In Da Club

Back in my teenage years, I was in the school hillwalking club. We didn't have much in the way of kit at first; it was all jeans, wooly jumpers, bobble hats, anoraks and DMs. What we had in spades was enthusiasm and, more importantly, teachers that were happy to give up the odd weekend to drive a minibus full of teenagers the length and breadth of Scotland. (We made one foray to The Ponds, thought “Aye, it's quite nice” but decided the hills in our own back yard were much finer and never returned).

Hillwalking - 70's Style

There was nothing methodical about planning our hill days. Somebody would make a suggestion and, if met with general approval, that's where we went. We could be on The Lowthers one weekend and gallumphing across the Cairngorm plateau the next.


No such thing as risk assessment in those days either. The school were told we were going away for the weekend and we're taking the minibus and that was it. We knew what we needed to carry on our backs and were actively encouraged to be independent. We'd pile out of the bus, somebody would ask “Where we goin', Sir?” and a finger would be pointed in response. Wee groups would form up and away we'd go, bantering back and forth and generally having a jolly time of it. Nobody ever got lost and, only the once, did anybody get hurt; a turned ankle within sight of the car park. The casualty was evacuated on the back of Big Gordon. No helicopters required.

Happy days.

Fast forward 30 years and you find a man with an aversion to clubs of any kind but hillwalking clubs in particular. I'm no' sure why but I think what I get from being in the hills these days is a lot different to what I got out of it back then. These days I like my own company, the solitude and the freedom to make my own decisions; where to go and when and for how long. It's good. It'd be nice to share it
with someone now and again but it's not the end of the world.

Maybe it's the thought of sharing it with a bunch of relative strangers, hee-hawing about the place and crowding folk. I've had a few peaceful moments shattered by big groups and it's no' something I'd wish on others.


So, whenever I see a club diary on the interweb, I don't think “Ooo, that sounds good. I wonder if they'd let me join?”, it's more “Well, I know where I won't be going this weekend”.


Anti-social? Not at all. Grumpy old man? I'm working on it.

Hold the middle

This is me, as I appear on the killing grounds of Halo 3. I've spent a lot of time there recently, mostly in what are called Big Team Battles. 16 players, 8 to a side, fighting it out across maps that once existed solely in the minds of those magnificent people at Bungie and now brought stunningly to life on my telly-box.

It's marvellous. Technology aside, I love the spontaneous camaraderie of 8 people, who may never have met in the real world, banding together to strive for a common goal. Or, as can happen, 8 people running around, getting in each other's way and just having a blast.

"Hold the middle" Copyright El Burrhito at TTL.

The picture above is an un-retouched, hi-def, screen grab. It reminds me of 80's sci-fi paperback cover art. Stunning, if you like that kind of thing. Which I do.

It's been Team Swat this weekend. Teams of 4, limited weapons and instant-kill headshots. It's fast and furious and just so much gosh-darn fun. Ach, it's not for everybody but whatever gets you through the day, right?

BST

A lot of folk think it stands for British Summer Time. I don't. I think it's the short form for Bullshit. I mean, I feel bad enough as it is without them nicking an hour off me and screwing wi' my body-clock. I need my sleep, Goddamit!!!

The war's over.

Bastards.

We are 1 (and a bit)

I missed it by just over three weeks. Disnae seem like a year since I first decided to put my inane witterings on the interweb for all to see. A year of haphazard postings, dodgy photies and a smidgen of hill days.

Och well, there's always this year even tho' it hasnae exactly gotten off tae a flyer.

Please note the lack of a year's worth of stats btw. I rarely look at them. Wouldnae want to be accused of being a "Stat Hoor"* or a "Stat Tart".**

As for it being an ego-trip...... you be the judge.

Thanks for stopping by. Again.

*Statistics Whore - one who is more concerned with visitor numbers than content

**Statistics Tart - as above

The Dreaded Lurgey

The New Guy didn't know what The Lurgey was. He'd never heard of it. I tried to explain, it's not a cold and it's not the flu' but something in-between. A general feeling of not-wellness, often manifesting as snotters and croaky voice, a cough that can be "productive" but also dry. Aching bones, zero energy and a desire to crawl back into bed and stay there. It ebbs and flows like a pestilential (is that even a word?) tide. You think you're on the mend and then it's back.

That's two weeks now and I still feel crap. It's rubbish.

Photo of the week

Holly the SARDA dog. Glencoe 14/03/08. Copyright Getty Images.

I saw this on the Beeb's Scotland page. It made me smile and, if I'm being honest, brought a wee lump to my throat. Apart from the brown markings, that could be oor Meg.

I'll have another wee hill dug one of these days, just not right now. Three's quite enough, thank you. Oh aye, and not forgetting the two step-dugs.

Pitlochry Redux - Part II

So Saturday was spent wandering the main drag for one end to the other. At the Southern end lies Escape Route, a bike shop but with plenty of other stuff to interest the likes of me. The lads in the shop were clearly enthusiastic and much banter was exchanged. I left with a "Life is Good" long-sleeve tee, a handful of Power Bars and a couple of Honey Stingers. I also put my name down for a pair of Haglos Rugged Mountain Pants. It would've been rude not to. It wasn't 'til I looked at the receipt later that I saw the 10% discount. They're good lads right enough.

Up the other end of town there's a coffee shop, Cafe Chocolate, if I remember correctly. Their cake selection is enormous and, I suspect, made on the premises. I can recommend the Caramel Shortcake and the Carrot Cake. Their coffee's no' bad either. I was positively vibrating from the sugar and caffiene by the time we left.

The rest of the day was spent loafing about our room, snacking and watching telly. Zulu Dawn, which I'd never seen, was surprisingly good.

After an expensive, but superb meal in the hotel, we crashed.

On Sunday, we packed up early and left but nipped up to Loch Faskally to get some photies. Ben Vrackie had had a wee dusting of snow overnight and looked great. We decided tho' that discretion was the better part of valour and voted to leave it for another day.

Ben Vrackie, looking grand.

There were ducks aplenty and we were therefore heavily outnumbered. I don't trust ducks;they have beady little eyes so I stayed by the car. Just in case.

Keep the car running.

Pitlochry Redux - Part 1

Two years. That's how long it is since we were last up this way. Oh, we'd whizzed by on the way to points further North and West but this was to be the first time we'd actually stopped in Pitlochry in an age.

