Glencoe, Stirling, and Bannockburn

We spent two uneventful days at the Glen Nevis visitor center, not bothering anyone, the alternating squalls and gales affording me the opportunity to catch up on the blog and to rest up from the Ben. We even got a few river-walks in between the showers and deluges. Tuesday afternoon, however, after dutifully paying our "donate and display" fee, we noticed they had erected a "no overnight parking" sign. The nerve! So, as the sun set, feeling a bit dejected, we pulled up stakes, drove through Fort Bill and down (up?) the loch a couple miles until we found a more hospitable, unsigned, lay-by.

Wednesday we drove through continued rain and wind to Glencoe, checked out what we were missing at the visitor center--it is a marvelous hill-walking area--and then drove on through the squalls, skirting the Trussochs, the QE2 national forest, to the ancient capital, Stirling, and its historic castle. Stirling occupies a sort of geographic narrows in Scotland and through its history has been a highly contested place. After doing the castle tour and the associated Argyll House, we drove out to Bannockburn, the site of the Scots' greatest victory over the English, in 1314. And from there we drove on to Falkirk and the Falkirk Wheel, where we presently are parked. We'll see the Wheel tomorrow morning and then head on to Glasgow.

Glencoe, in the rain; people go walking in this?

Stirling Castle walls

Royal residences of various James, Marys, et al.

Tapistry artisans at the Castle are recreating the Unicorn series 
from the Met's Cloisters, to decorate the Chapel--quite a treat 
to see them in such vibrant colors; the work is taking nearly ten 
years

The Rood, where important coronations occurred

The Argyll House, another 17th century aristocratic abode I couldn't get into except 
for noticing...

This woman's huge right bicept; too much caber-tossing?

The Mel Gibson, I mean, Willam "Braveheart" Wallace memorial, from the Castle

Robert the Bruce statue at Bannockburn 

Ben Nevis, Again

Sunday, September 20, I climbed Ben Nevis, again. I left the camper at 8AM, summited at 1:24, and got back to the camper at 4:34, a bit slower than my 1989 pace (5PM to 12:30AM, summer solstice, full moon, according to Vicki's 1989 diary). Oh well. Getting old is a bitch. The first third of the way was in hopeful sunlight, with great vistas, then, turning up the canyon past the Red Burn, things fell apart, with the semi-permanent cloud cover, a veritable hurricane of wind and cold rain. Like Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, the Ben is a magnet for foul weather. At 4,406 feet, it is the highest mountain in the British Isles. I have climbed it twice now and never seen any but its lower slopes. 355 cloudy days per year. This was one of them. Vicki suggests I try again in 20 years, possibly on the vernal equinox.

Keats' thoughts on his ascent, in August, 1818, are of some comfort:

"Upon the top of Nevis blind in mist!
I look into the Chasms and Shroud
Vaporous doth hide them; just so much I wist
Mankind do know of Hell..."

My sentiments exactly. Same wist entirely.

While I was away, she reorganized the camper and did the wash and other such domestic things. Also read some of the guide books. The record ascent/descent of Ben Nevis, as of 2006, she informs me, is 85 minutes.

After a night in the campground, we moved down the road to the free parking of the Glen Nevis visitor center. Dinner for me was of well-deserved fried eggs and, the box said, “haggis neeps & tatties.” (Is this like “eats shoots and leaves”?) I enjoyed the haggis neeps immensely, and the tatties too; or maybe I enjoyed the haggis immensely and the neeps and tatties too. It was all washed down by some great-tasting McEwan's Export ale. It also helped tremendously that I did not read the haggis label until well after dinner was over.

After-edit: this is Ben Nevis, from the south

Very famous castle we passed on the way to Fort William

Lower slopes of the Ben the evening before, from the

campground; I was hopeful of actually seeing the mountain

this time

Some other mountain across the Glen; nice day so far...

