Hiya! It is I, Bruce. Today I am pleased, because, after a long break for the Winter, the walking and camping times have begun again! This particular walking and camping time was a surprise, because the weather is good, and Tom has not yet begun New Job. We packed up the van, and set off for West Highlands, a place in which Tom and Kate always seem very happy.
In West Highlands there is excellent walking to be had, and many interesting smells that I do not smell in other places. These smells are because of the big deer buddies, with whom I am not allowed to play. Indeed, an interesting feature of West Highlands is the prevalence of fences and gates, which are there to keep the buddies IN and me OUT. As you can see, however, the buddies sometimes get OUT . . .
. . . and (with human assistance) I can get IN.
These gates are mystifying machines. Try as I might, I cannot operate them.
The best thing about West Highlands is that we go for lovely long walks. This time we walked up hills and through woods. . .
and then we walked along the side of the water. All of this was fun.
Afterwards, we went to camp in the place that is called Bridge of Orchy.
The place is called Bridge of Orchy because of this:
The Bridge. Of Orchy.
At Bridge of Orchy it became very cold. I am often told that I have a nice thick coat, but although this is true, I do not have extra woolly clothes and fluffy bags to keep me warm in Extreme Highland Conditions. The humans have these things, and though they were cold, they were not as cold as I. Then a very exciting thing happened. Because I was cold, I was allowed to get on the hunky bunk with the humans for the first time ever! It was cold on the floor, but it was warm on the hunky bunk with three of us, and so we all slept there together! This was very good. All I can say is, now I know just how good it is on the hunky bunk, I shall definitely expect to sleep there at all times. I shall ignore all human mutterings of “this is not a precedent” and suchlike — YES! ITS THE HUNKY BUNK FOR ME!!
In the morning, there was ice all over the van, and the water had frozen in the pipes. And then we discovered that the van had run out of cooking gas. Kate was extremely worried that she would not be able to have her requisite Giant Cup of Tea, but disaster was averted by Tom, who is the keeper of all equipment, and who had the forethought to bring the spare camping stove.
Giant cups of tea were drunk, I snaffled half a hot cross bun, and everyone was happy.
Hiya! It is I, Bruce. I have just returned from a F-U-N time on the island of Islay. This time was particularly fun as I have spent the past few weeks having no fun at all (going back and forth to the place where they put you on a table and poke at you, and are forced to don the humiliating cone.)
Islay is fun because there is a big beach . . .
. . . new walks with interesting smells . . .
. . . and I get to live in the box with the humans, which I really enjoy.
Still, there are things about being in the box that can be very confusing. Such as why it is OK to be wet some times. . .
. . . and not others.
To my mind, the most annoying characteristic of the human-creature is its inconsistency. For example, why is it that these buddies are good to play with . . .
. . . while these are not?
In fact, it is in relation to other creatures that the human-creature is most unpredictable. For example, one evening on Islay we visited this place. . .
I was told that there were otters about, and that I had to be very good. We sat in the box while Kate and Tom stared out of the window, occasionally muttering. After what seemed like an aeon, there was some excitement and animation, and Kate started reaching for her camera. All that had happened was that this had appeared in the water.
. . . which was, of course, not an otter, but a seal.
Now, if they’d have let me out, and into the water, I could have told them right away that there were seals in that place, and not otters. But as well as being inconsistent, human creatures like to think they know best.
We spent the weekend up in Wester Ross. This is a truly beautiful part of the world.
And despite it being a holiday weekend, it was also incredibly quiet. For two days, we had this glorious landscape pretty much to ourselves.
One of the many lovely things about this area of Scotland is its native woodland. The trees here are many hundreds of years old, and were once part of the ancient Caledonian forest. Visitors to Scotland often think that dense plantations of sitka spruce and lodgepole pine are what makes up the “Scottish” forest but this is not the case. In fact, such plantations are of relatively recent appearance, many being the result of a Thatcherite loophole, which, a few decades ago, allowed the wealthy to shelter capital from taxation by investing it in forestry. Large swathes of the West Highlands, Sutherland and Caithness were covered with densely-planted non-native species so that Terry Wogan could continue to line his pockets.
To get a true flavour of the old Caledonian forest – less than 1% of which survives – then you need to go somewhere like Beinn Eighe, where the native woodland has been protected since 1951.
Scots pines are the ecological backbone of a woodland environment that supports many important species: capercaillies, pine martens, red squirrels, Scottish crossbills.
