Melancholic Year

Melancholic me

Down into the mists of 2012

2011 is fizzling out like a damp squib, reflecting the year that has been the most disappointing I can remember.  Climate change damage is all around us, the economy is in free fall and social and community activities are being wiped out. Our political and financial systems have suffered systematic failure and there is little evidence that those with the power either understand or have the courage to admit the necessity for radical change.  I wandered off into the clouds for a couple of hours this morning and reflected on the future possibilities for recovery and to search for some solace but just became wet and melancholic.

I was trying to remember other years when the world seemed so ill at ease - 1962 after the Cuban missile crisis, 1977 during the winter of discontent, and 1981 when Mrs Thatcher's dirty dancing with monetarism sired a modern grim reaper.  But these were just episodes of decline, this time the economic and fiscal collapse seems to presage the inevitable degeneration of society. We need to renew our models of corporate and democratic governance to embrace new technologies and the renascent ethical principles that have thankfully emerged on a global scale in recent months.

Fortunately, there is a new year ahead to address these issues. We must hope against the expectation that those with the levers of influence have the fortitude and instincts to know that the old orders of capitalism (the markets), centralised government (statism) and the economy police (the World Bank and IMF) have collectively failed and that we need to trust far more localised and empathetic ways of managing society if we are to achieve the global change that Schumacher's Small Is Beautiful movement captured so well almost forty years ago.

Painting the Forth Bridge

White didn't work

As never-ending as  a banker's bonus

A1 Pacific

One of the fondest memories of childhood was the annual picture book which almost always had images of the Forth Bridge, usually being painted rust red by a gang of men who seemed to have a worthy career for life.  The bridge was usually the backcloth for pictures of the mighty LNER pacific locomotives. It was also the inspiration for my bridges made from Meccano that carried a clockwork train. They usually collapsed like the Tay bridge as I never had enough pieces of Meccano.

Today we learnt that they have finished painting the Forth Bridge which must be an oxymoron if ever I heard one.  What are we to call things that go on forever?  Someone on the radio suggested the American expression 'whack-a-mole' which seemed incongruous although it might be an appropriate term for bankers' bonuses. I guess 'pension contributions' would be nearer the mark for the next generation. 

The Men That Don't Fit In

British Bulldog with friends

Reading today's papers, after watching the PM, David Cameron, make a bitter and lonely exit from the Euro summit reminded me of a very apt Robert Service poem. 

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
 A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
 And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
 And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
 And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
 They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
 And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
 What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
 Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
 With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
 Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
 Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
 In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
 He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
 And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha!  He is one of the Legion Lost;
 He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
 He's a man who won't fit in.

In the glare of the truth

And he did fail and fail and his prime is in the past. 

Solar Optimism

Cheaper than Slate

Scotland and sun are not obvious partners but my interest in sustainable energy and eternal optimism persuaded me to invest in solar panels.  What retirement savings I had left were losing 3% or 4% per annum in a savings account and with inflation remaining above 5% and no sign of the recession easing after the Chancellor's latest doomsday rant, I allowed the energy savings trust to convince us that solar panels would work.  I challenged every assumption much to the chagrin of the salesman before we arrived at an estimate of annual electricity generation far less than he would have calculated. Much to my surprise it would begin to give a rate of return within 6 years.  It did require the felling of half a dozen sycamore and lime trees in my neighbour's garden but I had wanted to do this for years and this was the excuse I needed.

November was the first full month of production and, with only 3 or 4 days when the sun made an appearance, we generated over 60kWh of electricity.  December is a different matter and so far we are still struggling to get more than a couple of kilowatt hours.  The panels were covered with snow for 2 or 3 days before the gales on Thursday and the snow has returned overnight.  However after the debacle in Brussels yesterday, I think even a ten year rate of return will still beat the savings rates in the UK by a sizeable margin.

