THE GREAT GLEN CYCLE - PART 1

When Pauline asked me back in April if, come October, I fancied cycling the Great Glen, a route that follows the Caledonian Canal, starting in Fort William and ending in Inverness, I didn't hesitate to say yes.

Did I fancy cycling it both ways?

Err . . . OK . . . I think.

It's a tough, physical ride mind you.

She wasn't particularly selling it to me. When it comes to "holidays" per se, I imagine sipping Italian coffee, in the sunshine, in a Florence piazza, people watching, not struggling up steep ascents with a fully laden bicycle for miles, to then camp in the rain with a re-hydrated ready meal for supper.

But I'm a sucker for adventure, so training for this was going to be key.

That was April, and October seemed so far away. Piece of cake.

But too many pieces of cake later, and very little training, I found myself on the train bound for Fort William, one heavily laden bicycle in tow.

When I say train, what I mean is, train to Glasgow and then two bus replacements, courtesy of the efficient train company Scotrail. But let's not go into that. Though one could be forgiven for thinking someone was trying to send me a message.

Completed in 1822 by Thomas Telford, and stretching 97km connecting the Atlantic to the North Sea, the Caledonian Canal is an impressive piece of engineering.

With Ben Nevis in the background we started on the first part of our journey out of Fort William to Gairlochy, following the canal north, hemmed in on both sides by the varied rusty colours of Autumn.

A slight tail wind gave us a quick run, and being late in the day we camped at the free campground next to Gairlochy canal locks, with access to showers, toilets and laundry. A short day on the bike, flat and easy. Maybe this was a holiday afterall.

As dusk fell, a bat flitted about near the tents, and a star-filled sky led into a chilly night.

I awoke to a sopping wet tent from condensation, having wiped them down with a small cloth, we gave the early warm sunshine a chance to dry them out slightly before packing up and heading off.

The next set of locks after Gairlochy is Laggan, roughly 11 miles on, and the route is mostly on undulating forest track, with constant displays of every shade of autumn colour you could imagine. 

After Laggan most of the route to Fort Augustus is along a perfect, straight old railway track, with views across Loch Oich to a ruined castle.

We passed a small area two thirds along that was designated as an "informal campground", a place where Pauline had camped before, and we decided this would be a camp spot during our return leg. 

Another easy, quick stretch along the canal, brought us into Fort Augustus and the southern shore of Loch Ness of monster fame. We stocked up on groceries for the next leg, and then it was time for lunch. I could smell chips cooking nearby, and thought this would be very satisfying. Until that is I discovered it wasn't far off £3 for one bag of chips! "Aye, it's a tourist trap mate", came the honest reply from the owner. I settled on a coffee from a nearby van, with hot soup and a roll, and sat people watching as I tucked in. A Florentine piazza it may not have been, but the coffee, setting and company were just as satisfying.

Pauline had warned me about the steep road out of Fort Augustus to our next days end of Foyers. I made a valiant effort to cycle this thing, and felt a little smug passing two other cyclists. OK, so they had full panniers front and back, but hey, I'm 55 and haven't trained for this.

Boy how I wished I'd trained for this.

Before long I was off the bike and pushing. Like many of these occasions, the end of the hill you see ahead, isn't.

But once we were up it was a glorious ride, with a wind at our backs, the sun shining, and great views far and wide.

We didn't have an actual camp spot in mind, and with it getting late in the day we chose a wild spot next to the River Foyers.

Previous campers had left a large log near their attempts at a fire, and together with some discarded rope I fashioned a seat for us between two trees. Feeling very Bear Grylls, I settled down for a restful night.

The following morning we zipped down the road to stop at a small cafe opposite the trail to Foyers Falls.

With a decent amount of rain recently the Falls were in full flow, and by the time we had returned from the short walk the cafe was open. A second breakfast was calling. From the outside we weren't too sure of what it would be like, but the bacon roll and coffee were first class. In Pauline's opinion, the best she's ever had.

Our day had a few more ascents, but none as severe as the day before, and a high road across open moors, with a strong wind behind, helped us zip along.

