...between Guadalquivir and old Seville

18/09/2015
Glenfinnan to Inverie

If you recall the story I spent the night having nightmares in which I lost my wife and my job.  Then i woke up and found out it was true.  And my knee hurt.
I was getting good at strapping it up, so did so swiftly then went to talk to John at the station.  He said could get me on the outward steam train to Mallaig.  He was as good as his word and I got a seat with a charming family from Caste Cary. Lovely people, lovely kid.  The countryside on that journey is fabulous.  You have to try it.
The only flaw for me was that the carriages they were using in the museum were ones I remember riding in as a child in the BR Western Region.  That made me feel old.

Mallaig station

Mallaig, at the far end, was a lovely fishing and ferry port.  Full of tourists but it would be hypocritical to complain.  I got some fish and chips then took the ferry to Inverie.

The packet to Inverie

The approach to Inverie goes past a lovely set of pink gypsum rocks fronted by a statue known to the locals as Plastic Mary.

Inverie in the distance

Plastic Mary on her rock

The sea loch you head into is wonderful, sheltered glassy waters and hills around.  The whitewashed cottages of Inverie in the distance.  The local Co-Op where I had stocked up in Mallaig had sent bag after bag of goods, and the women of Inverie were there on the dock to meet it and collect the shopping.  It felt like something from the 19th century.  the main street with its pub, cafe and shop is like something from the 18th century.  It is classic Celtic Fringe fishing village.

I was aiming to stay at the bunkhouse run by the Knoydart Foundation.  This was set up to buy up the peninsula so that the locals could run it for themselves.  Booking in is possible in advance but you can just turn up and fill a space.  There are 4 bunkrooms.  A folder by the main door has the days in it, you write your name down in a slot in a room and its yours.  I arrived at the same time as a geologist called Annie and we both signed in to Room 2.  I plumped for the only single, Annie a lower bunk.  The kitchen was extensive and well equipped, the dining room was a bit cold and uninviting.  There was a big lounge with a woodburner in it that was quite lovely.  Also showers.
Another 3 girls arrived and signed in, meaning I was sharing a room with 3 ladies.  How would they contain themselves?  The smallest room was taken up by a boisterous family whose patriarch, Gordon hailed from Leeds but had been Scottenated to Edinburgh.
Having dumped my stuff, which took the weight off my knee, I went up to the Cafe.  This, with the pub, was the only eaterie available.  The pub was booked out so I went into the Cafe and had the fish Lasagne which was remarkably good.  The ladies there were laughing and joking about which flowers to have in a bridal bouquet.  One suggested thistles and nettles.  I said Sea Buckthorn because its spiky and it stinks, which summed up my marital stuation.  I folded a few flowers for them from my stock of paper, which they really liked.  One of them was single apparently...
Anyway the day ended round a log fire in the lounge drinking whiskey with Gordon.  And so to bed.

ticking away, the moments that make up a dull day

interlude

17/09-18/09/2015

So there I am in a snowplough in Glenfinnan.  The weather continued fair, to be fair, and Glenfinnan itself is very pretty.  Well the Loch and the forest are.  The village is basically a one horse town that the horse converted into hotels and galloped out of on the proceeds.  No shops so staying here either means a lot of spending on hotel grub or running down my supplies.

But I definitely needed at least one days rest.  Actually paid John the Trainspotter for two nights and so was relaxing.  First I slept in.  In a bed. OK I had to use my bag but that was fine.  There was a stove I could make tea on and everything.

When I finally got up and had another god-sent shower then more tea I re-bound the knee, this time sans stick splints and headed off to see the sights.  The sights here include the Railway Museum where I was staying and the Monument.  

The Rail Museum is a perfect little station of Victorian vintage near the Glenfinnan Viaduct (famous for being used as the backdrop for Harry and Ron in the flying Ford Anglia trying to catch the Hogwarts Express in the Harry Potter film franchise).  It really is a good example of its type and I recommend a visit.  John clearly an enthusiast also acts as post collector, token keeper and Stationmaster for the line....which runs the Jacobite, the only scheduled steam train still running on the main line in the UK.  It typically runs Black Fives, which is slightly disappointing as they were...well...boring even back in the day.  I know it would be overkill but I would have stuck an A4 on there myself and sod the corners.