Gales and Power

The river Forth with waves

Dozens of trees blocked paths

Hanging lichen on the fallen trees - no air pollution here

Mystery Lumberjacks

We have had the full set of winter weather in the last few days and gale force winds were the latest trial.  They were the strongest since 1968 if we are to believe the Met Office. The Co-op was mobbed in the early morning, people stocking up before the imminent gales struck. I managed to get provisions and back home before the rising flood waters cut us off again, the second time this week. The winds began to howl and branches were flying across the garden. And this was long before the Minister, Keith Brown, told us to stay indoors and not to travel. Just after 3pm there was one of those moments you knew was going to make a difference - the electricity failed. I had just finished a few emails so I was not unduly disturbed. We found candles, lit the wood burning stove, took the chairs through and assembled reading material.  This was total isolation: road closed by floods, no electricity and too windy to step outside. The initial novelty soon wore off: reading a kindle by candlelight is not romantic nor is cooking on a camping stove  in the kitchen in winter. Give me a tent in the remote mountains, a cup a soup and savoury rice in the summer for using the camping stove.

It took over 27 hours before electricity was restored but in the evening the floods subsided and the next day I managed a long walk in the forest climbing over dozens of trees that had been brought down by the gales and fallen on the forest tracks.  We went out for an evening meal in a pub in the nearest settlement that had electricity and we were joined by a dozen or so engineers from Scottish and Southern Energy who had been working round the clock for the past 24 hours restoring power supplies.  They had that contented comradeship that events like this generate and when we returned home we had heat and light. It reminded us how dependent we are upon electricity and brought home the long lasting damage of the war in Iraq, where citizens are still restricted to a few hours a day. Scotland has capacity problems that will increase over the next few years.

Thankfully the Scottish Government had finally taken a decision to give the go ahead for the upgrading of the power lines between Beauly and Denny.  A proposal that had been made 8 years ago and which had been opposed by various campaigning groups supported by cowardly politicians at all levels.  I had attended a dozen or so community meetings in 2005/2006 when the rationale for the scheme had been set out and we managed to obtain various route amendments with the power companies.  Arguments against the new pylons (10 metres taller but only two to replace every three existing pylons) were very strident but lacked rigour and conveniently ignored the evidence that was presented.  I am no fan of pylons but I know most of the route quite well and there was a genuine desire by the power companies to adjust the route to minimise the impact upon sensitive landscapes. The route does not intrude on Scotland's grander landscapes.

• Did the existing power lines need to be upgraded? - yes because the existing power stations both coal and nuclear that serve much of Scotland are to close and generation will increasingly be from wind and wave power in the north, capacity of the existing grid is already at its limit.  
• Could the cables be put underground? No because the cost increases twelvefold and cables are encased in concrete that creates infrastructure corridors just as intrusive as motorways and each time there is a major water crossing there is a need to bring above ground with ugly fields of transformers at either end.  
• Is it the best route to safeguard scenic landscapes? By and large, yes and significant changes were made to accommodate concerns raised by SNH, Councils and environment groups.  
• Is it safe? Well safer than using a vacuum cleaner and all owners of properties within 200 metres of the route were guaranteed that they would be compensated at market value if they wished to move.  There were less than 100 properties in the 200 mile route.

So why so long to reach a decision - because politicians at national and local levels believed that the vocal minority opposing the scheme had to be appeased and they had to be seen to be in the vanguard. It was an example of democratic inertia that is damaging the economy and pampering the nimbys.  At least five years have been wasted and whilst due process or legitimate delays are cited as the reason, we all know that it is political cowardice of the type that allowed News International to flourish. Politics should be about leadership and facing difficult decisions not courting whimsical popularity.

Kissing Keynes

The Chancellor's autumn statement today sounded more like the budget he should have delivered in June 2010. It was a confident delivery which focused on new investment decisions and support for business. He avoided explaining away the Office of Budget Responsibility report that was far worse than he could ever have imagined during his refusal to entertain any Keynesian notions during his early days at the treasury when deficit reduction and monetarism were his mantras.

Although he claimed that he was faithful to Plan A, and cited the low-interest rates and the confidence of the international markets in his policies, he was suddenly transformed into an animated big spender when giving a long list of infrastructure projects that will get the go-ahead. I tried to spot the equivalent of the Hoover dam but the A12 expressway to Ipswich is the biggest scheme I could find - it could become Osborne's Essex Way. Whilst Osborne is certainly no Roosevelt, who went the whole way and revived the American interwar economy, you sensed that he was at least kissing Keynes.

Ed Balls had been given an open goal and could have welcomed the Chancellor along the lines of "we are all Keynesians now" but sought instead to reiterate the terrible state of the economy quoting the various recent independent bodies. It became a tedious game of which economic policies were best and as we all know economics and consensus are like oil and water. 