Campground

Fort William below; still nice

Then things fell apart; me, in the summit hurricane, hoping

my pack wouldn't blow away

Summit structures, an old observatory and hotel, now a

shelter; the Victorians had some interesting ideas about

where to put hotels

Sign I should have read at the visitor center,

especially the part about 355 cloudy days per

year; Denali is not that bad! But I probably

would have done it anyway...

Vicki adds:

Ft. William, Scotland, September 21, 2009
It is raining like crazy so we are just spending the day (and 2 nights) in the parking lot at the foot of UK's highest mountain--Ben Nevis. Mark climbed it yesterday and only one hour slower than he did 20 years ago, so not bad. I decided that a 4,000 ft climb on a gravel path with rain guaranteed for half the 9 hours was not to my liking so I did the wash and reorganized the camper.

We have been in the camper four months now and are really quite satisfied with it. It is small--21ft. RoadTrek Adventurous--but well laid out and after spending 6 months living out of a suitcase and then 3 1/2 weeks in Ireland in a tent, it feels quite luxurious. I am sure we would have not felt quite the same if we had moved directly from our 2,000 sq ft house on five acres!

Scotland has been cool and wet but today (and the rest of the week) have been the only all day rains. We loved the Orkney Islands and also the Isles of Lewis and Harris. They were bleak and desolate but packed with prehistoric sites--Mark's blog will have all the details and pictures. We have had plenty of opportunities to free camp so that has helped with the budget.

Groceries are also very reasonably priced--I know we are not spending more than we would have at home and we are eating out much less. That will change when we get to France and Italy, but right now we haven't really missed it. I do buy a lot of semi prepared meals. The grocery stores have a tremendous variety of Indian, Chinese, etc. meals to just heat up and they mark them down to half price just before dinner time. I can just switch on the generator and then we can use the microwave. Generators aren't allowed in most campgrounds as they expect you to plug in--but we usually don't need the electric so why pay the extra $5-6 a day for an electric hookup? Propane has been easy to get, except in northern Scotland. We are using about 1 tank a month right now--about $35. It runs the refrigerator, hot water heater, generator, and the furnace. We pretty much use the furnace every morning and on and off during evenings. At night we have a DC electric mattress pad with dual controls that makes sleeping quite comfortable and so far we haven't had to even use it much as the travelsac sleeping system we have is warm enough. So as long as we can find propane we can manage our energy needs pretty easily.

Broadford and "A Link with the '45"

Our possibly coolest campsite yet turned out not to be. A gale came up in the night, and buffeted the poor Grey Wanderer violently. We managed to sleep a bit, but with dreams of cliffs eroding beneath us or cliffs eroding and tumbling down from above us. Interestingly, the sea was not all that agitated. During breakfast I enjoyed watching the gulls dive for theirs. We're parked near quite a large colony. We drove on down the east side of Skye, stopping at Kit Rock (big cliffs), a look at the Old Man of Storr (from a distance, in the rain), and finally stopped in Broadwater, for lunch, refueling, and a visit to the Broadwater Hotel, where Bonnie Prince Charlie gave the Drambuie recipe to the Mackinnons. The hotel actually celebrates all this, with much Drambuie stuff in the lobby and bar. The barkeep gave me a little tour and showed me the relics, as well as a nice glossy pamphlet the hotel hands out to the interested few. I had a wee dram later in the evening, after driving.

We left Skye, pleased with our visit there and especially to Lewis/Harris. At the Portree high school library, where we did internet coming and going, Vicki learned that the weather forecast for western Scotland was dismal: rain for an entire week, starting Monday. I had wanted to climb Ben Nevis again, so we decided to drive directly to Fort William, camp there, and let me try the mountain on Sunday.

Broadford Hotel, Broadford, Isle of Skye

Old bottle

Another

More Isle of Skye

Our return to Skye was uneventful. From Uig we decided to drive the scenic east 
coast back down to Broadford. Our campsite, on a shelf overlooking the sea, was 
beautiful. Until the gale came up that night. Above, one-lane road with "passing 
places"--all over the northern part of Scotland.

