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.

 

THE SEQUEL

Having run a brand new film academy for kids from age 9 to 18 in July, I decided to reprise the event in August.

Film Academy summer school, the sequel.

There were a number of parts of the July summer school that didn't work as well as they could have for the students, and during the week that followed I went back to the drawing board, or maybe more appropriately, the storyboard.

One thing that occurred to me was we needed to get the students working on cameras more quickly, so we upped the ante, and threw them in at the deep end, shooting their main film after just two days.

We had received various bits of feedback, all very positive, but a few were surprised the students were filming a pre-written script. They had assumed they would film their own. We had decided this for very good reasons.

A five minute short film script takes around a month of full time work to write and perfect, ready for shooting. Part of that is getting everyone to agree on story, parts and roles. To have been able to do this well in just two days was going to be impossible, hence the pre-written script.

But it gave me an idea for the second week, to satisfy both.

First of all, we altered the website, listing a basic schedule for the week, so everyone knew in advance they would be filming a pre-written script.

During the actual week we trained them up, and shot the film, a day early. By the Thursday lunch time they were wrapped. Then we presented them with a challenge; they had now been shown how to do it all, so we gave them one hour on Thursday afternoon to write a one-page script, with full reign on what they could do. On Friday morning we handed them a camera and a microphone, and gave them just 30 minutes to shoot five short scenes to tell their story, in sequence, no editing allowed. Whatever came out of the camera was the finished film.

And they pulled it off amazingly well. These six shorts were both the most popular with the parents at the end-of-week screening, and it was the most popular activity with the students. An idea I am taking forward to the weekly academy.

So by taking the plunge into the first week, listening to the feedback, we were able to deliver more of what they wanted. Everyone left happy. Click on this link to see just how much fun we all had:
https://vimeo.com/284521768

Some students said that having to wait around for their turn to be in front of the camera during any of the shoots, wasn't their favourite thing, but that is part and parcel of filmmaking, and if that was the only moan, then we were doing well.

The closing event, once again, though not quite as problematic as week one, was plagued with last minute technical issues. We found a workaround but we were 30 minutes late. This is real life. Tech issues happen all the time, but for me this felt like a failure, and I left feeling less than happy, thinking, well, I tried it, but it looks like it's not going to work long term. I knew I had five young people overall that wanted to do a weekly, after-school version, but five was not viable.

Six days later and we have 21 signed up, and as I write, only two places remain in the teenagers group. Our capacity is 30, mainly to ensure tutors have a manageable class.

At my current place of work on a Saturday, I have to deal with up to 30 students per class, and it just doesn't work very successfully. It has been invaluable experience over the past four years, but I need to make this better. Having a maximum of 15 is at the top end of numbers in my opinion, with 12 being ideal, but we have to balance the books.

For the future, and I never thought I'd be considering this, we are looking at opening a second academy on a Wednesday. And just this morning I have had inquiries from the Borders and Fife from fellow filmmakers to open something similar there.

What have I started?!

https://www.filmacademyedinburgh.com/weekly-filmmaking-classes/

 

AND . . . CUT!

Run a brand new summer film school.

Tick. Done that!



I've been hiding away this week, sleeping mostly, as the previous week saw the launch of my new venture, The Film Academy Edinburgh.


Back in April no one had ever heard of it. By the end of June we were on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google Adwords, had our own website, and had even been mentioned in notices in the Scottish Parliament.

By mid July 62 kids were signed up.



Day one was tough, but then, it was just day one. They say you learn something new every day, but boy, is that an understatement!



 

But we made it through to day two, changed a few things as we went, and started to make headway.



As previous experience has shown me, the 9 to 12 year olds would be full of energy and up for anything we threw at them. The teenagers on the other hand, well, they were teenagers. They still showed keen interest, but in the way that teenagers do.



Wednesday was when we realised as a team that we could have had them shooting. We had them in more workshops and prepped them for the shoot, but we took note to make this the first shoot day in future camps.