So one reason for the herds of Japanese and American tourists is the presence of the Hogwarts Express.  Though taken literally that suggests Hogwarts is in a small scottish fishing port.  Anyway it is well kept, has a small shop and I recommend a visit.

I also walked down to the Other Thing, which I had walked past the day before.  This was the reason the Merkins were here.  Because the Other Thing is the Monument, commemorating where Bonnie Prince Charlie raised his banner in 1745 in the second Jacobite Rebellion.  And the Merkins love BPC and they all claim to have a clan.  ( I can talk, I actually do have a clan.  I am a Donald, more of this in later posts. )

Anyhoo this monument was set up on Donald land because the Donalds were big supporters of BPC.

For those who do not know the story here, a brief rundown.  The Stewarts (or Stuarts, spelling varies) were the hereditary kings of Scotland.  Sort of.  In fact calling them Stewarts is a bit problematic as they came down through the distaff side via Mary Queen of the Desert.  Sorry, Scots.

MQS was one of the most humped and abducted queens since Guinevere.  She had been queen of France much more than of Scotland.  She was the daughter of James V of Scotland but he died when she was 5 and a set of regents took over the throne.  As they felt they could manage quite nicely without a woman cluttering up the place they shipped her off to France as a child bride for the future Francis II of France, himself a religious loony and not too stable.  He croaked suddenly shortly after ascending the throne and so in 1661 she pootled back to Scotland, landing in Leith.

She was about as welcome as a fart in a space suit, as the regents had no intention of giving up the throne.  She married her cousin (what is it about British royalty and cousin-fancying?) Darnley and settled down to unhappy marriage.  Darnley knocked her up (it is debatable as to wether the highly religious Francis ever consummated the marriage) and she gave birth to James VI/I.  Her husband then gets murdered by Bothwell, a regent lord, who kidnaps her, takes her baby away to be reared Scottish and basically rapes her.  In an early version of Stockholm Syndrome she actually settles down with Bothwell.  Anyway in true Stewart manner she buggers up her rule magnificently, pisses everyone off and flees to England.  Elizabeth is on the throne, childless, and Mary thinks she is the heir. She first asks for shelter then leads a rebellion. Anyone with an idea of Elizabeths temper will know what happens next....Mary is banged up then executed.  Now I want you to look for a pattern here...Stewart gets near throne, behaves spectacularly stupidly and ends up deported or dead or both.

Elizabeth does actually name James her heir, and he eventually inherits despite being a bandy legged dwarf and bisexual spendthrift. (One lord at the time, commenting on the state of James budget and also his bedroom habits asked "how may we know the level of the barrel when the money disappears through diverse cocks" cocks meaning spigot (hence the other meaning) and also what it does now)

James survives Bonfire Night without too much bother though he does have a thing about witches, writing a book about them.  He also hated tobacco and Walter Raleigh.  So for a Stewart frittering the budget on rent boys and writing books on demons is a pretty successful reign.  he didnt get up to much else.  His son, Charles, was the second stupidest king England ever had.  He caused a civil war by trying to assert absolute monarchy (a belief that came from France via MQC.  England had never had an absolute monarch, even the Tudors had to keep the parliament onside).  Well actually he set off about 4 of them one after the other.  every time he made peace and signed a treaty he escaped and started it all again.  In the end Cromwell, above all a practical man, decided enough was enough and cut his head off.  When Charles II eventually got the throne he looked at the previous 2 generations, decided Grandad had it right and shagged his way through his reign with little else of note except the fire of London.  Then there was James II.  the stupidest one ever.  Again with the absolutism, using the Royal prerogative to overrule parliament.  Tried to reinstall Catholicism, which by this time was a no-hoper. Eventually his Lords got so pissed off they mounted a rebellion and removed him.  The army of William off Orange had both James daughters in it.  James tried to run away from the fight twice, had a nosebleed and buggered off to France.  nobody missed him.  We then go through Mary and Anne, James daughters and both die childless.  The English do not want another Stuart at any price so they invite a cousin, George, over from hanover....and the Haggis hits the fan.  The Scots, who hadn't 'really had to put up with the full idiocy of the Stuarts, felt nostalgic for them and wanted em back.  There was an abortive rising in 1715 which was put down and caused the founding of the Scottish road network and Fort William, and then there was BPC.  He was raised in France and had a total Monty Python French accent.  He was about as Scottish as the Queen of Englands tits but there you go.  He raised his standard at Glenfinnan.  The clans rose ( sort of.  a fair number couldnt be arsed or had a note from their mother).  He marches south and gets as far as Derby, putting the shits up George II (himself a fair soldier who was the last English king to lead troops in battle and would later die of a tricky bowel movement)...and then BPC gets the wind up, walks home, leads his army into a trap at Culloden, runs away, has it off with Flora MacDonald and goes into exile for good.

