A Jura triathlon

May 29, 2012 By Kate in Islay, Jura, recovery, running, Scotland, stroke, trike Tags: cycling, Islay, Jura, jura fell race, Paps of Jura, recovery, stroke, swimming, tricycling, weather 73 Comments

We spent last Friday and Saturday on the wonderful island of Jura — one of our very favourite places. The island was as beautiful and warmly-welcoming as ever (though we were very sad to note the closure of the beautiful gardens at Ardfin after their recent purchase by an absentee hedge fund manager). Our pricipal reason for visiting at this time of year is that Tom likes to run the Jura Fell Race (you can read earlier accounts of this race here and here)

To those of you who aren’t hill runners, this event will probably seem pretty bonkers. It involves seven hills, eight thousand feet of ascent, and sixteen miles over some really challenging terrain – bog, boulder fields and rough quartzite scree. But if you have been to Jura, you’ll see why Tom and so many other runners return year after year: the Paps are truly fabulous hills – the sort that demand you to get out and about in them (I climbed them once myself 6 or 7 years ago, but they would definitely be too much for me in my present circumstances). They dominate the landscape of this part of the Hebrides to the extent that it is hard to take a photograph without them looming large and pap-like somewhere on the horizon.

Here they are from Port Charlotte:

From Finlaggan

And from below on the Sound of Jura, where you can really get a sense of how these giant quartzite cones seem to rise spontaneously out of the water.

Like many other places in the UK, the Hebrides have recently been enjoying some glorious weather. At 9am on race day, it was already extremely warm. Warnings about dehydration and heatstroke were added to the usual comforting remarks about the dangers of the race.

And then they were OFF!

While Tom was away facing the Paps, I had my own (small) challenge to complete. For the past month or so, I have been practising my tricycling with the aim of being strong (and safe) enough to pootle on the road up to Three-Arch Bridge to see Tom come down from the hills toward the end of the race, and then cycle back with him to the finish line at Craighouse. This is a round trip of six and a half miles on three wheels – nothing in comparison to the task Tom was engaged upon, but certainly an undertaking for someone whose wonky left side is still suffering the after-effects of a stroke and hemiplegia.

I practised my ride the day before the race and reckoned I’d be fine.

On race day, I timed my tricycling to Tom’s predicted finishing time, and happily made it to the bridge just a few minutes before he appeared off the last hill. You’ll have to take my word for it that the tiny dot in the centre of the picture is Tom (the slightly larger figure to the left is a race marshall).

And here he is coming over the stile just before the bridge.

Obviously there are no pictures of our joint journey back into Craighouse, as we were both otherwise engaged (he on foot, me on wheels). The race was really tough in the heat, but Tom completed it in 4 hours 28 minutes – his best time yet! I was also very happy to complete my own mini-challenge, and happily without attendant bog-water, blood, and bruises.

The third element of our Jura triathlon was, of course . . . swimming! It is not often that one gets a chance to do this in the sea off the Hebrides, and for me it was an opportunity not to be missed, even without a proper costume.

This was the first time I’d swum in the sea since my stroke.

And it was my first time ever swimming with a dog.

The water was clean and clear and cold and full of fish. It was really pretty amazing.

To anyone who has survived a stroke, can I say: though we may never be able to undertake a feat of endurance anything like the Jura Fell Race, small physical goals that make our wonky bodies work just a little bit harder are just as important and certainly as satisfying. Try riding a trike! Swim in the sea! I know that I feel a joy at being able to complete these physical challenges that is more intense than any sense of accomplishment I felt before my stroke. These small things — like being able to take to the water, or accompany one’s partner in the final stage of an epic race — remind me just how grateful I am to still be alive.

I am two

May 28, 2012 By Kate in Bruce, Islay, Jura, Scotland Tags: bruce, Finlaggan, Hebrides, Islay, Islay House, Jura, Scotland 97 Comments

Hiya, it is I, Bruce. I was born on the 27th May, and now I am two years old. This weekend we celebrated my birthday at some very fun places called Inner Hebrides. To travel there, you have to get on noisyboat.