We took a small detour down a single track, steep road, stopping part way down to visit a quirky memorial to the Clan McBain, complete with quirky wildcat sculptures, before rejoining the cycle route and down into Inverness by late afternoon.

Loaded up with lots of yummy food out of a local supermarket, we headed out to the sea lock where the Caledonian Canal delivers seafarers out to the North Sea. Here, within the boundary fence of the marina, we had another free night of camping with showers and toilets nearby. Though it was brightly lit from security lighting, and a little noisy from traffic nearby, earplugs ensured a restful night.

Tomorrow we would turn south, and with a few detours planned, head back toward Fort William.

But that is a story for the next blog.

PINK FOOTED GEESE AT ABERLADY BAY

I have walked Aberlady Bay, the UKs first Local Nature Reserve, designated in 1952, a number of times with Pauline, but always from the same start point, on the outskirts of the coastal village of Aberlady.

On this particular day we opted to complete a circular route, and as such we headed out along the John Muir Way to the neighbouring town of Gullane, famous for its golf connections.

This meant a tedious first mile along a very busy road, but soon after we were on the John Muir Way footpath, cutting across fields and skirting the golf course, with views to Berwick Law to the east, to eventually pop out on the outskirts of Gullane.

But the real treat on this short section was the start of the main reason we had ventured out; skeins of geese in formation flying overhead, some as many as 100 in number, gliding in to the Bay for the night, calling out their presence as they approached.

It always pleasantly surprises me how often I can walk an area and yet repeatedly find new routes, and today was no exception. The path rose steeply beside expensive detached mansions, then followed a boundary wall, curving round to the north to rise to a vantage point with views in all directions. To the west was the skyline of Edinburgh, whilst to the east was Bass Rock, home during breeding season to millions of Gannets, and still bright white with the icing of guano deposited by the nesting birds, now all departed.

We dropped down to the shoreline and wandered the beach as it curved slowly back round to Aberlady. The sun was starting to dip, and in the far distance the three bridges spanning the Firth of Forth were silhouetted against the glow of an early evening setting sun.

Another first this day was a field test for my new compact camera, and I was not disappointed by the first images, capturing the distant bridges perfectly with its powerful zoom.

We hopped across the sea-beaten rocks, with Eider Ducks resting on their edges and Red Shanks wading in the shallows, as the sun dipped lower and lower, casting its golden-hour light across the sands.

Beneath our feet were trillions of shell remains, all at different stages of being ground down for a future beach by the unstoppable tides.

Soon we were skirting below the high dunes on the longest stretch of beach, and in the last of the light Pauline scanned the horizon with binoculars toward the distant calls of Curlews.

There was one more treat in store as we followed the path away from the beach back toward our start point. Just to our right, perched on a large piece of drift wood, sat a Short-Eared Owl, something I had never seen before. It sat patiently looking out toward the last of the setting sun, soon to start the hunt for food.

Further on a young Roe Deer stood motionless and watched our progress along the path. The last of the geese approached overhead, collapsing their wings and tumbling down to rapidly lose altitude as they found their preferred landing site, then splayed their wings like an aircraft's aerofoils, to brake and land gently on the mud flats left by the receded tide. In the distance, lost in the failing light, hundreds of geese were greeting each other noisily as we wandered back to the village of Aberlady, reflecting on what had been a spectacular day.

THE 45

In a couple of weeks time I will be taking on a 130 mile cycle round trip, and for the past few months I have been trying to find the time to improve my fitness. It's unlikely that any one day will be that long, but, according to Pauline, it has challenging stages.

For Pauline to use the word challenging has me concerned. My exercise program has had too many days between each stint, and so I've been looking for opportunities to enhance that training.

Last week Pauline proposed a round trip coastal cycle, starting from the ancient town of Dunfermline, once a thriving linen town, and with Royal connections in the past to James VI of Scotland.

Our route followed old railway lines most of the way out west, which was very easy cycling, and took us all of the way to our turnaround point of Devilla Forest. The forest was planted after the second world war, in an area that provided the headquarters for the Polish army. But it has also played host to more ancient battles in centuries past.

