Ice, Ice Baby.....

During a winter which had so far been alternately wet or windy, the chance of some sea kayaking in settled weather had Allan and I regularly checking forecasts in mid January.  As a high pressure system built over the UK we made plans to head to Wester Ross - we were disappointed that neither Lorna or Douglas were able to join us for this short notice trip.

A family connection of Allan and Lorna's kindly allowed us the use of a house overlooking Loch Ewe as a base, which made this winter trip very comfortable indeed.  Allan headed up on a frosty morning, I left later in the day and we met at the house.  The view first thing in the morning was very encouraging as pre-dawn light coloured the sky and reflected off mirror calm water - it looked like we had a fine day ahead.

We drove to Charlestown on Loch Gairloch and loaded our boats on the slipway.  there was frost on the boats which made for chilly fingers.

There was also plenty of ice left by the falling tide.  The water in the harbour at Charlestown was free of any ice so the possibility of sea didn't really register with me as we got ready to get on the water.

After paddling out of the harbour we turned south and for a short while paddled straight into a dazzling low sun with reflections from the water - it was really hard work to see where we were headed!  We'd intended to paddle close to the shore past Badachro and around Eilean Horrisdale, but found a large area of sea ice over a centimetre thick drifting towards us on the ebb tide.

 It was pretty obvious straight away that this was hard ice which was probably drifting in and out on the tide, freezing at low water twice a day.  It was too thick to crash through with the boat or the paddle and was, disconcertingly, moving quite purposefully.  I've experienced this just twice before, once on Loch Long and near Kinlochleven - both occasions in similar prolonged deep frosts.

Manoeuvring a sea kayak in ice even a centimetre thick is difficult and unstable, the paddle has to be crashed through and sometimes glances off, destabilising things.  Add to that ice moving on a tidal flow with the possibility of constrictions and it's not a place to be....coming out of the boat would have serious consequences.  Allan and I reversed away from the ice and found a lead of clear water to take us back out into the open.  Just an hour into our winter day and it was already packed with interest!

A re-boot

 When I started this blog back in 2009 it was primarily to create a record and to share some of the sights and experiences in Scotland's outdoors.  When things got busy with work or family life, the natural tendency was to post less, but lately I've really let it slip.  The last posts were some eight months ago - and they were recalling a trip in April 2022!  "Retirement" from a long career at sea in March 2022 was quickly followed by setting up a new venture in "retirement", so there has been a lot going on.

In my defence, I've been posting a lot on the Mountain and Sea Instagram page  and while enjoying the ability to post more or less instantly, I have missed the research and reflection that blogging offers.  

It's not like I haven't been getting out and about whether solo or with friends....  There have been some great sea kayak trips.... 

To the west - here on Loch Hourn

On the "home" patch of the Moray Firth in the northeast 

In the very heart of Scotland, here on Loch Ericht.

And in the far northwest, a here in Assynt.

The hills haven't been ignored either, whether in challenging weather

or in fair weather.

And talking of weather, the range of conditions experienced have been simply marvellous!

So that's the re-boot started, and hopefully I can do much better in posting here than of late!

A noisy morning and a quiet day

I slept fairly well at our first camp site, but only until the first hint of light.  the clear, fluting song of a Blackbird singing solo was the start of the dawn chorus, and was a strikingly beautiful sound in the quiet dawn.  What was neither beautiful or quiet were the many geese, a Raven, a Pheasant and several Oystercatchers who joined in soon afterward, a more discordant dawn chorus would be difficult to imagine!

No matter, it was a lovely morning when we emerged from the tents, and surprisingly there was absolutely no condensation on the tents or the ground - quite unusual for this time of year.  The sunrise was a slow and stately affair, the forecast for overcast and hazy but warm conditions looked pretty accurate.  I never underestimate the privilege of waking up in places like this....we were less than 60km/40 miles from the very centre of Glasgow, Scotland's busiest and most populous city and yet we might have been in another world.

The party would split here; Douglas and Mike would head back to Portencross on the Ayrshire coast, Donny would head off to explore in his F-RIB with the possibility of joining up with us later in the day.  Raymond, Allan and I would head back north into Loch Fyne.  It had been great to catch up with everyone - I've so missed these journeys with good friends during the pandemic.

As we paddled back up the west side of Inchmarnock we were accompanied by the noisy neighbours; a flock of Canada Geese and small groups of Greylag Geese.  They allowed us to get fairly close, then splashed their way airborne in noisy indignation to land just ahead and repeat the process - why they didn't just fly around behind us I've no idea!

This was a strange day of weather; neither cold nor warm, calm with absolutely no wind, dry and with soft-focus light.  I'm sure that the conditions subconsciously affected our pace and energy - we all remarked on being a bit lethargic during the day.

At the mouth of Loch Fyne the Ardlamont buoy sat on top of its reflection, perfectly still

I'd had a very distant view of dolphins - which Donny later confirmed as Common Dolphins.  For some years a lone Common Dolphin nicknamed "Kylie" (as he frequented the Kyles of Bute) had made a permanent home near the buoy and had, it seems, been able to communicate across a species boundary with Harbour Porpoises but there was no sign of him when we paddled past.

