- Crafty stuff (2)
- Fiction (3)
- scottish hikes (8)
- travel books (6)
- 16/02/2012: Rise of the Ancients - a novel
- 16/02/2012: a night time stroll up a munro - to catch the sunrise.
- 11/12/2011: Pure paradise - Winter snow in the Cairngorms
- 11/12/2011: Rise of the ancients
- 17/11/2011: The Moray Way and Ben Macdui Trail - Guide Book
- 17/11/2011: Beinn a ghlo above Blair Atholl
- 17/11/2011: Lochnagar
- 26/10/2011: Ben Avon - A secret
- 22/10/2011: New publications - craft books
- 22/10/2011: A short story - Ewan and the fire beacons
Blogroll
a night time stroll up a munro - to catch the sunrise.
‘So where are you going tomorrow’ my wife asked, to which I replied with the usual showing on a spare map plus the assortment of grid ref’s, etc, etc, along with the promise of a phone call which I have to admit I sometimes forget until I’m back in the car and surrounded by the phenomenon of ‘no reception’.
The map I produced was a very tattered OS 33, spare due to the areas on it that constant soaks have turned it into a blotted mess, particularly around the five sisters to glen Affric area where I have failed miserably to forget the ‘the monsoon day’. Unfortunately, it is joined by three other occasions where similar conditions did test my waterproofs to their limits. But they are but a mere easily cured itch compared to the numerous grand days I have had around kintail.
For a start the drive down the A 87 is a magical experience, especially past the clunie hotel, to which I have ferried many a hitch hiker. As you descend down through the steep sides where the rived delves into a short tunnel before tumbling in a series of astonishing water falls to the battle site. But your eyes will not be on the river, but the high mountains that tower either side of you, and especially of the pyramid shape of the saddle to your front. For here it is the Munros that dominate the scene like alpine secrets where light threads it tentative rays into the deep glen, over the rippling waters of the river and the heather that cling’s to the rocky slopes for dear life. All of this will, if you allow it, allure you into a false sense. No a real sense of mellow beauty where your eyes are seldom on the road (and perhaps the reason for the many lay-bys and numerous Car Parks) where time slows as your swept on the gentle current down the long straight to the lay-by conveniently positioned opposite the one series of mountains that had thus far always been covered in cloud for me.
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