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This would seem to be an appropriate moment to reflect on our recent expedition to Scotland, with a view to identifying how successful was the trip and, indeed, whether or not it lived up to our hopes and expectations.

The first thing to say was that we had a really good time and enjoyed ourselves enormously. There is nothing that we had wanted to do that went undone – and no element of the adventure that disappointed. It certainly more than made up for the setbacks of 2023, the which were thoroughly (and exhaustively) documented within these pages at the time.

The Girl and I had been talking about visiting Scotland for some considerable time, starting many years before we took wing from the UK and set up home here on the west coast of Canada. The irony of the deferment of the trip to the point at which it became a major operation is not lost on us.

That the staging of this expedition was so obviously important to us both tells a tale. Given my ancestral roots and The Girl’s desire to revisit in my company magical places that she had encountered but once before (and that prior to our meeting) the quest was necessarily imbued with added significance. Could the reality possibly live up to the mythos?

Now, I must be honest and admit that – for my part – I ventured to the land of my fathers with the hope and expectation that I might identify further connections to my heritage; to gain some renewed sense of familial roots. In truth, of course, given that I am already in possession of the ancestral research that my father effected before his passing and the fact that there are considerable practical difficulties in pursuing any such leads beyond the dead-ends that had already been reached – this was always going to be something of a long shot. There are other avenues that can – and should – be explored but it became clear this particular journey was not really the time nor the place so to do.

So – if that turned out after all not to be the main theme of our tour – then what did? As so often in these scribblings that is going to have to wait for an unanticipated and unexpected second installment of this missive…

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This post offers to the gentle reader (or viewer, for that matter) the final batch of images from our recent ‘progress’ around Scotland. Whilst staying for a few days in Connel – not far outside Oban on the west coast – we paid a visit (or re-visit in The Girl’s case) to the extraordinary historical site that is Kilmartin Glen. Rather than duplicate what others have written (doubtless in considerably more detail and certainly more stylishly than could I) I will simply pass on this link, the which will furnish all that need be known:

Kilmartin Glen

Here are some photographs:


As you will see (should you enlarge this image sufficiently that you can decipher the text) the Iron Age fort of Dunadd at the foot of the glen was the capital of the ancient kingdom of Dalriada. The stone of destiny – which can be found therein – was used in the ceremonies inaugurating the monarchs of Dalriada; the new king being ‘crowned’ by placing his foot into the imprint.

 

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“The murmur of thy streams, O Lora! brings back the memory of the past.”

Carthon, from ‘The Poems of Ossian’, trans. James Macpherson, 1773

The final sojourn of our expedition to the land of my fathers (before turning tail and scurrying back across the pond to the land of The Girl’s fathers – now also my home!) was to spend a few days in Oban; on a different west coast… the west coast of Scotland.

We had taken the sensible precaution of booking massages and other treats at the small spa at the Oban Bay Hotel for our arrival and there were further sights that we wanted to see within the vicinity of the town and the wider area of Argyll and Bute.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe were not actually staying in Oban itself, but a few miles away at Connel. The Girl had once again surpassed herself by picking out a beautifully designed and equipped AirBnB, situated on the banks of Loch Etive at the point where it meets the sea. The lovely first floor apartment over-looks the tidal race known as the Falls of Lora. This fascinating online magazine – The Hazel Tree by Jo Woolf – tells more eloquently than I possibly could the story of this magical spot.

I will simply add some of my own images:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe bridge at Connel is of considerable interest in itself. Built in 1903 for the now long-defunct single-track Callander and Oban railway this unique bridge was the longest cantilever span in Great Britain at the time of its construction – aside from the monumental Forth Bridge. As early as 1914 the bridge had been reconfigured with a narrow roadway on one side and the single railway track on the other. Automobiles and trains could not cross the bridge at the same time, so road traffic had to stop when trains were due.

The Callander and Oban was closed in 1966 and the bridge took on its current form – as a single carriageway road bridge, with traffic signals controlling the flow.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidConnel is a very pretty little village in a beautiful spot. A good choice for our penultimate touring base.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Those who have known me a long time – who have perhaps on occasion delved into this forum – may have noticed that I refrain (these days; wherever possible) from discussing (read: ranting about) politics.

This is undoubtedly a good thing…

It is a lot – however – to ask me to maintain this stance during this particular year in the course of which which there are to be national elections in (amongst other places) the United States of America, the United Kingdom and – indeed – Canada! This will be the first election here since we emigrated in which I can vote – and I will, of course, be eagerly exercising my democratic right.