Near to Ardlamont Point we heard a familiar high pitched chatter and looked along the cliffs to get a great view of a Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus) arcing out over the water before returning to the crags - a really lovely sight.

I got quite tired paddling during the afternoon, maybe out of practice, maybe the strange weather, and took almost no photographs.  We trimmed our plans to head right up into Loch Fyne and instead headed to a beach recommended by Donny as a potential camp site.  Arriving mid afternoon after meeting up with Donny gave us plenty of time to select the best spot and to gather driftwood for our evening fire.

The wood was very dry and lit immediately, soon developing into quite a hot fire.  Purists can relax, the apparent proximity of the can of Brewdog sports recovery drink to the fire is an effect of the camera - the can (chilled in a nearby burn) was well out of range and no Brewdog was harmed during the making of this blog post.

 Dinner was Allan's excellent Venison Casserole, eaten around a fine fire (a Fyne fire?!).  All of us were tired and we headed to the tents pretty early with the promise of another fine Fyne day to come.

A January sunrise

December 2019 gave some superlative skyscapes, and the "dark days" of January have continued the theme. We were up and about before dawn on one morning in the middle of the month and noticed a pink flush to the sky - the show was about to commence....

Flotillas of cloud were moving slowly overhead and were being lit from below with shades of pink and purple; the skyline trees were sharply silhouetted in contrast.  Beautiful as this was, what came next was totally unexpected.

Almost suddenly the whole distant sky fired up in a stupendous riot of colour from intense gold through ambers and purples - it was absolutely stunning.

Overhead the skeins of geese moving out across the Aberdeenshire farmland trailed wild music to accompany the sunrise.

The effect lasted for less than ten minutes before fading to an "ordinary" morning, but what a treat it had been.

Skyscape spectacular

The skyscapes above Aberdeenshire have been really spectacular over the last week, providing colour and drama in equal measure.

The last sunset of 2019 was a thing of delicate beauty washing the sky with mauve and pink - on a Hogmanay walk we stopped often just to watch as the quiet shades subtly changed.

On 2nd January the palette seemed the same at dawn, but this is looking west - away from the sunrise.  To walk around the house was to experience something really special......

...an absolute riot of pyrotechnic colour and dramatic cloudscape.

Unusually, the colour deepened as the sun rose and began to be diffused by horizon cloudbanks.  It was an absolutely gorgeous sight and seemed unbeatable.  Sunrises here in the northeast can be more spectacular than sunsets as we're closer to the east coast and have less high ground to block the view.  But this sunrise was to be matched in glory by the sunset of 5th January. 

The western and southern parts of Scotland were generally overcast but over Aberdeenshire the edge of a weather front was really clearly defined in a cloud edge.  We were driving home from a trip south and watched as the sun fired this cloud front, colour raging across the sky......

It was almost apocalyptic!  This series of images were taken on a smartphone and like those above have had no post-processing at all, they're just as they came from the camera.

It's hard to put into words the sheer majesty of this skyscape.  We pulled to the side of the road to watch and to take photographs, as did most of the other cars travelling at that time, it was such a special sight.  Turbulence in the cloud was picked out by the low sun and the whole thing seemed to pulse and ripple with fiery intensity.

As the sun sank lower the colours changed subtly but the scale didn't diminish at all.  Flocks of Rooks wheeled up off the farmland as dusk rapidly approached and started to head for their tree roosts, which sparked a thought.  We drove on a little and stopped where we hoped to enjoy the last of the sunset.

By the side of Loch of Skene we stood and watched the intensity of the colour burn from gold to copper to deep bronze and then to purple, all reflected in the water.  Then, the sound we'd hoped for to go with the visuals: geese in small groups and then hundreds and then in their thousands winged in from the surrounding countryside to roost safely on the water.  Long after the light had dimmed we heard their wild calls and splashes as they flew in.  Although too dark for photographs, the last of this exceptional sunset was still a wash of deep bronze an hour after sunset.  In these two sunsets and one glorious sunrise we'd been treated to a real show of Solas (light) in the middle of winter.  Nobody can convince me that this season is a dark and dreary time!

"Dark" December

This December has seen some periods of deep frost here in the north east of Scotland. Whilst the south of the UK has been soaked with rain, here it's been dry and clear, the land held in an iron grip; there have been many days when the temperature has stayed below freezing.  I much prefer this dry, brittle cold - it's weather one can really enjoy rather than endure.

On one morning when our home weather station was reading -6 Celsius i took a short walk just as it was getting light.  walking up through a stubble field across from the house towards a line of large beeches and oaks which form the skyline from our living room, I hoped to catch the sunrise - at this time of the year that's not an early start!

The only sound was the brush of my boots through the stubbles left from the barley harvest.  I stopped to listen to the stillness, and slowly began to hear the sounds of the morning.  Bird contact calls almost at the top of my hearing range indicated a flock of mixed Tit species moving along the line of trees, then a sharp bark drew my eye along the top of the field line where a small family group of Roe Deer had spotted me.  I angled away, unwilling to force them to use precious energy, but as soon as I moved they bounded gracefully away and out of sight.

