It's a while since we journeyed to Orkney, but it's never too late to share snippets from the journey...

Travelling along the main road (which by the by is two lanes - one in each direction) we saw a howe (hillock or knoll) in the middle of a field, and we stopped in by to make arrangements. Further along the road we saw the Barnhouse Stone, protected by fencing in the middle of farmland. As we travelled towards a narrow causeway between the Loch of Harray and the Loch of Stenness, we could see a landscape unfolding marked by stones rising from the earth, some solitary, some in alignment, some in groups and in the distance the hazy hint of a great ring.
The road took us past the spit of land where a couple of houses overlooked an insignificant hump - where recent excavations have revealed an important site described as a "stone age cathedral." Just last year gave up the only example of "painted" walls in a Neolithic site in Britain. The dig is closed until June, so we simply drove by musing about the way these islands continue to reveal our past.

And then the Stones of Stenness loomed before us and I was almost out of the car by osmosis... I stopped just inside the gate to take them in, their towering size and their placement within the wider landscape. These stones mark the oldest stone circle in the Orkney Isles, and one of the oldest in the British Isles. The whole circle was really an ellipse and it is believed this circle was never finished, with possibly two of the twelve stones never erected.

I walk amongst the stones and am immediately centred. I cannot see the modern fence lines, power lines, buildings... I see the stones in the landscape without clutter. They are welcoming and somehow peaceful despite the hard, cold wind that is blowing my fingers to ice. The stones have ragged edges and many lichens soften the aged shapes - the air is so clean up here.

I walk slowly and listen with inner ears and then I step towards the stone that speaks. I lay my hands to him at shoulder height and lean my body in so that my heels are off the ground and I close my eyes. The sense of spinning and the vision of a vortex offer to sweep me away, and for a few moments I let them.

Then it is time to go, and just as we are turning away from the stones, a group of three young men arrive. There is a smile between us as they approach, and I muse about the more than five thousand years that these stones have been connecting people as they stand in silence...

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Meeting The Standing Stones of Stenness originally appeared on Taexalia on June 14, 2011.

A few photographs I had the pleasure of taking on the Isle of May yesterday...

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Isle of May originally appeared on Taexalia on June 13, 2010.

If you are going to climb Ben Nevis then I highly recommend not doing it on the first heatwave day of the summer. I don't recommend doing it during any other heatwave either - but the first heatwave of the year and climbing Ben Nevis is a combination that will leave you puffin, pechin, puggled an pitifu...

Last year we didn't heed this advice. Thinking about it, we didn't really not heed it, we just didn't really think about it in real terms. The day before we just thoucht "Aye fine weather, hope it huds for the morn."

When the Paternal Unit and The GemmaDog deposited us at the side of the road it was 8:15am. Before we even said goodbye, I decided that the fleece I was wearing was already surplus to requirements - and I added it to my rucksack, before lathering my exposed wintry white flesh with sunscreen.

Scottish readers will know how alien a concept it is to be applying sunscreen at 8:15am on a Sunday morning.

We were hot before we crossed the River Nevis and left the shade of the trees. Once we left the shade of the trees we were hotter still.

And then we started to climb.

That's the wonderful thing about Ben Nevis - you start basically at sea level and climb to 4406 (or 4409 depending who you read) feet above sea level. Unlike other Munros, where the car-park might already be at 1000ft above sea level and the summit is 3300ft, you walk all the way. Up. There is no gentle initiation, there is only UP.

We decided very early on that we had the freedom to turn back at any point, given that the heat was, well, hot and given that our recent portfolio of hill-walking was limited to Stac Pollaidh.

Being vaguely experienced, if out of practise hillwalkers, we were equipped with everything one needs to venture onto the Scottish hills. Here is a list of some of the things that were in my backpack... that added to the weight I was carrying... that added to the hotness:

• Aforementioned polar fleece jacket
• Sweatshirt
• Waterproof jacket
• Waterproof trousers
• Scarf
• Fleece hat
• Gloves
• Packed lunch
• Camera
• Water

Feel free to guess how many of those items I needed...