Alistair Darling was the one who stood out during the subsequent analysis as someone who was looking at the wider economy and he was prepared to give the Chancellor credit for a number of initiatives.  This gave him the authority to comment authoritatively on why it had taken eighteen months to get back to the recovery plan that he had established and was working well for 2010. More cash for housing, school building, transport and roads, youth employment and early years were all welcomed but we were reminded that they had all been slashed in June 2010 during the so-called emergency budget.  

Recovery cannot be switched on and off and it is slightly worrying that Osborne has started another round of capital spending shortly after Councils and other bodies have just finished a cull of thousands of ready-to-go capital projects made necessary by last year's budget reductions.  They may not have been the prestige projects that make the headlines but they were smaller, properly costed, had planning permission, were ready to roll and usually, the tenders had gone to local companies. The new tranche of projects will be lucky to spend before 2014/15.  

Watching the big construction companies getting excited about the tranche of new projects announced today should remind us what happened to the massive defence and IT projects let by government departments, they have seldom kept to cost or schedule. And who pays, well it looks like the public sector with 1% wage increases next year and another 310,000 jobs to disappear according to the Office of Budget Responsibility. I am not sure that this is George's Marvellous Medicine.

Forth Floods

G'day cobber

Marcia  wellies her way through

Not the Yangtze just the River Forth in spate 

Lochside residence

November is the month of floods and these last few weeks the road has been closed three times.  As always there is a huddle of cars parked outside the house waiting for the waters to recede before they can get through to Stirling or Glasgow.  We may be 30 miles away from the sea but the river is still influenced by the tide and the waters back up two or three hours after high tide in the estuary of the Forth. When working I was faced with returning home to a flood at least a couple of times a year.  

About fifteen years ago I arrived home with a friend who had just sold his house and was staying with us for a few days, the flood waters were thigh-deep and we simply took off our shoes, rolled up our suit trousers and walked through with briefcases held high above the waters. A neighbour described it as the photo of the year but she did not have a camera handy. It was different today, I decided to collect a newspaper or if truth be told I fancied a paddle. Another neighbour was amused by me wading through the flood for a newspaper and asked me to pose knee-deep in the flood with one leg and running shoe out of the water in ministry of silly walks style; she publishes a daily photo so who knows where it will turn up.

When I returned home three cars had failed to get through and had been pushed out of the flooded section of the road, their engines damaged by the water.  It used to be possible to get through by driving on the pavement which is 6 or 7cm higher than the road surface but traffic calming bollards put paid to that, they were placed near the low point of the road.  I passed several frogs swimming for their life and two fish swam past me exploring their new domain. The current was quite strong and may hopefully one day sweep away the bollards. 

I went in to dry off and then went out again to take some photos, and spotted an acquaintance wading through the floods looking as though he was on his holidays.  He was on the way home from Australia and had travelled 10,000 miles in 36 hours only to be thwarted a mile from home by the River Forth which looked more like the Yangtze; I was happy to give him a lift up the road once he had crossed the deep section.  Later our house became a restroom for the drivers who were waiting for the motoring organisations to rescue their cars outside the house.

Why flood protection measures have not been implemented constantly frustrates me; it requires a retaining wall, no more than a metre in height and stretching for up to 200 metres. Dozens of cars/vans would be saved, the school could be open for two or three days extra each year, many houses and shops would be spared their largely ineffective sandbag defences and far fewer working days would be lost.  By any cost-benefit analysis, it would be a cut-and-dried case.  Instead, it has become caught up in the indeterminable evaluation of priorities set by the Sottish Government based upon hydrologists modelling the floods and then consultants producing an engineering solution that is beyond the declining capital programme of the Council.  If it was a farm track a JCB would sort out the problem in a couple of days as I have seen on dozens of occasions when walking in all parts of the highlands.  It would also mean that the waters of the scenic temporary loch that appears across the road could be retained in the field instead of damaging the roads, the drains, cables, some houses and writing off perfectly good vehicles. Whatever happened to intermediate technology?