Now it is home to a wealth of flora and fauna, among which is Scotland's cutest animal, the Red Squirrel. We ventured off on Red Squirrel Trail at one point, but sadly the only sightings were man-made steel cutouts, pegged into the side of the many Scots Pine trees on Bordie Moor.

At the point were the trail turns to head back out, we stopped for a quick bite to eat. Views stretched out across the forth to the north, and in the foreground the Longannet power station. beyond on the opposite shore was Grangemouth oil refinery. But just a few metres away from where we sat, hidden in the autumnal bracken, was what is known as The Standard Stone. It is part of the natural bedrock, with two oblong holes cut into its surface, both roughly the size of an A4 sheet of paper, and has laid here watching the comings and goings for the past 800 years, long before any power stations, oil refineries or bridges spanning the river.

No one is quite sure what it was for, but folklore has it, that it marks the site of the battle between the Scots and the Danes in 1038, and the holes are alleged to have been supports for the standards during battle. Some say it could also be a boundary marker. But as a fan of Shakespeare's play Macbeth, I prefer the idea that it was at this spot where King Duncan and his generals Macbeth and Banquo fought, and were ultimately defeated by, the Vikings.

Our lunch over, and entertained by ancient history, we headed back out of the forest on the trail. Pauline then told me there was another piece of history hidden away in the woods, that she wanted me to see. We took a turn along what could only just be described as a path, with the sun twinkling through the dense trees. Just 100 metres on we stopped and chained up the bikes, climbed over a fence, and headed into the woods.

In  a small clearing, dating back to 1645, the time of the Jacobite uprisings, was a small grave. Not just any grave though, for here was what is known as The Plague Grave, where the three children of James Bald were buried, having all died on this very day, the 24th September, 1645, of the plague. To this day people leave small toys and trinkets at the graveside.

Our route now headed back toward Edinburgh, dropping down to the coastline of the Forth. Within a short distance we were entering the Royal Burgh of Culross (pronounced coo-ross), acknowledged as one of the most picturesque villages in Scotland, and the most complete example of a 16th century burgh. And I have to admit it lives up to its reputation. Little wonder it is used as a shooting location for film and television.

In the centre stands a 16th century merchant's house called Culross Palace. For us though, the most alluring place was a small courtyard next door, home of Bessie's Cafe, and more importantly, coffee and cake.

Suitably refreshed we joined the cycle path again, and were soon upon the new road system that feeds the recently opened Queensferry Crossing bridge.

Beautiful as it is, the Forth Rail Bridge still wins, which I was to get a view of as I did something for the very first time. With the opening of the new bridge the original suspension bridge is now closed to traffic, except buses.

The Forth Road bridge was opened in 1964, and at the time it was the largest suspension bridge in the world outside of the United States, and at its peak carried 65,000 vehicles per day. Though it has always been possible for cyclists to use the bridge on an adjoining cycle and footpath, I had never ridden a bicycle across it.

Down the other side we turned into North Queensferry village, and sat eating our lunch admiring the beauty of the Rail Bridge, opened in 1890.

With a gentle tail wind, we set off on the 10-mile journey back to Portobello, via the Dalmeny Estate and Crammond, a total journey of 45 miles.

THE BINN

When Pauline suggested we have a trip to The Binn, I thought she meant clearing out my apartment and taking unwanted items to the trash. Not a great suggestion for a day off.

The Binn in question was, in actual fact, a small 193m hill across the Firth of Forth in Fife. I can actually see it from my apartment front window.

I have only known its name for the past few months, when Pauline first mentioned it, but I have looked at it often over the passing few decades since I moved to Edinburgh. In fact, anyone who has installed a TV aerial will know which hill I am talking about, as on its summit sits Craigkelly transmitting station mast, some 125m high, beaming out TV signals to a vast area since 1968.

