry and then down again to the kitchen with the 1950s fridge, still in use. Anecdotes and reminiscence all the way.

 
The Queen Mother had fifty years of widowhood and we heard stories of Dinner parties in the castle that went on so late that she earned the nickname Midnight Moll. Menu reminders, handwritten in French, were propped up at her place at the dinner table, a kitsch Nessie toured the top of the sixteenth century tapestry in the drawing room. Yes, I'd love the castle to be mine - but could I afford the central heating? Probably not.

 
It was built for the earls of Caithness between 1560-1580 and stayed in the family for 300 years. Though it is only 200 yards from the sea, I saw no beach but my dogs would have loved it.- acres of space and no one about! I recommend the castle of Mey for your delight if you are ever that far north though I cannot guarantee Mr Jackson will still be there.

Oh for more energy!

This is Tim finding one of the few sticks on the freshwater beach at the head of Loch Laggan. There are a few half buried tree trunks and he visits every one! The weather is pleasant for autumn, with dramatic clouds and sun - the landscape seems to change as the light changes. The trees are starting to turn glorious gold and copper and we have seen few people around the estate. Most of them have been on quad bikes, but we've stuck to walking everywhere.

We nearly made it to the Falls of Pattack yesterday, but had no map and the trails are not abundantly marked. We passed two little bue arrows (and they are so discreet, about 2 inches high) in five miles. When we stopped and turned back, we were right outside the gate we should have gone through to cover the last few yards through the woods to the falls. If we'd known, we'd have made the effort to go on. (I know, always carry a map....duh!)

Ardverekie began to garner interest in the eighties and nineties when it appeared in various film and tv productions, notably Monarch of the Glen. That was where it got my attention and I've always wanted to visit. I only wish I'd done it sooner, when I was fitter and had more energy to tackle the longer walks. As it is we walk with Tim and I take lots of photographs. And it must be most annoying as I keep saying, "Oh, look at that!"

We've run away!

 This is our new home for a few days. We are in Scotland, on the Ardverekie estate on Loch Laggan and very much enjoying the peace. Our very comfortable cottage is hidden away among the trees though we can occasionally hear traffic on the A86. We did a fairly long walk (for us, that is) and fitbit tells me we did 17,089 steps yesterday. Right now Bill has taken Tim for a short walk as he (Tim) needs to go "outside." Once they are back, we'll all be setting out to walk by the sawmill route up to the Falls of Pattack.

What with walking, watching tennis at Roland Garros and sleeping like proverbial logs, we're doing very well. 

The seasons change

Central Heating on last night! 

First time since about February.

So to cheer everyone here's a pic of a nice hot beach in Australia where they are just coming into their summer. For those already in Australia, it is forecast for 3 degrees C here tonight, and I think it was 4 last night. I now you think 14 is cold, but spare a thought for the UK!

Otherwise, life proceeds as normal. We watch the figures for disease going up and wonder if our five days in Scotland is going to happen or not. Are we heading for a general lockdown again? I hope not.

 Ever since I watch Monarch of the Glen years ago, and more recently on BBC4, I wanted to go. So I booked in January for a week in October. Hopefully, we'll still get there. Isolated cottage in the woods. No neighbours. Shouldn't be a problem. There was a re-run of A Murder is Announced with Joan Hickson as Miss Marple on tv the night before last, and lo and behold, the police inspector went to Ardverekie to interview the millionaire sister! "Whoa! He's gone to Glenbogle!" I cried. I do hope we manage to get there. In case there might be difficulties shopping for food there, I've been building up a small cache of necessaries to take with us. Lots of rice and pasta....
 

The big decision

We've finally made a decision.

all summer we've been thinking we might get to France this year if we just waited a little while until things had cleared.

We kept moving the shuttle booking further into the year, but we've decided we will lose the booking fee and resign ourselves to not attempting to go this year. The hotel bookings we cancelled with no charge. So we've lost £160; it's a pity they will not let us take it over from one year to another but that's the way it goes. So, its roll on 2021.

We worried that our dog, who had an emergency vet appointment twice in June because of an inability to pee due to bladder stones, might suffer a similar emergency in France. We know the vet, and have no doubt of his abilities, but out of surgery hours we have no idea where to contact him and of course there is the language difficulty, especially on the telephone. We are hoping the Allpurinol is busily dissolving the stones in his bladder, but if they are not gone at the next scan, then surgery is the next step. And that will be  around the end of this month.

