Off shore view

I find myself departing the Erg, for greener lands...a place of water, sky, sound and air you can drink...back to Tiree after 7 weeks in the wilderness... I leave this incredibly harsh place to the shifting sands, the fennec and the passing swallows.















Life hangs on here to the hope of a heavy dew...It is no place for a person to linger, I need the sound of the ocean and the comfort of friends, the laughter of children...and the CoOp.

Back to this................











Offshore view has left the building..............................

Things that have obviously? gone bump in the desert… METEORITE’S



What do the Sands of time have for us this time ?

Well I am on the final countdown to my homeward journey from the sands of the Sahara to the Sands of Tiree…but before ye go.

What with Island Wanderers reference to Sputnik and Mountain mans reference to the celestial wonders I feel I have to let the kitty out of the bag (or canine out of the soviet steel sphere). So here are some closer to home matters.

There is a high probability that if a meteorite lands in the desert there will be nobody in the vicinity…so does it make a sound ? like bump? Or maybe a wheezing sigh at finally coming to rest somewhere solid, does it do the Speilberg “Der, DERR! Der, de, da” Yep it’s time to go home the madness is just around the corner and the heavans are throwing rocks at my glasshouse.



110kg of cosmic matter
.
Well anyway, I certainly made all sorts of little noises of a less cosmic scale when I found my first Sahara meteor. I was absolutely awestruck and still don’t really know what to do with it (them, there are more 6 including the most recent). All but one have a final resting place on my fire mantel place…and enjoy visitations from us earthlings



Oh joy !!!!

Here is a link if you want to know more http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meteorite
If there is anybody out there who can shed more light on who or what keeps throwing these objects please let me know...



Amazed

In the last two years I have found six meteors in total ranging from half a kilo or so up to my latest find a whapping 110kg…now as my access baggage allowance won’t actually stretch to this amount (neither will the bank balance) it can stay in its lonely location. If anybody wants a piece it is at 28º35’27.73 N 20º18’29.62E and is an Iron /stone meteor.

They are fairly easy to spot out in the Sahara, mile upon mile of similar terrain, in myriad shades of earth. The majority of the areas we work in are sedimentary or metamorphic (look it up or as our Mull based rock doc) so if I see a dark object that obviously looks out of place I will walk or drive over to it. Unfortunately there is even rubbish out here (there go the rose colored specks) so more often than not a rusty tin can is the find…But occasionally a less earthly object.



SPUD'nick

To say it is an amazing feeling to pick up a piece of the cosmos that was once not Gaia bound…is an understatement of cosmic proportions…However if my assumption is correct, holding these objects is, I suspect, as near as I will come in this lifetime to looking down on this Blue planet that we call home.

For anyone who is interested in earth impacts, and lies awake at night worrying about that approaching piece of planetary matter go to Google and zoom in on…28º08’33.30” N 22º23’35.76”E …yes that is a meteor crater 2.8 km wide there are another 3 within 150 km one 18km wide…what a busy place the Sahara is.



A NASA image of the crater...note they colored the Sahara green, what can i say?

And I thought the United States had the monopoly on invading matter and alien beings from outer space…perhaps dropping their rocks (giggle) here is less likely to get a response; for the locals here are generally happy to watch the world pass by without interfering…meet son and daughter of Laika...



Given that these Fennec never heard me approach upon my trusty steed Bucephalus (look it up...tut, tut '), I sumise that either they need big ears because they are hard of herring, or meteors sort of sneak down like floating leaves or a falling feather...



Sleep well…I leave you with a Saharan sunset, a smile...and Bucephalus

A Blog for Staffa and Nan.

In 1958 my Mom and her parents traveled by steam train from Birmingham to Oban, no mean feat way back then when I was but a distant happening on the horizon.
My grandmother died young but I can remember her telling me about a magical Isle called Staffa, my grandfather didn’t make the trip out from Oban but “Nan did” was a family thing. (My Uncle George made it to Hirta (St Kilda) in 1960 and helped carry out one of the first bird counts, but to me Staffa had a Norse ring to it, pirates and caves). My grandfather kept the story of Staffa alive and it was always a dream of mine to one day see and walk upon my childhood memory.