So the monument is to the congenital idiocy of the Stuarts or something.  Anyway it is pretty.

Monument visible in middle picture between tree clumps.

Anyway that exhausts the sights of glenfinnan.  Hotel dinner.  

Next day dawns. I arrange passage to Mallaig on the train the following day to Mallaig, hoping to get the ferry to Inverie and pick up the trail from there if the knee gets better.  I spend a lot of the day catching up on contacts as I can get signal here and wifi in the Hotel.  One of the editors of Science has sent an email begging for a review we started a while ago to get finished.  It is delayed because my former boss couldnt be arsed so after an exchange of emails I take it over and undertake to finish it.  Unfortunately this contact with the outer world triggers wife related nightmares and I have a very very rough night.

Anyway Genfinnan is well worth a half hour stop.

Exodus 10:14

Cona Glen

15/09/2015

I woke to the sound of gentle rain at 8am.  Well ok to recount how the night went, after having a cup of Swiss tea (In Switzerland I found it hard to keep fresh milk at my digs- I never used enough and so it was always either accumulating or going off.  So I got used, in extremis, to making a strong pot of tea then squeezing in condensed milk from a tube.  This makes a good cup of builders tea.  They have started doing these tubes in the UK so I took some along-invaluable.) with midge croutons, and settling down to read my kindle (I reasoned its low battery usage would make it last- I was right.  Kindle Paperwhite FTW) and to have a few hits on the half bottle of scotch in my pack.  That extra weight was worth every drop.  Soon sleepy due to hard work and the distillers art I settled down properly to sleep.  Sadly the designers of "mummy"type sleeping bags have a very strange idea of anatomy.  Eventually managed to get everything in the bag but it was a struggle.
So I slept, fairly well, with my clothing drysack and inflatopillow under my head.  The groundsheet was resting on a layer of sphagnum moss which was an excellent mattress.
I actually first woke at 4am with a bulging bladder and went outside for a slash.  After gifting a tree with nitrogen I then went back for another 4 hrs.
Incidentally those with Ehlers Danlos will know that 4 hrs sleep is essentially 2 lots of 2 hrs at best as you have to wake up to put your shoulder back in it's socket every couple of hours.
But 8 am I woke, as I say, to the sound of rain.  Except it wasn't was it?  It was the midges hitting the tent in their insane bloodlust.  I had to DEET up and net up before I even cracked the door to get the water boiling.  The strainer built in to the saucepan came in usefull to get the midges mainly out of the tea.  I also made one of the Mountain House dehydrated meals- raspberry oatmeal.  Surprisingly yummy.
Packing up took me far longer than it should.  Partly because i hadn't practiced it and also because of the beauty of where I was.  So there I was wasting half the day again.
Anyway I started out on the road again, to get a light shower, but it soon passed and back came the sun.
My pace was pretty good, despite the pack shifting a bit due to changed weight distribution.  However I developed a blister on the ball of my big toe and stopped to treat with Compeed.  I cracked on to an Estate bothy at Corrlarach which was locked but had a hard stand outside I used to boil up lunch, another dehydrated meal this time Sweet and Sour Chicken.  This was surprisingly good.  I know, I also was surprised.
The Cona brook has many, many waterfalls along it.  I urge you to go and see.  be carefull of the enormous Highland cattle though.  the bulls definitely give you evils.