We have a holiday booked (way back in January) in Scotland on 6th October, so we might just make that week at Ardverekie. Let's hope so.

As for things clearing Covid-wise, I'm thinking we will have to learn to live with it, as we once did with measles, diphtheria* and whooping cough. As a friend said ,"Its out to kill us, you know."

*Yes, that's how Blogger spells the word. Rather too many aithches in my view.

An Ethnic Enigma

An Ethnic Enigma – Norse, Pict and Gael in the Western Isles Andrew Jennings and Arne Kruse

Introduction

What happened to the native people of the islands of Scotland when the Vikings appeared over the horizon? Were the men killed and the womenfolk bundled on to the ships, leaving the land empty and ripe for resettlement? Or did they survive the Viking visitation living alongside the newcomers and ultimately blending with them? There is still no consensus about which scenario best approximates to the truth, despite it being, for many decades, a topic of debate between scholars.

Busy doing my research - mugging up on facts about Viking life in the years around the first millennium. The above paragraph about sums up the position, but of course, people taken their own  and argue the hind leg off a donkey, as we used to say, to preserve their viewpoint. I haven't decided on my stance yet, but it is always good to know the parameters of an argument. In the Viking  books I've written so far - Far After Gold, Viking Summer and Magician's Bride  and of course Alba is Mine,I haven't really had to make a decision, but I have a niggling feeling I might have to this time. 

A true heroine

Everyone knows the story of Mary Queen of Scots, but how many could cite details about her mother, Marie de Guise?

 

 

 

 

Corneille de Lyon - Portrait of Marie de Guise - 2017.88 - Indianapolis Museum of Art

James V of Scotland followed the Royal Scots tradition of marrying French brides when he persuaded Francis I to part with his sickly daughter Princess Madeleine. Unhappily she did not thrive in the Scottish climate and died within weeks of her arrival. Reluctant to part with a second daughter, Francis I offered James sound financial inducements to accept the recently widowed Marie de Guise as his second bride.

The de Guise family had only recently been elevated to the dukedom, but on the plus side Marie had proved her ability to produce sons. A cultured, intelligent woman familiar with the French Court, she was well able to fulfil the role of Queen of Scotland as intercessor, peacemaker, and mediator as well as ornament of the court and a shining model of piety. How much she missed her eldest son, who remained in France with his grandmother, is not recorded.

Her life in Scotland began in 1538 when she was 23. By 1542 she had given James two sons and by the middle of the year was expecting a third child. However, tragedy struck when the Scottish princes died with days of each other. Both parents were distraught. In November, Marie’s fifth child was born only days after the disastrous battle at Solway Moss in which the Scots were roundly defeated by the English. In Falkland Palace, James V reputedly turned his face to the wall in despair. Aged 30, he died on the 14^th December, leaving the nation in sad disarray and his no doubt distraught wife alone with their new child at Linlithgow. His only surviving legitimate child, Mary, became Queen on his death.

Recovering from childbirth while in mourning for her husband, Marie, as a foreigner in a war-ravaged land, might have felt insecure enough to retreat, with her precious child, behind the walls of the strongest castle in Scotland.

The times were dangerous, and not everyone was helpful. The child’s closest relative, the Earl of Arran, wanted her to marry his son. Henry Tudor wanted her to marry the English Prince Edward and Francis I was determined that should not happen.  

Marie de Guise, as Dowager Queen of Scotland, refused to be elbowed aside; she gathered loyal supporters of the crown around her and very soon the Great Seal had been amended and documents were issued in Mary’s name. Mary Stewart’s coronation was held on 9^th September the following year.

Living in Scotland for less than five years, Marie de Guise had an admirable grasp of Scottish politics and managed to safeguard herself and her daughter. Slowly and surely she built up French support and in 1547 she deemed it wise to send Mary to France where she married the heir to the French throne

Standing firm and alone, visiting her daughter only once, Marie de Guise continued to rule as Regent in Scotland. Over time Scots feeling grew against the French; they disliked being thought a subsidiary of France and deposed Marie in 1559; her death in June 1560 was followed by the death of her son-in-law, Francis II of France and by December, Mary was no longer Queen of France. Mary returned to Scottish shores in August 1561.