As everybody knows, I am called Bruce. Yet apparently I have another name that no-one ever calls me. This other name – Finlaggan – was hitherto unknown to me and it belongs to Kennel Club. Now, as far as I know, a kennel is a sort of dog prison, and belonging to a club of kennels does not interest me at all. Also, if this other name is my “proper” name, then why on earth am I known as Bruce? Clearly, being two years old means that the humans can now bother me with these confusing and pointless issues of nomenclature.

This other name – Finlaggan – also belongs to a place on the island of Islay. Kate told me that this place was once the seat of the Lords of the Isles.

Finlaggan is surrounded by water: good. Finlaggan is a Historic Site: bad. What is the point of all this lovely water if you cannot run about and jump in it?

Kate told me that Finlaggan was my spiritual home. Though it is a very nice spot, I think it may actually be more her kind of place than mine.

If you ask me, what every birthday needs is somewhere you could hold a really good party. I think I might have found just the place.

This tidy pile is currently on the market for a mere 1.6 million donuts. I think it would suit me down to the ground.

Imagine me, if you will, bounding unconstrained through the twenty four bedrooms, and wreaking happy havoc in the deer larder.

Truly, a hoose for Bruce. Unfortunately for me, my humans’ tastes are a little more modest.

But even so, I think I’m lucky to have them. We always have fun.

. . . though sometimes you do have to question their sanity.

Anyway, despite not even knowing what a birthday was before last week, I had an excellent one. I’m now looking forward to many more with the humans.

Pretty exhausting, really.

See you soon, love Bruce x

winners

June 3, 2010 By Kate in competition, Jura, running, Scotland Tags: fell running, hill running, isle of Jura, Jura, jura fell race, Kate Davies, mini manu, running 18 Comments

(Paps of Jura from Bowmore harbour)

The Paps of Jura dominate the horizon all over the inner Hebrides and look spectacular from any direction. They are fabulous but quite challenging hills – steep, rocky and boulder-covered, rising out of Jura’s rough, boggy landscape. I climbed them on a misty day in 2005, but there’s absolutely no way I could imagine running around them during the infamous Jura Fell Race, even if my circumstances were different. It is a tough race, taking in seven summits and sixteen miles (or considerably more, if your navigational skills aren’t up to much). Tom managed the race last year in truly appalling conditions, completing the course in 5 hours 6 minutes. He was determined this year to improve his time, and, like the other 210 hardy souls in the field, was really hoping for better weather. All day on Friday, the view to the Paps was clear, with very little cloud. But the weather gods were not smiling, and by Saturday morning, the Jura hills were once again swathed in grey. Visibility was going to be poor, and the difficulty of navigating one’s way about the paps would be considerably increased..

At Craighouse on Saturday morning I heard many dark mutterings of the third pap, which, with a sheer precipice on one side, poses particular navigational challenges on descent. We were all hoping that the participants didn’t take this advice literally.

Despite the weather, both runners and supporters seemed upbeat. . . .

and then they were off!

According to Tom, he was making good going, until he made the fatal mistake of following a local boy, who had chosen a particularly bizarre boulder-strewn route for one descent. Tom tripped and gashed his shin, and then lost time correcting the navigational error. From this point on, things got rather grueling, but he still did great. Here he comes, approaching the finish line 4 hours 48 minutes later!

18 minutes better than last year! Huzzah!