And so as it was that I crewed upon An Sulaire (www.ansulaire.com) Kenny Morrison was the childhood salty sea dog Skipper. On a glorious day 3 years ago we set sail from Scarinish and headed across the briny blue to the Treshnish isles and on towards Staffa. Felix Mendelssohn playing in the back ground, and bacon butties cooking in the bilge.





Sails tight in the wind this magical wooden boat from Lewis and the men of Ness took us safely towards our destination. The Sgoth Niseach (Ness Boat) is now the only full sized one left in existence.





Under azure skies we rounded the Island after a few hours sailing, the incredible geometry of the Staffa columns stark against the greens and blues that surround. At the landing point we were taken by a helping pleasure craft to the small jetty and clambered around to see the cave. It was fortunate that the island had only a hand full of visitors on this day.





And I was lost in thoughts of my Nan’s presence on this magical jewel, I felt that little kid again, by my side holding onto my Nan’s hand. I felt so happy.



The cave is such a fantastic place on such a fine Islands day, Fingals Cave, how apt one of my boys should be called Finn, and that he also shares a love of the ocean and of the Isles.



We returned to An Sulaire after an enchanting walk across Staffa’s green sward, dotted with alpine flowers. Mull and Beinn Mor spred out across the bay.



But the amazing day had not as yet finished, gently we slipped into the cave in An Sulaire and Kenny’s partner played a jig or two on her whistle…and we danced there in this incredible sea cut cathedral.



The tourists looked on bemused at our antics…and my Nan did a little jig by my side, while we all marveled at the hypnotic basalt ceiling, shape shifting in the reflection of the sea...the beautiful sea...



It has taken me a good few years to save for my own boat, the good ship Impromptu…during that life experience, day sail to Staffa with the friendly crew of An Sulair, I made a decision to buy a boat of my own and one day visit Hirta (St Kilda) for as I have said there is also a family connection with the island…but that’s a tale for later...the sailing season for me at least has finished.

A well traveled lot us pseudo welsh Brummies…



May i just add that this is the "Black Pearl" and not the yacht I intend to sail to St Kilda in...mind you the cabin boy is a fine fellow...and is learning to hold a steady course...

I mentioned in an earlier blog that a person who spends to much time in the desert can become Erg-challenged, and would either end up as a poet a philosopher or ye god's forbid mad...!!! I have yet to meet the mad (but stranger things have happened) as for a philosopher...I was humbled by a meeting today.

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A strange place the Sahara, a blank page upon which to write an invisible text.

Things move slowly out here in the Sahara, my time in the field has been extended by a week, my rotational colleague having broke his foot (that’s a new one, that’s 3 feet he has ?) so I will miss out on the Tiree windsurfing extravaganza.



But worst things could happen.

When I do eventually get home to Tiree I will be over burdened for the first week or so with the inevitable culture shock...and it will take some time to be at peace with myself.

Strange but I never feel out of place when I go somewhere remote or poles apart on the cultural ladder, but I always feel it when I get home. Little things like walking into the COOP and seeing so much on the shelves; Been at a loss to have a conversation with people, people...a TV, a clean toilet. I seek solace in my children and walk on the beach with my boy Finn. Inevitably I drink to much the first night or two (7 weeks without a drop certainly removes all resistance to the demon brew)...I sit entranced in front of a TV...adverts, cooking programs, the lotto draw, I don't care it's amazing. Oh and my comfy Ikea seats…and a fire place, and my bed my wonderful bed under my massive Velux sky…bread with lurpack butter, bacons butties and real coffee..

My wonderful home with the sound of the ocean and not the continual drone of a generator...kids playing on the Machair, geese in the garden and hare’s dodging my thundering Landrover. Music…lots and lots of music…



All just little things I notice...and a small part of the list. The luxurious conflict of have and have not…from the right side of the fence.

I sat today not far from our new camp location, the desert tracks run clear south from here to the Sudan border…about 1000km of nothing. And watched two very moving things (or two moving things depends on your outlook)…A camel train to Kufra, the weather is beginning to cool and it was only 41c today…time for the seasonal camel trains.