Missing pics and wildlife

One of the missing pics!

Sometime after 2011 I had a computer die on me. That wasn't so bad, because it was easy enough to replace it ( at great cost, I might add!) but it took a lot of photographs with it and I thought I'd lost them forever. 

Some I probably have, but today I was looking for inspiration and checked my blog for 2011 and found I'd written about our trip north to Ullapool and then to friends in Banchory in the Cairngorms. I'd included pictures! There were many of the missing photographs, so I saved them immediately before I lost track of them again!
Such a small thing, but it really made me happy. 

It looks like we're going to have a third day of hot weather  18-20 degrees. One hardly knows what to wear. It was just above freezing last week. One effect is the gardens have sprung into life - everything is green and sprouting, and the birds are dashing about building nests. Unfortunately our thrush gave up on the nest he built in the blue cedar. Maybe we made too much noise, or our neighbour sat too close to the fence (only about a yard from the nest) or one the many neighbourhood cats chose to walk along the fence top and peer into the nest - anyway, he's gone, leaving one abandoned blue egg. We do have a balackbird in the ivy close to the patio windows and can watch him dashing in and out with mud and moss in his beak. We think there's another nest in the leylandii around the side of the house. 

We've had no frogs in the small sink this year, so no tadpoles to watch. There are wasps in the eves. We see mice occasionsally - one is acrobatic enough to shimmy up the six foot pole to reach the bird table and snaffle the peanuts. Another sort of wildlife lives in the gardens though - a neighbour called in the pest control man because she had seen rats running along under the leylandii. It seems our compost bin was the attraction, plus all the bird food that gets put out around here. (Not just us, I hasten to add) Anyway our compost bin is no more and the body of one young, dead rat was found. A short life for him. Seems those neighbourhood cats are not earning their keep!

Viking Scotland II

Early History

The tribes to the north of Hadrian’s Wall were largely undisturbed by the Roman occupation of Britain. A Roman document of the 3rd century mentioned the Picti, a new tribal group that had established a dominant position in the country. Scholars suggest this was a Romanised version of a tribal name, or that they tattooed their bodies (picti is Latin for 'painted people'). They are thought to have been an indigenous people with a non-Indo-European language. They were later subdued by Celts - not from within Scotland, but from overseas. In the 5th century a Celtic tribe from Northern Ireland settled on the west coast of Scotland.

The Scots

The invaders were called Scots. (Yes, the original Scots were a tribe from Northern Ireland). The Scots established the kingdom of Dalriada in both what is now Northern Ireland and the south west of Scotland. By the 9th century the Irish Dalriada succumbed to Viking raids, but in Scotland the Dalriadan kings established themselves and withstood constant Viking pressure from all sides.

The Vikings

Monasteries of the time owned sufficient wealth to attract Viking marauders. Lindisfarne on the east coast of Northumberland was raided in 793 and Iona, on the west coast of Alba, three times in a decade (in 795, 802 and 805). Even monasteries which seemed secure on inland rivers fell victim to longships rowing upstream. During the 9th century, the raiders settled in the Scottish islands and the Isle of Man and seized territory on the mainland of both Britain and Ireland. In 838 Norwegians captured Dublin and established a Norse kingdom in Ireland. From 865 the Danes settled in eastern England.

The MacAlpin line

A recognizable Scottish kingdom had appeared by the mid-9th century. Some suggest the year 843 to be the important date, but it was Kenneth MacAlpin, king of the Scots since 840, who won acceptance as king of both Picts and Scots. The MacAlpin kings took Strathclyde and Lothian into Scotland and Kenneth's male descendants provided kings for the next two centuries. The separate Pictish kingdom disappeared. All that remains are the beautiful carvings of weird beasts.

Beauties of Argyll

Just back from a couple of days away at Crinan Hotel. We were expecting cold rainy weather - so the forecasters said - and actually had brilliant sunny weather. It is amazing how variable weather can be in this little island of ours. Got well and truly bitten by the notorious Scottish midgie, too.
We stopped at Dunardy halfway along the Crinan Canal to give Tim a walk. We had a lovely saunter through Foresty Commisssion woods and finally broke out of the trees and were rewarded with an ever expanding view. The higher we climbed, the better the view, so we kept on climbing! It was a gentle, curving climb. I don't want to give the impression I climbed something like Mt Everest, but it certainly had us breathing more deeply than usual.

