Silence of the Lambs

No sooner did I warn Mr Brown not to get too attached to the sheep and they were gone. Having spent his time here getting to know them - chasing them out of their shady spots under the Hawthorn bush just because he could, moving them on out of the shelter and sneaking up on the lambs to say ‘BOO’, it was a downer to have them moved to the wee field, rounded up, and removed for shearing purposes. Not that it was a smooth removal, and not that the departure of the noisy craturs wasn’t at least welcome to the human occupants of the Croft, as they managed to be even noisier than the donkey. It involved 5 of us chasing them round in circles while Spook and I attempted to display our crofting credentials to the McFarmers.

Mr McFarmer demonstrated the basics and after a magnificent tackle, Spook managed to get a bit of a sheep.

Whilst this was helpful on the shearing front, it wasn’t getting the flock to where they needed to be. Mr McFarmer suggested he try something a bit smaller.

Mr Brown ran up and down the other field braying with indignation as they were HIS sheep to chase, not ours.

Once the sheep were ready to go I just had to round up Spook.

“Way tae me, Spook, way tae me!”

Job done.

The silence of the lambs is wonderful but has left Mr Brown a wee bit lonely. He was sulking in his shed one day when he suddenly noticed 2 magnificent horses being walked along the road in the care of their female Handlers. They were huge - the size of police horses - and Mr Brown clearly thought they were his own kin as he raced across the field letting loose 2 very loud and extended brays, his wee legs going like the clappers and his stubby Wee tail wagging enthusiastically. He had never looked more like the donkey in Shrek. They reared up with a lack of mutual respect, and a look of horror at this wee abomination while the Handlers expertly kept them in check. As they strolled along the road back under control, Mr Browns legs were going in double time to keep up. But this was unrequited love and, just like the sheep, they too moved on.

Having snubbed us on a regular basis, he has now allowed himself to submit to grooming and head rubs. His bottom has returned to good health thanks to the magical ointment and my perseverance to get in aboot it. Local children come and visit him quite regularly and with no one else to annoy he will happily blow the hair off their faces now and then with a loud hello.

Other things (but not much) have been achieved out with the animal chaos.
Spook made a chair.

And I made a tomato and some radishes.

Which means I am no longer crippled by envy and anxiety over other people’s efforts. A tomato’s a tomato. And just because no one in the family likes radishes is no reason not to feel proud.
The Croft security system is still in place though not totally reliable yet.

After a hard day trying not to harass goats, hens and donkeys, he likes to slip into something comfortable and just relax.

The Trouble With Mr Brown

Mr Brown turns into a fire breathing dragon at 3.30am. And 4.30 and 5am. Or at least he did, until he settled in. He resides in the field next to the goats so that he doesn’t bowl them over. He lives with Mr McFarmers sheep and lambs instead and chases them out his way when he’s in a bad mood. And he gets in a bad mood when the midges are in full flow.
“How’s his bottom?” Asked the Goat Lady on the phone

A bit dry looking, with peeling skin” says a squeamish me.
“Just rub some of that ointment on it, that I left for you - it has magical qualities.”
“Aye, right!”

Wooing a donkey is not easy. Hand applied ointment was not going to happen so I went back to the spray bottle. He hates the sound of the spray. He hates me. Part of the wooing was to let him into the field with the goats once they’d gone to bed so that he could nose them through the gate. And then put him back into bother the sheep in the morning. This worked well twice. and On the third evening we had a Mexican Stand Off. He stood in the middle of the road between the two fields and refused to go into either. He hates me. This would have been the moment to produce the spray bottle as he would definitively move somewhere, and quite fast. Eventually, when he got bored, he wandered back into the sheep field where has created a new bond with his flock. Hope it’s not too strong a bond as they do tend to move on!! And then he let me rub ointment on his bottom!!! Was he feeling guilty for having given me such a hard time?? Now Mr Brown is no trouble. Well - today.
With 8 Chooks arriving to add to the livestock we decided to get in some Security.
We got a guard dog

Introducing him to his charges has gone well so far. We have a lot of work to do to build up some of his fiercer qualities.

Pity he doesn’t seem to be able to milk goats. The Goat Ladies Husband was passing by midst relocation duties. “Wanda’s left udder is looking rather swollen so you’ll need to take some milk off.”

”Oh!”

”It’s not difficult once you get the knack” says GLH

“I’ve been known to swear a lot and sometimes cry” says The Goat Lady.
Very reassuring.
Luckily The Biology Teacher aka The Milk Maid, called by for a socially distanced catch up with her pal, Oor Princess. If we couldn’t manage to milk Wanda she could get mastitis and get sick, so we really needed to get this right. The Biology Teacher agreed to record the event in order to get feedback from GLH should it be required. “I’ve milked a cow before” she declared, “so I’m happy to step in if need be.”