These are the tags that the runners hand in at each navigational checkpoint and, as you can see, Tom’s race number was 98. This is the number he chose for the winner in the Mini-Manu draw, who, after eliminating my own comments, those who had left more than one, and those who did not wish to be entered, is Margaret. Well done Margaret! I have sent you an email asking for your address. Yarn and pattern are now Yours! And the Mini-Manu pattern is now available, from ravelry or the designs page. By the time you read this, I’ll be off down the hospital. Thanks for all your support and kind wishes, as always.

vancation

June 1, 2010 By Kate in Camping, Islay, running, Scotland, walking Tags: campervan, Camping, Islay, Jura, landscape, open road scotland, Scotland 71 Comments

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!

PS I heart campervans.

fat rascals! competition! adventure!

May 26, 2010 By Kate in recipe, running, Scotland, textiles, walking Tags: fat rascals, Islay, Jura, jura fell race, mini manu, pattern, yarn 286 Comments

I am foolishly excited. This is because we are going away for a few days this weekend. Guess where we are going?

that’s right! Islay and Jura! As wild camping is a bit beyond me at the moment, Tom has hired a camper van in which we shall zoom about the islands in comparative luxury. What fun! He will be running the Jura Fell Race and I, of course, will be having a much more sedentary time. I’m sure, though, that I can manage some low-level walking and know I will really enjoy just being in these much beloved places.

I am also pleased because the mini-manu pattern is nearly ready to go and will be released as soon as I get back from our trip. I realised that I had 175g of the lovely spring green “St Magnus” Orkney Angora yarn left over – more than enough to make a toddler-sized cardigan – so I thought I would give the yarn away with a copy of the pattern when it is released. If you are interested in this “prize” from my stash, just leave a comment here between now and next Tuesday, and I will enter you into the draw.

Finally, my sister brought me some home-baked Fat Rascals a couple of weeks ago. They were very good, and I immediately nabbed her recipe and made some myself. For those who don’t know, Fat Rascals are a sort of cross between a rock bun and a scone, with the luxurious addition of dried fruit, spices, and peel. They are decorated with a wonky ‘face’ formed out of cherry eyes and blanched almond teeth, and are familiarly purveyed by Betty’s Yorkshire Tea Rooms. I particularly enjoyed the smell of grated citrus peel and nutmeg while I was making these (is there anything more mysterious-looking than the interior of a nutmeg?) and the finished result was very tasty indeed. Please to note: if this recipe is followed, your rascals will have a pleasing dome-like appearance, rather than the unusual mushrooms that you see here. Their odd shape is because I baked them in the type of tray that is meant to hold buns in bun-cases. And this, in turn, is explained by the fact that I got up at the crack of dawn on Sunday on a baking whim, and found myself unable to get into the cupboard that houses the flat baking trays due to wonky arm and leg. It was 6am, and Tom was sleeping, so it had to be the bun tray. Ah, the vicissitudes of post-stroke cooking.

still tasted good, though.

Fat Rascals

4oz plain flour
4oz self raising flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
pinch salt
5oz butter
4 oz caster sugar
2 eggs
1 lemon
1 small orange
small nutmeg, ground
half teaspoon ground cinnamon
5 oz currants
3.5 oz glace cherries
packet blanched almonds

Preheat oven to gas mark 5 / 375f / 190c
use a non-stick baking tray, or use some butter to grease a normal one.
grate the rinds of the citrus peel. Grate nutmeg and chop your cherries, (leaving 12 whole cherries for decorating later)
Rub butter into the flours, baking powder and salt.
stir in sugar, spices, rinds, currants, chopped cherries.
Beat the eggs. Add 2/3 of the beaten egg to the mixture (keeping last 1/3 to brush surface later)
mix to form soft dough. If mixture is too dry, add a little milk. If it is too sticky, add a little flour.
divide mixture roughly into twelve rascals and place well-spaced on baking tray.
cut your remaining cherries in half, and place on top to form ‘eyes’.
Add blanched almond ‘teeth’.
Brush with remaining egg.
Bake in oven for about 20 minutes (but check the oven, as they catch easily).

Eat warm, with butter.