Vilification- the new Deadly Sin

Vilified or Vilifiers who's the odd one out

The undercurrent of news has been far from positive this year from tsunamis in Japan to the killings in Syria and other parts of the Arab world.  It is maybe no great surprise that the recovery from the recession in Western economies has stalled or that Europe has failed to find a solution for its most vulnerable economies.  However, on both counts the media and our politicians have taken to vilifying the personalities involved.

Silvio Berlusconi was never going to be a statesman and it is a sad reflection on the Italian electorate that they believed the stories in the Italian press and media, much of which he owns, that he was the ageless gigolo who could hold together the creative and corrupt practices that co-exist in this self-obsessed but beautiful country.  His indiscretions were seen as the sort of excesses we expect from teenagers or politicians. President Sarkozy has been built up, like his shoes, as the Napoleonic gallic charmer - not afraid to change partners or policies whilst Angela Merkel has been castigated as the indecisive status quo defender of Germanic austerity.  It is not just the cartoonists and sketch writers that are hacking away at their reputations but the PM and Chancellor are targeting the main players in the eurozone crisis as another butt to kick as an excuse for their own lamentable management of the British economy which, even Cameron now accepts, is in deep trouble.  And they are of course joined in this affray by the infantry of the tabloid press.

I have watched some of the interviews in the Levenson inquiry this week and been reminded about the full scale and horrors of the way the press, and that includes not only News International but also the Mail, Mirror and Express groups, have transgressed the bounds of privacy by hacking into phones, emails, wheelie bins of their victims and their friends to feed their frenzy for scandal which dominates much of their output. Whether famous actors or ordinary families, the victims have divulged the brutality that they have suffered through the press.  It is becoming 'de rigueur' for our politicians, after years of kowtowing to the media, to now blame them for this sorry state of affairs.  

It is not surprising that James Murdoch is hastily retreating from his involvement in the editorial boards of the Sun, The Times and the Sunday Times: he will be spending more time as the bad apple of the family in New York.  The moguls such as Berlusconi and the Murdochs released a form of voyeuristic journalism which has been toxic to democracy. At the same time, they chivvied up to the political elite to secure compliance with the moguls' wider agenda to open up business opportunities and allow takeovers that would extend their influence. They devised new tools to undermine anyone of influence who opposed their expansionist ambitions by tarnishing reputations and creating images that would not appeal to the electorate. 

British politicians of all persuasions were happy to skip along with this game, they were afraid of their own images being damaged in the way that David Steel suffered at the hands of Spitting Image in the 1980s.  So Murdoch and his ilk levered their way into the inner sanctums of political decision making and by employing some very ruthless journalists to vilify and undermine personalities and associated ideas they were able to shape policy agendas on tax, Europe, immigration and defence. They scripted the 'private good, public bad' refrain that was embraced by New Labour as well as the coalition government.  They used celebrity culture to create a sense that avarice and wealth were worthy objectives.  They were assisted by luxury goods advertisers who saw new niche markets opening up amongst the new rich list. 

News International seemed to have an agenda loosely based on encouraging its readers to embrace the deadly sins. Most reports or articles could be categorised under envy, lust, gluttony and greed and national pride seems to drive the eurosceptic agenda.  Vilification of character was also added to the modus operandi and sadly it seems to have been embraced by the political classes. This year at last there has been nemesis for the great panjandrums of the media and their henchmen.  Our politicians, as apprentice panjandrums, are not altogether immune from this.

It would be good to return to the days when humour was used to make political points such as when Denis Healey described being attacked by Sir Geoffrey Howe 'like being savaged by a dead sheep' or when Vince Cable noticed Gordon Brown's 'remarkable transformation in the past few weeks -  from Stalin to Mr Bean.'  Alas, there are no signs that the coalition has the wit or the wisdom to use humour instead of vilification.

Ben Starav

Summit of Ben Starav - happiness

Glen Etive

Crossing the river - a risky task

Ben Cruachan 

Beinn nan Aighenan - reward

Ben Cruachan from Beinn nan Aighenan

Glencoe hills from Ben Starav

Loch Etive from the summit

Bidean nam Bian under November skies

Sunday, 13 November 2011

Ascent:       1525m

Distance:        19km

Time:               7 hrs 5mins

Beinn nan Aighenan      957m       3hrs 28mins    

Stob Coire Dheirg        1028m       4hrs 40mins
Ben Starav                   1078m       5hrs 19mins

We had decided to visit Ben Starav late on Saturday night but began to have second thoughts as we drove north with the cloud level down to 400 metres and the dark grey sky instilling an immediate sense of gloom. By Bridge of Orchy there were signs of light and the long descent into Glen Etive from the King's House gave us some hope. As we parked at the end of the glen, a 25-minute drive down Glen Etive on the single-track road, the view back to the two Buchailles was mightily impressive.