Appropriate and mature video footage is available but I dont know how to add to blog so it’s on Itsmosblog Facebook. Needless to say social distancing was abandoned for the sake of Wanda’s health and The Milk Maid came to the fore.

Having only milked one cow once, this was impressive. Over half a pint collected and my stuff discarded after Wanda stood in it. No swearing or crying but heaps of giggling.

The guard dog would like some chilled and stored in his trendy kiwi bottle, Thankyou very much.

Postal Orders

Spook commented to Our Princess recently that he’d hardly spent any money over lockdown. She stared in disbelief, as a non-stop trail of delivery people and exhausted Posties have beaten a path to our doorstep. Tractor hubs, tyres, Subaru subframe, nuts bolts, cables, power washer, hoses, wine making equipment……..the list goes on. Truly, it is myself who has done the least shopping. As lockdown stretches on, Ive spent hours watching the garden birds, and getting to know the Robin family with 3 Bairns, and then the Chaffinches with their 3.

Spook has become fond of Yaffle the Woodpecker even though he’s become a wee bit demanding when the fat balls run out. He sounds like a squeaky toy and lets us know when he’s there and the table is bare. I’m a bit worried he’s forgotten how to peck a tree. And the Woodpecker has been demanding too.
Thanks to my friend M2N, who is an amazing Grower (and Painter) over in Pittenweem, I have fantastic salad leaves growing in the poly tunnel. Whatever seeds he sent me just grow. Stunning. And my tattie patch has finally begun to flourish. I feel empowered.

Of course the tunnel continues to be a glorified rabbit hutch and since I blocked off the rabbit holes the rabbits are inside and can’t get out. I daresay they’ll just dig another hole. I have had to net or raise everything that’s in there. No wonder they like it - I like it myself, in its different moods.

Yesterday morning, and this morning however, it was me who received a delivery - which blocked both the normal delivery van AND the Postie. Yesterday’s delivery only stayed where it was meant to for about 2 minutes. Which is better than our pigs a few years ago as they only managed about 20 seconds. So we’re improving.

There then followed a very arduous day of emergency fencing by the delivery man who is the Goat Ladies husband - GLH. He and she are relocating from a fairly isolated to Glen to an extremely isolated loch side. The lochside is not ready for goats…..or a donkey…..

Mr Brown

The question is - are WE ready for goats and a donkey. Well, thanks to GLH and Mrs Goat Lady, we are at least a bit closer to it now. The Donkey sustained major carpet burn from the back of the float, so we had to call upon Mr and Mrs McFarmer from next door, who turned up with some anti-biotic spray. It took Princess and myself hanging onto his head collar at the sides, GLH blocking a frontal escape and Mrs Goat Lady chasing behind with the spray can,( having warned us that Mr Brown was able to kick frontwards and backwards,) to finally make his red bottom turn blue. Very reassuring. Mr and Mrs McFarmer stayed on the otherside of the gate. They do sheep, cows, deer, dogs, cats. Not, as yet, donkeys or goats. But they are willing and welcome supporters and will be watching their neighbours with interest.

I was wondering if I could get close enough to paint a wee saltire on there. Maybe not.

Goats and donkey reunited after a day apart, on separate sides of the road, did inspire a lot of noisy braying to acknowledge that Mr Brown had seen them. I’m going to assume that the braying will now stop and all will be peaceful. GLH has done a great job of the extremely wobbly and useless fence.

And yet, the beautiful green field is not what interests them. Everything outside of the field looks far more tastier. When I first met these goats and the donkey in their quiet glen, they seemed so easy going…

The Goat Lady made it all look fun.

Now she is leaving us with them until she and GLH can get their shed rebuilt in it’s new location and all I have to do is keep them alive and out of the neighbours gardens.

The calm and reassuring presence of GLH and the Goat Lady have gone now. There’s my reassuring but utterly manufactured appearance in work ready dungarees, and there is Princess and her fast, goat and donkey chasing legs. Spook is planning to electrify every tree and bush around the fence line - these are not the first goats he’s had to live with and he has a look of trepidation. I’m glad to say that, although I may have recieved the delivery, and whilst I couldn’t quite say he’d ordered it, he did give it full approval. No going back now, Spooky.

Where are we Noo?

Foraging seems like the distant past. Growing has become the future, though it’s a very life limiting future if it were to be relied upon. My mum and grandpa were excellent growers. I’m fairly sure it hasn’t past on to me. Although there are signs of some natural ability. My 2 most impressive tomato plants (apart from the ones my neighbour gave me) sprouted from the 18 year old compost I’d been nurturing/ignoring until I finally braved removing the dalek-like structure recently to see if there was anything in there other than mice and slime. The tomato plants appeared in pots where I’d used the compost for herb seeds. This is the most productive thing to come out of the dalek since the Environmental Group left it on my doorstep and Spook popped out of it just as I was about to lift the lid. He thought it was very funny but I nearly burst into tears.
If only it were just about sticking seeds in the earth.