Don’t forget to leave a comment if you want the yarn and pattern and also, do let me know what you think about the blog’s new appearance (I am overhauling things). You may recognise the header from the card made for me by Kowajy, which I love (I will get back to updating the correspondence archive next week) – but is the sashiko stitching round the edges too much / too twee? Do you prefer a cleaner look?

Edited to add: I got rid of the stitching. . .

See you after the weekend!

looking down

August 4, 2009 By Kate in Islay, Jura, landscape, Scotland, walking Tags: Ardtalla, Beinn Beigher, Glas Bheinn, Islay, Jura, landscape, Proaig, Scotland, travel, walking 18 Comments

We had some fine weather on Islay, and on Sunday enjoyed a glorious day’s walking. When we last visited this part of the world in May, we sat by the water at Ardfin, and gazed across the sound of Jura to some very good looking Islay hills which we had never ascended. So we decided to ascend them. The hills in question sit in a corner of the island that, in comparison to other parts of Islay, feels incredibly remote. Our walk started at Ardtalla and our route (North-West, then South-East) is marked by that wiggly red line:

This is a great walk, but it is not for the faint hearted. While the hills are not particularly high, and nor, at 10 miles, is this a particularly long route, the terrain — involving a characteristic mix of bog, rock, and waist-high bracken — is consistently challenging. . .

. . . but rewarding in every way. After tramping a couple of miles round the coast, we came down to the water to have a look at the old abandoned farm at Proaig.

. . . which is not quite as abandoned as it looks.

A tin roof and some rudimentary furniture make this quite a serviceable bothy, and the swallows nesting in the beams certainly seemed to like it. While I enjoyed the graffiti (“no writing on wall”) Tom found a notebook in which visitors had marked their recent presence in the building in pen and ink.

We were interested to see that Dave G had visited Proaig that morning, though we saw no sign of him — or anyone else for that matter — all day. Perhaps he had already returned to McArthur’s head and the otter.

After crossing the water along a conveniently placed girder, we began our climb.

This is where the walk got really interesting. The sides of these hills are steep, and that solid-looking heathery undergrowth is deceptive. Beneath the heather is moss, beneath the moss is bog, and beneath the bog is The Unknown. The Unknown may be water, it may be loose rock, or it may be a Nice Big Hole just waiting to sprain your ankle. Ascending up such hills can be quite a tricky business — very much like climbing up a large, slippery sponge. This is the kind of walking where one must look down frequently, to see on precisely what one is stepping. But I like watching my feet. There are amazing things to see.

I was not quick enough to photograph the fat cream-and-chocolate adder who appeared out of the heather, and the camera also missed the bright yellow lizard that darted across Tom’s boots. But that gigantic caterpillar wasn’t going anywhere, and neither were the fungi or the flowers.

I love the way that the peat and water that shape this landscape bring things to life in such outlandish colours.

There are incredible greens and browns and oranges everywhere you look. And the shades of rock and lichen are equally intense. Sun-yellows, reds and peaches. Quartzite, pink as a giant roast salmon.

When one reaches the tops of hills, one begins to look down in a different way. If the day is clear, there is the reward of a fine expansive view. And whatever the weather, there is that heady sensation of traversing the curve where the earth meets the sky.

Sometimes the point of a walk seems the prospect, and in this case, it was a delicious one: back across the Sound to the three paps of Jura. We could see the place where we sat three months ago, anticipating this superb Islay walk.

But I’m in a nuts-and-bolts kind of mood at the moment, and however great the prospect view, I think that its the nuts-and-bolts of this landscape — the things that I noticed by looking down at my feet — that I’ll continue to muse upon.

