Wandering Around Talking To Rainbows

Ok, so I don't think I've made a post that wasn't about media I've consumed or words that I've written since before the turn of the year. Probably before that because the post I'm thinking about was actually about music and you know that's media too. Anyway, there are other things happening in my life these days, lets talk about them!

First up, I was feeling all run down and grumpy the other week, like maybe I was getting a cold or something? After a sort of fools spring the weather had gone back to being rubbish with random hail showers, but it was supposed to be nice on the weekend so I decided to take myself off to Nairn and the sea if the weather was in fact nice. (Besides being on the sea, Nairn has a bunch of little independent shops that are nice to wander round, and various nice eateries to get lunch at.) It hailed on the Saturday so I went on the Sunday and despite the best efforts of public transport to thwart me, along with it being Sunday so none of the shops were actually open, I had a lovely time. I took my sound recorder and my new hydrophone and made a bunch of recordings, walked a couple of miles along the beach and by the river, worked on a script in the sunshine and got a really nice lunch, read a chunk of my book on the train home. It was exactly what I needed. I felt so much better afterwards. I don't think I could have felt more refreshed if I'd literally dunked my head in the sea! I do love the sea, even when it's technically still a firth.

After last year's salad growing success, I'm attempting to take what I learned and do it better this year. The egg box seed trays were a raging success so I'm doing that again, though I've planted less of more types of things. Two of my pepper plants have successfully overwintered - technically three of them made it but the third one somehow acquired an infestation of aphids so I sacrificed it to the gardening gods rather than loose all three of them - so I wasn't going to bother planting anymore peppers but after the aphid incident I decided to be on the safe side and have a back up plan. So I have tomatoes, peppers and cucumbers in egg boxes, and this year I'm also trying baby carrots and radishes in egg boxes too. (I tried growing radishes the first year I lived here and they were going great until we had a bit of a heat wave in July and I came home from a week away for work to find they'd shot and it all went a bit Pete Tong.) Plus I've got a little actual seed tray - the open kind rather than the segmented kind - with spring onions in which have come up already, I have to turn them twice a day to stop them leaning and falling over.

Since I started writing this the cucumbers, radishes and tomatoes have come up and a couple of carrots have just started poking out of the earth, I love the way they change pretty much every day at this stage. I've been doing a bunch of repotting plants recently, one of my succulents had outgrown it's container and another had pupped, so I liberated it's little pup and potted that on in it's own right. (I was pleased to be able to use a couple of tubs from the pile of plastic containers I gathered last winter when I was trying to assess my plastic usage and determined to up my 'reuse'. One's in a creme fraiche tub and the other is in a fancy yoghut pot, which is a) the perfect size to fit inside a ceramic pot I have and b) is see-thru so I can easily see that it's in danger of getting pot bound and re-home it again!) Plus I gained a little money plant - one of my colleagues had potted up a bunch of little cuttings and was giving them away at work in return for a donation to the DEC's Ukraine appeal - and I've got that in a tub that I thought would be too big for it but has actually turned out to be the perfect fit.

Oh and my fushias appear to have successfully over-wintered, they've all started putting on new leaves so hopefully I'll get flowers again without having to buy new plants!

I realised recently that since I renewed my Historic Scotland membership back in July I have visited a grand total of one site. So I decided that now that Spring appears to have sprung (...well theoretically, I was wearing a chunky scarf and mittens on my adventure yesterday) I should get out there and make my card pay for itself. Having done Urquhart Castle during my first summer here, I decided to head for the other big local attraction that my card gets me into. I planned to go on my day off last week, but I was woken that morning by torrential rain so that didn't happen.

However, last week's day off dawned dry and bright so I put on my comfy shoes and headed off to catch the bus out to Ardersier. Fort George is a mile up the road from Ardersier and when I googlemapped the route I made the hilarious discovery that if you're in Google Streetview you can go for a wander round the fort from the comfort of your armchair. (This is particularly random because, as I discovered when I visited, Fort George is still an active army base. Part of one of the barracks is set up to show what barrack conditions would have been like in various historical periods, but the rest of the building is occupied by...actual squaddies. Oh and the flags were up on the shooting range so various slightly concerning noises were echoing over the place as I wandered round.)

It's a fascinating and slightly disquieting experience visiting the fort if you're acquainted with its history. (It was built as a response to the Jacobite uprisings of the 1700s and although it has never seen 'a shot fired in anger' its very modernness and intact state is a reminder of how relatively recently the Highlands were under military occupation.)

( And in the past they must remain... )

So the parentals puttered up to the frozen North for a visit, bringing exciting things for me like fluffy socks, slippers, my tea pot and laptop.