Here is a list of things I didn't bring:

• My own personal rain cloud and wind system

We were slow, we were overtaken, we stopped a lot. We put one foot in front of the other and kept going despite feeling like we might never make it. We were buoyed by the group of guys who kept overtaking us while we were stopped, who would stop further on and banter as we overtook them. One of these darling guys was to be found around the half way point straddling the waterfall and offering to soak people's hats for them. We accepted his offer. I have to tell you that the sensation of that freezing, dripping hat returning to my bonce was one of the best non-orgasmic moments of my life. Both Mither and I are convinced that it was this singular incident that ensured our success.

Yes, despite the heat, and a mile of thigh-deep-arse-muscle-trembling-banana-skin-polluted-snow, we made it.

I didn't have the energy to be euphoric and I didn't have the sunglasses to cope with the harsh effect of sun and snow (I am not one of those people that does things with snow and graphite shoe accessories). I didn't even really have the energy to eat much. But I did climb onto the trig point and feel funny knowing that for the moments we were up there, no-one in these Isles had their feet on the ground and their heads held higher.

What goes up must come down. Much of the downward trek we were kept company by a pair of conversational Ravens. We also discovered that sweat and sunscreen soup is effective in drowning midgies. When my knees made their final creaking downward motion I was already thinking about The Next Time...

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Getting High With Mither originally appeared on Taexalia on February 25, 2010.

I'm fiddling with my image plugins and trying to discover the coolest way to display a whole gallery of my images... So here's the NextGen Smooth Gallery with some of my landscape and scenery photos taken in Scotland. ..

Slioch

Otter water art

Freezing Fog

Warning Sign Loch Maree

Circle in the sand north Berwick

Circle in the Sand North Berwick

Calming Sea

Firth of Forth Sunrise at Portobello Beach

Firth of Forth Sunrise at Portobello Beach

Portobello Beach Sunrise

Portobello Beach Sunrise

Sunrise Over Edinburgh From Portobello Beach

2009_0131sunrise-dragon.jpg

Mull of Galloway Cliff

Am Buachaille Sandwood Bay

Am Buachaille sea stack at Sandwood Bay North west Scotland.

Sandwood Bay

Stac Pollaidh Ledge

Stac Pollaidh

Ben Nevis Heads Above Everything

Ben Nevis Snow Cornice

Ben Nevis Summit

Ben Nevis

Burntisland Winter Sunset

Burntisland Winter Sun Firth of Forth

2009_0131-inchkeith-sunrise-portobello

Firth of Forth

Firemore Bay

Stac Pollaidh

Solstice Burntisland Beach

Solstice Burntisland Beach

Firth of Forth From The Lammerlaws

Sunset Burntisland

Red Sky Warning

Sunrise Burntisland Firth of Forth

Spey Bay

Bass Rock Firth of Forth

Hareheugh Craigs

Bass Rock Firth of Forth

2010_0610-isle-of-may

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Scottish Landscape Gallery originally appeared on Taexalia on February 7, 2010.

The message from the Firth of Forth this morning was of light following dark. Yule, the shortest day, eases into the longest night. The wheel turns. Life moves on.

Bright Blessings

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Burntisland Solstice originally appeared on Taexalia on December 21, 2009.

Oh how things change.

For years I have travelled to America visiting many interesting places, spending my tourist pounds and being curiously welcomed by strangers asking if I know any Ferguson's in Falkirk as that is where their great grandfather's second cousin twice removed came from.

The only thing I've ever done in Falkirk is visit the Falkirk Wheel. My closest link to a Ferguson is the tractor my Granda drove around Belt Croft. My knowledge of my family tree is like a small shrub. I am Scottish because I was born here, raised here and I live here in the tangled mess of assumptions, cultures, pretty stunning landscapes and ugly sectarian traditions that can all be lumped under the name Scotland.

We are not any more special than any other country with its own version of democracy, its own legal system, its own flag, its own heritage and its own landscape.

Except we aren't really recognised as a country - the Saltire they waved at Tripoli airport is usually missing from any book of official country flags and our parliament falls a bit short of my idea of democracy on many levels. (Actually that probably makes us quite similar to many countries with their flag in the books!).