Maybe our best campsite yet was at the foot of these cliffs, on a shelf above 
the sea

Campsite, east coast of Skye

Seagull rest area

Skye east coast cliffs and waterfall

More Harris and Lewis

Our one-day tour of Lewis/Harris continued to Stornoway, the traditional capital and 
city, where we examined some tweed, among other things. Then we dashed back to 
Tarbert for the ferry. Stornoway, on the Isle of Lewis, Outer Hebrides, may sound 
remote-- well, it is remote--but you can still get your Chinese/Malaysian Fusion 
Take-Away.

Lewis Castle; note trees in the former noble's deer park

Harris Tweed, by the bolt

Old looms become planters

Landscape

Large Menhir

At Clach an Trushal, near Barvas, Lewis Island,

Scotland's largest menhir...18 feet.

Black House

The Clearances also got to the Outer Hebrides, and all over the island are 
abandoned dry-stone dwellings, usually just the walls--black houses. When 
they got to using mortar, they became known as white houses. Anyhow, 
there are black houses on exhibit near Bragar, which we visited. Above, 
Vicki outside the black house; note netting, held down by stones, holding 
the thatch roof down.

Interior

Hearth--that is, peat coals burning in the middle of the floor --no chimney; 
easier to smoke fish that way...

Box beds

Of course, the animals lived under the same roof too

Doune Broch

Out on the west side of Lewis is a somewhat preserved

broch, Doune Broch, one of those circular, double-walled

towers the residents of Scotland put up in the Bronze Age

and thereafter. Sort of a predecessor to the tower houses, I

guess. Shaped, originally, like one of those nuclear reactor

cooling towers. Animals on the ground floor, etc. This one

was inhabited until the 1st century BC.

Doune Broch

Interior....beautiful dry stone work, here as at

other places

Interior staircase (that is, between the inner

and outer walls)

Callanish

Callanish itself is a bit unusual...a cruciform shape has evolved, a couple long avenues, a circle, a ruined dolmen within the circle. Hundreds of years of use, re-use, changing perspectives and interests. Unlike some other major sites, the stones themselves, Lewissian schist, I think, are of interest as well.

Callanish evidently was visited by the 1st century BC Roman, Diodorus Siculus--much closer in time to us than Callanish's builders--who wrote "...beyond the land of the Celts there lies in the ocean an island...situated in the north...inhabited by the Hyperboreans...and there is both a magnificent sacred precinct...and a notable temple...spherical in shape ... The moon as viewed from this island appears to be but a little distance from the earth...and the god visits the island every nineteen years and...dances continuously through the night until the rising of the Pleiades." The site's orientation involves some of the local geography, the moon, and indeed one of the avenues points to the Pleiades (a celestial event).

Model of Callanish from visitor center...cruciform, avenues,

circle, etc.

Beautiful rock

View from the "natural" temple

Part of circle and transept

Vicki

Us

Callanish Satellites

Callanish, on Lewis/Harris, is another of those great megalithic centers, one or more main sites, many "satellite" sites, sometimes only hundreds of yards away, still being discovered and interpreted. Callanish had a long neolithic history but its builders seem mostly to have had lunar interests. All this c. 5,000 years old.

September 18 we awoke early. Our return reservation was for the 4PM sailing in the afternoon, but we were wait-listed for the Saturday sailing. They don't sail on Sunday. (This is a very Puritan sort-of place; the Sabbath is really, really sacred; seriously: fishing licenses do not permit Sunday fishing). So it was see Lewis/Harris in a day, or in three days. We drove north and then west, hurriedly, out to Callanish, our principal destination, and the Stones of Callanish there.