From the parking space just before Loch Etive House, we followed the track down to cross the River Etive, almost falling forty feet into the deep pool below as we leant on the not-very-sturdy railings.  We traversed across the flat boggy field behind Coiletir's house until reaching the river which was swollen and proved difficult to cross. It was a long haul up the path alongside the Allt nam Meirleach to the bealach at 766m that sits between Ben Starav and Glas Beinn Mhor.  Progress was slow through the boggy ground and there was a stiff wind being funnelled down the glen. We entered the clouds just before we reached the bealach.  It seemed destined to be one of those nearly days; we could see back to last Sunday's hill, Beinn Fhionnlaidh, which was radiant in the midday sunlight.  Last week at this time we had cast our glance enviously at Ben Starav, which was basking in the sun.

We were faced with a 'was it near or was it far' grey mist as we set out for Beinn nan Aighenan. We dropped to 620 metres before starting the long climb up its rocky and interesting north ridge. A peregrine soared past us and as we approached the summit the clouds drifted away.  We were perched on the yellow-green summit plateau enjoying a panorama of peaks rippling all around us, apart from Ben Starav, which remained under its cap of cloud.  It had made the day worthwhile and on our descent, we were able to encourage a couple of walkers who were flagging and deciding whether to make the climb up Beinn nan Aighenan that it was worth the effort.

We arrived back at the bealach by 2:30pm and decided to give Glas Bheinn Mhor a miss. We would take a chance on finding some better conditions on Ben Starav although it was still in the cloud.  We were not disappointed and as we passed a lone female walker coming down she said that the summit was out of the cloud. Her proud Preston accent made this very believable. We chatted for 10 minutes in the animated way that you sometimes do on the hills, we had a home town and a passion for hillwalking in common. The climb to Stob Coire Dheirg was stiff but we walked above the clouds and experienced an hour or so of superb lighting with the views to Glencoe quite spectacular.

We marched around the airy ridge in awe at the splendid scenery and dallied for 10 minutes on the summit, the conditions were sublime.  The descent was long and steep and the light was beginning to fade but we made good time down the steep, stony and at times boggy path and found the river crossing before dark. The walk across the boggy field was just as difficult as on the ascent but we arrived at the car without the need to use a headtorch and we watched with satisfaction as the two walkers who were just behind us at the summit were still descending the hill with their head torches often static and confirming the difficulty of the descent in the dark.  It had been a day with hopes dashed and then gloriously resurrected by the late afternoon sun.

Ben Venue

Ben Venue from the start of the walk at Achray

View north west over Loch Katrine

Ben Ledi, Loch Achray and Loch Venachar

A skyline of Munros over Loch Katrine

Cruach Ardrain, Stobbinnein and Ben More

Ben Lomond and the Arrochar Alps from summit

Saturday 12 November 2011

Ascent: 740m , 
Distance: 14 km,  
Time: 2 hrs 43mins

Ben Venue        729m      1hr 35mins

Gregor and I had arranged a walk tomorrow but by midday the sun had created a rare warm and clear November day. We decided to miss lunch and drive over to Loch Achray to climb Ben Venue, the walk that we chickened out of a couple of days ago.  We treated it as a local jaunt - no map, no waterproofs, no drinks or food and an intention to be down long before dusk.  We were walking by 1:15pm.

Although I have climbed this hill on a score or more occasions, it is quite a few years since I have climbed it from the east side. I usually walk from Ledard farm on Loch Ard or from the back of the house if there is more time. The walk through the forest from Loch Achray was quite invigorating in the late autumn sun and we had no intentions of wasting any time on the way up. We eventually emerged from the forest trails and entered the open hillside but after  another half kilometre on a steep path we were back in another forested area with rivulets scoring the surface of the path.  We had to scatter to make way for two mountain bikers who were rolling and tumbling down the track.