We needed some downtime, a break from the daily grind of the 9 to 5'er and so a weekend away was proposed. After much searching (Scotland's pretty much shut until April) we settled on Pitlochry as a reasonable choice. It's only an hours drive away, there are hills and, just as importantly, shops if it's raining.

Some luxury was called for and so we took lodgings at the Pine Trees Hotel, a fine old Victorian pile, situated up on the hill above the toon.
The drive up was "interesting"; pitch dark, gale force winds and lashing rain. Apart from nearly ending up in the Tummel (damn those shitty road markings) and getting lost (damn those shitty directions) we got there in pretty good time.

I'm no' a big fan of hotels but this one had a nice atmosphere, relaxed and no' too up itsel'. The staff, mostly Eastern European, were smiley, polite and attentive. Our famous Heelan Hospitality is imported these days, it seems.

We'd taken some basic walking gear on the premise that we'd have a dander up Ben Vrackie if the weather was reasonable but Saturday was a mixture of sunshine, freezing wind and showers. And so to Plan B, a wander round the shops. The only ones I was interested in were the pie shop and the gear shop. Or MacDonalds Brothers and Escape Route, respectively.

Macdonald's Steak Pies are superb and buying one while I was there was always part of the plan. They're no' exactly cheap but they're worth it. And you can even order online. Sometimes, I really, really love the internet.A Macdonald's Steak Pie in all its' glory

An empty Macdonald's Steak Pie Dish in all its' glory. Photo taken on Sunday, just after tea time.

Coming next, "Killer Ducks and Gear Shops".

Weapon of Mass Distraction

Aye well, it had to happen sooner or later. I thought I did quite well, lasting a whole 2 months before signing up to Xbox Live. It's now a week later. A week of playing Halo3 and rising to the rank of Sergeant - Grade 2.

Xbox Live is great. It's like Web 2.0 with guns. You get to meet people from many different countries and cultures and then engage them in battle. Or, and this is my favourite bit, team up and fight alongside them against complete strangers.

And it's only £5 a month. A fiver to kick whiney, American teenagers' asses for hours on end*. What's not to like?

It's a terrible distraction tho' and I can only apologise for the lack of any activity on the blogging front. Normal service will be resumed shortly.

Coming soon, "Pitlochry Redux - A tale of hills unclimbed, pies and killer ducks".

*Or, by turns, have your ass kicked by little girls with too much time on their hands.

Breaking The Law - Update

The campaign to free our Wild Camping Southern cousins from the bonds of oppression continues apace with 540 signatures, last time I checked. Updates are available over at www.outdoorbloggers.com where various folk are working their arses off to push this through. They deserve your support so, if you're a British Citizen & haven't signed, please do so now. It takes 2 minutes. 2 minutes to dispel the FUD* surrounding the activity that hunners, if not thoosands, of folk enjoy.


You too can be like us Scots, and you know you want to, and enjoy the freedom of an overnight in the hills without fear of being moved on.

*FUD - Fear Uncertainty Doubt
Or, a Scots term for those who want to keep things as they are. ie a fanny.

Edited to add tip o' the hat to Duncan for the graphic. Nice one.

Glumness on Glas Maol

Before posting about the Tallacs, I'd hunted through our photies for a shot of them in action. I knew there had to be some and I eventually found one today, on an old PC up in the loft. It was taken on Glas Maol back in September 2005 and if I don't look happy, it's because I wasn't.

The author, looking down in the dumps. Note footwear, stealthy garb and pre-Carbonlite Leki's.

It sums up, for me, everything that's wrong with "bagging" Munros for the sake of a tick on a list. Firstly, it's a dull hill. There's nothing remarkable about it* but I'd set off to climb it as it was one of the last two Glenshee Munros that I hadn't done.

Outside of Winter, when a good dump of snow can hide a multitude of sins, the Glenshee Ski Centre is a mess. It's horrible. To get there, I'd taken a day off work, driven for nearly 2 hours and passed many other fine wee hills on the way. There were other people about but they were, with but one exception, to a man and woman, Ignorant Bastards. My cheery "Hiya's" brought forth scowls and, happily, a fair bit of shame-faced discomfiture. There were red lugs aplenty.

I've always maintained that you meet nicer folk on Corbetts and indeed any hill that disnae appear in the Reverend's Tables and this day proved it. In fact, it was nearly 2 years before I set foot on another Munro and in that time I had many a cheery encounter with folk who's opening gambit wisnae "How many's that then?".







*Except of course for the Mountain Hares which are huge and numerous. Oh awright, and the views. Sometimes.

A splash of colour

A bit of banter over at ptc's the other night got me thinking about the lack of bright colours in my wardrode. All my stuff is either Green or Black or Charcoal or Graphite or whatever. I thought at first that my Aspira Jacket in Red (sorry, Fire) and Black was the sole exception and then I remembered these babies.




The Nike Tallac. I've had them for a few years now and I've done more miles in them than I can count. I think that's why I forget about them; they're my footwear of choice. It's a no-brainer. They're too hot for warm weather and I still prefer my Hillmaster GTX's for snow (or the La Sportiva Makalu's, if I'm feeling particularly masochistic) but, 9 times out of 10, it's the Tallacs.

They're light, waterproof and so damn comfy that I forget I'm wearing them. My only gripe is the weedy tread pattern on the sole. Give them something a bit more aggressive and they'd be perfect.
Plus, they look weird. Even a tad garish. The plasticy exo-skeleton is a bit mental but, considering the abuse they've had, it's held up well. And they don't really "go" with anything. Or they didn't until I bought the OMM packs. That black dyneema looks awfy familiar.

I've never seen anybody else wearing them either so there's an exclusivity factor. Or maybe everybody else thinks they're crap. Who knows or indeed cares? They work for me. My feet love them and when my feet are happy, I'm happy.

"It's criminal. There ought to be a law..."

...As Bon Scott once sang. Actually, there is. Our wild-camping English cousins are breaking the law every time they pitch their tents anywhere other than their gardens. If you want to save them from a life of crime, Darren has started an e-petition here.

I get the distinct impression tho' that some of them don't want to be saved. Tough titties. It's a rubbish law and should be scrapped in favour of something along the lines of our Scottish model. (There we go, leading the world again).

The Boy Hope is offering a Buy One, Get One Free on beers for anyone that signs*.



