A tale of ice and fire. And bogs. Part#2

Posted on April 24, 2015 by Paul

The next day on the campsite got off to a leisurely start. I let the hooligans out of their travel crates and while Beanie went for a snuggle with Susan, I got a head-end cuddle with The Bigglet. Then came breakfast, a jump onto the worktop, a stay in the naughty room, and a short local walk to see Inchree Falls. Whenever a campsite boasts about local attractions such as a waterfall I always expect it to be a bit of a let-down, but that wasn’t the case here. The light wasn’t quite right to let me do it justice, but trust me: Inchree Falls is well worth seeing.

If you’re prepared to do a bit of scrambling you can get to the bottom without breaking anything!

Soon it was time for lunch, another visit to la chambre de naughtie for Beanie, and whole lot of preparation for our first proper adventure of the holiday: a ride on the ferry and an overnight stay at Ardnamurchan!

Although Ardnamurchan is very much part of the mainland, it’s so remote that little inland Corran ferry is by far the quickest and cheapest way to get there.

The Corran ferry is quite unlike any other I’ve encountered. Once it’s in motion, it crosses from one side to the other in about two minutes. There’s no time to get out of your car and stroll about the deck, let alone pay a visit to the galley for an exorbitantly priced coffee. Nope, you queue a bit, you drive or walk on and a few minutes later you’re on the other side, having saved more than an hour on the road. Despite this huge saving there’s still a lot of driving ahead to reach Ardnamurchan. There’s pretty much just one road along this remote piece of western Scotland, and it’s mostly a winding narrow single track with a nominal speed limit of 60mph. Piloting the car through all the twists, turns and blind summits is like playing a really intense video game, except that you don’t get any spare lives if you mess up. It’s made even worse by the locals who (presumably) know the road so well that they can go barreling along at 60 leaving the tourists to stop appropriately at passing places in the hope of avoiding a head-on collision.

It took about 90 minutes of sweating, breath-holding and underwear soiling to reach Ardnamurchan point, but somehow we made it. Following the signs to the lighthouse, we turned up an even narrower road and encountered the largest Highland cow I’ve ever seen. Another driver who was coming down the road in the opposite direction reached it first. He was in a fairly tall vehicle and I’m not exaggerating (much) when I say that the cow’s spine was nearly level with the roof. Sensibly avoiding using his horn, the driver steered around the mutant at slower-than-parking speed. Just as the passenger side window drew alongside the back of the creature’s head it turned to have a really good look at the puny human inside. From the look on the driver’s face, I’d say his underpants were now in a worse state than mine. But he’d made it past the monster and now it was our turn, but unlike him we had a pair of Beagles in the back.

If there’s one thing you can count on with Beanie and Biggles (especially Biggles), it’s that they’ll always open their gobs at the worst possible moment. If I nip behind a bush during a run to discretely answer nature’s call, there’ll be a baying frenzy. If we’re leaving a campsite in the dead of night for a sunrise hillwalk – desperately trying not to wake anybody – they’ll kick off for sure. This time however, the two of them both kept very, very quiet. Perhaps they realised that even the car wouldn’t give them enough protection if this ginger behemoth decided to “have a go”. People say Beagles are stupid dogs, but they’re not that stupid.

Safely past the walking roadblock, we got to enjoy the lighthouse in all its glory, and for the time we were there Beanie and Biggles could legitimately claim to be the two most westerly doggies on the entire British mainland.

Part 1: http://www.fourleggedpal.com/2015/04/23/a-tale-of-ice-and-fire-and-bogs-part1/
Part 3: http://www.fourleggedpal.com/2015/04/25/a-tale-of-ice-and-fire-and-bogs-part3/
Part 4: http://www.fourleggedpal.com/2015/04/26/a-tale-of-ice-and-fire-and-bogs-part4/
Part 5: http://www.fourleggedpal.com/2015/04/26/a-tale-of-ice-and-fire-and-bogs-part5/

A tale of ice and fire. And bogs. Part#1

Posted on April 23, 2015 by Paul

If you live in Scotland and a bit of good weather comes your way you’d better make the most of it, because you never know how long it’ll last. With that in mind, we packed up the caravan and towed it up the Bunree campsite, just outside of Onich. This seemed like a good base for day trips to old favorite Glencoe, but also to new locations such as Ardnamurchan and Appin.