It’s a magical sight watching these particularly strange beasts appear from the watery mirage lumber up, and pass on to their fate. The Tuareg guys (Tuareg means blue man, because they used to use blue mud as a sunburn preventative prior to cheap sun cream) always come near, “As alum Alikum, kev halik, kev cum”…”Alikum salaam, quess hum d Allah’’ the reply…I digress and could go on.



Strange things camels, three gears…fast, plod and won’t get up…and then the horse designed by committee waddles off over my shoulder…time-less like the Sahara.





I drove for about an hour and saw trucks, amazing trucks… and one broken down truck near a deserted oil well support camp…it’s customary in the desert to ask if all is well…but it was not, is not.



30 men from Darfur driven out by the conflict…we chatted. My Arabic is poor, my French limited…I chatted with an older man, the driver and his friend. I drove back to camp went to the store and took a goat carcass…I drove back to the refugees (REFUGEES). We waited for sun down, they said their prayers to their god, we broke the Ramadan Fast & I ate supper with some of these men…proud men. Men like Malek,



Mr Malek, father, husband and philosopher

I felt humbled at what they told me about Darfur, I felt like I knew nothing about life, yet our common ground was a meal, the love of our families…the things they told me are not suitable for a blog built around our love and lives in the Scottish Isles. They are not suitable things for any human being to have to come to turns with…I have learnt a lesson today in humanity, the best side and the worst side. Of murder, rape and displacement…of men who can cry at their lot and at the same time have faith in a better day tomorrow…laugh at my inept linguistic skills...had fits of laughter that i should live in a place that was cold and wet...and then apologise for any inconvinience they may have caused me.



I was upset on the way back here to the camp...and now I am smiling when think of Malek.

And now I want to go back to my home and hold my children tight, and stare at the TV, walk on the beach and be bemused at all the things we have in the COOP.

Strange place the Sahara… a blank page upon which to write an invisible text.
And as Omar Khayyam wrote, “The writing hand having written, moves on”

Some things make me sad, others make me mad...



WW2 barbed wire nr Tobruk


BBC headlines read; The head of the British Army says he is becoming increasingly concerned about "the growing gulf between the Army and the nation".
Gen Sir Richard Dannatt said soldiers were sometimes greeted with indifference on returning from service. A "willingness to serve in such an atmosphere again" could be sapped, he said in a speech in London. (Remember it was public opinion that stopped Vietnam)
"When a young soldier has been fighting in Basra or Helmand, he wants to know that the people in their local pub know and understand what he has been doing and why."



A lonely place to lie, Bir Hakiem. (Bir Hakiem is the epitomy of heroism)

In the week in which General Patraeus reports back to US Congress on the impact the recent ‘surge’ is having in Iraq, a new poll reveals that more than 1,000,000 Iraqi citizens have been killed since the invasion took place in 2003.

Previous estimates, noticeably the one published in the Lancet in October 2006, suggested almost half this number (654,965 deaths).
These findings come from a poll released recently by ORB, the British polling agency that has been tracking public opinion in Iraq since 2005.



Knightsbridge Cemetery nr Tobruk

The reason there is such indifference and ever increasing anti-war sentiment, well you don’t have to be a rocket scientist the figures speak for themselves

A You Gov poll published last weekend found, 53 per cent of British voters believe that UK troops are failing in Iraq. Three quarters want them brought home immediately or within the next year

Our British armed forces are not separate from our elected politicians, elected… yep we put them there, roll on democracy. So when does this lunacy finish? Hey what ever happened to Tony?



Mine and munitions removal on the Iranian side of the Iran Iraq border (1999) me smiling ?



Not smiling ? the penny drops...

An age ago a large group of people in opposition against the Iraq war stood on a windy day in Crossapol united in their disgust at the Iraq conflict.
You can find many of these very same people yearly at the war memorial near the pier in Scarinish at the 11th hour of the 11 day of the 11th month remembering the sacrifice made by so many soldiers from Tiree in other wars.

Lest we forget? Surely some already have.

Personally I deeply respect all the people who serve to protect the British Isles.However, I see it as an act of gross disrespect to place these men and wome into an arena of warfare for "All" the wrong reasons.