*There's small print, naturally enough.

Locked and Loaded

This week, I have mostly been playing Gears Of War. I've wanted a shot since I saw the trailer, yonks ago. All superb graphics and Mad World soundtrack. I've enjoyed it immensely.

The fact that one level featured a garage has nothing to do with it.

Denial of Service

So I finally got my car back, nearly 2 weeks after it broke. It's a sorry tale of false promises, incompetence and non-existent, nay absolute shit, customer service. They're Ignorant Bastards of a different sort. They made me angry and I don't like being angry. I'm an easy-going, laid back laddie and that's the way I like it. This last fortnight, I've been irratible and generally hacked off. Missing a chance to get out on the hills in the best winter weather we've had in a long time only made me feel worse.

But, at the end of the day, they've lost 2 customers. You see, The Future Mrs D had her wee car booked in for an MOT at the same garage. They failed it. They wanted to charge her a 4-figure sum and an indeterminate amount of time to fix it. She told them to "F**k Off!" and took it to Kwik Fit who did it for a few hundred the same day.

Wish I'd done that. But she's great that way and I can only marvel at her. Next time my car breaks, I'll chuck her the keys and my credit card. It'll be quicker and cheaper.

The Ochils 5/1/08 - A Mixed Bag

So I stopped procrastinating and announced, publicly, that I would, this very weekend, go for a walk. The weather didn't look great but that wasn't going to stop me. And so, with the requisite fannying aboot out of the way, I set off for Tillicoutry.

The journey along the A91 wasn't as scenic as I've seen it. Patchy snow in the fields and the tops hidden under a blanket of grey. Arriving at 11am, the rain started. No problem, it'll be snowing higher up.

Kit choice for the day was slightly retro; I'd dug out my Buffalo Mountain Shirt, Jack Wolfskin Greenland Pants, Brasher Hillmaster GTX boots and matching Berghaus Paclite Smock and troo's.

As the rain looked like it was here to stay, I donned my Paclite outer layers and set off. The walk up thru' the Mill Glen was a treat; the rain had swollen the burn and the waterfalls were in full swing. It's a great wee walk in any weather and worth half an hour of your time if you're ever up that way. Leaving the glen, I cut up towards Kirk Craigs and picked up the path that traverses the hill above the Gannel Burn. Shortly after, I hit the snowline. And that's when my troubles started, You see, I'd re-packed my bag when I was back at the car, ditching stuff that I didn't think I'd need. Stuff including gaiters. Big mistake.

As I hit the deeper snow, I could feel the tell-tale sensation of melting snow below the ankle-line. No problemo. Dig a finger in there, scoop it oot and carry on. As a plan, it was doomed to failure.

The path that traverses above the Gannel Burn goes from a reasonably wide affair to a deeply eroded, narrow, miniature slit-trench the higher up you go. Not a problem in dry weather but with rapidly thawing snow and pissing rain it had turned into a slush filled horror fest. Even where it wasn't thawing, the snow was that wet, slippy kind that affords no purchase for the feet. Worse, I was the first person to head up that way so there was an added element of breaking trail. Somebody had come down the path but the bugger's feet were so small as to be useless for planting my size 11's in.

Looking back towards The Law from the path above the Gannel Glen - Jan 07

Now, the old me would have said "F**k it. This is rubbish. Let's go home, smoke fags and watch the telly". But not today. I was actually enjoying myself in a perverse kind of way. My boots were awash but my feet, like the rest of me, were warm. The wind was on my back and the sound of rain, and occasionally hail, rattling off my Paclite exterior was oddly comforting. I knew my usual lunch stop was up ahead and that I'd find deep snow, and therefore shelter, close by.

I was nearly there and looking forward to the rest when, head down and concentrating on Mr Size 5's footprints, I put my left leg straight in a boggy bit, right up to the knee. That woke me up.

The author enjoying similar conditions not far from The Bog - Jan 07

On a wee bit further and there was the snow bank, right where I knew it would be. Dumped the pack and stamped myself a deep seat out of the wind. The next hour passed in no time at all. Flask of coffee, pieces and Mars Bars were consumed to the mixed sounds of hail, wind and complete silence. It's what I come here for. I was back.

Re-fuelled, it was up and off to Kingseat where the views were non-existent but that didn't matter, just being there was the thing. Dropping back down, I picked up my trail and slipped and slithered my way back the way I'd come. Still smiling in the teeth of a biting wind. Great stuff.

Oh aye, on the way home, my car broke but that's a post for another day.

Revolution, not Resolutions

I'm no' making any resolutions for the coming year. 2007 was a bit rubbish when it came to quality hill days so it's obvious what needs to be done; a lifestyle revolution.

• No loafing indoors when the weather's half-decent
• No staying home because the weather might be rubbish
• No "I'll go next weekend"
• No "I'll pack my bag/make my pieces/find something to wear in the morning"
• etc, etc

In short, an end to Procrastination. And, as a born Procrastinator, that's a big lifestyle change. Trust me.

Anyway, I'm no' gettin' any younger and who knows what the future holds? I mean, how can I torment The Baggers* when I've still got Munros and Corbetts that havnae been visited yet?

I'm going to make 2008 The Year I Got My Mojo Back. Yes indeedy.

*Bagger Baiting is one of my favourite guilty pleasures and is rooted in history but that's worth a post in itself. If I ever meet a "Compleatist", I swear, I'll think I've died and gone to Heaven.

A rush and a push.....

and this land that we stand on is ours. Or at least it can be, for only £79.99 Buy It Now.
It was the "Your own campsite. Scottish plot of land to camp on" that caught my eye. I was under the impression that I can camp anywhere in Scotland as long as I stay within the rules of the "code". Hmmm, fools and their money.

Oh, and you get to call yourself Laird or Lady. Oh aye? Laird/Lady of what exactly? I suppose you could name your wee plot of land. That might work. What's the Gaelic for "that wee bit of midgie-infested grund wi' the twa trees, whur ra sheep winnae go"?

Personally, I'd rather buy a wee island in the Hebrides and build a Banana Republic. I'd have a private army and everybody would have to call me El Presidente.

Thousand Yard Stare

This holiday period, I have mostly been playing Call of Duty 4 on my new XBox. I've so far resisted signing up for XBox Live, otherwise I may never leave the house.

Pong, it ain't.

