The weather has been glorious all weekend – the trees in Edinburgh seem at the height of their Autumn hues – and we’ve spent a lot of time outside enjoying some local colour. We completed a pleasant circuit of Holyrood Park today, taking a detour to visit Hunter’s Bog. For the running club to which Tom belongs, this bog is the stuff of myth and legend. In a slightly different sense, it has a near-mythic status for me too, for, despite the hundreds of times I must have wandered around Holyrood, I have never actually managed to come across this bog. In fact, I was beginning to doubt its very existence until Tom pointed it out to me quite recently from the top of Arthur’s Seat. From that distance it looked like an unimpressive muddy puddle, but I was assured its bogginess was much more powerful close-to.
Holyrood is a great place for a Sunday stroll. The views of the city are superb. . .
. . . and turning the other way, there is the drama of the crags.
Those wee protruberances up there against the skyline are folk ascending and descending Arthur’s Seat. It seemed very busy up there, as it always is on a sunny day. We followed the slightly quieter, low-level undulating paths and avoided the crowds.
Someone nicked my hat . . .
. . .but he knew his way to the bog, which did not look like a puddle at all, but rather seemed golden and idyllic in its stillness, just as a mythic bog should be. . .
. . . until the peace of the moment was shattered, and the water’s reflections broken by an over-enthusiastic puppy . . .
This way, bogface! Time to go home!
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