By the Thursday cameras were finally rolling and they were all shooting their first films. It was manic, and footage was flying back to the edit suite as we went.



Come Friday lunchtime both films were wrapped and the students spent the afternoon in masterclasses, covering special effects makeup and sound effects. 

 

Over in the edit suite fingers were a blur on the computers. I was pulling together a fun, behind-the-scenes film, whilst Chuck the editor was trying his best to finish the kids films. By 3.30pm, half an hour before parents arrived to view the kids work, we were still editing.



At 4pm I came on stage, and announced we were a little behind, though not revealing just how far. Our acting consultant, and Scottish film star, Shauna Macdonald, improvised with a Q & A with the kids, then presented each with a certificate for the week. She was brilliant, but we were still editing.

If you've ever seen the episode Gourmet Night in Faulty Towers, were Basil's wife, Manual and Polly play for time while Basil flies around trying to bring a new roast duck to the event, then you'll have a rough idea how I was beginning to feel.

Hopefully I wasn't going to end up with trifle instead of duck.

By 4.30 the transfers were transferred over to the laptop, and I walked back to the projection room with the laptop open in my hand, still rendering! The progress bar was at half way as I stepped back onto stage and delivered the thank you's. We were now 45 minutes late, but we had made it.



The films played, not at their best as we hadn't had time to check them, but everyone was happy and left smiling, and not a trifle in sight.

And relax.



Well, not quite, as I'm about to do it all again next week! This time with a different model, and we will be filming on Wednesday.



The editing suite should be a little less pressured and I'm confident it's going to be a great success.

 

 

LITTLE LOCH OF THE NOISY SOUND

Normally, as soon as the Scottish schools break up for the summer holidays, the heavens open and we endure 6 weeks of poor weather. But this year has been a pleasant change, and the sun has shone almost continuously for several weeks now.

To say I am busy just now is the understatement of the year. My new film academy for kids is just around the corner, and there is so much still to do. However, I am aware of the old saying, that "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy". I needed to find a way of taking a break, despite there being only days until the academy launch.

It's midgie season, so getting into the Scottish mountains is usually not a good option, but with such relentless heat the biting insect population is somewhat reduced, so Pauline organised a two night trek to take in five Munro's north of the Angus Glens, with the famous Lochnagar as the main goal, named after the small lochan in the mountain's northeast corrie.

With no public transport available at all, we reluctantly took my car. From Dundee we traveled the length of Glen Clova and arrived at the head of Glen Doll, on the edge of the Cairngorms National Park, around mid afternoon on the Saturday. Not surprisingly the car park was full of visitors, but within minutes of leaving the car we were alone on a track, leading north up the glen.

My achilles tendon on my left foot has been playing up in recent weeks, and the pain I experienced in the first few kilometers started to look like the trek would be over for me before it had even begun. I devised a routine to stop every so often to massage the ache out, and borrowed one of Pauline's walking poles to aid my ascent.

With long days and clear weather I had the opportunity to take it slowly, and by early evening we had climbed up to a saddle just below the first Munro, Broad Cairn, to camp for the night at 750m. Unsure of access to fresh water, we had decided at the bottom of the path to carry two litres each to the top. 

And let me tell you, water is heavy!

750m was high enough, combined with a slight breeze, to be free of the annoying midges, and after a late dinner, with views down to Loch Muick, we settled in for the night.

Another glorious day greeted us, and with most of the hard work done, we set off over the first Munro, a short distance from our nights camp. The area is very popular, and there is a well worn path along the whole route, but in some places this has grown to several metres wide, as many walkers have chosen to walk side by side, thus increasing the erosion.

Peak two, Cairn Bannoch, was probably our favourite Munro, mostly because of its bouldery summit and the view of the whole route ahead, all the way across to Lochnagar. There were few people at this early hour, which was very pleasant.