In the bar that night we sat quietly eating our meal and could not help but hear the conversation at the next table. "It's going to rain all day tomorrow, but that might flatten the sea!"

I remembered that Crinan is basically a sailing community, and then the comment made sense.  Still it didn't raise our spirits, I can tell you, and we wondered what we would do if  the prophecy came true. Next morning when we looked out of our bedroom window, the view of the loch didn't inspire. 

It had obviously been raining hard overnight, Still we decided to do the walk we'd planned, and drove the mile or so up the hill, took the right fork down the hill and into Crinan Harbour proper. For all our visits here, we'd never thought to do this bit, and it is very pretty. This is the natural harbour for Crinan, where all the sailing yachts hide away. 

We parked up and set off along the rocky sea shore. The path is sometimes under water at high tide, but the only water was from overnight rain. Then, as expected, the path turned left and uphill. It went on uphill for the next hour, with us taking brief respites after a particularly steep section. We met the forestry road and set off on a level path - well, it swooped up and down but was comparatively flat to the hillside we'd just climbed. Way markers kept us on the trail and took us through a variety of trails, grassy tracks, through woods until we finally climbed Creg Mhor to visit the remains of iron-age Castle Dounie. We sat at the top for quite a while, gazing out over Loch Crinan bathed in brilliant sunshine.

A Scottish break

We sneaked away for a quiet, two-night break in a wonderful hotel right on the sea at Crinan. We went last November, and took Tim. We thought we could slide in without too much upheaval before Easter and the summer hordes crowded the place out. (It doesn't take many, because the place is so small!)  There were a lot more craft in the basin than we saw in the last week of October, so I guess yachtsmen are waking up and stretching their muscles for the coming season.

The weather was mild, breezy and prone to rain showers. On the second day, the clouds were low and grey, covering everything, but I still took lots of pictures. I see beauty in the damp grey misty hillsides, and calendar pictures and the like rarely show these. On the other hand, it can look drear and plain depressing.

We gave Tim a good walk before setting off and another beside Loch Lomond, and he travelled well. As long as we didn't stop, he slept, so a lot of my pictures are taken from the car as we drove along. Means we didn't always get the best viewpoint, but at least the pics are interesting.

We arrived about 2.30pm. It's a 5 hour drive, so we bundled straight out onto the towpath beside the canal for a long walk. We needed some fresh air, and Tim certainly needed the exercise. Primroses peeped out all along the verges, and now and then we saw a daffodil clump. Hedgerow birds sang and seashore birds  warbled. Two swans sailed sedately on the seaward side of the towpath and the canal was dark and still with no traffic. The sun ducked in and out of cloud, and on the way back we sheltered under some trees as a rain squall went over.

Back to a hot bath, a seafood dinner in the bar trying to keep Tim quiet under the table, and then out for another walk. Slept like a log after all that.

Remember you can click on the pic to enlarge it. This quaint little bridge is in Glen Kinglas, between Cairndow and Arrochar.

Quietly demented



near Gairnshield Lodge

The weather here in the north has taken a turn for winter all of a sudden. Temperatures down as low as 2 degrees tonight, and there's snow in Scotland and up in the hill country and the Pennines. Time to break out the woolly sweaters and maybe think about thick tights under jeans. I'll also have to stock up on peanuts and bird food. They haven't needed us, but they've nicked all the berries off the holly bushes in mmy garden and they're starting on the cottoneasters now.

I have spent over a week diligently trying to get my file perfect for uploading to Amazon Kindle, but always the Table of Contents is greyed out - yes, even on my brand new Kindle - an early Christmas present from dh. I followed the Kindle instructions and the Table of Contents comes up on the screen, and it links the reader straight to any chapter selected, so I haven't a clue why it doesn't do exactly as Kindle wish.
I've lost count of my attempts. I've tried Intenet Explorer 9, discovered knowedgeable people think it isn't compatible with Mobipocket, tried Internet 8 on my laptop, tried it with the cover pic, without the cover pic, with the TOC, without the TOC, as Web Page, Filtered, as Web Page, and as a Word doc file, all to no avail. I've even stripped the story back to Plain Text and  inserted minimum formatting and I've read countless websites and found I'm not alone with this problem.

