THE SLEEPING GIANT

OK, so my blog is a day late. But it is the holidays!

Roughly 40 miles north of Edinburgh is the City of Perth, and the two are connected by a motorway, the M90. Many's a time I have been traveling south back to Edinburgh on this motorway, when around halfway I pass Loch Leven. There's a nature reserve there and a flat cycle path all the way round its 15km circumference. On an island stands a castle, famous for imprisoning Mary Queen of Scots for a year in 1567, when she was forced to abdicate. 

We've cycled this area a number of times, but there is one aspect I see every time I go past, but have never ventured on to, and that is Benarty Hill, also known as the Sleeping Giant. At just 200m in height, it dominates the landscape, standing guard over the south edge of Loch Leven.

So on a frosty, almost windless day, Pauline and I made the short journey by train and connecting bus, to ascend the hill from its south flank. It only takes about an hour to reach the top, but for such a small hill the views are pretty amazing, uninterrupted all the way to the Highlands.

Above our heads two gliders were gracefully catching the updraft from the side of the hill, and in the far distance I could clearly see the flanks of Ben Vorlich and Stuc a Chroin, capped in snow. It was a great vista, but even without the wind it was still bitingly cold, so we didn't hang about, and traced the ridge east to find the way down toward the Loch on the north side.

We were hoping to catch sight of a skein of geese coming in to land at dusk on the Loch. Having stopped briefly on the way down for a bite to eat, we followed the steep path to the RSPB centre called Vane Farm, right on the edge of Loch Leven, which forms part of the 2000 hectares of the National Nature Reserve. In the centres cafe we warmed up with hands wrapped around mugs of hot chocolate, before venturing out onto the reserve itself to view the wildlife from the hides.

Most of the birds were at the far ends of the isolated ponds of water, and the low sun was casting a wonderful late afternoon light on everything. We moved from hide to hide and waited patiently for the geese to arrive, but there was no sign of them. In the distance we could hear the Whooper Swans calling as they sheltered on the banks of the pond as other birds came in to land for the night, among them curlews, but no geese.

The sun had gone and it was time to traverse the eastern shoulder of Benarty Hill back to our start point. High above us a half moon was crystal clear. With the naked eye you could make out large craters, but using binoculars the detail was staggering. Half way up, on the edge of the shadow, was a very visible crater, and I surmised it must be gigantic to be able to see it in such detail. I have no idea what the name of the crater is, but I could have stood and stared at it for hours.

Just then Pauline heard a familiar sound. As we turned our attention back toward Loch Leven, in the pink skies of the setting sun, a hundred geese flew overhead in V formation.

Job done.

WALKING IN A WINTER WONDERLAND

It's cold, which is correct for the time of year, but sadly no snow for a white Christmas here in Edinburgh . . . yet. But one thing is guaranteed and that's the twinkling lights of the city decorations.

On the shortest day/longest night of the year, Pauline and I met up at Valvona Crolla's in the Jenners department store on Princes Street. This is by far one of the oldest traditional department store I know of, having been started in 1838, just four years after Harrods in London. But we weren't starting here because of that, or even to buy anything. We were here for the Jenners Christmas tree, and institution in itself, and one which many a grown can remember going to see as a kid.

Hot chocolate and cake later we wandered George Street, an upmarket shopping strip just behind Jenners. At one end a temporary circular artificial skating rink had been created, which looked enormous fun.

From there we wandered the 1km length of George Street and marveled at the effort some store fronts and hotels had made.

At the other end was a collection of temporary wooden huts set out as a Christmas market, and from here we ventured back down onto Princes Street, with the castle facing us off in the distance.

The park in the centre of the city traditionally becomes the centre for all things festive, and this year there were lights and fairground rides everywhere you looked. Aromas of delicious hot food mixed with the sweet smell of scented candles and natural garlands as we wandered through another collection of Christmas market huts.

Together with the traditional music is was starting to feel a lot like Christmas.

 

Merry Christmas everyone.