On arrival I opened up the rear of the car so that our furry crate-dwellers sample the air. I didn’t let them out yet though; I didn’t want them to get in the way while Susan and I wrestled with the awning. And “wrestled” is definitely the right word to use, because a fairly spirited wind was blowing and the hard-standing area was not doing a very good job of holding onto the awning pegs. Inevitably we started swearing at the awning, at the pegs, at the wind, and each other, and Biggles joined us by swearing at anyone and anything he could see moving on the campsite. When we’d finally won “The Battle of The Awning” I freed Beanie & Biggles from their car crates for a quick toilet walk. They were so desperate to escape you’d think they’d been locked away in there for days, not three hours, but somehow I held onto them long enough to attach their leads, and we went to make our first deposits in the Bunree poo bank and sniff and pee on everything that needed sniffing and peeing on. Which was quite a lot of things, as it turned out.

Once back at the caravan we saw the first hint of the kind of Beagle misbehavior that would run through the entire holiday. The moment Susan set up our George Foreman-type grill on the work top, Beanie was right up there with it. On previous holidays she’s been up there during unguarded moments to lick plates and drink from discarded cups – you know, typical Beagle stuff. Now however she was boldly going where no Beagle should even when our full attention was on her, and worst of all, she was at risk of burning herself or worse. We tried shouting at her (instinct more than thought drove that response) but of course it had no effect because Beanie is 100% shout-proof. We tried the “leave it!” plus pointy finger technique which worked, but only for as long as the finger was in position. I guess the smells coming from that grill were just too good, so in desperation we tried a more powerful control method: exclusion. I picked Beanie up off the worktop once more, dragged her over to the washroom area of the caravan and closed the door, sealing her in there for a good few minutes. When I released her she seemed duly chastened for nearly a whole second, then leaped straight back up on the worktop. Little bugger! Three repetitions later and the washroom had acquired a new name: “the naughty room”, but Beanie genuinely seemed to have learned her lesson. Content that we’d finally got an obedience technique that worked, I headed off on a solo photography trip up a Glencoe mountain called Garbh Bheinn, leaving Susan to give the pups a longer walk round the campsite then chill out with them in the caravan for a few hours.

My guide for the walk came from the excellent WalkHighlands site. It mentioned that the start of the walk would be quite boggy, giving it a “bog factor” rating of three out of five. Half an hour into the walk and barely able to keep the ground from sucking the shoes off my feet, I felt that an urgent re-assessment of the bog factor rating was required. Six out of five? Yep that sounded about right to me. I don’t mind wet feet on a run, but I hate it on a walk and right now my feet were soaking. Still, the guide promised drier conditions and great views higher up, so I just kept plugging away. The initially sunny conditions gave way to heavy grey cloud, then to rain, then to a hail storm, and then to sun, and back round again. My waterproof jacket was on and off more times than a blanket on a waggy Beagle girl’s bum.

The view back towards Loch Leven and The Pap of Glencoe, caught in a transition between hail, rain and sun

Just as the weather kept changing its mind, the walk itself kept offering me what looked like a summit, only to reveal yet another one as I got higher. Eventually I reached a point just below the true summit (as confirmed by the gps app on my phone) that had great photographic potential, and I decided to camp out there and wait for sunset rather than pressing on to the top. I didn’t fancy the final scrambly bit over a ton of loose scree, and what’s more I’d seen plenty of good shots from part of the way up, but none from the summit itself. A couple of hail and horizontal rain phases came and went before I finally got these shots, maybe half an hour before sunset..

Although it’s not so pleasant to be out in, this dramatic, changeable weather and rugged scenery is what the highlands are all about..

The walk had certainly delivered on it’s promised views, but now my still soaking feet were turning to blocks of ice from being stationary in high wind for too long. I packed up and headed back down as quickly as I could, but by the time I reached the really boggy section I needed my head torch. That final trudge back through the bog seemed to take forever in the dark, and if it was possible, my feet actually got even wetter.

Back at the campsite I showered and put on dry footwear, then returned to the caravan hoping to hear a tale of peace and relaxation. Unfortunately I was greeted by a somewhat tired and stressed Susan, who revealed that a certain little Miss had made numerous visits both to the worktop and The Naughty Room. Hmm.. maybe the exclusion technique wasn’t proving so effective against The Beanster after all..

I don’t mean to be naughty, Dad. It just sort of happens..

Part 2: http://www.fourleggedpal.com/2015/04/24/a-tale-of-ice-and-fire-and-bogs-part2/
Part 3: http://www.fourleggedpal.com/2015/04/25/a-tale-of-ice-and-fire-and-bogs-part3/
Part 4: http://www.fourleggedpal.com/2015/04/26/a-tale-of-ice-and-fire-and-bogs-part4/
Part 5: http://www.fourleggedpal.com/2015/04/26/a-tale-of-ice-and-fire-and-bogs-part5/