So in the past my Scottishness has always been welcomed even if my idea of Scotland seems at odds with the Tartan Shortbread Tin version perpetuated by the American genealogy movement.

Having said that, sometimes I have had trouble spending my tourist pounds. Like the time the bank in Carmel By The Sea wouldn't change my emergency stash of Sterling into US Dollars - the woman had no qualms about telling me I needed to travel to either Los Angeles or San Francisco (you do the maths) as no-one else will change my money "because of 9/11".

She actually said that.

She would have been able to give me a cash advance on a credit card though.

The message: all non-Americans are to be prevented from exchanging cash for cash because any attempt to live life free from the stranglehold of credit card debts and related bank charges is a clear sign of terrorism.

There I said it. Terrorism. It's a loaded word, isn't it? Sometimes I think the word is used to control us more than the weapons of any terrorist. A terrorist is a bad person, rather than a participant in a war. War, you see, only has one good and valid side. It is the Goodies (read USA, read Britain) against the Terrorists (read any people or movement or nation who oppose the Goodies).

Terrorists butcher innocent people, murder innocent people and terrorise innocent people. The US military and the British military shoot the target, albeit it in a carpet bombing kinda fashion, and reduce innocent people to the term collateral damage.

Surely a terrorist is just someone who instills terror, regardless of national identity, political leanings or colour of skin? I am thinking of recent inhabitants of Westminster and the White House. Sometimes even Alex Salmond instills terror in me, albeit in a weapons free way.

But the big story this week is the release on grounds of compassion of the convicted terrorist Abdul Baset Ali al-Megrahi from a Scottish prison. The Lockerbie Bomber no longer resides in a reportedly well appointed cell with internet access and curious privileges. The special treatment is rumoured to have been going on since he was imprisoned and this release could be seen as just one more piece of an incomplete jigsaw that suggests a miscarriage of justice and even that they got the wrong man.

Talks of business deals - oil exploration in Libya, retail interests such as Marks and Spencer opening shops in Tripoli - lurk in the background of a decision that has been marketed as "A decision for the Scottish Government". Gordon Brown broke his silence to congratulate the English cricket team on their victory and he appears to be living in hope that Kenny MacAskill and the people of Scotland will take the brunt of this decision that is increasingly looking like politics as usual - and deeply linked to Westminster and Brown himself.

If we believe al-Megrahi was the bomber, are we looking at the release of a terrorist on grounds of compassion which conveniently oils the wheels of deals and talks had by Gordon Brown with the leadership of Libya?

If we believe al-Megrahi was wrongly imprisoned, are we looking at justice being done in a way that still oils those business wheels but allows the people involved in the cock-up (like vocal FBI Director Robert Mueller) to save face. Megrahi curiously dropped his appeal to clear his name despite still claiming his innocence - why?

Justice has not been done when so many questions are circulating about whether al-Megrahi was the real bomber and there is now little chance of legal recourse to prove the truth one way or another.

Who is really benefiting from the muddy waters???

The people of Scotland don't appear to be. In fact the people of Scotland are currently the focus of yet another American Boycott from the Fraternity of Freedom Fries as they are declared a terrorist friendly nation. The people of Scotland are being targeted financially in an attempt to bully politicians to - well to do what exactly? go to Libya and get him back???

The funniest comment on the Boycott Scotland website, though, is this one directed at Kenny MacAskill:

"You have shown to the international community that your government and the United Kingdom as a whole will stop at nothing to pursue the neverending and relentless acquisition of oil revenues."

So anyway I'm Scottish and I'm dancing the swords between amusement, disillusionment, disappointment and frustration as I try to figure out what is really going on with this debacle.

Whilst I don't agree with the release of al-Megrahi leaving so many questions dangling in the folder currently marked Case Closed, I don't agree with the bully boy stance of the perpetrators of the Boycott Scotland campaign - who seem to be suggesting that Scotland must always act in agreement with their views to avoid being shown a lesson. That isn't democracy and it isn't showing respect to the families of the victims on the ground in Lockerbie, is it?