By Your Command

One of the highlights of my telly viewing week was the much-anticipated (by me, at any rate) Battlestar Galactica: Razor. Now, I was never a fan of the original series, finding it just a wee bit too "cheesy" for my taste*.

As I've said before, I like my sci-fi dark, intelligent and, quite frankly, grown-up. (Don't mention the "new" Dr Who. Jeez!) When the "re-imagined" Battlestar Galactica came along, I was hooked. Three seasons later, I still think it's one of the best bits of sci-fi ever. Seek it out, if you can. (3 Seasons in one DVD boxed set for £35. Bargain.)

Love, Sex, Death, Betrayal, Violence, big budget special effects and a superb cast. Marvellous.

I'll be buying Razor on Boxing Day, when it comes out on DVD.

*Spoiler Alert!

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However, I was tickled that vintage Cylon Centurions put in an appearance during Razor, as The Guardians, the stuff of Cylon legend.

Yield not to temptation.....

I was in Summits yesterday and, by some miracle, came away with nothing for myself, just the present for The Boy that I'd gone in looking for in the first place. I must be ill.

I somehow managed to ignore the siren's song of the Rab Photon Hoodie (9/10 on the temptation scale) and the Vapour Rise (8/10). Some fondling did take place but I stayed strong and marched resolutely out the door. Either my inner gear monster's sleeping or there's a part of my brain that's finally woken up to the fact that there really is such a thing as too much gear.

(Let's just not talk about the Aspira Jacket from last week, right?)

I came home to a card from the postie. There's a parcel waiting for me at the sorting office. That'll be the Camp Corsa then.

Oh dear.

On the bright side, I never even set foot in Tiso's.

Trail Bait

So the latest incarnation of the Trail website is up and the bugs are slowly being ironed out. It's arrival was greeted by much hoo-ha and wringing of hands. Toys were tossed out of the pram and folk hoisted their petticoats and left, vowing never to return. But, of course, they did. Such anguish over what is, after all, a free resource. I've never seen the like.

The Trail-haters on OM were gifted a sitter but even they failed to run with it. Changed days.

The site isn't what I expected but I sort of like it in a retro, back to the late nineties when the internet was young, kind of way. I thought it would be flashier and more like the magazine, which is looking fairly slick these days, but it's not. I can't help feeling that they've dropped the ball a bit and perhaps missed a golden opportunity to pull in more readers. If, indeed, that's what the plan was.

But then I could say the same about TGO. Last time I looked, the forum was quiet and full of spam.
I think for a magazine to thrive these days, it needs a strong web presence. Neither Trail nor TGO have that. Not yet, at least.

TGO's alliance with Outdoorsmagic was working well for a time. Chris Townsend, John Manning and Cameron McNeish were fairly regular contributors and that was a good thing. I bought many issues of the mag as a result of some of the threads on OM. But they slipped away and set up shop on their own. A shame as OM is still the best outdoors-related website out there.

I'll watch with interest how the sites develop over the next wee while. I might even contribute from time to time because that's what it's all about; folk contributing and keeping the forums alive.

Success depends on keeping the punters engaged and you can't do that with a half-arsed website.

Move along.....

....nothing to see here. It's been a slow day so I'm tinkering.

Back to the Future

In the box where I found Highland Days, there was a copy of Ralph Storer's "Exploring Scottish Hill Tracks". I've got his "100 Best Routes...." book and I'd been meaning to get a copy of this one for some time and there it was, priced at a couple of quid. Bargain.

It's a wee bit dated but still a good read and it's given me ideas for 2 or 3 day walks (overnighters) which is something I havnae done for a long, long time. (I've a mind to do the WHW next Spring but I don't want to jinx it by talking about it out loud).


Another reason I mention it is that Ralph was one of my Computing Studies lecturers at Napier. If I'd known he was a hill man maybe I would've gone to his classes more often. Instead, I dropped out, got a job in IT and actually started working for a living. And here I am, paying more attention to his written word now than I did back then. His book on Structured Programming is pure rubbish by the way.

A load of Balls

So there I am, sitting doing a fair bit of nothing much, when the postie chaps* on the door. I open it and he hands me a small box. It's addressed to me and has a Mountaineering Council of Scotland postmark. It rattles when I shake it. I havnae ordered anything from them so I'm figuring it must be a mistake but, what the hey, I'll open it.

It's full of balls. They look like something you'd put out for the birds and then it dawns on me; I'd won something! Well, more of a free draw but they'd pulled my name oot the hat. I'd seen something in the last issue of The Scottish Mountaineer and thought "Oooo, that's interesting." and fired off an email.

They're Bounce Balls, made with natural ingredients and designed to keep you going when you're out and about. More details at http://www.bouncesnackfoods.com/uk/index.php but I can tell you they're actually really tasty. And, in my case, free. :o) I'll definitely look into getting more when these ones run out.

Big thanks to the MCofS and Bounce for the freebies. Much appreciated.

*chaps - Scottish for "knocks on".

The Good Old Days

The Future Mrs D and I recently made a foray to Kinross Market, ostensibly to get some stuff for the dugs but in reality a chance to pick up some of The World's Best Tablet* and have a rummage thru' the second hand books. So there I am, working my way thru' the many boxes of books on offer but, apart from a couple of SciFi classics, finding not very much at all. I was on the very last box and just about to call it a day when I spotted a familiar face under a pile of AA road maps; it was none other than the late Tom Weir and a pristine copy of Highland Days, that was mine for less than £4.

I finished it last night and it's been an inspiration. It's reminded me of the joy of being in the hills and the love I have for this country of ours. Such a great wee book and so beautifully written that you can feel the wee man's passion for the outdoors flowing from nearly every page.

It should be required reading in schools. Brilliant, just brilliant.

*A concoction of Condensed Milk and Sugar that's a bit like fudge only firmer. Dentists like it because it makes them rich.

The Dark Side

A "weel kent face" on the OM & Trail forums, and now a columnist in Trail Magazine itself, Ptc* has turned his hand to blogging. It's a medium that I think will suit his unique mix of technical knowledge, intelligent wit and flowery banter. I laughed out loud several times. And it looks good too.

He's going to be a busy boy, what with the new arrival so the posts may be a bit sporadic. Or at least at odd times of the night :o)

Go look here.