We went for a little adventure while they were up, over to the Black Isle. The Black Isle is a little bit of a geographical oddity, because despite the name its not actually an island, more of a peninsula. (Actual peninsula not like Skye where Western Islanders call it one (cos its attached to the mainland by a bridge) to be catty but its actually and island.) It’s cut off by firths but still part of the mainland (back in the day it probably was an island but back in the day much of central Scotland was underwater so lets not go there). Anyway, its just across the Moray firth from Inverness, so we trundled along there to see a tiny wee museum Groam House in a tiny little place called Rosemarkie (near Fortrose). The village itself is really quite charming, having a wee hippie shop that sells the usual mix of aromatherapy paraphernalia, incense, odd books and polished stone jewellery. And an odd but useful addition of all kinds of spices –they have big jars on a shelf and you can bring a receptical of your choice and buy as much or as little as you need – a handy service! It also has a community café with an excellent tiny permanent exhibition on the local wildlife and legends. The weather was a highland special of pouring rain and brilliant sunshine, so we had a wander along the beach and wrote our names in the sand!

By which point the little museum was open so we could go visit. It’s essentially a museum of Pictish/Celtic art. So they have some local standing stones and various bits of art and reconstructions based on local archelogical finds. (They also have a reconstruction of a Pictish harp – less fancy than the equivalent and better known Celtic ones, but the best bit is that because its not original you can actually play it! They have instructions and various bits of music of varying complexity if you want to have a go. I discovered that I’m up to playing Frere Jacques on the Pictish harp but not quite up to Loch Lomand…!

The reason for my parents interest in the place was the collection of George Bain artwork that they have on display. George Bain was…a celtic art scholar and enthusiast back in the days when that was unfashionable. He is well known (in such circles) for having not only copied the art from a variety of standing stones that have now been damaged or eroded beyond repair but studying the construction of the knotwork that typifies all Celtic artwork. He wrote what is considered the definitive work on Celtic knotwork and how to re-create and design your own. (It was published in the 1950s and is still the definitive work.) The exhibition they have on him focuses on that side of his work and there are various nice children’s activities that let you design your own celtic knotwork or do ‘brass rubbings’ of various designs common to Pictish standing stones.

( they also have some lovely mosaics outside on the same theme )

Crianlarich station is an odd place. Crianlarich is a place where for long stretches of history many roads through the Highlands meet, a hub, a stopping point on the road to many places. I’m reading a book at the moment on the Britons of Southern Scotland, and the chapter I’ve just read talked about a battle between the Scots of Dalriada and the Britons of Strathclyde having a battle near Stirling (Strathcarron to be precise) and the likelihood of the route from Argyll taking them through Crianlarich. Long and weary has that place been a stopping place along the way. It’s a place that causes me great frustration but I’ve come to hold a certain strange affection for it.

Crianlarich is the place where the northbound trains from Glasgow split off towards Oban or Fort William and Mallaig. (I know some of you are Capercaillie fans so I’ll note that this is the place where the train divides upon Lomand-side in Heart of the Highland.) Pre-Beeching there used to be a rail line that ran from Stirling across to Oban via Crianlarich (its not a large station by any standards, but far too big for somewhere that only sees three of four trains a day) and apparently there’s still a replacement bus service – albeit one I’ve never seen and which runs approximately twice a day in each direction. So when I go to Skye I get on the train at quarter to 7, change at Glasgow for the 8.20 service to Mallaig and we stop at Crianlarich about half 9 for the train to divide (half to Oban and half to Fort William and Mallaig). Crianlarich being all of a 45 minute drive from where I live, but completely unreachable that way by public transport. The first time I made that journey I was not entirely impressed to be that close to home 3 hours after I’d left the house. When we went to climb Ben Nevis, we left Stirling just after 7 in the car and were at the mountain for about quarter to 9. When I go by train I tend to arrive in Fort William about 12. Public transport outside the central belt is a farce.

The West Highland line is one of those famous ‘classic’ railway journeys. Though if you’ve ever taken it in bleak mid-winter, when the train is only two rather rundown drafty carriages long, and most of the route is shrouded in mist, you’d really wonder how it got that reputation. In summer though it lives up to its reputation, and even in winter, a nice crisp clear day shows it off the snow capped mountains, and icy pools to good affect. However, even in summer, its not really a route where you can look out the window, think ‘ooh that looks interesting’, get off the train, go and explore for a bit and then get back on the train. Everyone’s going somewhere particular, whether tourists or locals, even going for a wee jaunt needs a strict timetable, because if you miss the train its a wait of either 3 hours or tomorrow for the next service. Due to the train dividing at Crianlarich the train lingers there for a bit longer than normal, and there’s always a certain amount of movement from passengers, whether its diving out for a quick stretch of the legs or a sly fag, or the panic-filled dash of laden passengers who’ve just realised that they’re on the wrong half of the train. Lots of long-distance trains have ‘if you’re not intending to travel’ announcements to shed themselves of relatives settling in or tearfully farewelling passengers, but Crianlarich is the only place I’ve ever heard ‘if you’re not actually alighting here please get back on the train!’ Personally I’ve only got off the train once at Crianlarich, the last time I took the train that way, we stopped for considerably longer than usual. It was March, the train was in short form, and the lock on one of the toilets had jammed. I’m not sure whether the stop was more so someone could fix the lock or just because Crianlarich station has a toilet (its an unstaffed station, so no ticket office, but it does have a café, therefore a toilet), either way we sat there for ages a whole bunch of us on the platform with cameras or just admiring the view. It was a crisp spring morning, the sun was shining and it was easy to imagine how the place had been in another time when the station was busier, much more of a transport hub, to imagine a time when it might be again.