Some ancient pines remain short, hugging the hillside, while others grow tall and majestic. Together they lend the landscape great variety and drama.
. . .perhaps particularly on a murky, misty day. . .
. . . and these trees are just as impressive at close quarters.
I remember, on childhood holidays, how much I enjoyed collecting pebbles. The best pebbles were always wet – found in rock pools or at the waterline. When I brought my treasures home, I was often disappointed in how their bright colours faded to grey as they became dry, so I took to storing them in a bucket of water, in order to admire them as I’d found them. Many people, I imagine, don’t like being out and about in the rain, the mist, and the wet. But to my mind, they are missing something – water lends a clarity to objects that is really pretty amazing.
And a wet walk is just fine, if you have a cosy van to dry out in , some tasty fare, and a delicious glass of cherry perry to enjoy afterwards.
I have unfortunately not yet recovered from the evil infection — I am still not up to any sort of strenuous activity, but am also getting very berloody tired of being holed up indoors. I had itchy feet – but Tom had a plan. We would head off to the Highlands: he would do enough strenous activity for both of us, while I did some heavy-duty relaxing in pleasant surroundings. Tom had decided to cycle the Glen tae Ben — a 72 mile Audax cycle route around Loch Tay, which takes in some spectacular lochside and mountain scenery . . . along with some associated 20% inclines. On these permanent routes, the cyclist is issued with a brevet card which includes information controls, as well as spaces to get time/ date stamps from local shops and tea rooms, which prove that the participant has completed the full circuit. Tom particularly enjoys this business of getting his card stamped, as it means that a day’s riding is naturally punctuated with stops for cakes, tea, pies, pints, and other local fare.
We parked up in Glen Lyon. Tom got himself ready . . .
. . and then he was off.
While he was away, Bruce and I enjoyed some leisurely exploring of the lovely woods above the Bridge o’ Balgie.
We found glorious birch trees.
And beautiful views.
A while passed. It was a nice, sunny afternoon. Some knitting happened. I had a wee snooze. Bruce chewed up some sticks. The wanderer returned.
5 hours and twenty minutes in total, including stops for tea and cakes. All went smoothly, apart from a few minutes when he got caught up in the final stages of a middle distance triathlon, and thought he might have to get off his bike and run.
Further up the glen, we found a quiet spot behind the Tarmachan ridge. The heather is turning, and the hills are starting to put on their Autumn hues.
I rather enjoyed being a tourist in Ireland. Here are some of the touristy highlights . . . and a few lowlights of our trip.
Best local produce
Without a doubt, the culinary highlight was the wild smoked salmon at the Connemara smokehouse. The lowlight was Irish beer, or rather, the singular lack thereof. As I no longer drink (booze bad for an injured brain), this was more of a concern for Tom than me, but I shared the disappointment when we spent half a day driving to a microbrewery we had heard tell of . . .which had actually closed down.
Best tourist experience: Doagh Famine Village
I confess that we ended up here because it was a very rainy day, and the entrance price included a cup of tea (a genius touch), but the place was an unexpected delight. It is hard to explain exactly why the Doagh Famine Village is so good without spoiling its many surprises . . . but I do recommend a visit if you are ever on the Inishowen Peninsula (which is, by the way, a lovely spot). I would describe Doagh as an ‘attraction’ whose ostensible purpose is to celebrate the culture and resourcefulness of the people of Northern Donegal. It succeeds in this aim admirably, but what makes it all the more interesting is the way that the ‘village’ has expanded beyond its original remit (and boundaries) in an enthusiastic attempt to represent All Irish History and Culture at All Times . . Ever. This, of course, is a totally impossible task, but it is a laudable one, and the way history is presented is actually refreshingly original when compared to many official (ie, publicly funded) ‘heritage’ attractions. I think what I really liked about Doagh was that it had a Point of View and it wasn’t afraid to make it. Where else could you find a display about absentee eighteenth-century English landlords tellingly juxtaposed with a critique of the apricot-coloured holiday mansions that one sees everywhere in Donegal? At times, these idiosyncrasies do tip over into the faintly absurd – nowhere more so than in what I can only describe as The Peace Process House of Fun. Here, the unsuspecting visitor suppresses their claustrophobia and navigates their way around a republican safe house, locating several ‘hidden’ rooms, until they find Ian Paisley and Jerry Adams sitting down together. I couldn’t quite believe it was real . . . but it really was. Curiously, Tom and I seemed to be the only ones who found the discovery of former prime-ministers behind fireplaces and wardrobes hysteria-inducing . . .