I'm looking forward to my trip to the USA next week - which I won't be cancelling because I don't hold my friends and loved ones responsible for the highly questionable acts of their politicians. I'll change my currency on this side of the pond though!

Boycott Scotland

or

Boycott Scotland

~

You decide!

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Snake(s) In The Grass originally appeared on Taexalia on August 25, 2009.

My Mum and Dad have been known to do the odd bit of walking in their time. Their pursuit of height has seen them conquer more than one hundred Munros, as well as many other smaller hills and winding paths. I have joined them on occasion and my own walking resume includes some long paths like the Lairig Gruh, as well as a small puckle of Munros and assorted hillage.

There are various reasons why our hill-walking exploits have been curtailed in recent years, but both Mum and I have developed an itch of late to get back up on top of hills, look at bonnie scenery and enjoy that wee rush of "I made it" that always accompanies the crest of a hill.

Having set our sights on Stac Pollaidh some time ago, we simply needed to co-ordinate a mini break that allowed us to wake up fairly close to our hill so we could have ample time for pechin, bearing in mind Stac Pollaidh stands in the far North-West of Scotland and we are as far flung as Fife and Aeberdeen. Dad appears to be enjoying his new role of logistical planner, transport chief and support team (aided by the Great Gemmadog) as much as we are enjoying our new set of challenges.

So, last weekend, I faced the vagaries of the rail system and had a quick sleep under a very large ginger cat before we set off to try and escape the Rain. I was not best hopeful about the weather thing because the further North I got the more driech it seemed to get. After Inverness, tho, we started to see patches of light cloud mingled with the occasional teaser of a possible blue streak.

The problem of weather meant there were many discussions regarding Plan A, Plan B, Plan C and Plan C subsection vii... When we finally came into view of Stac Pollaidh, she was hidden behind around a hundred feet of the Cailleach's skirts and Plan B was shunted up to first place. Plan B was the nine mile round trip to Sandwood Bay.

The following day we enjoyed a good breakfast before a leisurely meandering towards Stac Pollaidh. We could see lots of blue sky, some sunshine and our hopes were high for a successful ascent. We weren't disappointed.

The paths on Stac Pollaidh are well built and offer a varied set of options - there's a circular walk that avoids the Torridonian Sandstone monoliths that form the summit(s), and there are two paths marked in the guidebook that take you up into the crags. Since we had left the guidebook in the car (yes I know, but we did have proper clothing/footwear/water/etc - unlike one numpty we saw in tennis shoes) we decided more with instinct than with educated guesswork that we'd take the left path when we came upon the first pair of options.

The left path goes UP. More UP than the UP of the path prior to the fork in the trail. UP. I had already been hearing the sound of thundering drums as my heart aerated my moist and shrinking body, (OK I had to wait three days to see the change on the scales but sometimes you just *know* you are fat-burning), now my inner workings sounded like the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards Pipes and Drums on speed. The pipes being the screech of various things including my knees.

At various points we had discussed the wording of the absent guidebook - wording that suggested hill-walkers would have difficulty getting to the top because of scrambling. The scrambling was made to sound like vertical Spiderman-like clinging over vast cliffs populated by jagged claws waiting to claim slightly out of practise vertigo afflicted women.

We clambered up the steep path, stopping as needed, with the proviso that we would both be able to tell when we needed to stop and that no matter how far from the top we were - it wasn't the end result but the doing that counted.

We soon found ourselves on a plateau complete with a view ower the ither side - top enough for us in the moments it took to get our breath back. Then I spotted an interesting outcrop that just begged for me to walk out onto it. So I did. Mum attempted to hide the fact that the sight of her eldest daughter stepping out over basically nothing was giving her a conniption, but she didn't hide it very well. I don't think I helped much by wiggling my bum and uttering things like "Are you nervous? Are your ovaries doing somersaults?"

She took photos of me whilst wishing me to step back in to safety.

