Granite noir

The summit tor of Lochnagar is a great viewpoint.  Looking to the south west past the Ordnance Survey trig point you look straight into the "other" corrie of the mountain which contains another dark lochan - Loch nan Eun (loch of the birds).  The prominent ridge just to the right of the lochan leads straight to one of the "tops", known as the Stuic (pronounced Stoo-ee).  Although I've been to the Stuic several times, I've yet to reach it via this ridge.....so there's a good excuse to climb the hill again!

Crouched out of the wind amongst the summit rocks, I could see the next batch of snow showers building to the north.  Rime ice on the boulders showed how cold it had been up here, perhaps a good omen for a proper winter season to come?

Across the valley of the River Dee the view was closed off completely by the approaching weather - it was time to take bearings for two descents and make a start.

I decided to head down the bold ridge which bounds Lochan na Gair, partly to get the best view of the crags and partly because it's a good line on the mountain.  A little way below the summit, at the head of the ridge, there's a super view along the crags - though your gaze may well be drawn downward......

...into one of the branches of Black Spout gully!

The views continue as the ridge is descended.  This is "granite noir"; seen in close proximity the line of 1000ft crags are an impressive sight; massive and slightly menacing .  This is Byron's "Dark Lochnagar" and also one of the great winter climbing arenas of Scotland.

You get well down the ridge towards the lochan before the steep rocks relent and there's gentler ground on which to rest.  I've done this ridge in both directions, and rate it both as an ascent and a descent. 

On the floor of the corrie the crags dominate the view  - my compact camera didn't got to a sufficiently wide angle to image the whole scene!

Rather than contour around the base of the Meikle Pap to regain the track back to Glen Muick I decided to cross the corrie and climb back out over the bealach between the Pap and the Ladder.  My advice to anyone thinking of doing likewise is...don't!  The going is very difficult through moraines of house sized granite boulders with deep gaps between them - especially tricky with snow on most surfaces.  It took an inordinate amount of time and effort to get to the slope beneath the bealach and I several times reminded myself that a fall here would be serious as it's an unfrequented part of the mountain.

I plodded up towards the bealach in a stinging snow shower and  a whirling wind, fortunately blowing from behind me.  The back edge of the shower passed through as I reached the bealach to leave blue sky......

...and the descent back to the track took me, it seemed, out of winter and back into autumn.  I stopped to rest and eat below the snowline on the boundary of Balmoral estate in what seemed relatively warm conditions.  All that remained was to retrace my outward route down the track back to Glen Muick whilst reflecting that Lochnagar, once again, had given a superb day out - and the first winter day of the season.

Solway sojourn - superlative steak sandwiches and a Selkirk saying

We paddled into a steady headwind on our way into Kirkcubright Bay, this would be the only stretch where we'd do so on the whole of our Solway journey.  I wasn't quite firing on all four cylinders when we set out and so just put my head down and paddled until gradually I felt better and the easy rhythm returned.

Kirkcubright Bay pretty much matched my preconception of what paddling in the Solway Firth might be; a wide open bay enclosed by mainly low ground with extensive mud and sand flats at low tide.

We'd timed our departure from Little Ross Island to arrive at Kircudbright about an hour before high water.  This meant we'd have the flood tide in our favour on the way up, we'd land with a minimum of mud-plugging, have time for luncheon and then have the ebb in our favour on the way back out.

As we entered the River Dee (one of two rivers given this name in Scotland, the other rises in the Cairngorms and flows to the sea at Aberdeen) we felt the insistent push of the flood tide overcoming the river flow and passed this trawler wreck - better days indeed.

We tried to land at the slipway in Kirkcudbright, but found it to be a lethal mix of a steep slope overlaid with slippery mud.  I found it difficult to stand when I stepped out of the boat and it was clear that we wouldn't be able to safely move our boats.  Instead we backtracked and landed adjacent to the marina pontoons on reeds and more mud, but at least it was flat!

We removed our paddling outer layers and took a stroll in warm sunshine through the streets of Kirkcudbright (pronounced "Kirk-coo-bree" and meaning Kirk of (St) Cuthbert).  Saint Cuthbert (c. AD634 – 20 March 687) was a saint of the early Northumbrian church in the Cetic tradition and is mostly associated with northern England, though he grew up near Melrose in the Scottish borders.  Cuthbert's remains were kept here for a time after being exhumed from Lindisfarne, they were later re-interred at Chester-Le-Street in the north of England.  The town became a Royal Burgh in 1453, so it's fair to say the place has history.

I really enjoyed our stroll around the town; it's neat, tidy and has a well-kept air.  Several houses were being whitewashed on the day we visited, and their doors and window frames being repainted in bright and cheerful colours.  It's a place I'll re-visit and explore some more.