There are, sadly, many troubles in the world and many good reasons to find everything a terrible struggle.

There are – however – also days on which celebrations are in order, even if the joy that one feels lasts only for a brief moment in time.

Today is one such day – and that is all I am going to say about it!

Hoorah!!

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One man’s ‘magic’ is another man’s engineering. ‘Supernatural’ is a null word.

Robert A. Heinlein

One of my favourite railway routes has always been the West Highland line in Scotland, from Fort William up to the small fishing port of Mallaig. Before the construction of the Skye bridge at Kyle of Lochalsh, the ferry from Mallaig to Skye was the main route to the isles from the south.

Even for a railway in such a strikingly beautiful part of the world as this, the line has many pleasures; Leaving Fort William under the lowering gaze of the mighty Ben Nevis; navigating a way round the head of Loch Linnie and passing ‘Neptune’s Staircase’ – the flight of locks at Banavie that heralds the start of the Caledonian canal; Glenfinnan, with its iconic curved viaduct and monument to the ’45; the picturesque Loch Eilt; the unexpected white sands at Morar and the largely untouched fishing port of Mallaig.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidIt must be some five and a half decades now since I first traveled this route and was appropriately thrilled and captivated by the aforementioned sights. It surprises me not at all that the cinematic nature of the area has attracted film-makers over the years and the use of various locations along the line in one of my favourite films – ‘Local Hero‘ – only adds to its enjoyment.

I am somewhat more ambivalent concerning the use of the Glenfinnan viaduct in the Harry Potter movies. The area has such a rich (and tragic) history that it feels somewhat reductive for it now to be so strongly linked to this recent movie franchise. The upside is that it makes possible a daily preserved steam train service along the route; the downside is that some of those of those who pay the relatively high price to travel thereon subsequently grumble at the shortage of further Potter-esque attractions and cavil that there is nothing much to do once one gets to Mallaig. Mallaig is a working fishing port and the fact that it is so – and has remained relatively unchanged throughout the years – is a big part of its charm.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Following our restorative sojourn on the island of Skye The Girl and I progressed slowly down the west coast of Scotland to Fort William. One of the three forts built along the Great Glen (the others being Fort Augustus and Fort George) between 1690 and 1750 to facilitate the suppression of rebellious Jacobites throughout the highlands, Fort William has evolved into a major tourist centre whose inhabitants and visitors share with Canadians a love of the great outdoors.

Though not the most attractive of towns Fort William is set in the dramatically beautiful landscape of Lochaber. It is also one of the railway-connected centres that my (non car-owning) family made use of some fifty years and more ago as a base for visiting the surrounding attractions.

Such delights include – Ben Nevis, the Great Glen (complete with Loch Ness, Castle Urquhart and so forth), the Caledonian Canal, Glencoe and the West Coast railway to Mallaig.

Here are some photographic images:

This is Ben Nevis – the highest peak in the British Isles.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid
This is the entrance to the Caledonian Canal, the which was a literal stones-throw from our Airbnb…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid
…as was this pretty garden. We estimated that the season in Scotland was running approximately 3 – 4 weeks behind that of British Columbia – which meant that we got to see some new blooms for the second time this year.

These photos were taken at both the pass and the village of Glencoe. Difficult to avoid the sensation of the weight of history here.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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“When you buy from a small business, an actual person does a little happy dance.”

Anonymous


Whilst on the island of Skye we stayed in an excellent Airbnb near the remote hamlet of Glendale. This diminutive gathering of (primarily) old crofter’s cottages at the north-west tip of the island also includes (naturally) a small church, a rather stylish cafe… and the Glendale General Stores and Post Office.

Knowing that our residence was well equipped in the kitchen department we had shopped on our way to Skye and thus arrived bearing venison steaks and all the appropriate accoutrements to provide ourselves with a splendid dinner…

…with one exception. Being out of the habit these days we had omitted the purchase of a suitable bottle of wine.

Coming upon the Glendale General Stores and Post Office we pondered the odds of taking an extremely long shot and seeing if they might have a bottle wine of any variety. This seemed extremely unlikely, given that the store is – as you will see from the photo above – tiny!

Tiny – but mighty! Not only is the shop a great deal larger than it looks (Tardis-like it goes on and on) but it also incorporates such unlikely features as this compact bulk foods section:

Not only did they have a bottle of wine, they had a floor to ceiling unit of bottles. There – at the front of the red wine shelves – was a very passable Chateauneuf du Pape! The proprietor apologised that this was his last bottle thereof, but we happily grabbed it, eulogised the man’s forethought and planning and scampered off to cook up a feast.