There’s a picture on the leaflet, of a stone circle, looking majestic against a sunset. Unlike the other Manx Heritage sites pictured, there is no descriptive blurb, with directions and opening times. Just an enigmatic photograph, and a standing stone on the not-to-scale map to give vague indication of its location. There are other Neolithic sites and standing stones, with directions but inaccessible without a car. This one though is temptingly close to the railway line, and yet there are no directions. Somehow that only makes me want to go there more.

On the third day of my stay on the Isle of Man, I take the electric railway to Laxey, visit the Wheel and freeze up Snaefell, but the circle nags at the back of my head. Back in Laxey I ask one of the railway staff and we compare the railway map and the historic Manx map for a while before he takes them away to consult with a couple of the drivers. He returns a while later with the conclusion that Glen Mona is my best bet and instructs the guard to let me off there – its a request stop only.



I get off in the middle of some woods, at what is essentially a bus shelter beside the railway line, there are no signs. One path leads up the hill and the other down, I take the upwards route, on the logic that the circle is called Ard and in Scots Gaelic that means ‘high’ so is likely the same in Manx. The path doesn’t take me to the circle but it does take me to a road, on which there is a sign for Cashtal yn Ard – no mileage so I’m hopeful its close. Plus it tells me that its only 4 miles to ? and the map makes me think its between the station and there. It’s a nice day and my shoes are sensible, I can walk that far and get the bus back to Douglas if I don’t find the circle. I set off.

The road winds, over level crossings and fords, past cottages and the occasional mansion, and I pass locals who don’t question me - amazing what carrying a Tesco bag will do for making you look like you know where you’re going. The truth is that I don’t, but the weather and the walk are both pleasant so I keep walking. Besides every time I begin to grow certain that I’ve lost my way I’ll come to a fork in the road and there will be another faded sign.

Eventually the road begins to rise, out of the woods into countryside proper, which remind me uncannily of the part of Ayrshire that I grew up in. There are even a couple of horses in a field that pose like pros for photos. It’s hot away from the woods, the ponies watch with interest as I reapply my sunscreen and I’m glad for both my hat and my juice, the chill from the top of Snaefell is forgotten.



On the curve of the road, I pass a farm and directly across from it is a half hidden entrance with a small sign advertising a public footpath to Cashtal yn Ard. The path is overgrown, but recently a decent number of feet have attempted to reclaim it. I’m oddly grateful that my timing brought me here a few days after Solstice and not a few days before it, else it might be impassable. I follow the path until it stops abruptly in a field, another sign helpfully points in two opposite directions both which say ‘public footpath’ neither of which say ‘Cashtal yn Ard’. However one goes up and the other down, so I follow the up as that’s served me well so far.



My luck holds, and the stones peek into sight through a gate. My heart sinks as I climb the style, a barbed wire fence surrounds the stones, and while that’s not really a barrier to a country girl like me, it does suggest that perhaps the site is under renovation; perhaps that’s why there were no directions. But no, the ground on the other side of the gate has that particularly well-trodden look that says ‘cows’ and sure enough at the corner of the site there’s a kissing gate for humans. The cows may not be in the field today but clearly the fence is for their benefit not mine.

Through the fence it’s a well-preserved Neolithic burial chamber, though the cairn is long gone, it still retains something of the atmosphere of an old graveyard. There’s no one else around so I take the time to sit in the circle itself and meditate for a while. It’s close enough to the solstice for my needs, so I make a small offering (to whom? To what? Does it matter?) to wish peace on those who were buried there, whose names are lost to memory, to request a little of the peace that I’ve found there for myself in turn.



I pause for a moment on the style before I retrace my steps, from there I can see all the way to Cumbria, a view more impressive than the ‘Seven Kingdoms’ I couldn’t see for the mist up Snaefell earlier that day. It was a longer journey to get here than there and much more of a faff, but nonetheless even if I miss the train back (I don’t) it will be worth negotiating multiple buses to have visited here. To have seen this ruined castle of the heights.

Whether it was being by the sea, or if I did carry a little of the calm of the stones away with me, the little bit of peace I brought back with me has been much needed in these last few stressful months.

So it appears that all my posts this month are going to be Skye related, but then I know that you folks always enjoy a wee photo post from the islands so...

( Up the West Highland Line Again... )

Because of the ferry timings, I couldn't get back on Sunday so I stayed on campus an extra night (good choice, felt like a holiday that way) and took my little sound recorder off on an adventure around the campus and down onto the (very rocky) beach recording all sorts of sounds. I took my camera too and got some rather different photos from my usual kind.
( At Sabhal Mor )