Spirited Waters

Alice before the rain

A while ago now, just as the freeze-thaw was releasing its grip on the north, we took off on another wonderful kayak trip with the sea touring group of the Scottish Canoe Association. These trips have come to be so much more to us than meeting a bunch of kayakers for a paddle. They have become food for the kayaking soul.


Meeting old and new faces at the Isle of Glencoe hotel, the air of expectation was jamming the lobby as the briefing for the weekend took place. Soon to be sealed in dry suits, Peter Venters asked Jim Weir if there was anything he needed to lead a group the next day. 'Big flask....lots of sandwiches', was his succinct reply.
The scene was set for another great sea kayaking weekend.


In opting for the trip to Lismore from Port Appin, we found ourselves standing in a group of rather good paddlers. A bit too good, and I was wondering how it would all go. Still, conditions were good, and the pace started off gently.


Towards the northern end of Lismore where a multitude of skerries streak through the tidal waters, I saw two large birds. Geese perhaps, but geese with funny, bent beaks. A couple of us had spotted them and turned to get a little closer. The birds took off, revealing their identity. The two sea eagles whirled above us, not concerned enough to fly off.


The day panned out into one of those unforgettable times spent on an infinite sea above a panorama of unending skyscapes. The trip was made all the more poignant by developments within the SCA which stand to threaten the running of trips like these. For those who've enjoyed these trips for years, it is a sad enough thought. But for us newcomers to this truly inspirational group of people, it feels like the wave has passed beneath us before having had the time to catch it. Let's hope it isn't over.

One Day in Morocco

It's been a while since I was in Africa. Being near Tarifa in Southern Spain at Christmas meant that we couldn't have had a better opportunity to slip across the Straits and visit Tangiers.

The ferry crossing was rough- about force 5 I would say. The immense catamaran slapped heavily into the ravaged waves, driving many passengers into close encounters with the sick bag. We were shaken, but on this occasion, not stirred, and slightly uneasily, left the restaurant deck to the cleaners and wobbled out into the scorching sun.


To be in Morocco is to immerse yourself in what seems at first like an unreal place. Within moments, it seemed as if the natural reserve between strangers had disappeared. At the slightest flicker of a map from a pocket, someone was there, wanting to help.


Sitting in the shade of a street cafe, we were exhausted. We'd raced off to try and see everything in this amazing, arresting place. Drinking in the wild infusion of stabbingly-bright green mint tea, the rainbow displays of wizards striding by in swathes of decadent winter djellabas made it feel like a wonderful hallucination.


Something else slowly started to sink in, though, by the end of the day. Although it seemed as if this was as unreal and fairytale a place as you could find, it was quite the opposite. This was the real world, a kind of reality that we in Britain, and perhaps, Europe, have lost touch with. Intangible though it was, the full gamut of life was here as it had been for thousands of years and even in this immense city, everyone was connected to each other. With our unreal existence in the here and now in our technologically proficient but shallow world, it struck me that we may have by-passed something very special.


Maybe there was something in the mint tea, but maybe life in Tangiers is a window on a forgotten world. Reality check, indeed.

Mountain Kingdom

Join me on a photo journey through the landscapes of Corsica...A wonderful place for granite climbing and mountain running.

The ancient capital fortress of Corte

Thin wisps of cloud along a rock shelf









The path to the crag is paved with prickly pears...

Afternoon nap

Iles Rocheuses

The dancing granite spires of Campomoro







A true mountain kingdom: Monte Rotunda. What a place to be running.



The clouds came in...

And parted again...

A Handful Of Earth

The view from the summit of Ulva

Look out over the far west of Mull and you'll see a magical landscape of shimmering seas amongst gem-like islands of green baize. The pastel-pink and turquiose blues of Iona, towering ridges of basalt layers and the melancholic beauty of a hundred ruined villages. It is a landscape beyond description, beyond words and beyond time.


Every year, we visit this place. We are drawn back again and again on the pretext of one day circumnavigating the isle of Ulva, but the truth is, we don't try too hard to achieve it. The goal is really just to be there.

The Watermill, Ormaig

The south side of Ulva is a dream-like smatter of bright green and purple. The bracken is high, hiding a network of barrel-shaped tubes forced through by the stubby island goats. For humans, though, it's hard work. In amongst the bracken, the crofters' houses slowly sink back into the earth, leaving an ache of sadness as they go. Here on the south side is the village of Ormaig and the old corn mill. And below the high tide mark, near every house, pieces of broken china still wash back and forth with every tide. Striped, blue-pattern, earthenware, poignant reminders of how we are only separated by a thin selvedge of time.