It took me a few days to trap young Peter, here, who was having a lovely time in the privacy of the poly tunnel, nibbling on lettuce, radishes and spring onions. I let him go and he ate my Lupin.
Then the slugs moved in. Loathsome wee beasties.
Spook went to great lengths to get his trusty steed working so that he could till the land.

And very successful he was too. I wish I could share the video of a happy Spook in his tractor but rest assured, he was chuffed as a monkey. However, it does not have the implements for tilling so he had to go down a more arduous route.

Tattie patch duly prepped, it was for me to plant the tatties. Every day I anxiously stare at it waiting for signs of life. Grass, dock leaves - probably tomatoes, all popping up nicely. No tatties. I think if I shut my eyes and toss them over my shoulder, my natural ability will come to the fore.
There was a barley crop growing nicely on the deck, under the bird table until we power washed it away and moved the table off the deck. I doubt Spook ever imagined how much entertainment he’d get from a bird table. The regular visitors seem part of the community now.

Most recently, a family of Robins - parents and their 3 fat off spring - sparking a discussion that maybe a Cuckoo has tricked the parents, so big are the chicks.

The wildlife in the poly tunnel is more spectacular than the produce - Peter aside.

The wildlife in the kitchen is possibly the most dangerous. I found myself trapped between Spook trying to syphon his Birch Sap wine into a fresh Demi-john, having let it settle for weeks and Meg trying to get her sourdough into the right shape without losing air. Spook needed me to hold the syphon tube in place and as I glanced over at an anxious bread chef, I accidentally touched the bottom of the jar and stirred up the sediment again. Bad. Very bad….

When you’re bad, you have to go and stand in a corner. Anyway up will do. And when your sourdough is giving you an emotional runaround, you may as well do it too. I’m only doing it ‘cause I heard on the radio it was equivalent to a face lift. If you do it often enough.

Also may help ease the belly after eating all the bakers goodies.

In this household, you can have your gin and tonic in a cake, or a glass…..

And look at the world through a reddish haze….

The haze is not recommended for hair cutting day, however. Spook kept banging on about how “this is NOT how Amanda does it”. What a whinger! And yes I know what the elephant in the room is…

MY hair!!

Hunter-Gatherer

The Spa Break back in February may have tapped into my inner cave woman instincts. Whilst defrosting the freezer so that I could access whatever had been entombed by my lack of interest in such domestic activity, I found some mummified beasties whose lives I did not wish to waste. Not sure who supplied them and apologies to any vegetarians but they were already dead when I got them.

A clear bag with what I thought was probably pheasant, got defrosted and popped in the slow cooker. 3 mackerel were fried in butter while the slo-cooking progressed. The delicious smell of the stew was immediately overwhelmed by the horrendous smell of the fish. No one would come in the kitchen and it took a long time for the very bad smells to evaporate out the window.

Not looking too braw

If there was to be any hope of these fish getting eaten, I had to get rid of the smell and the carcasses.
Meanwhile the stew continued to smell lovely. As I was removing all the pheasant bones (Identifiable bones were likely to deter consumption of the stew) it became fairly obvious that this was not a bird, but something with a different set of haunches and joints. Like an Easter bunny. They had been quite accepting of a potential pheasant for their dinner - but would they cope with a rabbit? I waited until everyone had declared it to be a very tasty stew before I broke the news. Amazingly, the general consensus was that if you’re going to eat meat, it’s better to eat meat that’s had a good life and a short journey to the plate. This rule did not extend to the fish, as even I couldn’t stomach it. Sorry mackerel. It’s a good, meaty, oily fish and fits well with a healthy diet, but either it needs to be fresher, or I need to learn to cook it better.
The 2nd day, leftover stew was going down well until Meg suddenly spluttered and a mouthful dropped onto her plate. Oops. An identifiable bone. Finn thought this was hilarious until a moment later he dropped a mouthful onto his plate - buckshot.
And there endeth the rabbit stew.

They may become vegetarians yet.
Meg and I have more in common than she cares to believe. Both of us are interested in experimenting and learning new skills. Hers today, is to learn how to make a sourdough starter. Having put the kitchen in order (again) she was searching for the kitchen scales. Unfortunately I had procured them on what I hoped would be a more palatable and nutritious lunch for my family.

Having spent some time digging up matured horse manure for my other growing attempts, I’d seen that there were a lot of young nettles growing in the poop. My mum made nettle soup for us once. I’m understanding the ‘once’ part of that statement now.
400g nettle leaves. The above is the scales with no nettles.

Note how little impact nettles make on a set of scales. Meanwhile Meg is clattering through the cupboards looking for the scales…..she did not believe her dad when he said I’d taken them to weigh nettles.

Between checking for caterpillars, (it’s not easy to keep on the right side of vegetarian - and there’s the added worry of taking away the nurturing plants of butterflies. Do not kid yourself good people - it’s a moral minefield,) and washing and stripping the leaves off the woody stems (lessening the weight even more!!!!) it was an extremely time consuming effort. Thus probably confirming why mum only made it once.

