A Fyne day for a Royal wedding

The day of the Royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton was forecast to be a fine sunny day with a fresh to strong easterly wind - far too good to be sat in front of a television!

I planned a two day paddle down Loch Fyne and across to the Isle of Bute, hopefully going through the Kyles of Bute to the west side of the island.  I knew I'd have shelter from the easterly wind until I got into lower Loch Fyne, then I'd probably be exposed to it.

There's a good launch site in the village of Strachur near the head of Loch Fyne and I set out in very warm weather.  The wind was funnelling down the loch and gave me a good push.

Below Strachur, the lands on the east shore of Fyne are known as Strathlachlan.  It's a pleasant mix of wooded shore with pasture and moorland above.  After about 10 kilometers Kilbride Island is reached; above the shore on a small headland with views up and down the loch is a ruined chapel.  The name "Kilbride" suggests that an early monk may have used this place (the prefix Kil or Cill normally indicates a monks cell).  What is certain is that in the 12th century land and money were granted by the chief of Clan Lachlan to a group of friars in order to establish a chapel here.  As well as the main building, there are traces of other outbuildings visible on the ground.

A few kilometers further on, the ruin of Castle Lachlan occupies a rocky knoll next to a sheltered bay.  There has been a castle of one form or another here since the 12 century, with this building probably dating from the 13th century.  It was the seat of Clan Lachlan (or MacLachlan) who claimed ancestry from Irish princes (a Royal connection!).  The clan received land from Robert I of Scotland in the 12 century and were related to Clan Neill of Barra and Clan Sween - both clans noted sea raiders.

The castle is unusual in that within the square keep wall are linked tenement buildings and vaulted arches.  this was meant as a dwelling as well as being an impressive statement of power.  Today the south facing ivy-grown wall was a suntrap for visitors.

12 kilometers futher down the loch is Otter Ferry.  The name has nothing to do with the aquatic mammal, but derives from An Oitir (the spit), a sand bar which extends half way across the loch from here.  The ferry operated from the 18th century until 1948, and an anti-submarine boom was placed across the loch during World War 2.

The most significant building here now, especially for thirsty sea-kayakers, is the Oystercatcher.  A fine location for a sea kayaking pub, it also has the advantage of serving very fine Fyne ales.  I felt duty bound to drink a toast to the happy couple.....

The afternoon was turning to evening, but I had another couple of hours to go before finding a great camping spot on the shore.  I had great sightings of an Otter and a Fox on this stretch, the fox eading down the shore almost level with me.  At one point he stopped and sat down in a very dog-like manner to watch me pass.  So far I'd been sheltered from the wind, but during the last hour it had been increasingly turning against me and I knew that the following day would be hard.  It was time for an early night.

Birds and rocks, Spring on the Moray Firth

After an enforced gap in my paddling and hillwalking of four months due to work, a calm and sunny day seemed too good to miss.

I set out from the little harbour of Sandend, which is situated where a deep channel cuts through the rock.  Just out of shot to the right, a sweeping sandy bay is a popular spot with surfers - not today though in the calm conditions

Heading east across the bay, I meandered out to the West Head, rockhopping along the rugged cliffs.  The West Head has a couple of channels cutting right thorough it.  In the more usual conditions of swell on this coast they make intimidating paddling with surf and amplified swell surging through.  This is the wider of the two, and today was easy.

This is the narrower channel.  I've only ever managed to paddle through this once; even with today's low swell it looked difficult, the powerful surges creating a rise and fall of about two metres.  I backed off again!

Going around the point, soupy conditions showed that an occasional swell was still running.

Spring on the east coast brings seabirds in their tens of thousands. Although quite early in the season, Kittiwakes, Gulls and fulmars are on nests. uillemots, Razorbills and the gorgeous Black Guillemots are in rafts off the cliffs along with Eider and Long-Tailed Ducks. Farther offshore Gannets pass in dazzling white lines from their breeding cliffs near Troup Head. A Kestrel was calling constantly at the gulls passing it's cliff nest site; it's going to be a stressful season for this bird! And, a very special sighting. Heading purposefully east toward Troup Head was a Sea Eagle. I had to double and treble check; I've never seen one on the east coast, perhaps this is one of the birds released in Fife. Fantastic to see, hopefully this will be the start of a repopulation of these great birds.

I stopped for a lunch break in the pleasant harbour of Portsoy.  Peaceful today, the village hosts a Traditional Boat Festival each summer which brings throngs of folk from all over the country and beyond.

Theharbour wall at Portsoy is unusual in that it's built from stones placed vertically.  I don't know of any other harbours in the northeast of Scotland built this way.  The depth is indicated by numbers inscribed on stones - interestingly the numbers change to Roman numerals half way up - perhaps the mason couldn't fit the Roman equivalents for 7, 8 and 9 on the faces of the stones!

A slow paddle took me back to Sandend where the sun was hot and strong.  It's good to be back!