Yes, I did knit that hat. It is my new favourite walking hat. I’ll perhaps say something about it another time

Jura fell race

May 31, 2009 By Kate in Jura, running, Scotland Tags: fell running, hill running, Jura, jura fell race, running, Scotland, scottish hill runners 9 Comments

I’ll complete the Jura series by telling you a little about one reason we were there. For much of our time on the island, as the photograph above suggests, the weather was just fantastic. Tom was pleased about this, since he had to run up and down this hill:

. . .and six others in the Jura Fell Race. For hill runners, this is a legend among races: sixteen miles, seven summits, a true test of navigational skill and physical stamina. The race’s key peaks are the paps of Jura — three huge quartzite cones that are visible from the mainland and which dominate the island’s distinctive landscape. I have only walked up the paps, and they really are fabulous mountains, but from my pootling, boot-shod perspective I would say they form a challenging landscape at the best of times: bog, and rock, with little inbetween. Their tops are crazy boulder-strewn moonscapes and what might look from a distance like a fine scree turns out at close quarters to resemble the gigantic rubble from a demolition site.

As I said, the weather had been gorgeous, but by the morning of the race it certainly was not. The mountains were swathed in dense cloud, and a thin rain was falling to complement the nice, chill wind. These were evil conditions in which to scale and descend several rocky mountains at speed! Visibility is very important in this race because of the particular navigational challenges of the terrain. For example, to the north of Beinn Shiantaidh is a sheer precipice which, when cloud is low, is very difficult to spot.

The crowd of locals, runners and supporters assembled here number more than twice the existing population of the island. Very few people live on Jura.

Tom ran while I waited (and knitted). The weather seemed at times to want to clear, but then it became even more grim. I hope you don’t think I’m romanticising my own position (I wasn’t running, or owt), but conditions were so bad that I felt the same kind of concern as if my feller had been out at sea in a storm.

A few hours later, I took a walk up to the three arch bridge to watch the runners coming down off the hills.

The terrible conditions meant that times were very slow. But, after a while, gaunt and muddy figures began to appear out of the mist. Tom was one of them. Hurrah!

The sense of achievement and (for me) relief was immense. And from my non-participant, outsiders perspective, I would say this is a truly great race in all senses: the intensity of the challenge it presents, the camaraderie and atmosphere, the local support ( which is tremendous), and, more than anything, the brooding majesty of Jura’s landscape. From the runner’s point of view, I can report that the conditions made a genuinely difficult race deeply unpleasant at times, but not so unpleasant as to contemplate not doing it again. I think we might be back next year.

the gardens at ardfin

May 29, 2009 By Kate in gardens, Jura, landscape, Scotland, walking Tags: Ardfin, Ardfin estate, brosdale, brosdale village, campbells of Jura, garden, gardening, gardens, Hebrides, Islay, Jura, Jura House Garden, Scotland, scottish island, walking 26 Comments

Would you like to come for a short walk on Jura?

Leave your money in the honesty box by the tree, and follow the path to Jura House garden. With its mix of Scottish wild flowers and victorian woodland planting, the surrounding landscape looks like a fairy glade.

Then you open a door in the garden wall, and enter another world entirely

Because of the gulf stream, Jura has a very mild climate, but, as one might expect from a Hebridean island, it is buffeted by wind. Sitting on a sunny south-west slope, and protected behind high walls, the garden flourishes on Jura.

Laid out in the early nineteenth-century, the garden was originally designed to provide produce and flowers for the estate. The feel of the Victorian kitchen remains here, but the planting is now managed with a looseness and informality that I really liked. The feel of the space is intimate, comfortable, and not at all pristine.

each pathway opens up another delicious combination of colour and texture.

and there are plenty of places to rest and enjoy the fragrances and shifting sounds of the garden. The air is alive with magnolia, wild garlic, and many buzzing things.

Walls, of course, mean private property: they are there to keep the outside out. At Ardfin, this is forcibly brought to mind in the story of one notorious nineteenth-century estate owner, who cleared the nearby crofting community of Brosdale because it spoiled her prospect view. Today, however, the walls of Jura House are permeable, and its garden is very much a public space. One of the most impressive things about it is how it fits into the surrounding landscape: through careful estate management, the garden’s inside and its outside work in harmony. Beyond the garden walls, you can continue your walk along a spectacular cliffside to Poll a’ Cheo, (the misty pool) and its stone-age burial site.