The vegan test failed when I added cream and butter - well, I had to have the best chance of them eating it.

Which they did. Yippee.

A strongly missing element in my life is Running Girl. I know she is running and cycling for her allowed excercise and there are flashes as she passes by on the road. But there are other signs.
Her garden borders onto our shared Banavie Hill. On one of my slow wanders I came upon some shallow holes in the ground with no characteristic animal scrapings.

There were lots of these holes or gaps. Inexplicable until I found the construction….

This is new!! And it smacks of RG.

Freshly cut Whin bushes placed over muddy sections of her favoured route over the hill.

Final confirmation. Doubling up to ensure dry feet and creating a potential, de-stressing plunge pool which has deepened after the Stone Beaver has clearly spent ages creating a dam like structure - this was previously a few stones you could wobble on to get across the burn.
She has been here. And you know she has been happy. There are many elements of isolation that suit the rare and naturally shy Lesser Spotted Stone Beaver.

Spook and The Rising Sap

With time nor tide holding back nature, Spook had to get into his shed to see if he still had all the appropriate gear for the job. He was a man on a mission….

A keen eye for the best trees

Next there was boiling, stirring and potential extra ingredients. He prides himself on his resourcefulness but when I found him scrubbing the inside neck of his Demijohns with MY toothbrush which had been bent to the appropriate angle, I wasn’t pleased. He assured me he’d sterilised it against any nasty diseases I might have been carrying. This hadn’t been my point!

1st batch - Original

Like a fussing parent, bubblers were stared at until they were in full flow. TV viewing in the next room was interrupted with regular “can you hear them?” Until it became a more satisfied “listen. Isn’t that a great sound?”
Honestly - couldn’t hear a thing.

2nd batch - with apple juice and raisins

3rd batch - with raisins and dried up old mandarins

6 weeks until blast off. The pick of the Birch Sap ‘Lockdown’ from Spooks wine cellar will be going to our Lochaber NHS friends and Frontline workers. Not entirely sure it will be what they are needing.

Next job. Fix the tractor.

Guilt

Even thinking about writing a chirpy blog when the breadth of experience at this time is so vastly different for everyone, has me wondering what to share. For those who’s duty would seem to be to work until you drop and for those of us who’s duty is to stay at home and be safe - how does one reconcile the chasm between those places?
I can’t, therefore I won’t try.
My mum spent the last 14 weeks of her life in a Care Home next to one of her greatest fears - Faslane Base, where Nuclear Subs passed by her window under escort. She couldn’t see by this time, thankfully, but being in a care home - no matter how hard they tried to make it a better experience - filled her with misery. It would have been hard to imagine anything could make it worse for her than it was. We had a schedule in place that made sure there was a member of her family or friends who visited every evening. My dad visited every day.
She was exhausted and had few words. I asked her one day how she was coping with all the visitors (one group of hill walking friends came every Thursday afternoon and staff called them The Laughing Group). It took her a while to come up with just one word. “Essential.”

I cried when I heard about the people dying in Care Homes over the course of one weekend or one day. Without family or friends.
I can’t imagine the strain on the Carers and the wish to protect their own families.

But I’m just going to take a wee verbal and pictorial walk around one or two positives of where we are personally at the moment as it’s not possible to predict where we will be in a couple of weeks hence.
Firstly, Meg made it home in the nick of time and on my birthday. After an abortive set of flights and a new set that took her to Dublin, she was one of 3 passengers on the flight to Glasgow and she and I were the only ones in the multi-storey car park when I picked her up.
16 months ago, I’d made the error of mentioning that since her return from Uni, I’d discovered that she and I really couldn’t live together. She acknowledged this was true and within the month had turned a 6 week holiday to NZ into a 16 Month trip which only ended due to COVID-19. In my mind I’d been thinking of somewhere a bit closer - like next door.
The first phase will be to learn to live together in harmony and compromise on some of our living standards.
Perhaps I can teach her some old fashioned skills…….like darning.

My beloved jeans.

Meg was unimpressed. ‘You may as well darn yourself a new pair as they are only going to fall apart round the fixed bits.’

Fair point.
Meg spent some time tidying up the house and clearing out cluttered cupboards. ‘It’s nice to see you have milk jugs, Mum. That’ll be nice when we sit down for a cuppa.’
Next day - ‘where are the milk jugs, Mum?’

Ah, well - I’d grabbed a moment to sneak to the caravan where I could practice some drawing. Meg was no more impressed with this than she was with the darning. Another fair point but if you dont practice, you don’t get better at it.

With that in mind, Meg has practiced the art of cookie making and is a wee bit ahead of my drawing skills.

Spook watching tv - just give me time, I’ll get there.

Been layering colours all winter. Trying to find images now - give me time.