. . .but there you go. The tea, when it came, was a proper cup of tea and it was served with jam and bread. Brilliant! I heartily recommend Doagh. It has to be seen to be believed.
Worst tourist experience
This is a tie between two places. The first is the Glenveagh National Park. We popped in at the park’s well-appointed visitor centre to find an OS map of the area so that we could go for a walk. Now, you might think that a place whose business it is to promote the outdoors would be the perfect place to find a map. You would be wrong. The gift shop had novelty sheep and leprechauns a-plenty – but no OS maps. In fact, there were no maps of the area there at all. Confused, we asked at the ‘information desk’ for ‘information’ – could we buy a map – any map of the area? We could not. There were no maps to be had. We were then told that, if we wanted maps, we should go and look on the internet. The internet! I really wanted to say: “Look, we are standing right here in front of you, in your visitor centre, dressed in our walking gear, asking for a map, so that we can just go for a walk in your national park. ” But we are British, so we politely replied “Oh, right, we see. Thankyou.” and left the building. It seems, at Glenveagh, that the great Irish outdoors is only to be enjoyed if you pay several euro to be shipped out to it on a bus, and access it as part of a pre-packaged ‘nature experience’.
I would still recommend visiting Glenveagh, as the landscape is spectacular, and clearly very well-managed. But one place I would not recommend in any capacity is the Leenane Sheep and Wool centre. If you are a child, or the parent of one, and know nothing at all about sheep or fibre, then you might spend a fun couple of hours here. If you are a knitter, spinner, weaver – or anyone with any sort of interest in textiles – then I really wouldn’t bother. The best thing I can say about this place is that I learned a few things I did not know about the development and extinction of some breeds of Irish sheep. But I had come hoping to find out a little more about the weaving industry in this part of Ireland, and I was sorely disappointed. I learnt very little about Leenane tweed, and nothing at all about what distinguished it as a cloth. In one room, ‘Irish’ dyeing was illustrated with some skeins of Scottish yarn, and the whole experience was accompanied by not one but two competing soundtracks of ‘Irish’ music that made it impossible to concentrate. And then there was the usual, predictable gubbins about “each knitted stitch” of an Aran sweater “having its own meaning.” Here I lost patience. It costs 5 euro to be peddled this rubbish. I would not waste your money.
Best Yarn: Studio Donegal
As in some parts of Scotland, Ireland abounds with woollen ‘mills’ that are not, and purveyors of ‘traditional crafts’ which turn out to be sweaters mass-produced in the far east. Down with this sort of thing! At Studio Donegal, one breathes a happy sigh of relief. There is a strong sense of the area’s textile history in Kilcar, but Studio Donegal is very clearly a working business, not a heritage centre. There is a workroom with some fabulous old looms where you can see Donegal Tweed being woven – and, here you are watching working weavers, not a ‘demonstration’ or ‘performance’ of weaving. Downstairs is a shop filled with lovely woolly stuff made by the folk upstairs.
There are beautiful wraps and throws and blankets. I was particularly drawn to the two-colour graphic designs, which strongly reminded me of Latvian weaving styles.
All very nice, I hear you say, but is there yarn?
Indeed there is – spun for Studio Donegal just round the corner at Donegal Yarns – and lovely stuff it is too. In fact, if the Veedon Fleece is to be found anywhere in Ireland, I think it might be in Kilcar. While I was enjoying myself at Studio Donegal, Tom and Bruce went for a walk around the village. They were joined by a nonchalant lamb, who walked out of someone’s front door, insisted on making friends with Bruce, having its head rubbed by Tom, and pootling happily along with them. I did not see FRIENDLAMB – and indeed did not hear about it until we were back on the road (badTomandBruce)- but it has already become the stuff of myth.
Best camping spot
Camping in the wazzwaggon was lots of fun – to say that Bruce loves it is a total understatement – and we surprised ourselves by going ‘wild’ the whole way. We stayed in some truly wonderful places, and only had to share a spot with other campers on one occasion. We are keeping our favourite favourite to ourselves, but Malin Head definitely comes a close second.
I have been very excited for about a week or so. Why? Because we have just acquired this dream machine . . .
