Red Nose Day

 

It certainly was on the Perthshire hills yesterday.

With a wind that could cut sheet steel, I was nice and toasty (I believe this is the current mot just) in my stylish top gear. Apart of course from my positively Rudolphian proboscis. I  must start reading the gear blogs to see if PHD or someone does a down/cuben schnozz warmer.

It was so cold that I was disinclined to remove my dachsteins to facilitate the customary painting with light. So you will just have to take on trust my claim of 7.5miles and 700ft.

Would I lie to you ?

John Muir : An Apology

 

The previous post  would appear to have caused widespread disquiet among the lieges, expressed through the  now traditional medium of total indifference.

Apparently I am perceived to have been less than respectful to the great man, and in particular to have demonstrated no great enthusiasm for the Way which bears his name.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Except for a press statement from Nick Clegg.

Obviously.

So, to set the record straight – John, if you’re listening………

 

And furthermore, I would go so far as to recommend that everyone should……..

 

OK ?

Walk This (John Muir) Way

 

 

 

I’ve mentioned before how fond I am of East Lothian. I love the Big Skies, the red-tiled houses, and the devil worshipping. Today it was to be North Berwick to Aberlady on The John Muir Way.

 

North Berwick was a holiday destination for East Central Scotland families before Spain and Florida were invented. I well remember the open-air, sea-water swimming pool – “character forming”, in the testicle shrinking sense of the phrase.  John Muir, I think, made his money from some kind of theme park near Dunbar and from charging people to “watch” their cars while they climb Schiehallion. He then went to America and lectured them on The Environment – sort of like Donald Trump in reverse (Note to self- check this bit with Wiki before publication). He never actually walked this Way, and so did not need the talcum powder.Readers without a grounding in Marxism will be completely lost at this point.

As I was, leaving North Berwick via some golf courses and some really enormous fancy hooses. However the Way is extremely well waymarked, which is just as well as some of the route is a bit counter intuitive. It was a typical North Sea coast day, bit of a haar, snell breeze, and a watery sun trying hard to break through.

 

 

 

 

 

From Yellowcraig, you could only just make out the lighthouse on Fidra.

Yellowcraig is a special place.40 years ago, the future Mrs. O.M and I sat on the grass and shared lunch and a smoke with the countryside ranger.Now in those days, rangers were not fresh faced young girls with degrees in environmental studies and £2,000 bicycles.They were retired or redundant countrymen – herds, keepers and foresters. This guy was a Willie Nelson lookalike with a thousand mile stare. As we talked, he whittled a stick with one of these old black army knives with the marlin spike.As we left he handed the stick to her with the simple words “Fertility Symbol”

So did it work ?

Thrice.

And 10/12 years later we used to bring them all here on Sundays for picnics and games.

 

The village green at Dirleton

 

The old Duke’s grass airstrip at Archerfield.

 

 

Aberlady Bay nature reserve

 

 

 

 

Aberlady

 

 

The Loupin’-On Stone. Rescued from Clarissa Dickson-Wright’s boudoir

So, what’s the verdict ?

It’s well waymarked and well maintained, but , for me, there was a bit too much tarmac and road-walking. Certainly when compared with the previous section I did from East Linton to North Berwick.And it seems to lack coherence – it’s not an old pack road or drove road or anything.

I think I’ll try the section from Torness to East Linton and then mark it as “done”

 

 

So, what passed for music 40 years ago ?

 

Spot the loony

 

I have noticed that all the proper blogs feature a photograph of the blogiste. I can do better than that. A music video clip, no less.

Now before you get too exited……

I’m in the audience, not in the band.

You have to be very quick, as I am “on camera”, as we professionals say, for less than a second.

And it was made over 40 years ago, when I had more hair.

Enjoy.

 

oh, that magic feeling.

 

 

One of the joys of being a socio-casual perambulator, is being able to follow your nose. Yes, the planning and the poring is fun, but it’s enjoyable to see a path and say “I wonder where that goes ?”  Now in the Brazilian rain forest or the Australian outback such inquisitiveness could be fatal. Less so in leafy Stirlingshire.

And so it was that, out today for a bit of a stroll and a recce for a wee health walk I'm leading next week. I noticed a little path that I must have passed dozens of times over the last fifty years.It was a pleasant, if bitterly cold day, I had nothing to rush home for, so………

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And what a joy ! The path follows the course of the burn along the edge of a deep ravine. Exquisite. (Doesn’t photo well “Quelle surprise,eh ?) Nothing spectacular, just one of life's happy little surprises.