As part of living together again, it’s important to find some space…..

Banavie Hill - Spook over estimating social distance

Moving slowly and quietly, no heavy breathing (I would seem to have given up running as there is no hurry - it didnt take much persuasion,) I looked down the banking of the burn to see a big dog fox walking below me. When I move even slower I see lots of patterns and have time to draw on the ground.

The one above is a stress mandala as I made the mistake of making it very close to where Finn was chopping wood. He then interviewed me with endless questions on what I was doing and why.
“Do you think maybe you’ve Joined a cult and just haven’t noticed?”

I picked up a passenger from the last mandalas which Spook had to remove with his special tic removing card, so I’ve given earth art a rest for now.
One might ask - what HAS Spook been doing with his time, apart from de-infesting his wife?

I’ll tell you about him next..

At Least I Qualify

International Women’s Day. I met the basic requirement, if not the most positive attitude. No matter how many times I’ve been for a dip in the sea or the loch, I still anticipate the drastic change in body temperature with abject horror. I’ve got everything on that you can get away with and yet there are swimming costume (and bikini) clad women peeling off outer layers with relish. Some were sensibly attired in wetsuits but also wore enthusiastic expressions - in contrast to my own. To plunge a warm, comfy body into a chilly loch goes against instinct.

Loch Lochy

A wee bit drizzle and a cold breeze, with any sound of the wind (and the whinger) drowned out by the laughter of more than 15 women excited by the prospect of an easily achievable high - if you can just get over yourself!!

Of course I could have joined the suitably clad women for the longer swim out to the red buoy but nipping in and out the water about 4 times until my temperature has adjusted is my personal requirement and then swimming round in circles close to safety is good enough for me. For all that I moan (a lot), I’m really chuffed that I do manage to overcome my natural resistance to anything other than easy comfort. It IS worth the effort and apart from anything else, the only way you get one of Anya’s buns or a bit of cake, is to take the plunge.

Anya in the background in red - thanks!

Still warm

I’d like to thank the women who keep making the effort to join together and support each other - all over the country and beyond. I’m never the one to put out the call, as I harbour an increasingly reclusive nature, but I’m glad you are there.

For Foof

You are in control of your own happiness if you choose to be - no matter what. I’m reading a self help book. Not because I was looking for one, but because it came into my hands and is written by a Lochaber man. He is telling me the same kind of stuff my mum used to - ‘energy breeds energy’ for one. A particular favourite of my mums was “if you want something done, ask a busy person”.
There is no doubt I’ve got lazier and lazier as I’ve got older. I also spend a lot of time saying ‘I’m not really an artist” despite going to Art School, and “I’m not really a runner” despite running in 14 Ben Nevis races. Which is kind of true as I have never consisterly trained (or painted). And as a result neither of those activities have ever been built into my routines.
In the book, he would say to write down your values and what you want to be. The White Witch of the East has been saying that to me for years. In fact she painted it in my shed many years ago….

But I still don’t say it. So today, having not run anywhere since 4th of January, I told everyone that I encountered that I was going home to run for 30 minutes no matter what the weather. Taking off warm clothes to put on less warm ones, to go outside into the cold just isn’t right. I told Foof - Ironwoman extraordinaire and beautiful person to boot, and she said I had to blog it. Would I be going with Running Girl? No. She was half way up Ben Nevis with the fit girls and had dumped me on the running front. Well, that’s not quite true. But she has given up on the persuasive front as that gets quite draining for a pal. Yesterday she took me and the dogs out for a walk. I’m not as unreliable as the dogs and I’m always first back In the van after the walk. So I’m still fine there.

Loch Lochy and Ted

Curtain of hailstones

However - she did issue a stark warning. “If you don’t start running this week, you wont be ready for the Ben Nevis race” (early September) She’s done 21 of them. She’s a past Scottish Hill Running Champion. She knows.
So - I put it out there to most of the people that I met whilst visiting the No Fuss IntroEnduro at Nevis Range. I’m hoping I didn’t come over too needy.
Once I’d gone to all the bother of putting less clothes on, I’d settled for an hour of running.

A Mink ran across my path, got a fright and dived back into the canal. The ducks got an even bigger fright.

There was light at the end of the tunnel. Once through here I turn and head for home. Just as Heron Valley’s ‘Home’ came onto my playlist.

If this doesn’t make you feel happy to be live in Scotland and lift your feet up to run a 9minute mile instead of the first 3 sluggish 12 minute ones, then maybe the power of music doesn’t do it for you.

So, Foof. I managed a very happy 5miles. Running Girl may take some of the credit, with her tough love approach. And maybe the self help book. And you Foof, because you told me to blog it. That often works.