A colourful day on the Dorset cliffs

Whilst I've been at work, I've had a few opportunities to explore the Dorset coast on half day walks.  It's a surprisingly wild coast in parts and very varied.  In superb Spring weather yesterday, the walk along the stretch from Bowleaze to the White Nothe was truly beautiful.  The air was alive with birdsong, and I had my first view this year of a Common Sandpiper - the migrants are arriving in force.

The view to the east was truly exceptional

The chalk cliffs of this part of the coast were dazzlingly white and contrasting superbly with a calm and very blue sea.  This is the view from the headland of White Nothe looking over Bat's Head and Lulworth to the distant Purbeck Hills.  The top of the detached arch of Durdle Door is just visible immediately beyond Bat's Head, which itself has a small arch

Looking down from the cliffs, the water was clear enough to see every detail of the reefs.  I sat in the sun, enjoying the warmth and thinking what a great day it would be for sea kayaking.  As if by magic....

First a double kayak passed, the air so still that I could clearly make out the voices and paddle splashes way below

And then four brightly coloured singles passed, all heading west toward Ringstead..  I lost sight of the lucky paddlers as they passed Ringstead, maybe heading to Weymouth.  They (and I) were treated to a great day, a real hint of the summer to come.

I fairly caught the sun, my face was glowing during the eveening - one more colour to add to the day!

First Flowers

There are hints of Spring beginning to appear.  Birdsong is increasing, there's a bit of warmth in the sun and plants are reappearing.  A sunny bank by the side of a west coast sea-loch still has the bleached look of winter, but shoots of Woodrush and Yellow flag are everywhere, and there's the occasional splash of brave colour where a Primrose (Primula vulgaris) is in flower.

It's such a welcome sight!

The road to Assynt

Looking through some pictures, I came across these, taken in February 2006 on a weekend of very fine weather.

Cul Mor is reflected in a hill lochan.  A great hillwalk from Knockan, it can be extended to include Cul Beag, a long but rewarding round of two Corbetts.

The first thrilling view of Suilven (norse: Pillar Mountain), the improbable shape rearing up over the Lochinver road.  Suilven is peculiar in that it looks startlingly different from different directions.

Frost smoke on the River Don

The December cold spell showed the River Don as a ribbon of frost smoke.  Although lots of ice was floating downstream, the water was sufficiently warmer than the frigid air pooling in the valley to form banks of mist close to the water.

Even at the height of the day with the solstice sun very low in the sky, the mist peristed as a thin and shifting veil.  I normally delete any images with flare in them, but this one shows so well the effect of the sun lighting the thin mist with a luminous glow.

As the sun set with a pink glow along the western horizon, the bitingly cold air began to sink once again into the slot of the rive valley in a dense freezing cloak.

It would be another bitter cold night.

An icy beauty

The snows of November and December have slowly receded at home, leaving a bleached landscape.  The startlingly low temperatures which lasted for weeks made life hard for animals, plants and humans but created some delicate beauty.

These pictures were taken on 22nd December within a few hundred metres of home.

Feathers of frost transformed the metre high dead stems of last summer's Rosebay Willowherb (Chamaenerion augustifolium) into white plumes

Daytime temperatures of around minus 10 celsius meant that the winter sun didn't melt the frost at all. The low angle and brilliance of the sun firing through the frosted branches made a shimmering, sparkling display everywhere.

Despite the harshness of the cold, it really was extrodinarily beautiful.

Last hill for a while

Between Christmas and Hogmanay, Alan and I managed out onto the hill.  The roads were quite icy and the snow wasn't the best, but the effort was certainly to be rewarded.  We chose Bennachie, my local hill.  I try to climb the hill each time I'm home on leave from work and I was running out of days!

Though there had been a considerable thaw, the weight of snow was still bending trees, some right to the ground like this one.  Some of the smaller birch trees have exploded in the bitter frosts of mid December either from weight of snow or as their sap froze.

En route to Bennachie we climbed Millstone Hill which was in cloud and remained so all day.  Dropping down to the bealach (col) between Millstone Hill and Bennachie was hard going in thigh deep snow, and the deep stuff prevailed on the climb out too.  Higher up, the trees exposed to the wind had some impressive riming.

Th 518 metre "Mither Tap" (mother top) of Bennachie isn't the highest on the hill, but is by far the most prominent and is a justifiably popular outing.  Today we saw only one other party high on the hill.  The route I chose onto the final summit rocks turned out to be heavily iced and gave moves well into the winter climbing grades - without doubt the trickiest conditions I've seen here. I was glad we'd brought ice-axe and crampons! Alan found another, more sensible route and we met at the summit.

The view was shades of grey, but we did at least have a view.  We seemed to be above a low level of cloud with a complete higher level of cloud above.  The view was slightly disorientating as the cloud below us had a strange slanting angle.

Our descent was straightforward and all that was left was the 6km walk out around the base of Millstone Hill to the car, then 15 minutes drive  home.  It had been a great winter day; we'd had a bit of mountaineering on this small hill and once again proved what a great hill it is.

I'm now back at work and away from home for four months.  Probably there won't be an opportunity for another hillwalk during that time so it was in some ways bitter sweet - good to be on the hill though!