Cuckoo Count and That Thrilling Rescue!

On Saturday I heard a total of four cuckoos (presuming it was not the same one following me about Scotland!)
First at Rowardennan, then Loch Chon (site of the thrilling bog rescue, which I will come to soon), Strone Hill (A85 near Dalmally), and finally in the woods by Ardmenish burn (see pic) on Jura. If you have any idea of the geography you will see from this what a circuitous route I took from Loch Lomond to Jura! Worth it to see such gorgeous landscapes. Short stop at tea shop (The Wee Blether) at Kinlochard where I had my first taste of clootie dumpling. Yum.

And so to the thrilling bog rescue. Am I in danger of overstating things? Never! I set off from the YH on saturday am without looking at the map (unusual for me), but knowing I needed to turn left at Aberfoyle. Did so, but realised after some miles that I might have taken the wrong left turn. Decided to stop and consult map, so drove into a car park at Loch Chon (Chan?). As I was rummaging in the glove compartment (which necessitated the removal of the electric cool box, cat litter tray and spare seats for Molly the Jura landrover) a lad came running out of the woods shouting "Have you got a tow rope?". He had driven his car into a bog trying to reach the tents where he and three friends were staying. I did not have a tow rope, and would have struggled to get one out of such a laden car anyway. How frustrating, to have the power to pull someone out, but no way of connecting! [With my lay preacher hat on I can feel a sermon illustration coming on] I said that I would go and try to find a tow rope and come back - bear in mind that we are 15 miles from a town here. I toddled off and found a fisherman a mile or so away. He did not seem remotely surprised to have a pink haired woman leap from a landrover and ask for a rope! What is more, he had one, AND was willing to lend it to me. I returned to the lads (who had seen another car flee from the car park when they approached - "Maybe they thought we were going to kill them" they said) We attached the rope, engaged low range and heave ho, one Honda Civic out of bog and back on the track. Yippee!! I had never done this before and was SO proud of success. I love our landy! Mental note to acquire own tow rope having returned (slightly muddy) one to owner.
Thinks, my 'wrong' turning meant that I was in the right (isolated) place to help someone, and found someone willing to lend a rope to a stranger. God is very good!

The View from Here

This is a view of the Paps of Jura 'over the garden wall'. As you can see it is a fine day, despite the howling wind. I was trying to use this as my profile photo, but, despite being small enough, and a jpeg, the system keeps telling me it is not ( a jpeg that is). Computers, don't you love 'em? The cat is sunning herself on the windowsill and the seals have all taken to the water. The cows have hoofed off to the other side of the bay. It was oh so different this time yesterday...

I had opened the big gate to put the landrover in the drive so as to minimize the homicidal (what is the latin for woman? Femina? feminacidal?) tendencies of the aforementioned mattress. I fought the mattress, and I WON! I then left the gate open with only a 12 inch gap between the post and the car and went off to sew a jacket, talk to mother on phone, drink tea etc. Looked out of window to see garden full of cows. Big black cows. With babies. (Cows, like bears, are very protective). How did they fit through such a small gap? Can they dislocate their ribs like pythons do their jaws? Sinister behaviour of cows. I tried to shoo (or 'shu' as they say on the islands) them out but they like our overlong lush grass too much. Eventually I opened the bottom gate, and took to banging the ground with my Leki pole and shouting "shu!". It took twenty minutes, but they all left eventually. Breathed a sigh of relief until I saw that they were circling the walls and mooing balefully at me. First malevolent mattresses and now psychopathic ruminants. I swear that one of them stood still for ten minutes just looking through the kitchen window at me. I suspect that the pantomime might have been watched (through bins) by the farmer. They would have come to save me eventually. I hope. Decided that bringing the mattress upstairs was a job too far, so went and drank wine instead.

Flying the Flag

This is a copy of the flag of the Northern Lighthouse Board, who originally built this house as a shore station for the light at Skervuile. We have the original flag, but it is rather tattered - as anything would be strung up a pole in all weathers! Peter and I made a new flagpole for the old site, using the mast from Lily. As I write this , I realise that there is a lot of history to fill in. Who is Peter? Who was Lily, and why can we scavenge her mast? What was the Beathach Dhiura? Why did I think my husband was trying to kill me? Who are the Crones of Jura? Maybe, dear reader, I will tell you one day...

The Journey

As I sit here, gazing across the bay to the south, the wind is howling and making something on the roof rattle. The sun is shining, I can see the Paps (that is how we measure the weather in the morning; "How much of the Paps can you see?" is the daily cry) and I have counted six seals on the rocks. This is my first blog, and may be a bit of a stream of consciousness as I muse over the last couple of days...

I left the midlands on Friday morning, in a Landrover full to the gunwhales (or the roofline!) with stuff, as usual. Loading the car is a story in itself, as James and I heaved a double mattress through a GAPWHICHISNOTWIDEENOUGH at ten at night. Thankfully our neighbours are used to our strange behaviour by now. Preying on my thoughts was the issue that I was going to have to unload everything ON MY OWN. I was once trapped against a wall by a rogue mattress for an hour, waiting for someone to come home and rescue me, so am deeply traumatized on the subject.

The drive north was uneventful, apart from the matter of having to backtrack nine miles in order to fill up with diesel. I stayed the night at Rowardennan youth hostel (YH are great places to stay; fab locations, interesting people, yha.org.uk) on the east side of Loch Lomond, beautiful. Shared a room with two girls who are walking the West Highland Way (we hope to do this next year, so I listened to all the tips!) As I had the whole of Saturday to kill, I decided to go the long way round to Kennacraig to catch the six p.m ferry to Islay.

The next instalments: A Thrilling Bog Rescue, Cuckoo Count, Herding Cows