This is not a photo of me, this is a photo of Mum who, almost as soon as I had returned to normal width mountain-side,  threw off her rucksack and stepped over her vertigo to pose. Feel free to send her 66th Birthday Wishes via the comments form on the 8th of June

But there's more.

You see while we were cavorting about on rocky outcrops, I was noticing the gait of people continuing up the path - and I was noticing that although there was the odd grab-the-rock-above-for-a-handhold type manoeuvre, there weren't any rope tricks or Spider-Webs or anything.

So I took off to see for myself and left Mum with the weirdest looking bee type beastie I've ever seen. Twas not long before she was clambering up behind me - and soon we stood on what is the lower of the two recognised tops of Stac Pollaidh.

Breathtaking, in more ways than one.

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Women With Altitude originally appeared on Taexalia on May 24, 2009.

I have wanted to visit Sandwood Bay for quite a while. In March 2008 we found ourselves at the top of the track in an unexpected and un-planned stop but the lateness of the hour meant we could not undertake the four and a half mile walk to the beach (and the four and a half mile walk back).When I created my Day Zero Project, it was an easy and obvious goal to add to the list - and a quite stunning goal to mark "complete". That said, I want to make the trip again and camp for a night or two and have longer to explore the dunes and walk the length of the beach. Maybe I'll combine that idea with my wild camping alone goal, we'll see.

As someone who lived in Edinburgh for seven years, it is quite special to travel to one of the most stunning places in the country and to feel solitary and isolated. Of course I wasn't actually solitary since my companions were Mither and Gemmadog, but we barely saw another soul. The vastness of the beach itself plasy a part in this, but also the nine mile round trip means that less people drop by for a wee wander.

The walk itself isn't exceptional, just necessary - although if you are lucky you may catch sight of some wildlife.... frogspawn, butterflies, moths, dunlins, and ubiquitous sheep are things I have seen, there is probably more to spot. You can enjoy the weather and movement of light across the mountains to the north and the lochs and lochans scattered around. When you come to a pair of big old weathered sleepers marking a long gone gate you can relax to the idea that you have arrived.

Don't relax for too long though - if you want to get to the sea you need to walk through the dunes and that's a workout in itself.

There's some interesting lore about Sandwood Bay too - a now roofless cottage was said to be haunted by a mariner who knocked on the windows, shipwrecks and buried treasure are said to lie amongst the dunes and one person I spoke to the following day had heard "the whole place has a haunted atmosphere".

To me, Sandwood Bay feels immense as I'm standing on the sand looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. To the south there is the impressive sea stack, Am Buachaille, and to the north a series of cliffs step out into the sea. To my mind they appeared as dragons holding the boundary between land and water and I could almost imagine them sliding in and out, back and forth as their fancy took them. There is an elemental otherworldly feel to this place, a vastness.

Sand and water and a million years gone by, to quote Beth Nielsen Chapman, and I sang it too since there was so little by way of an audience

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Sandwood Bay originally appeared on Taexalia on May 21, 2009.

Inverness Museum and Art Gallery is a treasure trove of heritage. The displays are presented in an accessible and interesting way, which made us wish we had a little more time. I did have time to indulge in making colourful rubbings of the replicas of the Pictish Art which formed my favourite part of the exhibition.

Above is the Wolf Stone which is an incised Class I Pictish Stone. This wonderful throwback to our ancestors of 2000 years ago was found embedded in a wall in 1903. It's hard for me to imagine how someone could have just broken up a piece of art to build a wall and it makes me wonder how much of our artistic heritage has been disappeared this way.

Another Pictish find lies in Poolewe Cemetary, overlooking the peaceful vista of Loch Ewe. This is also a Class I Pictish Symbol Stone with only a feint indentation of the Crescent and V Rod carving.

This is the other side of the argument over whether these stones should be left in-situ, or moved to museums and preserved. Perhaps it is as it should be that the totems of our landscape are left to weather in the place where someone felt a need to mark something or someone's passing.