Blot on the landscape

Of the several hills I can see from the house, Bishop Hill is the closest and there's never a day goes by that I don't spend a wee bit of time gazing up at it. A couple of months ago, I noticed an irregularity on the skyline; a dark, rectangular object on the crest of the hill. I peered at it but couldn't make it out. I thought maybe a part of the forestry up there had been clear-felled but the object was higher than the existing tree-line. A few days later, on a bright, sunny morning, I saw that the "object" had been topped with a large, white "golf ball". So, definitely man-made then.

To say it dominates the skyline would be a bit of an understatement. On a clear day, you can't miss it. And so, severely pissed-off, I set off on a bright and breezy day to get a closer look. It didn't take long. On the road to Scotlandwell, it dominates the view ahead; a green, metal tower with a white dome on top. You really can't miss it.

40 minutes after leaving the car, I was on the wee, un-named bump near White Craigs. The tower was about 10 meters away from the small cairn, just inside the plantation. I dug the camera out, only to find that the battery was flat. And so, rather than just turn around, I stomped off towards towards "The Bishop", occasionally looking back at the mast. That just made me even madder so I decided to concentrate on the walk. Wasn't that difficult as it turns out because the wind was so strong that it required a huge effort to keeping moving forwards rather than sideways.

The summit was too exposed to hang about on so I headed down the leeward side to get a spot of lunch and watch as lumps of dried moss and grass flew thru' the air like mini tumbleweed. Nice views of The Lomonds as well.

The walk back to the car was a case of "Don't look at it, just keep walking".

Glutton for punishment that I am,, I went back last Tuesday but with a fully charged camera this time.

View from halfway up

A stone's throw from the cairn

Looking back from Bishop Hill, The Pentlands just visible thru' the haze

From speaking to a local, it seems that the tower was constructed by men in "army uniform". That'll be alright then? I'm going to have a wee dig around and see if I can find out who put it there, what it is and whether they had planning permission. If it was the MOD, then they probably don't need any. We shall see.

The Early Bird

Last Saturday, I was woken up by the big dogs barking their proverbial heads off. Checking my watch, I was somewhat peed-off to find that it was 5:15AM and, as a bonus, still dark outside.

So, off I trudged downstairs, through the house and, once I'd fumbled with the locks a bit, out the back door. Flicked on the security light and, naturally enough, there's no sign of any living thing, just 2 large hairy dogs looking awfy pleased with themselves. Could've been a stray dog at the back gate or maybe the wee hedgehog that was spotted earlier in the week, taking a short cut through the garden. Who knows? "What the f**k are you barking at?" only led to more tail wagging.

Being wide-awake by now, I let the dogs out and it was then I noticed how utterly still the world was. The pre-dawn sky was a beautiful blue-black and there, over to the East, was Venus. It was, quite simply, the most breathtakingly beautiful thing I'd see in a long time. I stood there for ages, just staring at it, completely transfixed. At one point I nipped in to get the camera but, without a tripod, I'd no chance of getting a decent photie. I tried tho'.

Looking East, the wee white splodge near the middle is Venus.

Eventually, I wandered back inside for a coffee. Less than 2 hours later, this happened;

The camera, and my photographic skills, can't do it justice but it was simply stunning. And the colours changed from minute to minute. I lost track of how long I was out there but it was a long while. It's one of the many reasons I love living where we do; the views can be out of this world.
I'd forgotten how much I liked being up at such an early hour. I really need to do it more often.

My Pirate name is...

My pirate name is:

Black Morty Roberts

Like anyone confronted with the harshness of robbery on the high seas, you can be pessimistic at times. Two things complete your pirate persona: style and swagger. Maybe a little too much swagger sometimes -- but who really cares? Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Vertically Challenged

Just heard that Beinn Dearg has fallen a "couple of feet short" of Munro height. That's made my day, that has.

Just remember, you heard it here first.

BBC Scotland article here.

Summer's here!!!

At long last, a spell of decent weather. I should've known really, that Wednesday would be the day, because Summer last year was on a Wednesday too. According to the weather boffins, it's likely to continue until Sunday so that'll be a whole 5 days. Unbelievable! It could almost be 1976, all over again.

View from the back garden with East Lomond in the middle distance

It hasnae rained for nearly 3 days tho' so I expect there'll be drought warnings along soon enough.

Bloody typical that the good weather comes along mid-week as well. The Beeb and Triple Echo must be gutted; if only they'd scheduled The Great Climb for this weekend. The Weather Gods must be pishin' themselves. And 'twas ever thus.


Welcome to Scotland. Hope you packed your wellies.

Slippery when wet

My wee Lomonds sojourn was the first opportunity I'd had to try out the Deetfree Insect Repellant. It being a warm day with only a gentle breeze, there were plenty of flying critters around. Nothing seemed to be biting but I was getting a bit cheesed off with things buzzing round my head and just generally being annoying. So, at my traditional "juice stop", I whipped out the bottle and proceeded to apply it to my legs and lower arms.

First thing I noticed was the smell; "mentholy" probably best describes it. Not at all unpleasant if you like that kind of thing. Second thing I noticed was the sudden lack of buzzing. The wee buggers don't seem to like it and cleared off toot sweet. So, a result then.

While I was loafing about on top of West Lomond, I noticed that my hairy pins had developed a slightly distressing "wet look". I have to confess that I hadn't read the application instructions and, not wanting to get my hands covered in oil, I hadn't rubbed it in. However, there seemed to be a fair few dead things sticking to me so I assume it not only repels beasties but kills them as well. So far so good.

On returning to the car, I did my usual of sitting in the boot, letting my legs dangle and enjoying the breeze wafting round my feet. It wasn't until I climbed into the driver's seat that I noticed the dark stain on the seat covers. Worse, on arriving home, I walked round to the back of the car to get my stuff out of the boot and saw two large oily patches on the back bumper, corresponding to where I'd been dangling my legs. The patches were still there several days later so it's long-lasting too. (The Future Mrs Duncan kindly offered to wash my car but even her prodigious cleaning skills couldn't entirely shift it)

I'll need to remember to pack an old towel for wiping-off duties next time. Or, try rubbing it in and see if that makes a difference. I think it could be a problem using this stuff on overnighters because I really wouldn't want to get it on a sleeping bag, for example. I'll probably save it for day walks and use the Skin So Soft for anything longer because, as it's a Dry Oil, I've never had any bother with getting everything covered in it.