Spa Break

Running Girl was looking a wee bit peaky last week. Clarabelle and I analysed the situation and decided she needed a break. She has worked and worked without a holiday for a long time now. I’d just had a month in NZ in the sunshine and Clarabelle is partial to weekends away in her campervan with a city break in a hotel thrown in now and again.
Breaks are not breaks if they’re not the right kind so we hatched a plan that suited our subject……….something that could be fitted in between jobs…..Weather- irrelevant

Something that we could tailor make to her requirements……

She clearly needed pampering and relaxation - at a ‘get away from it all’ destination. Yet one that wasn’t far from home.
Somewhere comfortable but not too comfortable.

Like a cave. Well - an actual cave.

Afternoon tea was 1st on the agenda once we’d got the heating on. And found somewhere to hang our clothes which were dripping from the walk in.

Pampering began in earnest - she only wanted one nail done so that didn’t take too long. I’d opted for something to ease the baggy old eyes.

I was also keen to find a cure to thinning hair which can come with getting older when I find that some of the hair on my head has relocated to my chin.

Apply for as long as you can bear and without being overcome by the worry of creepy wee beasties slipping down your simmit (vest)

As nightfall began creeping in we got the lights turned on.

And had a bite to eat before the next treatment.

We took some time to dry out some items that had got wet on the journey.

This is not as brutal as it looks. It was just to get it dry as it was my hot water bottle.

Clarabelle had brought along something to take 10 years off us…

I thought gravity wasn’t helping so I lay down for my treatment, in the hope that I might look better than them…

Ah - a bit deathly looking.

With us all looking so shocking, we thought the main good point was that should there be any visitors to the cave, they’d be more frightened than us. In fact, if we enacted a quick sacrifice, it would definitely see off intruders.

No teddy bear was harmed on this trip

We sipped some Jamieson Special Cask whisky to while away the mask time.

Stunning!! An almost Nun-like quality.

Fire gazing was the last item on the agenda before tuck in.

Oh - and supper.

And story telling.

Night night

7.15am. Rise and shine.

Yoga time.

Arm-flapping stance

Spa pool was next on the agenda….

Some consideration was given to the matter. Wind chill was tested, and a wee dauner chosen instead.

Time to head home - after a spa break that had left us smelling like kippers and smiling like cavewomen.

What on earth????

Bye bye to the bay

There’s only one boggy area that takes a bit of care…..

Otherwise you can end up quite literally up to your groin in it. One leg completely submerged and the other helplessly stuck at an angle. One friend (a very useful paramedic) able to help (through the giggles) while one makes time to take a photo. I did try to help but ended up in the bog myself. It was a shocker!! What looked solid but damp was a seemingly bottomless pit.

Our girl is made of tough stuff and once she’d recovered from hysterical laughing, we made a safe return to the car.

I’m not sure why their eyes are shut. Is it an ‘ohmnnn’ moment or are they exhausted and relieved?

Christchurch/Auckland

Last dinner with Meg and last in Wanaka. Last breakfast with Meg and last in Wanaka. It was very sad to say goodbye to our girl until we see her in October. And most likely that we won’t come back to Wanaka.
The drizzling rain as we departed matched our mood but as we climbed (very slowly in the Lucky van which at least was consistently still going forward) up through the Lindis Pass, the weather lifted enough to make it a great road trip across the High McKenzie Country. Meanwhile, way out west, the drizzle was more of an unrelenting rain, causing landslips in Milford Sound, trapping around 400 people on the inaccessible side, kick starting a national emergency. And the Routeburn track which Meg and Spook had walked a couple of weeks before, suffered a landslip that damaged one of the huts and hurt a couple of people. The track is likely to be closed for months now.

We were oblivious.

5 hour drive to Christchurch

I took over the driving to come down Burke’s Pass and onto the Canterbury Plains - eventually. There were strong cross winds which stopped us from operating the vans air conditioning system (opening the windows). It got hotter and hotter and between the wind, the heat and my natural heating system, I was welded To the steering wheel by the time we arrived at Hugh and Donna’s house in Rollerston, outside Christchurch. It was 37 degrees Celsius.
Hugh was happy to rehydrate us with whisky and beer. He’s from Spean Bridge and was not going to waste the opportunity for a ceilidh. As the whisky flowed he got his accordion out and phoned Duncan McLeod in Nairn. Duncan sat shell shocked on his sofa first thing Sunday morning whilst being regaled by a fond Hugh on the other side of the world - I thought the FaceTime screen had frozen but it was just Duncan caught in the headlights. I presume Spook started singing at some point but Donna and I had not waited to hear it and took refuge in our beds.

Next morning we flew to Auckland to be cared for (tenderly) by Maggie and Mike.
The temperature was lower but the humidity higher. Maggie has wanted to take me to her beloved Piha beach since we first met, so we went there to cool off.

Now. This is more like it. Lifeguards watching close to the shore and more of them higher up with a wider view of things and a set of binoculars and radios. To be protected by the lifeguards we were to swim between the flags as they monitored rip currents and possibly sharks (for my sake). You got a wee blow on the whistle and some frantic waving of arms presumably to let you know you’d strayed and not that a shark attack was imminent. Once I’d established this reasoning it was fantastic to let big waves wash over us and splash about like kids. Magical.