That is typical Cona Glen scenery.  Wild, waterfally and free.  The loneliness...well actually I was not lonely.  and for the first time in a long time the horrible roar of every one elses emotions was not there.
About 8 km in to the walk, on a fairly flat bit of track, my left knee gave way.  I couldn't straighten it, I couldn't bend it.  I used my stick to hop to a boulder and sat for 5 mins rubbing it.  Got up, seemed ok.  Then after 15 yards it went again.
Clearly not good.  I was so far up the glen that the nearest help was over the pass at the end.  But there was no way I was doing that tonight.So I started to look for a campsite.
Of course at this point Cona Glen consists of one giant Sphagnum bog.  everything was sodden.  In the end i found a small hill on top of which red sphagnum was growing.  Red Sphagnum grows on soil not slush, so it was the best I was going to do.  I pitched my tent and then hopped down to the river for water.
The groundsheet kept me dry but you could feel water oozing out when you lay on it.
This time the wind was up enough to keep the midges off so I used my dry ingredients to cook a morrocan soup/stew and a damper with fruit and suet.  I only had chopsticks and a fork to turn it but it was yummy.
I necked some tramadol and helped it along with some whisky.  this soon had me soothed to sleep.

Anyway, I can't believe you want to turn the page.

This is the first section of my holiday journal from the recent, slightly abortive, trek.  Whenever I go walking I keep a diary.  Here I am trying to match it up with the pictures.
13/09/15
Ipswich-Fort William

I always find it tricky packing.  I have a tendency to overpack.  I also had very little time without people present.  I cannot concentrate on anything is someone talks to me and that was all MrsInky and Foal wanted to do.  So the planning I needed to put into it was not there.
I used the guidelines in the Cicerone guide to pack equipment.  Tent, sleeping bag, self inflating mat, clothes, waterproofs, gaiters, gloves, bothy shoes, stove, mug, cutlery, multitool, emergency kit, first aid kit, poo trowel, head torch.  All with as many dry sacks as I could find.
Of course I also had to pack food.  I had a mix of dry ingredients, peperami, spices etc.  Also several of the Mountain House dehydrated meals.  The problem is that on this trail you have to carry food because there is not much en route.  4 days at any 1 time.
My rucksack, though large, had to have lots strapped on the outside.  It is very very heavy.  I know this is a mistake but can do nothing at this stage.
I have a small bottle of whiskey along, and this journal and my kindle and origami paper.  Thats my entertainment.
I got a taxi at 13.30 with a rather strange driver.  He was a Kurdish immigrant who used to ive in the mountains.  he was a concert pianist, violinist and violator (or whatever a viola player is called).  Very friendly guy.
I caught the 14.47 down and then round the tube to Euston.  This meant a long wait for the sleeper but I would rather be early than late.  And anyway I can be alone and peaceful there.  Of course Euston had decided to close its internal  eateries so I was sitting outside and frankly the air temperature was not warm.
I am trying to master an origami unicorn but it is very very hard.  I am smoking too much e-cig.  This is mainly stress related.  I am very very very stressed out.
I ate a chilli in Ed's American Diner which was pretty reasonable.
I boarded the sleeper about 19.30, to find my bunkmate, Pete, already in.  I only just got my rucksack in the space, then went down to the cafe.  I had forgotten how small the standard bunks are.
Down at the cafe Pete and his friend Meg were sat down and i joined them as it was the only free seat.  I didnt need more food but had a Bowmore which was rather nice.  We chatted, and then by chance Meg's bunk mate failed to turn up so Pete was moved into her cab, leaving me alone in the space.  While they were arranging this I rang Foal at 9pm to say good luck- she was off on adventure camp the next week, with rucksack etc.
We talked a while in the cafe and I showed them a few origami standards, then I went to bed.
I am very conflicted about MrsInky.  She cried when we said goodbye and said how much she would miss me.  But if that is the case why is she leaving?  At times people drive me insane. Why not just say what you mean?
The motion of the sleeper is not wonderful for my joints, so my sleep is rather disturbed.