My achilles was once again reminding me of its presence, and I decided to sit several metres below the summit of Munro number three, while Pauline, having dumped her pack with me, ascended solo.

By now I was getting hungry. The path cut along the side of this Munro toward number four, and halfway along there was a crystal clear small river flowing, cutting across the path, so we parked ourselves for a while, munched our lunch, and watched the world go by.

Already on the route we had disturbed several female grouse, that displayed a behaviour designed to distract us. The reason being was because we had walked too close for her comfort to her young chicks. So small and cute, I imagine they were just a few weeks old.

As we moved on, over to our right on the hillside in the distance, were a herd of young red deer, mostly males, starting to move swiftly away, having detected our presence.

Munro number four, Carn an t'Sagairt Mor, was literally just a bump in the landscape, and not long after, we were approaching our main goal of Lochnagar. It was easily more than 30 years since I was last here. Clambering over its rocky main summit, called Cac Carn Beag, were several young walkers, and I remarked that the last time I was here, none of these people would have been born.

Clouds were gathering and the blue skies and relentless heat of the day was slowly diminishing. We circled round the top of the curve of cliffs that makes up Lochnagar, to catch a glimpse of its face from the eastern flank, with a view down to five deep blue pools at the head of the small lochan, in Lochnagar's northeastern coire, the Little Loch of the Noisy Sound.

On the way down, blending in well with the landscape, I spotted a Ptarmigan, motionless on a rock. It too had small chicks, which looked remarkably similar to the grouse from earlier.

Camp for the night was a little below the summit, at 950m, probably my highest camp in Scotland. It was by far a more comfortable spot than the previous evening. With everyone off the hill for the day, it was very pleasant to enjoy the evening and the landscape all to ourselves.

We awoke to thick cloud, and set off toward Loch Muick around 8.30am. The path is steep in places, hard packed and worn by many boots, which had ground down the granite rocks into tiny marble-like grains, which occasionally caused me to slide and lose my grip.

The going was slower than either of us had expected, but eventually we dropped out of the clouds beside a cascading waterfall, and down to the shores of Loch Muick. At the bottom of the path stands an abandoned, rather grand-looking lodge, built, so I'm told, for Queen Victoria to be able to take a boat trip up the loch for afternoon tea.

As you do.

We rounded the western end of the loch across a beach covered in geese footprints. Out on the water we could see large numbers of birds, most likely the ones that had left their prints on the beach, and we wondered if they were in fact resident there all year round.

Our final ascent was steep and long, but not as bad as it had looked from afar. The ridge ahead was shrouded in low cloud, but as we reached the summit it started to clear. We had come full circle, and stopped for our lunch just meters away from our first nights camp. We retraced our steps back to the car park, along the same track through the glen, beneath craggy peaks and wild flower meadows.

My achilles had held up not too bad, though by the end, after what was, afterall, a long hike from Lochnagar, I was grateful to be finished. Four Munros, albeit the hard work done on the first afternoon, felt quite satisfying. Five for Pauline, but it had been many years since I have stood atop any Scottish peak.

It felt good to be back.

BACK ON THE HUNT FOR THE FERRIES

This is getting to be a habit, only posting every two weeks. Maybe it's a thing I'll continue, just so you don't get bored with my chat!

With a low tide forecast and the glorious summer weather continuing, I set off once again to capture footage for my documentary film, The Last Ferries Of Ballachulish.

Despite it being the week before the Scottish schools went on their summer break, the Highlands were surprisingly busy. I dread to think what it must be like now!

On a misty, chilly morning I left Edinburgh just after sunrise, with Glenelg, near Skye, as my destination. The low cloud and mist didn't lift until I was well past Stirling, but until that point it was all motorway anyway, so I didn't miss much.

My route north took me through spectacular Glencoe, on to Fort William, Spean Bridge and Kintail. Just a short distance after Spean Bridge I detoured down to the Caledonian Canal at Gairlochy, to reshoot pieces-to-camera at the old wreck on the shores there. Once rumoured to be the remains of the Glen Duror, it is now a mystery itself.