I'd still give it 8 out of 10 tho' and say it's worth trying if, like me, you're not entirely happy using something on your skin that can melt plastic.

Familiar Ground

Tuesday 24th July (My Birthday)

As soon as I looked out the window, I knew there was no way I could face driving all the way to Glenshee. The weather was far too good to even contemplate sitting in a car for 2 hours. The Lomonds looked awfy appealing and so, with the minimum of fuss, I threw some food and drink into a bum bag, hopped in the car and set off. Half an hour later, I was parked at Craigmead and ready for the off. The arrival of a minibus full of elderly Ramblers was all the incentive I needed to get going.

West Lomond from the road to Craigmead


The path to West Lomond is an absolute joy compared to the boggy horror-fest that it used to be. It speeds you on your way, the cone of West Lomond always visible ahead and wide open spaces to either side. 40 mins after leaving the car park, I was on the summit.



Some eedjit gettin' in the way of a good photie


East Lomond with Largo Law (left) and the Bass Rock (right) in the background

I took some photies and settled in to one of the big shelter cairns, snacking on Samosa, Beef Jerky and Jelly Babies. I'd been here dozens of times before, in all weathers, but it still felt good to be back. I was just finishing my food when somebody popped up near the trig; a young lass, out of breath and a bit red in the face. She was quickly joined by another. Then another but this time with a laddie in tow. Then an older guy. The proverbial Party of Five.


I nodded and waved then went back to polishing off the last of the jerky. When I next looked up, the older guy had produced a giant blue urn from his pack and was trying to balance it on top of the trig. Stepping slowly back, he then starts taking photies.


Now, I've seen enough piles of ash up there to know what was coming next so, not wanting to be covered in anybody's dead relative, I split pretty damn ricky tick.


The path was a lot busier on the walk back but I merrily exchanged "hiya"s and "crackin' day"'s with all and sundry. Naturally, no walk would be complete without a pair of IB's and, right enough, there they were. An older couple who completely ignored my cheery greeting. They couldnae quite ignore me stopping dead, turning round and muttering "F**k's sake" at their retreating backs tho'.


That was the only downer on an otherwise great wee outing.

And speaking of The Lomonds, it was nice to see them getting a mention in the Routes section of this month's Trail magazine.

Eject, Eject, Eject!!!

There's nobody here. Even our customer base has b******d off for the holidays. I feel like the last crewman aboard a stricken B17 going down over Eastern Europe; everybody's bailed out except me.

Just as well I've taken tomorrow off then.

I reckon a wee visit to the Glenshee hills is in order. I havnae been up that way in an age and, last time I checked, the weather forecast was looking good.

I'm getting fair excited at the thought. (And that, my friends, is a big improvement. Trust me.)

Clear the decks

Finally managed to get up into the loft and sort out some of the excess gear I've got lying about up there. I swear, 90% of the stuff I've got has never been used. It's all "bargains" or "spares" or "nice to haves" or "what if I need?"s. But, at the end of the day, it's just stuff. It doesn't add anything to my life if it's sitting in storage. It's just more clutter. And clutter gets right on my t*ts, these days.

Who actually needs 7 tents, 8 rucksacks, 4 stoves and 11, that's right 11, windproofs? No' me, that's for sure.

So off to Ebay they go, initially in batches of 6. Any more than that and I find that Ebaying becomes a hassle, answering questions from bidders, finding packing materials, wrapping stuff up and carting it to the Post Office. Sometimes it ain't worth the grief.

Last time I had a clear out, I foolishly left the money in my Paypal account and, of course, ended up buying more stuff because it disnae feel like spending real money, does it? This time, the dosh is going straight in the bank.

Hopefully, by the time I've finished, I'll have a leaner, meaner gear collection. Less choice = Quicker Out The Door Time, or that's the plan, at any rate.

TMI

Too Much Information. Too many blogs and forums to keep up with, I feel like I'm spreading myself too thin. It doesn't help that I spend a huge chunk of my working day monitoring my "customers" internet use, making sure that they're sticking to our Acceptable Use Policy and not surfing for stuff that might be considered "dodgy".

I look for patterns of behaviour, sifting through data and tracking URLs. Often it becomes a one-on-one battle as I head off some wee tow-rag's attempts to bypass our filtering software and get at the good stuff, usually Bebo. Sounds fairly innocent at first but I've found that it's being used more and more often to harrass or bully others. Twice in the last month, I've been asked to secure evidence of online-bullying that's been so severe that the Police have been involved. Social Networking, my arse.

Over the last couple of weeks, I've been winding down my "web presence" and doing more real-world stuff and it's been good.

I'll be taking more time out, more R&R, more "me time" etc over the next few months so expect even less frequent postings on this here blog. Unless I actually climb some hills that is, in which case I'll be sure to let you know about it.

The Longest Day

Good grief! Where does the time go?

Die Midgie, Die!!!

My free sample of Deetfree natural insect repellant arrived today, courtesy of Outdoorsmagic and those nice people at Deetfree.com.

As you'd expect, there's no Deet in it. (Well, duh!: Ed) Good news for folk averse to covering themselves in chemicals. And it shouldn't melt plastic or damage man-made fibres either. It's a mix of various plant oils including Tea Tree and Eucalyptus so it smells great.

I don't expect it'll kill Midgies on contact but it'll probably make me smell a bit less palatable. It'll be interesting to see how it compares to Avon's Skin So Soft (Dry Oil) which I've been using for the last few years. With SSS, I found that the little buggers will land but not bite so all I have to put up with is that crawling sensation. Not nice but not as bad as loads of wee, itchy bumps. (Note to self: Buy a bloody head-net, this year!!!)

Looking on the bright side, if it wasn't for the Midgie, Scotland would be covered in thoosand's* of holiday villages.

I'm planning on heading out this weekend so I'll give it a go then. (I'll maybe pack the SSS as well tho'. Just in case like).

*Loads, hunners, millions etc

New Friends

As a result of my dabbling with StatCounter, I've discovered that this here blog is visited by far more folk than I thought likely. You see, the blog was only ever intended for me, to inspire and motivate myself. I never thought for a minute that I'd be visited by folk from all over the world.

So, hello and welcome. I hope you enjoy coming here as much as I enjoy having you :o)

Edit : Apologies for the occasional use of profane language. We Scots can be a right coarse bunch sometimes.