We stepped off the train at the picturesque Fife coastal village of Aberdour, at its well kept little station, which has been in operation since 1890. Our first destination was the former shipbuilding port of Burntisland, just three miles away, along a foot and cycle path. I have cycled this way a number of times, but never walked the route, so it was a pleasant change. A ferry used to cross between Burntisland and Granton in Edinburgh until 1890, when the Forth Rail Bridge opened.

It hugs the shoreline, as does the railway line running parallel, and when I've passed this way on board a train I would regularly spot seals basking on exposed rocks. But on this day the tide was in, and there were no seals to be seen.

Rock carvings dating back 4,000 years have been found in the area, and there has been a settlement at Burntisland for 2,000 years, when the Roman commander Agricola set up a camp at nearby Dunearn Hill, using the natural harbour as his access point. In the 12th century a town had started to grow, known then as Wester Kinghorn, when the monks of Dunfermline Abbey owned the harbour. In 1601 James VI chose the town as an alternative site for the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and it was at this time when the King James Bible came into being.

Our destination was the top of a craggy escarpment, rising steeply to the north behind the town. The Binn is the remains of a volcanic plug, formed some 300 million years ago, and serves to shelter the town of Burntisland form the worst of the northerly winds.

Very quickly we were on the slopes of the hill, and though the forecast was mixed, we enjoyed bright weather all the way. The path hugs the top edge of the crag as it curves across, and in under an hour we were passing the giant transmitter mast that I had seen from a distance for so many years.

In the distance dark clouds were gathering, which gave a sharp contrast to the sunlit field of corn beside the path. We sat a while on the top, taking in the uninterrupted view across the Firth of Forth expanse to Edinburgh in the distance.

As we neared the base of the walk a sharp shower came across, and as we sheltered under the trees Pauline pointed out that there was once a small settlement where these woods now stood. I had seen evidence of a building as we had entered but all other signs had long since vanished.

Finishing our little jaunt at the old Port building in the town centre, we headed for the railway station of Burntisland for our short journey home.

When I take the trash out in the future, and glance across to the TV mast atop The Binn, I will think of it in a different way.

PORTOBELLO

I am very fortunate to live just metres from the beach front of the capital city of Scotland. I have lived in the area for 40 years altogether, and it has never lost any of its appeal.

Though I am on the outskirts, our transport links are excellent should I have the need to venture in to the city itself. And there are many reasons to do so throughout the year.

It has the worlds largest arts festival for one thing, during the month of August, which doubles the population of the city. At the same time it plays host to a book festival, preceded by a jazz festival. My main interest of course is the internationally renowned Edinburgh International Film Festival in June.

Then there's Hogmanay, again bringing tens of thousands of people here.

It is the seat of the Scottish Government, and a centuries old castle dominates the city horizon, and the remains of a millennia old extinct volcano sits between the castle and its coastline where I live.

But for all of this, I prefer to spend the majority of my time in Portobello.

During this past couple of weekends we have had our very own, busy, festival-feel time of it. The previous weekend saw the mile-long promenade play host to a variety of musicians, all busking their hearts out in the late summer sunshine.

Then just last weekend we had two events; the "Porty Art Walk", and the Village Show. The latter brings everyone in the community together, and always seems to have good, sunny weather.

Locals can have a stall table to sell their crafts and homebaking, while other tents sell beer, hotdogs, coffee and cake, and right in the centre there is a gazebo which is the stage area for local bands to perform.

Around mid way through a dog show was held, with local teenagers acting as judges, followed just a few minutes later with a traditional duck race.

My favourite thing though was an old, traditional model railway. It was mesmerising just watching two trains going round and round the large oval track.

Portobello is known as a place of many creative people, and for a number of days spanning the weekend the Porty Art Walk takes place. This comprises outdoor installations of art, like the bicycle on the prom wall pictured above; displays in several shop windows; and a few local artists open their homes up for people to wander in and enjoy their work.

Even when the sun doesn't shine, and the beach is empty, there is a welcoming warmth, and I can't imagine calling anywhere else home.

As I made my way home after the Village Show, with a smile on my face, I stopped for a moment to enjoy a little corner of wild flowers, which just added to the colour that is Portobello.