I was only half way to Glenelg by this point, and the clouds were starting to gather. By the time I took the steep and winding Mam Ratagan pass from Kintail over to Glenelg, I had lost the best of the weather. However, as it turned out, filming the Glenachulish turntable ferry from the air would have proved almost impossible, with any bright sunshine reflecting of the surface of the Kyle Rhea waters, so as it turned out it was perfect for filming.

I love visiting this ferry, and without fail it always brings a tear to my eye when I hear her engine and glimpse her Ballachulish colours for the first time.

A familiar sight is the skipper Donnie, and it was a joy to sit a while over a coffee and let the world go by, despite a few cars already aboard the Glenachulish waiting to cross, the drivers and passengers scratching their heads, wondering what time departure was.

Across the other side of the water a Sea Eagle swooped down on fish near the surface, then flew off to it's nest, where this year they have two successful young.

Watching the world go by does not stop the clock, and to my surprise it was already 5pm by the time I decided to make tracks back down the road. I bade farewell to the Glenachulish, who will turn 50 next year, and headed south for the Isle of Mull.

Just a few miles south of Fort William is a roll on, roll off ferry, taking cars and passengers across the tiny 300m span of Loch Eil where it meets Loch Leven, onto the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. I was heading to Lochaline, and a small B&B for the night, 40km along a single track road, which has to be one of the prettiest little roads I've ever been on.

As night fell a full moon rose over Duart Castle far away on a promontory of land on Mull.

At 7am I was aboard the CalMac ferry that would take me the three kilometers across to Fishnish on the Isle of Mull. From there, under glorious blue skies, I headed for Ulva on the west coast. Single track road all the way, surrounded by stunning scenery, looking out to the Treshnish Isles, Coll and Tiree beyond on the horizon. My goal was to capture aerial shots of Ulva and the 50m crossing from the island where the Glen Duror saw her last service.

Just around a corner of land, in a small bay, lies the wreck of the actual Glen Duror. Carrying heavy camera gear on my back, a steel flight case in one hand and a tripod slung over my shoulder, I battled my way through shoulder-high bracken to reach her. It was evident the winter had taken another toll on her. Though I had the footage I needed from my last visit nine months ago, I decided to shoot more. 

But my main reason for coming back was to wade out into the water, to what I had seen was the line of her bow from an aerial shot taken on my previous visit. By the time I reached the front I was already waist deep in water, and underfoot was precarious with slippery seaweed growing around all manner of rusted metal parts. The tide just wasn't low enough.

I would have to return another day.

Job done, I bade farewell to the old girl again, and headed for the large CalMac ferry that would take me onto the mainland and the town of Oban. Ahead was an hours drive north to Ballachulish, my childhood home from almost 50 years ago.

As I drove across the ugly Ballachulish Bridge the light was beautiful, so I detoured off the main road to capture new aerial shots of the bridge and surrounding area. As I did so I realised that had I not arrived here when I did, the sun tomorrow would be in the wrong position for the shots I wanted to capture.

The evening was unbearably hot in the youth hostel, and despite paying for a room, I decided to sleep in my car, which, though not as a comfy as a mattress, was preferable to sleeping in a pizza oven!

On the last morning I met up with Kate once again, daughter of Peter McKenzie, the last ferryman of Ballachulish, and the one I identify with from my childhood. Her and I, in her words, are probably the last two remaining people who feel so passionately about the old turntable ferries, so it is always a pleasure to meet up.

With a few more shots ticked off, I headed 20 miles south toward Appin, to shoot the ruins of Castle Stalker, which sits atop a small island, before turning the car toward Edinburgh, and the three hours back through ever increasing tourist traffic.

It had been a whirlwind tour over three days, but as before, it was an absolute joy across arguably the most beautiful country in the world . . . in my opinion.