Go wild in the country

I've just watched Landward (Fri 7pm BBC2 Scotland) for the first time in ages. (Thanks to the "heads-up" from Aktoman). I used to watch it on a fairly regular basis when it was transmitted on a Sunday and I enjoyed the mix of farming and general outdoors stuff that they put out.

I was particularly interested in Friday's show because they were going to cover the "contentious issue of wild-camping" here in Scotland. No surprises then that their idea of wild-camping and mine are vastly different.

The wild-campers in question are the folk who pull up their cars on, for example, Loch Lomond-side, unpack their Tesco tent, barbecue and carry-out and proceed to have a jolly old time around the camp fire (fuelled by whatever they can cut, break or otherwise get from the nearest available trees) and, when nature calls, either pish in the loch or take a dump behind the nearest available bush. (Providing it hasn't already been used for firewood, that is).

In the morning, if they can be arsed, they pack up their tent and go home, leaving their mess for someone else to clear up. That's what Park Rangers are for, right? Otherwise, they just get in the car and leave everything; tents, chairs, sleeping bags and rubbish, behind.

The really worrying thing is, Landward never interviewed what I would call a real, low impact, never-know-I'd-been-there wild camper or even gave a proper definition of wild-camping. Instead they talked to some fishermen, complete with massive tent and a cheery fire going, on the shores of Loch Earn. They claimed to leave the place as they found it, the inference being that they are proper wild campers.

The talking heads included somebody from the Ardvorlich Estate (Loch Earn, see above) and Fergus Wood of Ledard Farm. This last fellow was interesting in that Ledard Farm offers, among other things, "bothy-style" accomodation, at a price. Hmmmm.......

Hebe Carus, the Mountaineering Council Of Scotland's Access and Conservation Officer also had a say. Unfortunately, she didn't exactly put them straight on their definition of what is or isn't wild-camping. Instead she suggested that taking your litter home and burying your jobbies* was the way forward. Oh aye, and that we need a "camping code" and that perhaps we should be made to take our jobbies home with us, like they do in "other countries".

I feel an email to the MCofS and Landward coming on. They need to be put straight on what the difference is between a real a wild-camper and what I shall henceforth refer to as a Townie With A Tent, or T.W.A.T. for short.

If we're not careful, we could find ourselves staring down the barrel of access reforms and the kind of legislation that wild-campers in England and Wales currently "enjoy".

*Poo, crap, s**t etc

Promotions and demotions

Foinaven isn't being promoted to Munro status. It's a whole 3m too short.

That's a relief :o)

Chocolate Biccie Cake

While we're on the subject of food; next to Samosa, this is one of the best things I've ever eaten in the great outdoors. Ideal in Winter, it gives a nitrous oxide-style energy boost that's hard to beat. Tastes absolutely brilliant too.

The recipe was featured in Trail magazine's Trail Kitchen feature many, many moons ago. I've since given the magazines away but I think I can remember the gist of it so I'm going to jot it down here afore I forget.

Ingredients
200g unsalted butter
250g (approx) crushed digestive biscuits
100g brown sugar (or Muscavado)
3 tablespoons Golden Syrup
2 tablespoons cocoa powder

Method
Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed pan.
Add brown sugar, syrup and cocoa powder and return to heat.
Stir until the ingredients have melted together to form a thin "chocolatey sauce".
Remove from heat.
Add the crushed digestive biscuits and stir all the ingredients together.
Empty into a greased, shallow tray and smooth down.
Stick it in the fridge and allow to cool.
Cut it into chunks, large or small, and enjoy.

You can add stuff like dried fruit or, and this is what I do, get one of those big bars of Galaxy, melt it and spread it over the top. Fan-bloody-tastic :o)

Food Glorious Food

Aside from the weather, one of the things that can make a good hill day really special is food. There's nothing better than munching on some really nice tasties while taking in the views (or lack thereof). King of the hill snack is the Samosa. Veggie or meat-filled, it makes no odds, they're all good.

I've been meaning to try "jerky" in one of its' many forms for some time and so it was off to Ebay for a wee bit of a hunt. Didn't take long to find it either, 10 packs of Beef Jerky (Teryaki flavour) for under a tenner delivered. Long story short, it's fantastic. I'm hooked. I will definitely be taking a couple of packets along on the next walk.


Chewy, meaty goodness.

The seller also threw in a free pack of Jerky "nuggets" which were really, really nice. I'll be keeping an eye open for those.

While on Ebay, I also spotted some Peanut Butter M&Ms. Irresistible. I'll have some of those. Oh, and I'll take a packet of the Dark Chocolate ones as well, thanks very much. I'd intended to add these into some trail mix but I doubt they'll last that long. Nae will-power, that's my problem.

Note tell-tale ripped off corner.

Uhmmm, and again. Totally "more-ish" and brilliant with coffee :o)

Man make fire

Show me a man who isn't drawn to an open fire and I'll show you a man with no soul. I'm not talking about pyromania either. There's something deeply primeval about fire and, for me at least, it was an integral part of childhood outdoor adventures. As kids, we wandered for miles, exploring the woods and glens that surrounded us. Sometimes we'd find a place that we wanted to linger in or come back to time and again and it was in those places that we'd set up "camp".

First order of business would be to get a fire going and that job always fell to me. A shallow pit would be dug, tinder and fuel gathered and the fire lit. We'd sit then around, watching the flames and take in our surroundings. Simple pleasures that today's kids seem to have lost. When it was time to go, the fire would be put out and turf put back on top of the pit. Even back then, "leave no trace" was the unspoken rule. No cans, no empty Buckie bottles or crisp packets. No sign that we'd ever been there.

These days, campfires are frowned upon but I may have found a compromise; the wood-burning stove. I'd seen them over at Podcast Bob's but at £20+, I wasn't tempted. Then I spotted some on Ebay, listed as "seconds" and a snip at less than £10 delivered so I took a chance.

It turned up yesterday, the box slightly battered but the stove itself was in perfect nick. And so, as the sun went down, it was off out into the garden for a "test run". A wee bit of paper and a few twigs were all it took to get a fire going. In what felt like no time at all, I had boiling water. I also had something else; a big, stupid grin on my face. I was a kid again.