Central and southern Lewis/Harris is mountainous, but the northern part, where we were, is merely hilly and moorish, hundreds of miles of rock and heather and consequent thousands of years of peat bog, everything either Lewissian schist, beautiful striated and swirly rock, or squishy and spongy and purple, but also wind-blown, cold, and, in the larger view, pretty desolate. How many synonyms are there for “bleak”? There are some few trees down in Stormayer, mostly at its castle and grounds, the lord's former deer park, but none else on the island except for an up-start commercial conifer forest or two. And associated clear-cuts. As in Ireland and Denmark, and Orkney, everything was de-forested thousands of years ago. As Jared Diamond wondered about Easter Island, one wonders here, too, what were they thinking when they chopped down the very last tree?

Ceann Hulavig, about 2 miles from the main Callanish site

Vicki at Cnoc Ceann a'Gharraidh

Cnoc Fillibhear Bheag

Interesting stile joining the latter two properties...at the bottom, neolithic builders

Isle of Skye and Beyond

From our perch above Loch Carron we drove on to Lochalsh and then, after a serious blackberry-picking bout (with the usual disdainful response from the locals), we drove across the Skye Bridge to the fabled Isle of Skye, the first of the inner Hebrides off Scotland's west coast. (The Sky Bridge south of St. Petersburg, FL, USA, is more impressive, as a bridge, but it does not have the scenery one finds here (although the Gulf sunsets in FL are pretty unbeatable)). We stopped for fueling and information in Broadford. Here, Vicki ascertained that the only Drambuie site on the island was at the Broadford Hotel, where the Bonnie Prince gave the secret recipe to the Mackinnons. Drambuie, so she was told, is manufactured and bottled in Edinburgh. Secretly, I add. Too bad. They should have a distillery tour, even if they are not distilling anything. I would have gone.

She also found the costs and timetables for the ferry from Uig, the northern port of Skye, to Tarbert, the southern port on the Harris/Lewis Islands. Harris/Lewis is an interesting phenomenon. They are one island, but go, regionally, by different names. Harris has the tweed, Lewis has the chess set and the stones.

I had pretty much written off the Stones of Callanish as a destination too far and too costly. The Outer Hebrides? Maybe in another life. But, suddenly, they were within reach, just a two hour ferry ride away. We did all the calculations and determined to ferry the Grey Wanderer over, so we'd have a place to sleep, eat and means of travel, thus saving all those costs. (We should have done the same for the Orkneys). So we headed north, toward Uig, enjoying the Skye highland and costal scenery, with a detour, midway up the island, to the Talisker distillery.

We proceeded on to Uig and the ferry, a big ferry, the MV Hebrides, 5,000 tons. Scottish ferries are far more formal than Norwegian ones. In Norway, you just queue up and drive on, buying a ticket from the guy/gal with the ticket-machine slung from his/her shoulder. No big thing. In Scotland, at least here, you go into an office, converse with someone at a counter (a very nice and informative person, in our case), who confers with a computer, buy your ticket, and receive a folder of documents. Then, as in Norway, you queue. From the staff  there we learned the interesting story of the merchant vessel Politician, which ran aground off the Isle of Eriskay during WWII with a cargo of some 250,000 bottles of Scotch bound for the US. The efforts of the thirsty locals versus the customs and excisemen to retrieve the cargo is the background of Compton MacKenzie's comedy novel Whiskey Galore, later a feature movie. Must check it out.

The voyage aboard the MV Hebrides was fine, scenic among the various Hebridean islands and skerries. We landed and drove off the ferry in Tarbert, South Harris Island, as the sun was setting. Forty miles up the dark road, half-way across the island, we found a suitable lay-by on a secondary (tertiary? quarternary?) road, by the finger of a loch, and spent the night, already feeling quite far out on an islandic limb. Lewis/Harris/whatever is really out there. The moon is very, very low at this latitude, and it was very, very dark. I longed for a bottle of Dark Island, but had to settle for Drambuie.

On the west of Skye, the Talisker Distillery, one of the

great ones

Our ferry, the MV Hebrides

Isles and skerries in the Little Minch, which separates Skye

and the outer islands

Cleared for landing, final approach to Tarbert...