Maggie felt we needed to recover in calmer waters. (Surf was way bigger than it looks.)

18 degrees in the sun warmed pool

Magnificent views over Auckland to Sky City

More beer and bbq of excellence.
We had been wined and dined up and down the Land of the Long White Cloud and it was hard to say goodbye to people who are such long distance friends and so warm and welcoming all these years later. But Scotland beckoned and that’s where we belong.

Here. Exactly as it looked as Storm Ciara approaches - no filter

Dunedin

Back in 2009, Horizontal and I went to the rugby at Carisbrook in Dunedin to watch our first ever International game - All Blacks against the French. Unfortunately the All Blacks lost and there’s an extra animosity towards the French on account of The Rainbow Warrior. They do not forget - understandably - so the atmosphere was tense. I remember driving around Dunedin in the dark which is set around a lit up harbour and surrounded by twinkly lights on hillsides overlooking it. I didn’t really remember what it looked like in daylight, or the landscape around the coast very close by.

The harbour and hillside areas are pretty. The coastline is stunning.

At this point we had a domestic because we were lost and due at Pete and Jills NOW!!

We got over the domestic as the views got better and better

We finally got to Mossgiel in the very Scottish Southland and enjoyed amazing hospitality with Spooks ex boss and family, and Dave and Nicky who had come up from Invercargill. Over breakfast the next day we watched the clock tick down to Brexit. The Kiwis hadn’t being paying much attention to it until then.

And then it was a 3hour drive back to Wanaka where I was desperate for a longer catch-up with Mary. While Spook and Meg got a few things organised ahead of our last dinner together in Wanaka, I drank 2 glasses of Mary’s delicious family wine and blethered shite. I was so happy to be back in Mary’s company that I had clearly slipped into some kind of broad Scots vernacular and between her Kiwi vowel sounds and mine (and the wine?) she mostly hadn’t a clue what I was saying nor me, her. Her partner, Mick, acted as interpreter. I must have adapted my accent a little when I lived here before - or stuck to one glass of wine.

Ah - must have adjusted my accent. This photo is from a night out with Mary and Sarsha over 10 years ago and I wouldnt normally look this happy to be arrested. More than one glass of wine, clearly.

Haast

Before I left Spook behind in NZ for 3 months alone in 2009 he took me up to Haast. I wanted to do that road trip again.

A 2 hour trip, it’s well worth the effort.

With the shark attack report down at Oreti Beach in Invercargill, I was a wee bit shy of the surf. Beach combing was enough for me and the things with teeth that had their heads removed presumably by something with bigger teeth, acted as a warning shot across the bows…

An Albatross???

A few dead fish, birds and trees. No rubbish and plastic. On a huge beach. And some nippy wee sand flies!

Deluxe Homes

Meg has been living in a beautiful house since arriving in Wanaka last year and has a month between beautiful houses as the new one isn’t available until 2nd March. However her hosts have lent her their deluxe caravan for the time in between so she’s sound.

A touch of the Father Teds

She provided her own bling.

Hamish had brought his own accommodation for the 3 night visit.

It’s many years since I’ve had a chance to take the kids to the park and it was nice to revisit those days….

Hamish and Meg on the bouncy thing in the kids play park

No one could be quite sure who she was the most pleased to see. But it did seem to be the dogs.

Yip. If she could sneak that dog into her hand luggage, she’d be a very happy woman.

Family

We were excited that Hamish and Roddy could manage 3 nights between jobs in the wilds of Southland. We spent their last Christmas together in Scotland about 17 years ago. And we spent our 1st Christmas in NZ with them 10 years ago. We have managed to meet up over the years despite the different hemispheres and it’s like they live next door.

Buddies since birth

My blog app has stopped letting me post photos for now. So rest assured it was fantastic to eat Hamish’s personally sourced venison cooked beautifully by Roddy, to talk for hours, race each other down the hill on carts at Cardrona and go watch a film at the iconic Cinema Paradiso. Each time we say goodbye we are never sure when we will see each other again, but we always do.

Rugby Corner

Laundry and beach day was followed by an epic ascent of Corner Peak up above Hawea. I was let off as I had some camp management to do. I’m very good at these kind of excuses. I also could have a meal ready for when they came back - this was the winning one.

Not too far from the top Meg suddenly decided she’d had enough and sat down in protest. At this very moment she received a message from Shannon saying that she and Steve had bought us tickets for the rugby at 6pm. That was all it took. Straight onto her feet and demanding her dad get a move on so that we could make the rugby.

It was a 7.5hr day out on the hill but we made the rugby in time (after I’d got them fed) to see the local Otago team Highlanders come on to a bagpipe sound track against the Crusaders who I think are from Christchurch. This is Our Horizontals home pitch from when he played for junior boys Upper Clutha.