So, I think I'm going to send the file off as it is and see what happens. If it's accepted and any of you wonderful people out there buy a copy of Shadows, then please remember the TOC does work. It just doesn't have its own little Go To link.

In case you wondering who this little fella is, he's the youngest of a Highland Cattle herd who live on the farm we visited.

Travelling on east

The gorse was blooming for the second time along the river banks in Ullapool, and I've just realised we weren't plagued by midgies at all. Our second night in Waterside  House the wind kept the ferry in port and made walking out to find a meal unpleasant. We tried the Ceilidh Place but it was overun with young people, cables, sound systems and we dedeuced that a gig was taking place that night. I think we could have stayed, but it would have cost us £10 each on top of the bill for food and wine, and our eardrums are not accustomed to the atomic blasts of sound these groups generate. We found somewhere else!

Main Square, Grantown

Next day we set off back to Inverness and had a splendid drive across the moors and down through the autumn woods to Garve, where the land changes slowly into lowland scenery. Green, fertile and gentle after the north west.  Climbing the hill out of Inverness heading south on the A9, we turned off onto the A938 and headed for Grantown on Spey, where we stopped, had a coffee and walked through the town and across the wetlands to the river Spey. Halfway around the town, our mobile phone rang and the family wished me happy birthday from Australia!  Many years ago I'd been here, and remembered huge pine forests running down to the river, which tumbled over rocks at a huge rate of knots. The river we saw was a disappointment, and there were no pine trees. Instead we had to detour under a new by-pass that has been put in, and the river was flat, brown and uninspiring. Disappointment all around. They say you should never go back, don't they? So we headed out on the  939 through Lynemore and Bridge of Brown to Tomintoul. Pretty countryside, and so very different to the north west!

Sun and wind

Ullapool Bridge

Heading into town today to do some necessary shopping - not for Christmas, I  might add, but for soap dishes and toilet roll holders - really exciting stuff! I'm hoping we've done all the DIY-ery we're doing for a while at least, and then I might be able to relax into writing a little bit more instead of listening for the terrible crash of falling tiles, or worse, of falling bodies.

Glastullich

So, after a brisk explore of Ardvreck, we  drove on down the A835 towards Ullapool and telephone the Waterside Inn to secure a bed for the night. Once settled in, we walked out in sunshine along the shoreline and the river towards Ullapool Bridge and then on up the track towards Loch Achall. A pleasant walk  uphill, now and then standing aside for the huge lorries working the quarry, which has expanded a good deal since we were last on this path. Eventually the track crosses the river, where the views open out, with Glastullich peeping out across the hillside and the loch disappears ito the distance. Much better weather here than a few miles further north! We walked until we got tired and then turned back, looking forward to a good meal and a good night's sleep. We'd just got back into our room when the five o' clock ferry hove into view. It reversed in, and, as it happened, stayed there. The wind was rising, and forming little waves on the loch, so out on the Minch it must have been quite rough. Everyone hoping to get across to Stornoway that night was stuck.

Ardvreck

Working hard on Matho's story now. It's been put aside for the right amount of time, and I can see why the three agents I submitted to said they liked the story, the premise, the setting but were not sure they liked the writing - though they thought that was confidant and well done. The comment certainly me puzzled and I decided to withhold sending it out any more until I'd gone through it again.  Reading historical stuff on the market today, and then reading my ms, I see that I have been influenced by US writing standards - short, clear sentences, short paragraphs and little description. Seems that is not what UK agents are accepting, but at least I know what to do now.



Ardvreck Castle

Back in the north west of Scotland, we tootled up and down the front street of Lochinver, and stared out at a grey horizon were sea and sky simply merged into one another. Clouds sat on the mountains, and everything looked grey. Few shops, mostly closed because now it's out of season and few people about. Not an entrancing prospect. We've visited the Highland Stoneware Pottery many times, and didn't want to do it again as it just makes us want to spend more hard-earned cash. Getting out and walking some of the very pretty walks we've done before - one to Achmelvich, another to the Kirkaig waterfall, would be an invitation to another drenching.