Probably the most prominent building in the town is the ruin of MacLellan's Castle.  Completed in 1582, it was built  by Sir Thomas MacLellan, Provost of Kirkcudbright partly from stone recycled following the destruction of Greyfriars Convent in one of Scotland's many religious upheavals. Standing at the head of a broad street, it's a fine sight.

We reached our destination, the Selkirk Arms, just as the doors were opening for luncheon.  This hotel has a unique place in history too; for it was here (and not in the border town of Selkirk) that the poet Robert Burns wrote the famous "Selkirk Grace" in 1749:

"Some hae meat and canna eat,

And some wad eat that want it,

But we hae meat and we can eat,

Sae let the Lord be thankit."

We were shown to a table with comfortable upholstered seats despite the fact we were clearly in outdoor wear and ordered a round of sports recovery drinks while we perused the menu.  We chose different starters, but all chose the Hot Galloway Beef Sandwich on Sourdough bread.  It was, quite simply, the best steak sandwich I have ever tasted!

The mark we give to truly exceptional food and drink establishments is 12/10, but the Selkirk Arms gets an an almost unheard of 13/10 because the owner and chef Chris is himself a sea kayaker and came out from the kitchen to chat with us about this and other trips.  If you are into superb food, prepared simply from quality local ingredients - the Selkirk Arms should be high on your list to visit!

Replete, we made our way back to the boats just a few minutes after high water.  Other vessels were taking advantage of the tide too, the Belfast registered "Mytilus the Mussel" (B-449) was also departing from Kircudbright harbour.

After she passed, we changed back into paddling outer-wear and got back on the water.  Already the ebb which would carry us back out into Kirkcudbright Bay was gathering pace.

Days like these - on the Hunt (part 2)

The route through the gorge above the Falls of Unich is a delight, a narrow path winding through boulders above the tumbling burn.  A Wren was belting out a scolding chatter, so loud from the tiny bird that it was creating a slight echo.  Movement across the face of one of the crags resolved itself into a Peregrine (Falco peregrinus) pursued by a couple of Crows.  As it reached the level of the top of the gorge, the Peregrine suddenly shot upwards and folded itself into the classic "stooping" arrowhead shape and into a arcing dive - the Crows took the message and scattered.

Such is the interest in this section that height was gained without me really noticing, only the very top section seemed at all steep.  It has to be said that the very top of the gorge and the immediate area of plateau above are pretty muddy and peaty, but it doesn't last long.  The direct route to Hunt Hill takes a sharp right turn at the plateau, but I decided to persevere with the muddy path a little further to look at another waterfall marked on the map.

The extra few hundred metres of mud-plugging are well rewarded at the Falls of Damff (Gaelic "Daimh" - (Stag Falls).  The Water of Unich drops in two bounds over sills of rock here just as it enters the gorge.  I scrambled down to a level next to the upper fall and sat for a while just enjoying the place; getting closer to the lower fall appeared to involve some quite tricky down climbing.

Returning to the head of the gorge the route across to the summit of Hunt Hill is pretty obvious, though there's no path to speak of.  A few deer tracks lead through the peaty ground of a broad col, then it's pick your own route up the fairly steep pull towards the summit area.  I stuck close to the edge of the crags to get the best views.......

...of the gorge, with sunlight streaming down over the sidewall - the angle which had so beautifully lit some of the birch trees near the top.

Gradually the view opens up past Craig Maskeldie and across to Monawee......

.......and between them the head of Loch Lee and the track I'd used on the approach.  The view from here really seems to mirror the approach walk, a series of curves and folds which reveal different views as you go.

There's a fairly steep pull of 150 metres to reach the summit area, and it comes as something of a surprise when the angle eases very suddenly onto a flat plateau.  The views are very wide; a real feature of the Eastern Highlands with rolling brown moors stretching away under a huge sky.  Some find this landscape boring, others find it intimidating in poor weather and some find the sense of vast space under a big sky a real joy.

Lochnagar is the prominent feature to the west, some 15 kilometres distant, with no hint of the trench containing Loch Muick which lies in between.

 

To the north the dominant feature is Mount Keen, the most easterly of the Munros (separate Scottish mountains over 3000 ft/914m). The popularity of climbing this classification of hills is ever-growing and the paths are often very obvious.

Distant calls of geese eventually resolved into a skein of Greylags (Anser anser) and appropriately they appeared:

".... far abune the Angus straths I saw the wild geese flee,

A lang, lang skein o’ beatin’ wings wi’ their heids towards the sea,

And aye their cryin’ voices trailed ahint them on the air...."

Just as described by the Angus born poet Violet Jacob in her poem of longing for home "The Wild Geese".  Born into the aristocracy at House of Dun, Violet Jacob spent much of her life away from Angus, but seems always to have had the place in her heart and her mind; she returned to Angus in the later years of her life and is buried at Kirriemuir.  Her poetry is often written in the rich dialect of the region, and from the perspective of working folk.