Beanie’s Great Balaclava Adventure

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Paul

Our Easter weekend was spent making a very early morning visit to our favorite mountain: The Cobbler, or Ben Arthur as it is also known. We never tire of it! It has everything you could want from a hillwalk if you’ve got two pesky Beagles: a safe, easy-to-follow route that is nevertheless a decent workout, great views, and seemingly little chance of bumping into sheep or deer. Even though we’re very familiar with The Cobbler, it is still a mountain, and as such it demands a certain amount of respect and preparation. On Saturday we packed up all the essentials – clothing, a blankie for sitting on, human/doggy first aid stuff, torches and batteries, water – and of course the all important OMEK (On Mountain Entertainment Kit). What goes into an OMEK you might ask? Well the the exact make-up varies from occasion to the next, but this time it contained:

A big handful of small-bite dog biccies from Tesco
A few odd pieces of paddywack
Four twisted rawhide strips, and the same number of dried fish cubes from Fish4Dogs

The only thing we needed now was sleep. Allowing time for the drive to Arrochar and a leisurely ascent with some photo opportunities, I calculated that we’d have to leave the house at about 1:30am; that should get us to the top comfortably before sunrise at 6:40-ish am. Unfortunately Saturday evening was unexpectedly bright and sunny, definitely not the kind of weather that helps you nod off early. Even the Beagles had a bit of trouble napping.

It’s 8pm and with a maximum of only 5 hours or so sleep possible before we leave, Beanie’s a member of the (mostly) wide awake club

OK, Biggles is asleep here, but only because he’s just been out into the garden and had a vigorous long distance conversation with the farm collie. Five minutes later he was awake again and throwing his blankie around.

I tried everything I could think of to induce sleep. Dim lights and soothing music? Not a hope. A Star Trek movie I must have seen dozens of times? Well, to be fair I did lose consciousness briefly during a couple of scenes, but not enough to qualify as sleep. I even tried a bit of reverse psychology and played through three back-to-back episodes of Game of Thrones I’d recorded that I really wanted to see (don’t you always nod off when you really want to stay awake?) But I saw them all, and the ad breaks too, every last minute of them. Susan fared even worse; she’d gone to bed with Titanic playing on the laptop. I honestly can’t think of a single time Susan has made it all the way through a movie – whether at home or even at the cinema – without catching some zzzzs, but this time she didn’t drop off once. Departure time arrived all too soon, and we headed off with almost no sleep in the bank.

The tiredness that had eluded Susan hit her full force by the time we reached Arrochar. She just couldn’t fight through it, and decided to nap in the car. Hardened by years of sleep deprivation as a software programmer, I was still good to go, but the question was this: should I go alone, leaving Beanie & Biggles in the car (easier and safer), or take them with me. Now this may sound silly to canine behaviorists and non-dog owners, but I love the idea that my two Beagles get to see wonders of nature at crazy times of the day when other doggies and their owners are tucked up in bed. Perhaps it’s true they’d get more enjoyment from sniffing a big pile of horse manure on a regular walk than seeing a sunrise from a mountain top, but here’s the thing: I didn’t have any horse poo to give them at that moment, but I could give them a sunrise. Decision made. The three of us headed out into the night.

Beanie and Biggles illuminated by my head torch

The moon was so bright I barely needed the head torch. As we headed up the winding path I could see a thick mist moving in across Loch Long, but it seemed to be low lying, so we pressed on. I started up a one-sided conversation with Beanie & Biggles as I often do on solo walks. We talked about the contents of the OMEK (this got my pups’ attention several times, even though I did my best to avoid trigger words like “chew” and “biccie”), I voiced my concerns over how the mist seemed to be chasing us up the mountain, and we discussed the difficult subject of which path-side features deserve to be peed on and which don’t. I’ve been observing Beagle peeing habits for more than seven years now and I still can’t reliably predict what objects are going to get a thorough dousing. Apparently neither can Biggles, because on numerous occasions he lifted his leg then thought better of it.

Just as we emerged from the trees – still a little distance from the huge Narnain boulders – the mist caught up with us and visibility dropped almost instantly to ten or twenty metres. Not good. If it didn’t get any higher we’d rise above it as we climbed to the summit; on the other hand if it kept coming, there’d be no point even going to the summit, and it would be unwise to make to the attempt. After a brief discussion with Beanie, who was all for continuing, I decided we’d carry on to the rock “staircase” at the back of The Cobbler and then re-assess. It was a good call, because by the time we reached our first giant-sized boulder the mist had fallen far behind us.

The Cobbler in silhouette, with an incredibly bright moon behind it, and no clouds or mist in sight

The climb up the staircase to the Cobbler’s central ridge is always the toughest part of the walk – it’s relentlessly steep – but it was even tougher this time; recent snowfall had gone through a series of thaw-freeze cycles leaving a tough, thick coating of super-slick white ice. I had some slip-on crampons with me, but fortunately there were just enough gaps in the ice to let us ascend without needing them. Or I should say that Biggles and I didn’t need them, because we sensibly dodged the white stuff while the Beanster seemed determined to play her own version of snakes and ladders.