So we set off east out of Lochinver on the A837 alongside Loch Assynt and Ardvreck Castle on the way back to Ullapool. I photographed the notice board, which hopefully will show up more clearly if you click to enlarge the pic, because there is little left of the castle. It stands on the island side of a neck of land jutting out into the loch, and a cetain times of the year when the burns are in spate and feeding the loch, it's possible they'd be splodging to get across.
Ardvreck

It's a pity it's so much an unstable ruin, because it was built around 1490 and in use in the sixteenth century, which is the era that really interests me. I came away with an impression of huge grey stones and wobbly bits of wall, small rooms and a wet and windy place to live - even today.

A dour, grey day

I read a blog this week that still has me thinking about what it is that I might be doing incorrectly with my latest story. If you want to give yourself  a session in frustration -
here is the place. If I hint at headings such as Limp and Lifeless Prose, All Questions but No Answers, I think some of you will get the drift of the piece. if you don't write, but read a novel a week, you might still be interested.

Clashnessie

Stoer

As for my travels in the north west, let me begin with the moment we stopped to admire the beach. We thought we were looking west at the Atlantic, assumed it was Stoer or even Clachtoll, but just a minute, isn't the sun in the wrong place? Hauled out the compass - yes, I do carry one, just in case of need! and then the map, and discovered we were staring due north at the rollers coming in across the sand of Clashnessie Bay. So, we were not as far on as we thought. Still, the driver needed a break from dipping and diving around blind corners, so we sat for a while. I think there were a total of a dozen houses that made up the village of Clashnessie, and some of them were a mile apart from their neighbours. As well as the typical modernised croft-cottage, we noticed large two and three story new builds away on the hill behind the village. Perhaps in season they take in tourists, but the end of October seems to be the signal for the end of the season. Certainly we had the road to ourselves. I think we passed only three or four cars, and they were all going in the opposite direction to us. A message there, perhaps!Once we moved out of the village, we caught a glimpse of a massive waterfall in the distance. Better weather and we might have walked over to it.

It was certainly spectacular, and I suspect it was so because of the overnight rain backed up in Loch an Easain and its chain of interconnecting lochs in the hills behind Clasnessie



Clachtoll

Moving on south and then south west toward Lochinver, we passed several settlements - Stoer with the graveyard and the roofless church, Clachtoll with the beach and a campsite - though we didn't see a single tent marring the bright green grass - and through the bleak, rocky moorlands.  Away in the dsitance we caught a glimpse of aWe passed the turning for Achmelvich, off to our right, and had the weather been fine we would have gone to the  wonderful white sand beach. But in dull grey misty weather even stunning beaches look damp and miserable. We pressed on to the T-junction and were so glad to be on a dual carriageway once more.

Heading west



The B869

Well, our first real walk ending in getting soaked, and the next morning the weather didn’t look any more promising. Odd, really. I’ve had several holidays in this part of the world at this time of the year and there’s always been a week of sunshine and blue skies. Frost at night, perhaps, but who cares if the day is fine? This year is obviously not going the same way. So we decided to move on and headed off towards Lochinver. Back down the A894 a little way and then off west on the narrow, twisty B869.



Looking north

Wonderful views in spite of the dour weather. And because of the rain (it kept it up all night) the waterfalls were in full spate. Once we got to the top of the hill, so to speak, we could look out across the north of Scotland, and as always, it looked sunny everywhere but where we were. One of the unwritten rules of Scotland is that if the weather is bad, then move on; it will very likely be sunny in the next valley.

We proceeded cautiously. There’s little else you can do when the road is only wide enough for one car, and if you meet something coming in the opposite direction, there’s a scramble to find a place wide enough for both to pass safely.  We found a village at Nedd, quite a sizable community for the remoteness of the spot. I found myself wondering if Tesco delivered from Ullapool, or if the inhabitants drive the fifteen miles to Lochinver every week for groceries.  I suppose I drive ten miles to my favourite supermarket once a week, but that’s on easy dual carriageways, not up and down hillsides on single track roads. Where does everyone work? Perhaps they all work at home via the internet super highway. It’s possible. The outer edges of Scotland were into the electronic age long before everyone else, though it must have been frustrating wback int he days when using the internet tied up your phone line. 