Sometimes known as "Norland Wind",  The Wild Geese is one of her best known poems and was shortlisted as one of the country's favourite pieces of poetry in 2006. Written as a conversation between an Angus man far from home in England and the north wind, the lyrics have been set to music by a number of singers, but my favourite version is by the Battlefield Band featuring the voice of the late Davy Steele (the words start at 2m 37secs)

In contrast to Mount Keen, there's no path to the small summit cairn of Hunt Hill (705 metres/2313 feet).  It's classified as a "Graham" - a hill between 2000 and 2500ft high with at least 500 feet of ascent all round.  Often overlooked, this group of 220 hills usually give walks of real quality.

There was a slight breeze on the summit but it was warmed by blowing across miles of heather in full sunshine - amazingly for a November day I was able to sit comfortably on the summit of the hill in a T-shirt.

My descent route took me north-east down convex slopes of heather, then grass and moss to reach an entertainingly bouncy girder bridge over the Water of Lee, then down the track to Loch Lee.

A stroll back along the loch and through the birch woods got me back to Invermark, still in glorious late afternoon sunshine.

Hunt Hill may not have the most dramatic name, nor is it the highest hill the area but it had given me one of the best hill days I've enjoyed in years.

Days like these, they're golden coins in the treasure box of memories.....


Note: The route taken on this walk is on Ordnance Survey Landranger Sheet 44 (Ballater & Glen Clova).  The distance is 18 kilometres with 460 metres of ascent, allow between five and six hours.  In poor weather, reasonable navigation skills will be needed as the high ground is pathless.  A shorter and well worthwhile alternative is to walk to the Falls of Unich and return by the same route as described by Duncan and Joan here.

Capra and the Mull of Cara

The final day of our trip around Gigha and Cara dawned overcast but dry.  In contrast to the previous morning, the overnight breeze had kept the tents dry so we were able to strike camp as soon as we'd had breakfast.  We intended to circumnavigate Cara before crossing back to Gigha, then making the crossing back to Tayinloan to complete our trip.

Turning the north tip of Cara, we started down the west coast of the island.  This place has a reputation for very rough water but the calm conditions continued and we had a quiet paddle through the reefs......

...under the watchful, impassive and unblinking gaze of one of the resident herds of goats.  The poet Norman MacCaig seemed to capture the essence of these characterful animals in his poem simply entitled "Goat" :

The goat with amber dumb-bells in his eyes,

The blase lecher, inquisitive as sin,

White sarcasm walking, proof against surprise,

The nothing like him goat, goat-in-itself,

Idea of goatishness made flesh, pure essence

In idle masquerade on a rocky shelf - 

Hangs upside down from the lushest grass to twitch

A shrivelled blade from the cliff's barren chest,

And holds the grass well lost; the narrowest niche

Is frame for the devil's face; the steepest thatch

Of barn or byre is pavement to his foot;

The last, loved rose a prisoner to his snatch;

And the man in his man-ness, passing feels suddenly

Hypocrite found out, hearing behind him that

Vulgar vibrato, thin derisive me-eh.

Past the reefs at the north of Cara the west coast becomes increasingly steep and there are no landings.  The cliffs remain relatively low, but as the south west corner is turned there's a great sight ahead......

...as the sliced-off face of the Mull of Cara comes into view.  Given that the remainder of Cara is quite low-lying, the sudden appearance of the Mull makes it appear much higher than it's 50 metres.

In 1756 the whole face of the Mull of Cara collapsed and a tidal wave swept around the island destroying houses on Cara, Gigha, Kintyre and West Loch Tarbert.  Given the size of the rockfall, it's probable that the collapse was an effect of a much larger event rather than the cause of all the destruction.  Theories include a sub-sea earthquake and a meteor strike, but we'll really never know.

The Mull of Cara is not often a quiet place. being exposed to wind and swell from most directions and is subject to strong tidal movement.  We were delighted to find absolutely calm conditions and made the most of the opportunity to get close in to the base of the cliff.

As we paddled around, the extent of the headland and the scale of the place became apparent.....

There's another herd of goats at the southern tip of the island -  here Douglas is assessing the options for Goat Bhuna on a future trip :o)

A last look back at this striking place before we turned the corner to head up the east coast of Cara - it's a really impressive place to sea kayak.

From farther up the east coast, only the hill of the Brownie's Chair is a clue to the dramatic rock architecture.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Autumn has arrived in Aberdeenshire and we've enjoyed some lovely days which have epitomised the opening line of John Keats "Ode to Autumn".

In the woods there are still some summer plants in flower - this is Herb Robert (Geranium robertianum), a common member of the geranium family which seems to thrive on the partly shaded banks along woodland tracks.

The Brambles (Rubus fruticosus) have ripening berries; a sharp and juicy treat during a walk!