Plastic Fantastic

Bought a copy of Anquet Great Britain (North) a couple of weeks ago for £50, via Ebay. It's a revelation. Despite being IT literate and fond of most things geeky, I'd never considered getting into digital mapping. I like paper maps and have done for as long as I remember.*

I used the Ordnance Survey's OS Select service a couple of years ago and was impressed at the ability to choose an area to centre on. (Cruach Ardrain, in my case)

Anquet's another kettle of fish altogether. Hours of fun! I'd recently bought a decent printer (Canon Pixma iP4300) and a Garmin Geko 201 + data cable (£75, again via Ebay) so I'm now the proud owner of a complete "never get lost again" package.

The icing on the cake is the fact that TFMD has an A4 laminator. Oh, the joy :o)

I now have a pile of plastic-coated A4 maps, comprising my "hit list" of hills that I'll do this year AND, what better reason do I need for finally getting around to making Podcast Bob's "strapamaptome"?

So, when it's pishing down and blowing a gale outside, I can be inside, virtually wandering the hills and having a tremendously good time while I'm at it.

*The Future Mrs Duncan is, at this moment, in Ikea looking for a frame for my Bartholomews half-inch to the mile, map of Skye and Wester Ross. Cloth mounted, it's a thing of beauty.

The Power Of The Dog

Last Monday (7th) was exactly one year to the day that we lost Meg, our Border Collie-Spaniel cross. She was a great wee "hill dug" and we had some tremendous days out together. I still miss her and think about her every day. If you're not a dog person then you'll never understand the bond that exists between man and dog. Mans' best friend, indeed.

In fact, I can remember the exact date and time Meg died but couldn't tell you when my favourite Aunt passed away. I guess that makes me a dog person, right enough.

About 6 months before she died, Meg was operated on for Mammarian Cancer and I'd posted something about it on a thread on OM. The response was swift; messages of support from the dog owners and from folk who'd never owned a dog in their life. I posted a follow-up a couple of days after Meg's passing and again the response was heartfelt. They're good folk. Among the posts was one from Mal, an OM regular. He posted a poem by Rudyard Kipling and it said everything that needed to be said;

THE POWER OF THE DOG
Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
But when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie.
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years that nature permits
Are closing in asthma or tumors or fits
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers, or loaded guns.
Then you will find--its your own affair
But you've given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will
When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You still discover how much you care
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We've sorrow enough in the natural way
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em the more do we grieve;
For when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short time loan is as bad as a long.
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Back in Black

Well, mostly Green actually but with a bit of Black thrown in for good measure. I went for a walk yesterday!!! I know, I know, it's most unlike me but check this out:

1. Took Friday off and, after dropping the kids at school, went in by Asda and bought hill food.

2. Had food ready to go and my bag packed before I went to bed.

3. I'd only a vague idea of where I wanted to go but I thought I'd head up the A9 and stop wherever.

4. Up with the lark and out the door at 7:40am

5. Zoomed up the A9 and parked at Balsporran by 9:30. (OK, so I overshot and ended up in Dalwhinnie but I was bursting so a quick visit to the public loos was in order anyway).

After the requisite faffing about with my pack, map, food and a quick coffee and a banana, I was off by 10am and heading for Geal Charn (gyal chaarn). The sky was a beautiful cloudless blue with a bit of a chilly wind but the way ahead was clear and the path was good. An hour later, I was on the summit, sharing the shelter cairn with two lovely wifies from Glasgow.

Geal Charn from A'Mharconaich

Glasgow folk are great and, even for an anti-social git like me, easy to talk to. Turns out this was their first outing in an age as well. We sat for a bit, comparing the view to the map and agreeing that it was an altogether fantastic day to be out on the hills. A couple of older guys that I'd passed on the way up ( I was ready to say "hello" but, as I drew level, they stopped and turned their backs to me) arrived and, please forgive me Dear Reader, I ignored their greetings. And their request for somebody to take their photie. I know 2 wrongs don't make a right but how much effort does it take to say "hello" FFS? OK, I know it gets a bit wearing on busy hills but I met six people all day. No need.

That was the ladie's cue to leave, followed shortly by the IB's.* I lingered for a bit, taking a few photies and absorbing the atmosphere.

The Ben Alder group of hills.

After about 20 mins I was up and heading for A'Mharconaich (a varkaneech). I caught up with the ladies on the lower slopes but I found myself slowing down to let the IB's stay ahead. I was passed by a hill runner (Cheery "hiya's" were exchanged) and then I was on A'Mharconaich's broad ridge. Dawdled for a bit taking photies and the off towards the summit. When I got there, the IB's were ensconced in the shelter cairn so, after some mutual ignoring, I went downslope a wee bit and found a nice wee spot out of the wind. Hung about there for about half an hour, eating Samosa's and grinning like a loon.

Then it was a case of heading downhill, stopping occasionally to look back at where I'd been.

Looking back at A'Mharconaich

The descent path went from stony, to slippy, to full-on bog-fest but it was still enjoyable. Met one guy on his way up and again much pleasantries were exchanged. Actually, I met his dug first; a big Chocolate Lab that stopped to say hello and get a bit of hand-licking in. Back at the car by 2pm, sunburt and elated.

I hope I can keep the momentum going here because it felt good to get my "game face" on and get out there and do the thing I love.

Great stuff!!!

*IB's = Ignorant Bastards

Over the sea to Skye Part II

Ok, so no hills were climbed but that doesn't matter. Just being on Skye for a whole week was deeply satisfying in a "good for the soul" kind of way. Lovely wee cottage with great views, great company, an open fire and a Rayburn to cook on. Even the weather was kind; glorious sunshine nearly every day.

I actually enjoyed the drive up and back, all five and a half hours of it, because there's just so much damn fine scenery to look at. And the roads were relatively quiet, probably as it was the week before the English Easter Bank Holiday. Different story coming back; a steady stream of traffic heading north on the A9. Suckers :o)

Something I haven't experienced for a long time was a proper, clear night sky, free from street lighting. It was jaw-droppingly grand and, for the first time ever, I could actually see satellites with the naked eye. (Caused a wee bit of a UFO alert at first but they were appearing with such regularity that fears of alien invasion were quickly discounted).

And then there was the deer. The buggers were forever creeping about in the field opposite, dimly visible under the full moon but never close enough for us to get a good look until, that is, we surprised them by getting up early.

On our last day, we stood and watched them as they headed back into the trees for the day. TFMD had never seen Red Deer in the wild so it was a special moment and something we'll remember for a long time to come. A perfect end to a perfect week.