You may remember the insane enthusiasm such vehicles inspired in me when we went away in one last year. The comfort! The convenience! The ability to drink tea from a teapot! When a friend of Tom’s recently announced that he was selling his, we, as they say, jumped at the chance. Tent camping is still difficult for me as I a) can’t really carry anything, and b) live with the damocles sword of post-stroke fatigue. But the van means that we can get out and about pretty much however I am feeling. Last year my recovery rather put paid to our usual outdoors activities, but this year there shall be walking! And camping! And hills! More tea! This weekend was a very good time for new beginnings, and we took our van (our van!) out on its maiden voyage. It really is brilliant. How can you argue when this is the first thing you see when you open the curtains (curtains!) in the morning?
Bruce, of course, heartily approved—both of the van, and of its location by the bonnie banks and braes . . .
We had gone to Loch Lomond with a purpose—some friends were getting married, and we were looking forward to helping them celebrate. The day’s festivities began with a 10k race. Bruce and I watched while HBT’s brown-clad hordes snaked their way around the loch’s Western shores.
Yes, that is the groom sporting the lurid and stylishly deconstructed shelly. . .
Post-race, the sun came out, and we all went to get our glad rags on.
Because I know that you would like to see how we scrub up on such occasions, here am I, sporting a fascinator for the first time in my life.
I found it on ebay for a snip!
And here is Tom . . .
Get your teeth away from that sporran, Bruce!
The wedding took place in Auchendennan House, a mid-nineteenth century mansion full of typical gothic excesses, and commanding fine views of the loch and surrounding landscape. Built for Glasgow merchant, George Martin, on what is claimed to be the site of Robert the Bruce’s hunting lodge, it is now home to what—in terms of both architecture and setting—is possibly the most spectacular youth hostel in the world.
With the sort of lovely weather that is (ahem) entirely characteristic of April in Scotland, it turned out to be a glorious day for new beginnings. The wedding was elegant, unpretentious, and full of genuine love and warmth.
A perfect reflection of the bride and groom, then.
It was probably inevitable that I would return wanting a campervan. . .
(yes, I am the blurry gnome in the tartan blanket)
. . . unfortunately, my only prospect of owning one right now is winning the one currently on offer over at Dorset Cereals. But who can argue with the luxury and convenience of van camping, especially when this is what you see when you look out of the window?
(leaping lambs at dusk!)
The van is a VW T5 and it was brilliant – comfortable and really well equipped. I particularly like the fact that its exterior is so unassuming — it just looks like a common or garden van, but then you open the door and find a whole bloody house in there: stove, sink, tiny fridge, roomy cupboards, table, seating, comfortable sleeping options, and all so niftily designed. (We slept on the fold-out sofa which was fine — no clambering about in the extended roof space for me!) Given the wild camping purists that we ordinarily are, so much about the experience felt almost decadent: imagine being able to just drive away if you don’t like a pitch; to stand rather than crouch while cooking; to fire up the stove wherever you like, and to drink a proper cup of tea with fresh milk and everything. . .
(joy!)
We hired our van from Andy at Open Road Scotland whom I heartily recommend. Under my present circumstances, it was a great option and meant that we had a wonderful time away. The weather was, at times, superb; Islay is a truly magical place; and I have come back thoroughly refreshed and enlivened. It is so reassuring to know that, within significant limitations, I can actually still do some of the things that I love in the great Scottish outdoors. This Thursday, I’m off to the cardiologist: he is going to stick a tube down my throat to get a good look at the hole in my heart. If it is the right sort of hole, he can then make arrangements to cover it with a tiny umbrella, which will be fed in through a vein in my groin. With such things on the horizon, it is good to feel strong and (relatively) capable, which is certainly the effect of our fun island jaunt. (Um, did I mention that I really want a campervan?)
(happy van camper at Machir Bay)
As you can imagine, I have a few posts planned, and 9483574579 photographs to process, but here’s a few to be getting on with . . .
Many thanks, by the way, for your comments regarding the blog’s appearance. I’ve still to make up my mind completely about some things, and keep tinkering away. Further comments and suggestions are always welcome. Also, entries are now closed in the Mini Manu draw – when Tom returns from work this evening he will pick the winner by randomly selecting a number between 1 and 283. More soon!
Tom preparing the first cup of tea of the decade — a welcome sight on an incredibly chilly morning. We saw in 2010 in a tent by the edge of Crummock Water. There was a bright blue moon, a hooting owl, and a little malt whisky. We wrapped up warm. You may think I’m batty when I tell you that it was the best new year ever — but it really was.
Normal blog business will resume very shortly, but for now, happy new year, everyone!