 

The title was suggested by a recent interrogation by No2 Grandson.I can remember when our kids had to interview their grandparents about The War for a school project.For this generation the subject appears to be The Sixties. The interview went thus.

 

I suppose your favourite album is Sergeant Pepper.

Nope.

But everybody’s granddad says Sergeant Pepper.

Nope – not in my top ten.

So, you don’t like the Beatles, then.

Yup. But Sergeant Pepper isn’t even in my top three Beatles albums.

You’re being weird again, Grandad.

Nope. Probably fourth equal with The White Album and behind Rubber Soul and Revolver and my personal favourite.

There was no point in digging out the vinyl copy for him, so I emailed him the URL for this

 

Curio-ser and curio-ser

 

 

Apologies for not posting for a few days- London Fashion Week is obviously a busy time for me. Just a filler, then, with some more musical curios/ bits and pieces.

 

 

 

First off we have Chuck Berry at his strutting, smirking, duck-walking best.Playing bass ( on his trademark Epiphone) is Merseybeat and mersey beat legend Jimmy Kinsley and on rhythm is Jimmy Campbell.

 

 

Jimmy was a Scouse singer/songwriter who recorded several albums of “nobody loves me/I think I’ll just go eat worms /bed-sit stuff. The best of it was quite good..The drink took him young.

 

 

 

Now, for the avoidance of doubt, I am not now, nor have I ever been a Roman Catholic or a supporter of Celtic Football Club. This does not mean that I am precluded from loathing and detesting the cancer on Scottish society that was called Rangers.As a result of not paying their taxes, the original Rangers was wound-up, but an Englishman called Charles Green bought the stadium and the name and is trying to  con money out of the gullible supporters by pretending that it is the same “club”- hence Zombie Huns .The best response is just to take the piss.

 

 

 

Just to show that industrialisation of “wildland” is not new.

 

 

 

 

And to finish. Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged me away, Mick

Good night

The Fire That Never Went Out

 

 

 

Going to and coming from my modest adventures , I often meet John who lives just along the street. Now in his nineties, he walks with a zimmer and is always keen to natter about the wild places.

John served his time as a watchmaker in Glasgow in the 1930s and like many of his ilk used to head for the hills and glens at the weekends.

 

In this, he was part of the working class outdoors movement of the depression years – Tom Weir, Jock Nimlin, Robert Grieve et al. Walking, hitching and bussing, they would head for Glencoe, Arrochar and points north on a Friday night, climb all weekend, and the get back in time for work on Monday morning.

 

 

Tom Weir went on to become Scotland’s first outdoors meeja person, many years before Cameron McNeish. In later life, a slightly comic figure with his red nose, bobble hat and tweed breeches, Tam had been a serious climber and mountaineer in his prime both in Scotland and the Himalayas. I seem to recall that his climbing career was ended after a fall on the relatively inoffensive little Ben A’an in the Trossachs.I also think Dave Hewitt said that, although he had climbed most of the Munros, he deliberately never compleated, as it would have seemed like some artificial victory over the mountains.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jock Nimlin was a fascinating, multi-faceted character.A true hard-man, but an autodidact in the best working class tradition.He would put up impossible routes in The Arrocher Alps, dossing overnight in a cave up from Succoth, with only a copy of The Daily Record as a sleeping bag.After spending most of his working life as a shipyard crane operator, he became Scotland’s first countryside ranger. He was also an authority on native gemstones.There is a sort of biography/ edited diary in print, but the man deserves a documentary film.

 

Going to and coming from the hills, these Clydeside stravaigers would often meet up on the shore of Craigallion Loch near Milngavie. A fire was kept burning all weekend, and tea was brewed in old rat poison containers.Stories were shared, songs were sung, the world was put to rights and the seeds of the Creag Dhu and Ptarmigan Clubs were sown. After the Wars (Second World and Spanish Civil) things were never the same and the fire died out, although you can still see the odd glowing ember in John’s eyes when he talks about threading the needle on The Cobbler.

Last summer some people organised a project to locate the site and erect a simple memorial. Although the protective woods have now gone, the old hearth stone was found quite close to the route of The West Highland Way.The details are here.

 

 

Don’t click below if you are offended by sweary words and bodily functions. The ashes of Arab Strap.