Poolewe Cemetary is full of interesting stones and it marks the story of the community from Pictish times to the modern day. Another old stone is this cup-stone. I'm sure it has a name but I'll have to look it up... Anyway, it's legend is that it is a healing stone and the waters in the bowl are said to heal warts. I wonder who hollowed out the bowl and placed this stone in the rugged landscape... what ceremonies took place here...

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Stones of Note originally appeared on Taexalia on March 29, 2009.

Having a plan is always a good idea, setting goals is often a great motivator and laying a good foundation is generally clever. Embracing life as it comes, accepting failure and letting go of expectations is wisdom.

I had a long list of Things To Do On Holiday and they did not come to pass in the ways I had hoped and planned for, but the surprises and the unplanned moments more than made up for the not-quite-there-yets.

Like my nephew learning to stand then gradually having the confidence to remove one hand from the edge of the sofa and by the end of week testing wobbly steps whilst grasping grown up fingers, achieving a specific goal isn't always as straightforward as knowing what you want to do and doing it. Especially where wildlife is concerned.

I had two particular goals, Day Zero goals in fact, planned for accomplishment during the week - seeing and photographing a Pine Marten and an Otter. I imagined I'd have it easy since our previous day-trip to the area produced an actual Otter sighting (accompanied by a slow camera) and actual Pine Marten Poop.

Perhaps I have been lulled into a false sense of security by my foxy adventures, and I confess to a somewhat self-satisfied smirk when I read the BBC Wildlife Magazine April article "How To Find Urban Foxes" - all I have to do is sit at my desk and remember to open the blind to experience a window into the life of a fox family.

The Otters and Pine Martens of Wester Ross, it seems, are intent on making me work harder.

We were in sight of the small jetty in Gairloch Harbour so often I lost count. Each time our heads turned and our necks creaked as we trained our eyes on the one spot in Scotland we definitely knew an Otter had played, and each time the water remained intact, impenetrable by Otter or our fervent wishes. I suspect I was not the only one giving this same treatment to every loch, sea loch, river and puddle in Wester Ross - anticipating a shiny head and being rewarded with a soggy rock.

In fairness, Otter had a part to play in our anticipation having placed unmistakeable and unmissable evidence of self just inside the swing gate leading to the wildlife hide at Inverewe Gardens, a spot not ten minutes walk from our holiday cottage and porridge base. I say unmistakeable... I confess that I did have to consult my new bible (Animal Tracks and Signs) to identify the following as my first ever Otter Spraint:

Yes, I have just re-sized, edited and water-marked a photo of poop just for your enjoyment. Never let it be said that I don't share my experience of life in full, or indeed that I don't own my shit. I could go on all day about shit this and shit that... or I could leave it to you to have a look for the remnants of fish bones, the oily residue and the freshness that indicates the Otter was there not very much earlier than we were.

Aren't you thanking your lucky stars we haven't progressed to smell-o-vision?

Otter illuded us for the entire week with the only other evidence of a missed opportunity being some wonderful tracks in the sands at Firemore Beach - a set winding their way down the beach to the water and another set, amongst the rocks, meandering back up the beach again.

Standing on the beach I could feel the energy of the otter and its playful gait, and in my mind's eye I could see it enjoying the deserted sands and I take pleasure in collecting the pieces of the jigsaw until I can bring the whole beastie to my blog.

~*~

Pine Marten too has kept her distance, although I have to conclude that sighting a Pine Marten might be better achieved sitting patiently alone at dusk as opposed to daytime walking with five other adults, one child in a pushchair and The GemmaDog...

For the future, I now have several choices for my dusk rendevous since I have found (and photographed) almost enough Pine Marten Poop to make a whole Pine Marten. I saw Pine Marten droppings on every woodland walk we did but I will refrain from sharing them all with you and mark the trail only the once:

These weren't fresh, but the Pine Marten had eaten something furry...

~*~

In the interests of dealing with all the shit in one post, here is one last picture - red fox droppings that appeared to have been left shortly before we descended the Devil's Elbow section of path within Inverewe Gardens just before a beautiful sunset..

After all it almost wouldn't be proper to post a blog without some reference to a fox, would it?

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Oh Shit Sherlock originally appeared on Taexalia on March 22, 2009.