A drenching

We walked along the shore to the old ferry landing on the north side and then on along the shore of Loch Glendhu. There's a pretty section through the forest and then out along the open shore line, which offered dramatic views of the hotel, the bridge and the mountains rearing up behind. If you look closely, you can probably see where we walked; we passed the first waterfall coming down the hillside, and the next was just around the corner, where the  shadows start - it was also the exposed corner where the storm caught us, at the furthest extreme of the walk and with no shelter anywhere.


sunlight across Loch Glendhu (from the hotel window)

the sparrows were wet, too

By the time we got back to the hotel we were drenched and a hot bath was the only sensible thing. The sparrows came huddling in by the hotel during the worst of the rain while we sat in the lounge with a log fire and the beautiful view of the loch as the weather drifted over, the sun came out and the tide came in.
The land in the picture forms part of the Reay Forest which belongs to the Duke of Westminster and there's more information here, plus a rather nice video of the area. Taken in better weather than we had, I must say.

Kylesku

Low tide at Kylesku

Tuesday I visited Chatsworth House with friends, and yesterday spent the day shopping and taking in a production of Nutcracker in the evening, which is why there was no blog post yesterday. Obviously I'm having far too much fun - but it was long overdue!

More of Chatsworth later - first I want to finish my Scottish trip. Pity about missing the Bone Caves, but we just pressed on  into Kylesku where the Hotel is set in an enchanting spot right by the lochside.  The Atlantic roars inland from Eddrachillis Bay and forms the  Loch a Chairn Bhain, passes beneath the new bridge, built at the narrowest point, hence the name. Seton Gordon writes that Kylesku is a bad translation from the Gaelic Caolas Cumhang meaning the narrow strait. (He also claims that Quinag in Gaelic is Cuinneag and means milk stoup.) Once under the bridge, the loch divides into two - Loch Glencoul runs south east and Loch Glendhu runs east.

Looking across the water to the ferry landing at Kylesku

The bridge  was built in 1984. Before that, the cattle had to swim across to get to market and the drovers and travellers used a rowing boat. If you check the link -
 http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/kylesku/kylesku/index.html. you will see pics of the bridge in far brighter weather than we had. I can remember using the old ferry, the Maid of Glencoul way back in the seventies. Her predecessor, the small, forlorn Maid of Kylesku is slowly rusting away where she was beached on the northern shore, not far from the picture above.

On the A835

Strathcanaird

The A835 is a splendid road as it winds and curves through the mountains of Coigach towards Assynt. Strathcanaird is the last habitation for a while, and this is not a road for those who like Little Chefs, craft shops and cafes dotted along the way. It's a road that is a feast for the eyes, and pity the driver who dare not look at the scenery for fear of driving off it!

Stac Pollaidh

Mountains have a character all their own, and I often get the feeling that its not me that's moving, but them. They're not high, as mountains go; few of them are Munroes, over 3,000 feet. But they stand isolated and humped and jagged in the landscape and look as mountains ought to look. Take Stac Pollaidh for instance. Not quite 2,000 feet, if memory serves, but it stands above Loch Lugainn like a cone with a ruffled top. From the summit you can look out, as I once did, over a vista of lochs and bays and out to the sea shining silver in the sun which isn't that far away in this picture. Imagine it, out beyond Stac Pollaidh.
If we'd driven just a hundred yards further, the road would have climbed that little bit more and the picture would have included the loch. 

Cul beg and Cul Mor

It is a road full of surprises. There are footpaths, in the sense of hill tracks, in case I give the wrong impression, that lead to the mountains. Many of the small laybys have a parked car or two and no occupant enjoying the view or sipping thoughtfully from a thermos flask of coffee; they're often to be spotted plodding their way up some impossible seeming hill a couple of miles away. There are deer to look out for, and on this occasion, we found a herd of perhaps thirty, with a magnificent stag  in charge. We watched them with binoculars for a while, but they were too far away for photographs. On my little camera, they'd have been no more than shades of brown among the brown heather.

An aside: as I learned my units of measurement in the good old English way of inches, feet, yards and miles I cannot cope with the metric system. I know a metre equals 39 inches, so if I have to, I grab a calculator, tap in the number of metres, multiply it by 39 to get inches and then divide it by twelve to get feet. Then I can understand, because feet mean something to me.