To the south-east you see the mull of Kintyre, and the hills of Arran beyond:

And lovely Islay lies across the sound to the west:

Wild orchids thrive on the hillside, and, by the water’s edge, the shilasdair is coming into bloom:

A walk with a perfect mix of the cultivated and the wild.

mead magic

May 25, 2009 By Kate in brewing, Camping, Jura, landscape, memory, Scotland, walking Tags: brewing, drink, food, food and drink, Hebrides, hill walking, home brew, home brewing, Jura, mead, Scotland, walking 20 Comments

Last summer, when we were walking on Jura, we buried some home-brewed mead above the gulf of corryvreckan. Yesterday we retraced our steps, and returned to find it.

I heart Jura.

Seven miles and a very enjoyable walk later, we climbed up a cliffside on the remote and empty north-west of the island and wondered if we would be able to find our bottle. Last August, we had dug a hole near the heather line, covered up the mead, and placed a large stone to mark the spot. Since then, the heather appeared to have receded, and other visitors had added other stones to ours.

The site now resembled a small burial cairn — which I suppose is exactly what it was. Underneath the stones was a bare patch of ground, and what seemed to be solid peat. Tom began to dig. Was the mead still there?

Of course it was!

It is hard to convey just how excited we were to see this bottle again. It had spent three seasons in the ground of Carraig Mhór, above the swirling, whirling, myth-infused waters of Corryvreckan. Our mead had lain there, quietly wintering with with Cailleach Bheur above the whirlpool in which Orwell had almost drowned. As a friend of ours said after a few in the bar of the Jura hotel on Saturday night, “that bottle is bigger than both of you.”

It tasted damn fine, anyway.

I can also confirm that the returning foot miles seemed to pass by rather quickly in a sort of warm, meady fug. Which was good, since we were walking into a headwind. Slainte!

Corryvreckan

August 6, 2008 By Kate in beasties, Jura, knitting, landscape, memory, mountain knitting, walking Tags: 1984, Ardbeg, Barnhill, Breachan, Cailleach Bheur, Corryvreckan, Dark Green fritillary, George Orwell, Jura, knitting, mountain knitting 7 Comments

(The Sound of Islay and the Paps of Jura)

Jura has a remarkable landscape. On a clear day, there is nothing more beautiful than the view of the islands from the crazy quartz moonscape of the Paps. And, if you don’t mind a wee bit of bog and bracken, there is some truly fabulous walking to be had. You can wander all day and not see a soul, apart from the occasional deer or golden eagle. It is a breathtaking place.

Jura sky

On Monday we tramped fourteen breezy and sunshiney miles to and from the Gulf of Corryvreckan. The walk passes the remote farmhouse where George Orwell famously wrote 1984.

Barnhill

Deer are pretty ubiquituous on Jura, and we saw several, as well as an elegantly circling eagle, two silvery slowworms, and, flickering across a sandy patch, an adder (the first snake I’ve seen in Scotland. I became foolishly excited). The air was alive with fritillaries.

I think this one is a dark green fritillary.

I remembered my knitting this time. Here I am working on a sleeve atop the Gulf of Corryvreckan.

The island across the water there is Scarba.

Knitting in the wind on a spectacular cliff top tends to induce giddiness and inanity

It was a great walk.
If you are wondering where you have heard of Corryvreckan, it may well be from the Powell and Pressburger filmI Know Where I’m Going . But there are many other renditions of the myths surrounding Cailleach Bheur, Breachan and the Corryvreckan whirlpool. My personal favourite is this three part animation from Ardbeg (click on the ‘Corryvreckan’ link on the right hand side after you get to the homepage.) (So it is advertising whisky. So what?)

Kate Davies Designs

Tag Archives: Jura