Corvus Corax “Muninn' the High Plains Drifter”…



Bla Bheinn

Tired I sit to ponder the wonder of the
Hammered copper forest far below,
I watch the feather flutter and settle on the snow
Ethereal blue air brittle with chill,
A rising delight that such a simple thing should thrill.



from the summit of Bla Bheinn towards the Cullin.

Swooping low against the foreboding sky,
Jet black Raven tumbles by
Stark silhouette against the winter sky,
What wonders do you see upon the wing?
The crags of winter,
The cliffs of spring.
The ice finite through winter’s blast,
The summer’s heat that never lasts.

Speak to me raven of what you know,
Of the meadow and the valley far below.
The battles that were fought within that glen,
The climbers to be lost upon this Bheinn
For through your black eyes you have witnessed it all
From valiant loss, the death of a ewe unshorn.



Stob Dearg looking down Glen Etive

How can one know of the valleys below if we have not
Lived in the eternal realm of rock and snow.
Talk to me raven.
With a wink of that dark eye settle the deed,
For there is a blizzard coming and I need to be on my way,
The sun is setting an end to my day,

Black velvet, green upon blue I feel cold…
Is this a time to wish I was you?
And lying here I ponder the lack of view.

“You are close now”, come whispers in my ear,
A breath separates us….
What secrets do you hold to allay my fear?
This all consuming blizzard drowns out what you say,
Aghast at a reply;
“Sleep without fear” “rest without want”

A rising delight that such a simple thing should thrill,
I close my eyes and fading, ignore the chill.



Baosbheinn (Torridon)

And finally for now...the mighty Slioch

ROY 'The Good'



Roy was a border Collie...I bought him as a young dog from Portadown NI. He worked my farm on the North Shores of Ardnamurchan...for the two years I lived there. On his own he managed 450 Blackies, and 20 or so Highland cattle.
The purchase of ROY in itself was a hilarious event, involving ferries, being searched by the British Military, the total destruction of the rear seats of a hire car...a monumental hangover brought about by the luck penny, and one of the best nights out in Belfast that any brit with a dog should expect?

After a stormy few years Roy and I were blown onto the lee shores of Tiree in September 1999.
And we bought a cottage by the sea.

Fun followed fun, and I met my soul mate, and we now have two beautiful sons.

We all love each other equally, though there will always be an empty space in my heart that was occupied by 'Roy'...he was; ~Fidelity~ He worked the green swards of Northern Ireland, and then worked the hills of Ardnamurchan. He was admired and loved by all who knew him. He never snapped at lamb or child, but stood his ground with ewe, ram and Highland cattle. He was a master hole digger of biblical proportions and shared his love and understanding of the hills and the sea with me.

I miss him so very much...

He left me at the rip old age of 16 and is buried (in a hole he would have been proud of) on a hill looking west over the Atlantic and on onwards toward every mystical sunset that the beautiful Isle of Tiree has to offer.

.

Fidelity

A BARKING sound the Shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox;
He halts--and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks:
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.

The Dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy;

With something, as the Shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry:
Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;
What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land;
From trace of human foot or hand.

There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak,
In symphony austere;
Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud--
And mists that spread the flying shroud;

And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past;
But that enormous barrier holds it fast.

Not free from boding thoughts, a while
The Shepherd stood; then makes his way
O'er rocks and stones, following the Dog
As quickly as he may;
Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground;
The appalled Discoverer with a sigh

Looks round, to learn the history.
From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The Man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the Shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear:
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day
On which the Traveller passed this way.

But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell!
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.
The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This Dog, had been through three months' space
A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain that, since the day
When this ill-fated Traveller died,
The Dog had watched about the spot,

Or by his master's side:
How nourished here through such long time
He knows, who gave that love sublime;
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate!

William Wordsworth


Had this poem been written directly about the old rascal he would probably have done one of two things...dug a big hole to bury the victim in, or gnawed on my bones. Either would have been fine by me...so Roy I know you are out there, always beyond the next brae, save me a patch of warm heather and a view of the Highlands and sea...and one day my most faithful friend we shall share some bilberries again...



Miss you.