That’s him centre of pic

Getting into the engine room

John Timu was the coach of the young Upper Clutha team and each week there was 1,2&3 points awarded plus a Snicker bar for an overall effort. One week Horizontal got points for “working hard in the engine room”.
These guys were a bit bigger.

There were 7000 tickets sold and the place was full of families sitting around the edge of the pitch. So when they kicked the ball out, it was either duck or catch. I think my favourite moment (Highlanders unfortunately lost to Crusaders) was the pitch invasion at the end…

The teams are at the far left corner. Every child that was able or allowed flooded across the pitch to get to their heroes.

Families could apply to host a player overnight and many kids had spent the day playing In The lake with their heroes.

Ben Lomond

With one day of rest after Routeburn, Meg was ready for the next thing on her Kiwi Bucket List. Ben Lomond without assistance from the local mountain rescue team. There was no driver required therefore no excuses for me. It’s a bit bigger then Ben Nevis at 1748m compared to Nevis’s 1345m. We didn’t start at sea level as you do at Ben Nevis, though we were not allowed to take a lift on the Gondola which she said would render the walk void.

Before the saddle

From the saddle

From the saddle to the summit

No big black Ravens at the top. Just this cheeky Kea. A woman dug her handbag out of her rucksack and sat it aside. The Kea grabbed it but she got it back before takeoff. Then it grabbed a mans pack of wraps and tried to fly with them. It looked like the man was going to run off the cliff rather than lose his lunch.
Lunch, life and limb all saved, thankfully.

Factor 50 is the protection of choice but I was very pleased with the lovely tan I’d accrued on my legs nevertheless……until I took my socks and shoes off.

The sand fly bites continue to taunt us with the itch you mustn’t scratch. There are no sand flies in Wanaka so I’d forgotten about their unique approach to lengthy torture. Meg and I have made good use of the Shakti mat to distract us.

Misty Magic

Up early again for the 2hr drive to catch first boat out of Milford Sound. I’d not particularly wanted to do it before as you hear how busy it is and such a loooooong drive. But no matter how much they complain about the huge influx of tourists and the terrible driving, they have clearly not experienced the A82 in summer and the whole of the Highlands. I can understand that it’s a shock to the empty vastness of The South Island, but it makes you realise how tiny our Highlands are, and the impact from tourism is far greater at home - I think.
There is a 1km tunnel under a big mountain to drive through - rough hewan by any European standard I’ve seen and a little unnerving. And very drippy when it’s raining, apparently. When you arrive at the harbour area, it’s off putting as it’s so busy with us tourists. Without the tourists though, only anyone in a boat would ever see it.

The start of the tunnel on the way out of Milford

The minute that boat leaves harbour, the other boats become very small and the landscape takes over everything. To stand at the bow and let it all unfold was worth the effort

The Fur Seals were a wee bit like otters and made a great sound

This is the 2nd rarest penguin in the world. We saw one float by but I did nt get a photo. It wasn’t wearing a strippy shirt

Spook and I live in a world of film soundtracks……

And all things being equal…..

Routeburn

When Meg sets her sight at something she’s fairly determined. But I had 5 hours drive to get to the other end of the route (which is crazy when it’s 32km to Milford from where they started) and plenty of time to worry about twisted ankles. And my daughters capacity to chew up her father and spit him out if things got tense……..

No twisted ankles, no hissy-fits. A perfect father/daughter bonding and a peaceful 5 hours toad trip for mamma. 8hrs 20 mins journey for them including 40mins stopping time.
Milford Sound boat trip planned for next day and Ben Lomond for day after that. Last time Meg and I did Ben Lomond on race day, she was injured, stretchered off and she and I made it home at 3.15am. Hoping for a better result on the Kiwi Ben Lomond at the back of Queenstown.

Dawn Raid

Spook and I prepared for Megs next days off by spending most of the day watching the world pass by on the shores of Lake Wanaka. Spook managed a run and I managed some chapters in my book.

After Meg finished work, we drove at least 2.5hrs to reach Glenorchy and the start of the Routeburn track.
32km and for some reason folk seem to take 2/3 days to traverse it through to Milford Sound in Fjordland. Spook has always wanted to get over in one day and Meg was up for the challenge. We camped in the Department of Conservation (DOC) basic amenity (long drop toilet and running water) camp. $15 each a night, in an envelope and popped in the box.
There’s no room in our luxury van for Meg so she’s brought her own sleeping accommodation.

They wanted a 7am start so we did a ‘Granny and Papa’ and pre loaded the coffee pot, cups, cereal bowls ready for slick moves in the morning.

Beauty out west in NZ does not come alone - like the west of Scotland. The only slick moves were to toss everything into a basin, bang the doors shut with us inside and get the hell out. Sand flies in their masses. No coffee, no breakfast - just 32km of jungle and mountain track.