 

LOCAL WINTER HILLS

Last Saturday I went along to a surprise birthday bash for a good friend of mine, Lindsay, to celebrate his 60th. There was a slight hiccup with the banners, as no one had noticed they actually said, Happy 65th Birthday! Maybe that was the surprise. It was a fun night, with a great local ceilidh band duo, and great food, courtesy of Lindsay's daughter Caitlin. It was held in a handy venue for me, just a 10 minute walk from my house, and almost as short a walk for Lindsay and his partner Gwen. Though they are, like me, keen on walks of a longer nature in the great outdoors.

Pauline was away that weekend in glorious sunshine, and crisp white snow, up in Glen Tilt, at Blair Atholl, and her photos were impressive. So impressive in fact, that I felt a tad envious of her good fortune on being away in the mountains on such a fabulous winters day. Due to work commitment I had missed all the great weather that weekend, and the forecast for the early part of the week was less inviting.

However, when I awoke early on Monday, it was to glorious blue skies, and the temperature was still below freezing. Keen to have some outdoorsey fix and quench that envy, and to have a break from the edit suite, I pulled on my walking boots and cozy duvet jacket, and headed for our local hills, the Pentlands, just a short half hour drive from my front door.

More often than not, the way in to the Pentlands is from the city side, but on this occasion I was able to start from the south side of the Pentlands, at a small, old pub called The Flottersone Inn, and thus enjoy the whole walk in winter sunshine. It was bitterly cold, but thankfully there was not a breath of wind.

Within just 30 minutes I was on the southern ridge line on top of the first small summit of Turnhouse Hill. Winter brings clear skies and so the views can be forever. On this day I could see all the way to the peaks of Ben Vorlich and Stuc a' Chroin.

From Turhouse Hill it was a leisurely walk across Carnethy Hill and onto Scald Law, the highest in the Pentlands, though still only 579m.

I was happily snapping photos as I went along, when the camera suddenly packed up. I assumed it was the cold and so tucked it away in an inside jacket pocket until I was off the ridge line, and down onto the road that runs alongside the two reservoirs Loganlea and Glencorse, which would take me back to Flotterstone.

I stopped a while watching pairs of Cormorants fishing, when I thought I heard a familiar sound in the sky above me. As I turned my head upwards, five swans flew over in formation, and I was fairly sure they were Whooper swans, though they didn't call out again.

It may not have been the wild, highland mountain, winter adventure that Pauline had enjoyed, but there was something rather satisfying being out there on a Monday morning, on a glorious day, when everyone else was holed up in their offices, maybe looking longingly at the Pentland Hills, wishing they were out there instead.

HUGHIE GREEN . . . GREEN HUGHIE

In the 1970s we had various talent shows on the TV. You could say they were a precursor to todays X-Factor and Britain's Got Talent, though with far lower production values. One such programme was called Opportunity Knocks and was hosted by Mr Cheese himself, Hughie Green. So cheesey was his presentation of the programme that Billy Connolly included him in his routine at one point, and liked the coincidence that Hughie Green's name backwards was the same as late night vomit produced after drinking too many Creme de Menthes, which apparently the Pope drinks.

Anyway, we digress. I've just completed filming with the latest youth group up near Stirling. They came up with a story line about a boy whose mother in the past had been a great opera singer, and he too aspires to be the same, but living in small town Scotland, his situation conspires against him.

Back in the early 90s, Channel 4, in collaboration with the English National Opera, ran a competition  called Operatunity. Well, the kids loved that title, but of course it likely had a copyright. However, the good people of Channel 4 clearly saw the value in supporting these students and gave them permission to use it in their short film.

But then we took it a step further. The gave the character the surname Knox, and thus the film became Operatunity Knox.

By a sheer coincidence I had been filming in London the week before, and whilst their picked up shots for them of the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, so they could add them to their film.

Filming with two cameras simultaneously and with a drone flying camera for the chase sequences, the production values are such that Hughie Green would no doubt be jealous.