"High above Rannoch Moor, in that ethereal blue space that only the mountains offer”

A dear old mate of mine, this week kind enough to send me 3 photographs of a past (formulative) period of my life. To me these were the 'Halcyon' days, or daze as I prefer to call them. I only seem to remember the sun drenched rock, the scenery vivid...I presume the damp days were spent in the pub ? But summer did seem longer then.

From around 1982 through to 1996 my entire life revolved around the mountains and rock climbing. To a lesser degree now I still seek the feeling of that 'Space beneath my feet', and even as I put finger to key my palms dampen at the thought of moments we shared. Winter for me in Scotland is a time for winter walking and a bit of solo ice climbing in the easier gullies and on the classic buttresses of the Ben.

Finally making the move to Scotland from North Wales in 1996 seemed to curtail my upwardly mobile antics...and then a move to Tiree some 8 years ago further curtailed life in the vertical realm. (But opened up a world of sailing)



Sweating on the "Axe" 1992.



Britomatis, Gogarth.1994(seem to remember I lost a shoe on this)

We still keep in regular touch, and every year we meet to climb at more modest grades...family, and age seem taken away much of the craving for adrenaline fueled weekends living life in the vertical...but our youthful antics have forged a bond that has stood the test of time and we are hatching the plan to meet in the late autumn and have a go at the everlasting 'last great problem'. The bond forged between to people climbing on a rock face can never be broken. It's referred to as the Brotherhood of the rope...and whether we were in the UK, the Alps or the Himalaya the one thing remained, two people trusting their lives to each other.



Pink Panther, Kilt Rock, Skye

Due to the terrain I suppose my real ambitions or the drive finally dissipated in my move to Tiree some 8 years ago now. And I am all the more cautious having 3 son’s in my life. But I will have to keep my hand in as if they ever decide to climb I would want them to learn as I did from my father.

So Flat? Tiree my destiny what have you to offer me...one last great problem when my brother visits...you bet.



Crag 'X'

I am told that way down south in the realms of clotted cream the palms have begun to sweat, and what a name for one last climb if we manage to drag our carcasses up the obvious natural line 'Halcyon Daze & the Space Beneath My Feet"…

Watch this space…

(Cheers Dave & Cheers Belay Bunny...last ones for you)



yep me looking Gormenghast in my silly hat !!!

My Wee man



Oh' My Wee Man.
my pride and joy,
Across the Machair you take your toy,
It must seem a hell of a distance down to the beach,
To build that sand castle out of tides reach.

How distance shrinks as we get older,
Shrunk by knowledge as we get bolder,
I’ve told you twice to hurry up,
is this just part of growing up?

What’s the rush? Take your time,
You get on with your wee sand mine.

And when we walk back up the track,
I’ll do a fathers best to cast my mind back,
My Dad seemed so tall, always a mile ahead,
there always seemed such a rush to get me tucked up in bed

For the joy of Winnie and laughing at Poo!
“Yes my wee man I love you too”…
To the lessons I did learn on a very similar track,
Thoughts of my own toy tractor, sisal string always taut,
the lessons I have learnt and the rational behind thought.
These are the things that you are teaching me now,

Wait a minute lets climb a tree…!
A difficult task when you live on Tiree…..

Off the cuff poem........Off shore View, Miss you Finn, Miss you Aedan, Miss you Jack & yes I miss you too.

Oasis (plural oases)

A well surrounded by vegetation in a desert.

A quiet, peaceful place surrounded by busy or noisy places, or
The park was an oasis in the middle of the busy city


One could say a 'place of water within a sea of sand'.

One could say a 'place of sand within an ocean of water'.

Synonym
(quiet place surrounded by busy places): island


Um Al Ma (place of water)



Vaul



Gaberoun



Scarinish



Um Al Ma



Traigh Cornaig, looking towards the green.



If I had a choice, to finally reside, in a special place my mind has set aside,
I would have little doubt of it's name, Traigh Cornaig for my ashes I would explain.
But as for the Eden, I have already seen; ‘Um al Ma’ is the philosophers dream.





And as the moon pulls away from the shore and our boat sinks slowly in the west, I bid you fair winds....

Offshore View





http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaberoun