My Heart's in the Highlands

Bit of a misnomer there, as only three of these photos could count as the Highlands, but...never mind. That song got in my head as I walked through Derby on my way to catch the train home, and despite (or probably because of) its extreme annoyingness wouldn't depart for days. Grr to Rabbie Burns.

But anyway - went home over Easter and took photos. As always. And felt the need to share them. As always. So here's a very long post full of too many pointless pictures. As always.

Chronologically, as that is the only way I know to tell a story: the best day's weather was the first day I was home. Or...it may have been the second day. I've lost one of those days in my memory and I'm not sure which one. But anyway. It was blue and sunny and with a healthy nip in the air. So for our afternoon dog walk we took the car and drove over the Fairlie Moor road (ie it is a road, over the moor, and it goes to Fairlie) - which is the single-track, mostly farm-y sort of road we used to live on when I was at primary school. We went right over the hills until the road began to drop again, and took our walk overlooking the Firth of Clyde. Here is Cara bounding away ahead of us up the track - it was such an incredibly gorgeous day.

This was the first walk with Cara I've really been on since she lost all her weight and was a well-balanced little diabetic, and it was really incredibly just how full of energy she was. Okay, not always, not when we took her on boring walks, but when we were somewhere a little interesting she was completely puppyish again. It was nice to see. Anyway - moving on before the non-dog-lovers fall asleep...up on the ridge to our east, we were surveyed by the incredibly autocratic local sheep. They hadn't had their lambs yet, so I suppose had every reason to disapprove of us.

From the northern end of our walk, the view north, up over Largs marina towards the hills/mountains (classify as you will depending on personal definition of 'mountain', these are around 3000ft) around Loch Long and Loch Lomond. I love this view.


We then left the track (which was, as an aside, full of tadpoles whose irresponsible parents had deposited them in puddles...I had forgotten my mother's urge to rescue doomed frogspawn/tadpoles and take them home. We had no containers, though, so these were left to die another day) and climbed up the hill to head back over the shoulder. This, plus the sun, heated me up sufficiently that I actuall had to take my fleece off, tie it round my waist (yes Kepp, I'm British) and walk in just t-shirt and jeans. Incredible.

On our way back, we saw a very strange little cloud perched on top of the ridge to the east. My mother speculated on dragons, but I couldn't see it as anything other than a big fluffy blancmange.


Looking the other way (into the afternoon sun, hence the rather greyed-out photo) there was a good view of Cumbrae and the Isle of Arran, together with our friendly neighbourhood...nuclear power station. The big, square and slightly see-through building is Hunterston. We went on a school trip to it once...


To pre-empt Em complaining, on the way back I made Cara pose. She was puffed too. But she's cute when she's puffed.


That's pretty much it for that walk, although in the car on the way back down I took this photo down the road towards Dalry, over one of the many little reservoirs down this road. I adore this view, especially on a sunny day - it always reminds me of one day when I and a friend walked up onto the moors until we could see to the Clyde, and then walked back...we hadn't intended to walk anywhere near as far, and had taken no water with us. At about this point we saw a cyclist and discussed attacking them for their water bottle...but anyway, I don't know who planted this little avenue of trees or why, but I love their little windblown archway over the road, and the way they just frame the reservoir.


Sigh. So beautifully blue and sunny. On the Saturday, of course, when we decided to head up to the Highlands, the weather decided no more mr nice guy and went grey and leaden on us. But that is rather more normal, and in a sense it was nice...the air was very damp and fresh and just smelt...good. Healthy and full of moss, dead leaves and just a hint of spring. We drove up to Loch Lomond, stopping at Tarbet to eat our lunch overlooking the loch and Ben Lomond...which I did take a photo of, but as the whole top half of it was in the cloud it just looks pathetic, so I won't bother. We left reasonably quickly, though, as we were being serenaded by a small girl bagpiper who really shouldn't have been allowed out in public - she was murdering Amazing Grace (and I was once shut in a room with a girl who was tuning her bagpipe...I know a murdered set of pipes when I hear one). So of course I took a picture of her. From a safe distance.


We looped back round to the east of Loch Lomond, through the Trossachs (oh, how I love Scots words), where we went for a relatively short and damp walk on some Forestry Commission tracks (always one of the dullest things to walk on, but at least at this time of year they weren't full of the usual swarms of midges. I always like taking photos of paths which look like they might just lead to Narnia, though.

From the same place, looking to the left (or east), the view up the glen. Note how the northern slopes still have pockets of snow left...this was a day for fleece and waterproof. And the occasional longing for a pair of gloves. My, isn't the weather lovely?


And that'll do of grey and damp landscapes. On Easter Sunday we agreed to meet one of my mum's friends and her son David (who is...about 10? I think) up on the moors again, as they were going egg-rolling on the dam of another of the reservoirs. The weather was even more charmless this day, consisting of torrential showers battering in on a strong west wind, but we had fun nonetheless - David and I rolled the eggs to their death in the spillway while the mothers and dogs stood up on the dam above us looking windswept.


Here is David himself, being a lonely wanderer with his walking stick - he said he was Gandalf. Sadly, no Balrog emerged from under that tumbledown bridge to challenge him.


And that'll about do, I think. One final photo, as on the Monday - guess what? It was nice weather again. And I walked round into town (well...village), taking a few photos for myself, mostly because I do a bit forget what it looks like now that I'm there so infrequently. Most of those are typical run-down small town, and uninteresting, but isn't this just the cutest house? It is on the same road as our house, and I have been told it used to be a catholic chapel before it was turned into a house (and the catholics moved to somewhere a bit bigger), which I suppose explains the slightly arched windows. But...it's just so gorgeous and cute, so I thought I'd share.


There we go. Later that day I caught the train back down to Derby, where the air is its usual uncharismatic Midlands self and the weather has been no better.

And the next time I'll manage to get home? Who knows. Last year it was just Easter and Christmas. Sigh. It's just too far to go for a normal weekend. But never mind - I know it's all there when I need it, when I need the fresh air and the wilderness and the places I know like the back of my 11-yr-old hand.