Has it really been four months since I penned anything here?! Bit of a catch up to do I guess, before 2019 is gone, so let's start with the great outdoors.
Though not strictly the usual outdoor pursuits of hillwalking, camping and biking, most of this year has been spent in various locations around Scotland filming footage for The Last Ferries of Ballachulish. Scotland is such a beautiful country it is almost impossible to go wrong wherever you point the camera, and the rugged landscapes and resident communities of the west Highlands went someway to slake my thirst for true outdoor adventures. The film is now complete and I will tell you more about that in the next blog.
The downside is all this new footage needs to be edited, and that means days and days and days sat in front of the computer, which slowly robs you of your fitness.
Thanks to Pauline I have managed the occasional jaunt into the hills or on the bike, though latterly it reminded me of just how far my fitness had plummeted, and this can take the edge of the enjoyment.
Toward the end of the summer I was persuaded to take up sea swimming, though it took me such an age to aclimatise to the cold water, even in my trendy new wetsuit, that I would call my efforts more sea standing! The science behind this form of exercise reports that short times in the water are all it takes to be beneficial, and that was exactly the type of thing I needed to hear! And living just yards from the sea it is always just a short brisk walk to a steaming hot shower.
Back in the summer we had a short trip back to the Borders, establishing a base camp at a campground we've used before on the outskirts of Jedburgh, before pottering about the back roads of the village.
During the night I set up a camera trap and the following morning we were able to observe a fox that had come down during the night, scavenging for campers left overs no doubt.
It would be September before I was back on the bike again, and the absence from the saddle was to take it's toll. This time we decided to cycle from our front door in Portobello, south through the Moorfoot hills and down to the Borders.
There was a bit of a head wind as we headed through Dalkeith and Carrington, sticking to the quiet back roads to reach the B7007 that would take us to our southern most point of Innerleithen, on the other side of the Moorfoots. A brief stop in Carrington beside a converted red phone box, now housing a defibrillator, should have been a warning sign of troubles ahead!
As the morning went on the headwind built, and after a long climb to the first pass out of the Forth valley, it became very strong, so much so, that despite a reasonably steep descent on the other side, we both had to pedal all the way downhill.
As I had been rising up the climb I was aware that, to put it politely, my behind was beginning to let me know that constantly rubbing against a hard saddle after a gap in cycling for many months, was not conducive to comfort.
In short, my arse hurt like hell!
By the time I reached Innerleithen I felt that I had endured a thrashing akin only to punishments dealt out in some middle eastern countries!
My spirits were lifted by a great wild campspot, though not as wild as we had anticipated, as the local landowner dropped by, and we indulged in conversation putting the worlds to rights.
One of the things both Pauline and I like to do is to make use of sustainable transport options as much as possible, be that buses, our bikes, on foot or by train. The latter of which in Scotland is notorious for poor service generally, but occasionally there is the odd wee boost. Because Pauline and I have passed our half century mark, we are entitled to exclusive rail offers that come along twice a year, in the nature of £17 return anywhere in Scotland!
Making use of this we headed off to a special area in the Highlands we both like, Corrour, during a crisp cold weekend, to enjoy a night out in the tents beside a favourite ruin, and to ascend a Munro I have never done, Beinn na Lap.
We hopped off the train at Rannoch, the station before Corrour, and took the Road to the Isles path north toward Corrour. Over the past few years several micro hydro electric installations have been created by the landowner in this area, and part of that has had the added benefit of the path being upgraded.
Not that I'm a particularly huge fan of paths being made easy etc, but previously this one was almost impassable in places, it was so boggy.
Our night was spent at the old ruin just an hours walk before Corrour station, a favourite place to camp.
The next day we dumped the heaviest of our gear and set off up Beinn na Lap, on the northern shore of Loch Ossian. Despite reducing my pack weight to about a quarter, I struggled. What the Borders run had done to my backside, Beinn na Lap was now doing to my legs.
But determined I reached the summit, rewarded on the way by a close up view with a well camouflaged Tarmigan, only to be met by a cold wind on the summit so biting, that had I been a brass monkey I would now be neutered.
The views all weekend had been spectacular, with the air crystal clear for miles, with the Scottish mountains capped in snow, which always make them look their best.
Having cooked supper down at the station, we sped home on the train, with a determined thought in my head to get my fitness back. For sure my calves and buttocks will be eternally grateful.
Next blog - The Last ferries of Ballachulish.