When we emerged from this forest we were at 400 metres and the track became a bit of a bog. It is easier to be in trail shoes in these conditions, your feet get wet anyway and far better with a lightweight ball of mud than boots that remind you of the sodden leather footballs that we played with at school.  The track meandered through rocks and into the upper glen so I decided to strike out and make direct for the summit. It was a good decision and I was there 10 minutes before Gregor who had taken the tourist route. The views were stupendous, particularly to the north west and it was good to see Loch Achray and Loch Venachar splayed out below - these are places that have been at the heart of my life for the past 34 years.

We left the summit just before 3pm and made good time by the simple expedient of heading straight down the steep hillside to the south. I then headed off on a forest track that I hoped would take me to the Dukes' pass whilst Gregor went to collect the car at Achray and then picked me up on the pass.  We had managed the outing quite a bit quicker than we had anticipated and were home in broad daylight which will amuse some friends, I only realised on returning home how strenuous the exercise had been and we have a lot more of this planed for tomorrow.

Ben A'an

Ben A'an in the rain

Clouds seeping in over Loch Katrine

Sometimes the small hills are the best and Ben A'an in the Trossachs is one of these. Gregor and I set off in the afternoon to climb Ben Venue but it was engorged in clouds and then began to rain. We only had soft shells so decided a quick outing on Ben A'an would provide some exercise for the day. Despite being November there were half a dozen vehicles in the car park including minibuses; it is that sort of hill - universally popular. The stiff climb through the forest sets the heart racing and then there is a long flatter section through the forest before the image of a real mountain beckons you further. On a day like today with poor visibility, it loomed out of the cloud like a massive Alpine peak.  On other days it is a gentle summer walk but a perfect hill for children with bridges, places to wet your feet and fall over and a proper rocky summit to clamber about on and make parents anxious.  We dragged our three up here on many occasions as soon as they could walk and in Amy's case when she was six months old on a freezing winter's day.

The steep scramble with some man-made steps begins at the end of the forest and we passed a party of walkers with a guide and then a couple of other groups who were beginning to have second thoughts about the climb as the rain became heavier.  Gregor paced me to the summit in one of those role reversals where parents are made to hurry up by their offspring. There was time for a quick photo before starting the descent.  All the other groups had given up and turned round but a hill runner appeared going strong on the final climb.  We were down well within the hour and home 15 minutes later feeling good from an outing on a hill that always lifts the spirits.

Beinn Fhionnlaidh

Loch Creran with Beinn Fhionnlaidh(cloud cap) & Beinn Sgulaird

Beinn Fhionnlaidh from Glenure

Summit in cloud

Beinn Sgulaird

Fraochaidh

Beinn Beithir from lochan on Beinn Fhionnlaidh

Deer on descent

Beinn Fhionnlaidh

Sunset on Blogger

Sunset on Loch Linnhe

Sunday, 6 November 2011
Time:              4hrs 55mins
Ascent:                     975m 
Distance:                  16km 

Beinn Fhionnlaidh           959m      2hr  38mins

November is probably my least favourite month to be on the hills: short days, poor weather, still no snow and usually wet and treacherous ground conditions. Today was potentially an exception as the sun was forecast for the west coast and that is where Gregor and I headed, Loch Creran to be precise.

There are two Munros at the head of the loch: Beinn Sgulaird and Beinn Fhionnlaidh and I have usually combined them together but they would take about 7 hours at this time of the year. It was almost 11am by the time we started walking so there would be no time for both of them. Instead, I had a notion to combine Beinn Fhionnlaidh with Sgurr na Ulaidh to the north and separated by a bealach at 500 metres. They appear on the corners of separate OS sheets 41 and 50 and maybe, for this reason, they are seldom climbed together. I had combined them once from the Glencoe side and we were rewarded with some wonderfully rough remote walking in territory that few people ever visit between the two hills.