This seems to have been "a good year for the roses"; all the Dog Rose (Rosa canina) bushes have plenty of  hips which will be an important food source for the flocks of winter thrushes when they arrive from Scandinavia.

Fungi are sprouting everywhere, this is Birch Polypore (Piptoporus betulinus) which, as its name suggests, is host-specific on Birches.  It's a fascinating fungus whic is weakly parasitic on the host tree. Healthy trees will support it but weak or aged trees will be killed by the fibrous spread of the fungus within the wood.  The fruiting body is an annual growth, the top two in this image are this year's fruit, the lower one from a previous year.

Birch Polypore has a number of useful properties - it can be used as tinder, particularly to carry a spark from one fire to the next as it  and also to sharpen blades with when cut into strips (a common name for it is "razor strop fungus").  The list of medicinal properties claimed for the fungus is impressive too: Immune tonic, anti-inflammatory, anti-tumour, anti-parasitic, anti-septic, anti-viral, anti-bacterial and styptic.


The medicinal properties have been known for a long time too.  "Ötzi" was the name given to the 5300 year old body of a hunter found preserved in the ice in the Italian Alps. Amongst his kit Ötzi’ carried two strips of hide onto which had been threaded pieces of birch polypore. As he was later found at autopsy to be infected with intestinal parasites against which the birch polypore is active, it has been suggested that he was carrying them as treatment and also as a possible anti-septic in case of minor injuries.

Smaller and more delicate fungi are emerging from the leaf litter and grassy areas, this is, I think, a Mycena species, but my fungus identification isn't good enough to tell which one.....

It's always a thrill when the leaves begin to turn and autumn really gets going; I really think it's my favourite season of the year.

It's a gradual change but some trees are colouring up to brilliant, flaming autumnal shades

On the farmland surrounding the house the barley is all harvested after a wet and windy summer, the yield later and less than the average, but at least it's down safely.  The stubble fields are still golden and dotted with "tractor eggs" which will be stored for winter feed and bedding for beef cattle.

It's a great time of the year to be out and about!

A room with a view at Ryvoan

On a recent visit to Speyside, I walked up from Glenmore Lodge to spend the night at Ryvoan Bothy above the Pass of Ryvoan and its famous Green Lochan.  Ryvoan is fairly well accessible from Glenmore, but on a fiercely windy October evening was deserted.  It's a bothy I've often sheltered in and stayed in a couple of times previously - it sits at a crossroad of routes crossing the Cairngorm range and heading north to Abernethy.

An MBA bothy, Ryvoan has a rather unique feature in that a piece of poetry has by tradition been attached to the inside of the door.  Missed by many casual visitors who look in but don't close the door to see it, the poem was written by a lady called A.M Lawrence in the 1950's.  She lived in Cumbria but spent much of her childhood in Nethy Bridge.  The text of this very evocative piece is here

The view down through the Pass of Ryvoan in the late evening was particularly fine, the only drawback being the gale of wind  blowing through the pass which drew tears from the eyes!

The sleeping platform is conveniently sited under the window.  Settled in with a hot drink, I was quickly asleep and slept well apart from hearing occasional ferocious gusts rattling the roof of the building.

In the pre-dawn light, a glance from the window revealed one of Scotland's more intimate wildlife spectacles.  Below the bothy, across the track,  is a small flat green area which is used as a lek (display) site by Black Grouse (Tetrao tetrix).  The main lekking activity is in the Spring when the females attend to observe the males dance and parade before pairing, but there's another less intense lek in Autumn attended only by the males themselves.  There are less than 5000 breeding pairs of Black Grouse in the UK and I felt priveliged to watch about a dozen birds soocialising and displaying just a few metres away - all from the comfort of my sleeping bag and with a cup of tea in my hand.....now that's a room with a view!

Note: The ground on which Ryvoan Bothy stands is at the edge of two National Nature Reserves and is managed by the RSPB.  A polite and discreet sign near the lek site asks visitors not to camp on this seemingly perfect tent site in order to avoid disturbance or damage- a perfectly reasonable request I think, particularly as an alternative location is suggested on the sign.

A quieter place

I read this poem by Nan Shepherd recently.  Her imagery of absorption into the land and seascape struck a chord; especially since I'm working in one of the most densely populated parts of the UK where the soundtrack is relentless traffic noise.

                                                                                            Summer Isles from Little Loch Broom


Achiltibuie

Here on the edge of Europe I stand on the edge of being.
Floating on light, isle after isle takes wing.
Burning blue are the peaks, rock that is older than thought,
And the sea burns blue - or is it the air between?-
They merge, they take one another upon them,
I have fallen through time and found the enchanted world,
Where all is beginning.  The obstinate rocks
Are a fire of blue, a pulse of power, a beat
In energy, the sea dissolves,
And I too melt, am timeless, a pulse of light.


Nan Shepherd, October 1950