When we made it to the ridge the view was just amazing. The sky was just starting to get those beautiful pre-sunrise colors, and the mist had covered everything for miles around. Only the streetlights glowing through the mist hinted at the town below us. I just had to take a couple of shots, but night-time photographs like these are not a quick process. The tripod has to come out, and multiple exposure-bracketed shots have to be taken, each one lasting several seconds at least. Throughout all this the camera must remain perfectly still, which means that any pesky Beagles attached to the photographer also have to remain moderately still. Amazingly Beanie and Biggles obliged, and as a reward they each received a biccie from the On Mountain Entertainment Kit.

That pause for the photographs left me feeling quite shivery. The slight wind and lower temperature from being higher up – coupled with all the sweat I’d released on the climb to the ridge – was cooling me pretty fast and I was looking forward to swapping my damp top for a nice dry thermal when we reached the summit. It was then that I realised I’d forgotten to bring the dog coats. Biggles has lovely thick fur and doesn’t seem to feel the cold much, but Beanie soon starts shivering when she’s still and really needs a coat to keep her core warm. I began considering solutions to this problem as I packed up and headed back onto the short path to the central peak of The Cobbler. I didn’t have a spare tshirt to put on her, and my sweatshirt and jacket would absolutely drown her (leaving me freezing cold into the bargain).

Just as we hit the top I remembered that I had a thermal balaclava stuffed in my camera backpack somewhere. If you’ve never fitted a balaclava onto a little wriggly unhelpful Beagle before, I can recommend it – it’s quite entertaining. It goes on over the head – just as with a human – but then you keep pulling until the furry bonce emerges completely through the face-hole. Next, you have to contort the Beagle in question sufficiently to get both front legs through the face-hole too, before finally pulling the whole thing further down to form a nice wind-proof body warmer. It may not be the height of doggy fashion, but it works.

Beanie in her balaclava, and Biggles completely au naturel, as they survey the view from the summit

After a few moments Beanie became fascinated with the moon, and sat quietly staring at. The Bigglet on the other hand clearly had no appreciation for such things, and got started on a digging project beside her.

While the two of them were occupied, I got a couple of shots of the rocky “eye” structure and the surrounding landscape. Technically Susan, myself and the Beagles have never actually made it to the highest point of The Cobbler. To do that, you have to wriggle through the gap in the “eye” and clamber up the other side to the very top. While that’s probably quite easy to do, the thing you have to remember, and the thing that the excellent Walkhighlands site points out, is that you also have to be able to climb back down. Apparently the view down from the top of the eye is the stuff that brown pants are made of, and every so often people freeze and need to be rescued. Definitely not for us!

As soon as I’d taken those shots, two little photographer’s assistants appeared and demanded payment. Biggles was the ring-leader here; he’s very good at recognizing patterns and when he hears the sound of the shutter, he knows it’s a good time to go begging for treats. They’d been so well behaved up this point that I figured they’d earned a raw-hide chew each. This was very well received, but caused a delay in getting more photos because as everyone knows, you can’t eat a chew just anywhere. Biccies, fish and lumps of chicken can be consumed on the spot, but a chew is different; you have to wander around a bit and find a good place to lay down and really savor it. If that means tieing up your dad and his tripod legs in your leads, then so be it.

Sunrise!

The next round of photographs were paid for with the fish cubes. They were pretty tasty, but some posed shots with the two B’s holding still and looking in the same direction cost an extra couple of biccies and another round of rawhide chews.

In between shots, photographers assistants often engage in a little digging. This new site looks promising, but who will be the first to make a new pothole on the top of The Cobbler?

Of course you can’t stay on the top of a mountain indefinitely, even if you have a really well stocked OMEK. I took one last shot, packed up my gear, rounded up my assistants and headed back down. The temperature rose quickly once we got below the summit; I started peeling off my extra layers and helped Beanie to wriggle out of my balaclava.

Dad, can we go soon? I’m getting seriously bored and I know you’ve run out of chews..

We made good progress until we reached the rocky, ice-covered stair section again. We picked our way around the ice for a bit, but by the time we were near the bottom I was running out of patience and my knees were complaining. For the final 30 metres or so, I resorted to the time-honored method of sliding down on my backside. Despite my best efforts to decelerate, I was moving faster than Beanie & Biggles could pick their way through the ice, and pulled by their leads, they started sliding too. For the last few yards all three of us were scooting down the slope on our bums together, and I can tell you that my anal glands felt much better afterwards. Scooting really works folks, believe it!