From the ridge the view to the south east over the Howe of Alford was all about the glory of the sky; the farmland and hills still in deep shade.  I settled down to wait for the sunrise and sat with my back against one of the large oak trees.

Close at hand there was beauty too, each fallen leaf edged in delicate and perfect frost crystals.  To sit still was to start to hear the place - with almost no man-made sounds to distract.  Small birds calls, the call and flutter of a cock Pheasant and, thrillingly, heard but not seen - the thrumming wingbeats and wild calls of a party of Whooper Swans, the graceful angels of winter.

At last, around 0905 the sun rose beyond the ridge of Correnie Moor.  The sun rises well south of east at this latitude and the high ground leading to the hill of Benaquhallie delays sunlight reaching the Howe.

Once the sun rose, everything changed.  Searing light flooded across the land and brought colour and definition, if not much warmth. 

As I strolled back down the field to the house the sunlight reached across to the hills beyond.  Our house is in a slight dip and often the temperature dips significantly around sunrise as the hills above warm up and cold air sinks downslope.

At my feet each barley stalk was tipped with a flower of frost, the rows looking like miniature icy forests.

above, the Pink Footed Geese were on the move from their roosts, great skeins straggling across the sky trailing their wild music.  The geese are a real feature of winter and Aberdeenshire often hosts huge numbers.

During another period of really intense frost we took a walk to a narrow valley where we hoped to see the real beauty of the conditions.  The sun doesn't reach here much during the short winter days and the frost hadn't lifted for days.  It was really frigid and completely silent.

Dead grasses had been transformed into stunningly beautiful works of natural art - the glittering light better than any expensive crystal glass.  We took lots of images, these are just a few of them

The dead head of a cow parsley plant had become something quite special, every tiny surface edged with the most perfect frosting.

The December days might be short with barely six hours of daylight, but when winter is a stunning as this, it's as good as any other season!

A winter solstice celebration

On the winter solstice, 21st December 2018, we visited Cothiemuir Hill stone circle which is near to our home.  Arriving  before sunrise, we experienced the light gradually seeping in around the stones on this, the shortest day of the year.

Aberdeenshire is very rich in neolithic monuments and has close to a hundred of a type of stone circle found almost nowhere else, the recumbent circle.  Aligned on the midwinter moon, and in particular the major "standstill" midwinter moon which occurs every 18.6 years, the builders aligned the circles to an astonishing level of precision.  Some circles have cup marks incised to mark major lunar events and show where the moon would appear when viewed from the centre of the circle.

Cothiemuir Hill is a great example of a recumbent circle and is almost complete.  The huge recumbent is a 4.2m long basalt monolith, and was brought to the site.  The flankers either side are 2.9m and 2.7m tall - this is an imposing circle. the west flanker (the right hand in this image) is aligned very precisely on the major southern moonset.  I've written about this circle several times before, here and here, and I'm still fascinated by the place.

We try to visit at the winter solstice, not from any pagan leanings but merely from a feeling that this is their time, the point in the year when the circle had most significance to its builders.  Now within a wood, it would have been a prominent viewpoint when in use.

We headed home after visiting the circle to do the jobs which seem to take so much time as Christmas approaches.  The shortest day turned out fine, cold and dry with bright, low winter sun.

Towards sunset (3.25pm at the solstice!) I decided to go back to the circle and see if I could view the sunset from the circle.  It was a very atmospheric afternoon, a smoky sunset and a hard frost setting in.

Walking up to the stones I was delighted to see that a wedding was in progress - timed, it seemed, for the sunset.  No pagan or "New Age" ceremony, this was a straightforward humanist celebration.  I often leave some greenery at the stones at this time of year, and I'm not alone in doing that, but here was a continuity of use for the circle stretching back millenia.  Having waited until the couple were married, I added my congratulations and left quite moved at this simple ceremony in a wood.

Back at home, the solstice full moon was rising over Bennachie, a huge disc growing brighter and colder as it climbed over the Aberdeenshire farmlands.  This is what the circles were built to observe.  Maybe not as striking as the solstice full moon of 2010, it's nevertheless a significant turning point in the year.

The morning of the 22nd was forecast to be fine, with perhaps a little cloud.  I thought it would be good to get out early and see if I could watch the sun rise from Millstone Hill.  Heading out well before dawn, my headtorch picking out the hard glitter of a deep frost, I was near the summit of the hill as the light was beginning to grow.  Below, the valley of the River Don was a cold, frosty place.

To the south east and across the city of Aberdeen, I watched the sunrise over the North Sea.  At first a crimson line, the colour intensified to a searing orange before fading as the sun was obscured by a cloudbank.  There was a warmth to the light, but certainly not in the air - it was very chilly as I sat waiting with a flask of tea. 

Although the sun itself remained obscured, the light crept up and gave a nice view over to  Bennachie's Mither Tap, site of a hillfort.

Despite the short days I felt that I'd experienced the best of the winter solstice - from the continuity of the stones to the first sunrise of lengthening days - something to celebrate indeed!