Well! Books… covers… impetuosity of judgement…

Life is – as always – full of surprises.

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“Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that’s born to be king
Over the sea to Skye”

The Skye Boat Song

I have already made mention, in this compendium of travelling trivia, of the hiatus on Skye that followed the first week of busy journeying, sight-seeing and experience gathering. It was good to come to rest for a few days. The weather alternated between balmy sunshine and socked-in days and we accordingly ventured forth on the winding one-track roads (with passing-places) to visit the sights, or stayed near home walking on the blustery cliffs and soaking in the splendid tub (the first on our trip) that had been one of the selling points of the beautifully presented Air B & B that The Girl had selected for us.

Herewith a random selection of images:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid
These photos were taken at the Skye Museum of Island Life.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid
This is the tomb of Flora MacDonald. Fashion designer Alexander McQueen lies nearby!

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid
This is what you have to do on Skye if you want your caravan still to be there after the winter.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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On our way from the Orkneys to Skye we spent a single night somewhere that I have not visited before – the north-western fishing port of Ullapool.

Though only there for the briefest of sojourns we liked Ullapool. It had a busy, unexpectedly youthful feel about it – in some ways not unlike Tofino on the west coast of Vancouver Island.

We stayed in The Arch hotel, the which is right on the harbour front. This is the sort of place where there is no check-in desk… you simply go into the bar and the barman leaves his post to show you to your room.

This barman also advised us that there was to be live music that night in the bar, featuring an extraordinary young accordionist called Ruairidh Maclean, who himself hails from Ullapool. As we were staying within yards of the venue I thought I would pop in for a number or two… and ended up staying for the majority of his set.

Maclean plays an accordion that is not only equipped with pickups (for amplification) but also not one but two MIDI interfaces. By means of these devices Maclean can add instrumentation to the accordion – for example, guitar and banjo to the keyboard and bass guitar and kick drum to the buttons. He explains fiercely that he does not use backing tracks but that all of his extensive palette of sound is delivered live. That his repertoire includes AC/DC, Fleetwood Mac and Tom Jones says a lot and he delivers with a fierce joy (and not a little anger).

He also plays this original number, written by a friend of his who has moved to Canada – the which I found particularly moving:

https://rumac.bandcamp.com/track/poaching-days

I am very glad that I attended the gig.

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“In Scotland, when people congregate, they tend to argue and discuss and reason; in Orkney, they tell stories.”

George Mackay Brown

There are many stories in and about Orkney – covering a great span of history. From the distant Neolithic past we moved forward to the last century.

During both the first and second world wars the natural deep water harbour that is encompassed by the Orkney islands – Scapa Flow – was a haven to the British Home Fleet. At the end of the Great War it also hosted 74 ships of the surrendered German fleet as the armistice negotiations dragged on. Believing that its ships would be handed over to other European nations the German commander – Rear Admiral Ludwig von Reuter – gave the command to scuttle the entire fleet in the Flow. A total of 52 ships went to the seafloor and this remains the greatest loss of shipping ever recorded in a single day.

Many of these ships were subsequently raised, not least because of the value of the steel therein. All steel produced since the Trinity atomic bomb tests in 1946 has exhibited a higher than previous level of background radiation as a result of the raised levels in the oxygen used in the smelting process. For some applications – such as the manufacture of medical scanners – this is not optimal, though since surface testing was stopped the levels have, apparently, been slowly falling again.

In the second world war the British battleship, Royal Oak, was sunk by German U boat, U-47, which had contrived to avoid the defences and to penetrate the Flow. Churchill immediately ordered the construction of further barriers to prevent any future such ingress, the which were constructed by Italian prisoners of war. Being a long way from home (and from their familiar Mediterranean climate) these captives asked – and were granted – permission to convert a Nissen hut into a chapel. This has subsequently been restored and is the subject of these photos:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidWhilst on this religious theme I should mention Orkney’s lovely cathedral – St. Magnus – which can be found in Kirkwall.

The story of St. Magnus is an interesting example of the intersection between a narrative – in the form of one or more written sagas – and what is recognised by the church to be historical and ‘religious’ truth. It seems inevitable that versimilitude lies somewhere between, but different folk clearly take from the different elements that which they need the most.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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