This immense Atlantic Grey seal seemed to enjoy tailgating the kayaks. When we got to the shore, we watched as he spent a pleasant hour rolling around in the shallow water, playing.

We pulled the kayaks onto land at Starvation Point in a dank, dreichy drizzle. This austere row of houses clinging to each other against the ravages of their age, this was the place where the sick and the elderly were left to live out their days. Too frail to be thrown off the island, this place was the darkest on the isle.


Every year, there is something new, something special to see, and this year, it was a heart-breaking memorial to, I think, a paraglider.



The dizzying beauty of the seas

The ruined houses of Starvation Point

When the crofters were ordered to leave Ulva for the New World, there was not much that they could take with them. But many took with them something of Ulva: a handful of earth.

Kayaking out here on these isles is both a wonderful escape from real life and a true reminder of what real life actually is.

A Christmas Greeting

And this year, from my Dad's Antarctic collection, some Adelie penguins.

Happy Christmas, wherever you are!

Snowbound

Wandering out east on our annual pilgrimage to the solitude of Lindisfarne, we were surprised to find rather a lot of snow. It was easy to think the snow wouldn't hang around on the eastern-most feather of land, but as we hit pack-ice on the drive over the Causeway, we had to think again.


The peace and wildness of the landscape was complete, and for four days we could do nothing but mooch through the snow, marvelling at this place.

Bamburgh Castle in the distance

Ice streams coming off the boat sheds
There were no trips to the mainland, no visits to the Ship Inn at Seahouses, and certainly no road-biking. This was wonderful isolation.

Pack ice on the Causeway

The snow came right up to the high tide mark



We finally made it off the island a day later than planned in fairly heavy snow. Any later and we'd have been stuck for a week. Which wouldn't have been all bad...

The Isle of Two Halves

Circumnavigating the Isle of Bute



The Isle of Bute nudges up against the deeply-rutted lochs of the Cowal Peninsula, and it is an isle of two halves. And in keeping with this double identity the Scottish Canoe Association trip in September saw us complete the circumnavigation in two very different days.


From the lozenge of land at the southern end, Kilchattan Bay, we launched into the trip. It had been a bit of a shock to find that (a) it was going to be a long, 60 km paddle around the Isle over two days, and (b) that Stu had decided to tactically withdraw from the trip to save his back for a climbing holiday we had planned. Stu had a pleasant wander round the Isle, meeting us at various landings, instead.

As we rounded the southern tip, our leader, Roddy MacDowall of Kayak Bute passed off the surprising, rucking waves as "just a wee but o' tide..." This half of Bute is rugged and rusty-brown, abutting the wonderful isle of Inchmarnock, where we stopped for lunch. From there, we were in sniffing distance of the fantastic cafe at Ettrick Bay, its over-sized lemon meringues a mirage to our salt-cracked eyes.

The glory days of the Clyde Steamers remembered in a weather vane

We camped next to Colintraive Hotel on the mainland just beyond the northern end of Bute and with a fantastic meal and great beer, it couldn't have been better.



Bute's other half is altogether a different story. The eastern side is dominated by Rothesay and Port Bannatyne, great Victorian holiday ports now slightly decaying and enduring the after-effects of Glaswegian resettlement policies of the seventies. A wonderful retirement destination mingled with surprising pockets of social deprivation and almost-urban levels of isolation, only moments from Scotland's great western frontier.

A weekend of contrasts, for sure, but having made it round, an experience to treasure.

A Small Scale Delight

The Rab Mountain Marathon 2010, The Eastern Fells

The Mountain Marathon season has barely started for me this year, but if there was one event to do, the Rab was the one. Cool, but clear and dry conditions made for a stunning weekend of upland, off-piste running, and as always, there was the huge privilege of being in the mountains for a whole weekend. Liberated by the unbearable lightness of modern day kit, from super-lighweight tents to the humble zip-lock bag, we were in for a two-day journey through the mountains of the mind.

As Day 1 drew to a close, Penny and I were nothing short of confused. With our carefully calibrated piece of string, we had mapped out a route that should have stretched us in the six alloted hours of running. After five, though, we'd made too much progress, and were marooned between a distant checkpoint, high up on the steep slopes of Place Fell, and the lure of the finish. In the end, we opted to finish early. But as Kate of Tea and Cake has rather bluntly pointed out, if you stay out too long, you're crap, and if you get in too early, you're crap. I guess on that day, we fell in the latter category...

In any case, our string theory worked better on Day 2, and we squeezed into the finish with a few minutes to spare. Much more satisfying. And with a third place in 'the ladies of a certain age' team category, we were chuffed to bits.