We started from the car park at Eliric in the weak morning sun and as usual, there were few other walkers to be found here. The walk to the farm at Glenure gave good views of Beinn Fhionnlaidh and the more immediate looming presence of Beinn Sgulaird.  We turned north at the farm, entered the forest and took the second exit on the right which led us up to the start of the path.  I had only ever descended by this route and we trusted the path but it climbed only slowly and eventually, we had to abandon it, turn into the steep slope and climb a hundred metres or so where we happened upon another path. This path did the same so it was another slog upwards through the very wet grassy slopes and eventually a stony ramp to the broad ridge.  We emerged just below the two lochans at 650m and beyond them, everything was in the cloud.  All the glorious early morning views had evaporated and it became one of those typical November outings where the prize was the cheese and tomato roll and coffee, not the views or the walk.

At the summit, we were joined by a lone raven that circled around the cairn as we were debating if there was sufficient time to make the walk over to Sgurr na Ulaidh.  It would be after 3pm before we made the summit and the long walk out would be in the dark and through a forest and we had only one headtorch between us. These are not excuses that are usually seized upon but we had promised to return by 6:30pm and we did not fancy another climb of almost 500 metres. So we started the descent still feeling the chill from the break and realising just how wet and greasy the ground and rocks were as we slithered down the path which is fitful in places.

The bonus arrived as we reached the lochans and emerged from the cloud as the sun made a timely reappearance and lit up the surrounding hills and the seascapes glinted in the west. The tussock grasses were a rich orange and contrasted with the watery blue/grey skies. Our route down was a by trial rather than any visible trail and involved dodging round rock outcrops, crossing several burns and treading water on excessively boggy ground.  We were relieved to finally make the track through the forest and the last 15 minutes back to the car just before 4pm. We took the scenic route home via Loch Linnhe and Glencoe and were rewarded with some wonderful sunset moments.  As the moon acted as a spotlight on the ridge of Bidean nam Bian, we both agreed that this was our favourite mountain in the Western Highlands.

Namibia - Kings of Etosha

King of Etosha

Take the road less travelled

Day of the Jackal

Kori Bustards

Springbok

Mopane Savannah

Zebra

Springbok

Wildebeest

Oryx

Impala

Watering Hole

Soporific cats

Life isn't easy

Pride of Place

Golden Syrup

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Etosha National Park in Northern Namibia is one of Africa's less well known wildlife sanctuaries.  Namibia has other attractions like the massive sand dunes at Sossusvlei, the exquisite landscapes of Damaraland but it was Etosha that convinced us that it is a near perfect destination. Namibia's empty horizons are without peer under African skies.  We visited Namibia in November 2006 on the recommendation of my brother and I have just rescued my photos from the hard drive of an old desktop computer.  As I edited them yesterday they conjured up images of a spectacular day and it seemed worth a retrospective posting.

We stayed a couple of nights at a lodge just south of the Andersson gate, the entrance to the Etosha National Park and entered the park at opening time.  The park covers 22,750km2 which is about a third the size of Scotland.  It is a vast flat area with a salt pan in the centre and an extensive network of dirt roads.  The 'Pan' is a massive parched golden-white semi arid savannah area that has endless horizons.

The morning drive was over a hundred miles and wildlife was limited until we were joined by some jackals when we stopped for a break.  It was the start of a drive past hundreds of springbok, zebras and various other antelope as well as ostriches and kori bustards.  We reached Halali, one of the camps which had a number of shops and cafes, and took a break for a drink and to get some advice on where we might see lions and elephants with all the innocence of children going to the zoo. No one could be certain or they were not letting on.

I decided to go off the main tracks and take the roads less travelled hoping that we would be able to find our way out.  I chose to head to an area which had more dense scrub and a couple of watering holes but they were lacking any wildlife.  We took another trail that had little sign of usage and it was a complete surprise when we curved into a remote tree covered glade and happened upon a pride of lions.  I parked our small Toyota saloon about 6 metres away from the lions and, after establishing that they were quite relaxed - there was evidence of a recent kill, I wound down the window and began to shoot photos with some trepidation. They seemed OK with our presence and we spent half an hour in a state of suspended ecstasy.  The digital SLR bought for the trip worked perfectly although I had to be reminded to wind up the window whilst changing lenses.

We eventually found our way out of the park, driving past zebras and more distant lions and it was over two hours of driving to get back to the lodge. In the evening we were the only guests to have come across lions despite most of the others travelling with guides in Land Rovers or Jeeps.  We ate wildebeest at supper that evening and realised that the lions had good taste as well as good manners. Etosha will be forever etched in our memories as a near perfect day.