Highlands and Islands: Our Group Has a Very Busy Day

May 28th was another un-Scottish sunny day, and the bulk of it was spent exploring the Black Isle, which is a really a peninsula between the Cromarty Firth and Moray Firth, narrow intrusions of the North Sea. One speculation is that the name 'Black' came from the black hair of Danish Vikings who settled it.

Our group of ten, plus guides Jonathan and Louise and van driver Jim, set off for our first stop, a 13th Century church that's recently been restored, called Kirkmichael.

In the firth there were parked oil rigs, awaiting repairs or another job.

Part of the cemetery.

Headstones to investigate.

Some with a sense of humor.

Here's an encompassing view.

Jonathan's arm was in motion.

The white-sided addition in the above photo was a place for memorials.

From the church to Cromarty town was but a short drive. We disembarked at Ecoventures, donned lifejackets over one-piece blue suits, warm and waterproof, and trooped down to the dock.

Off we went! At first we headed up the firth, away from the sea.

Joan and I were sitting in the front.

There was no platform left on this rig,

but the seabirds loved it.

The boat changed course and we headed towards a buoy.

This was not a navigational buoy, but a war grave, the spot where the HMS Natal, an armored cruiser, blew up on Dec. 30, 1915, with the loss of over 400 lives. The likely cause was defective ammunition.

We zoomed out towards the entrance to the firth, encountering a swarm of gulls targeting a school of small fish.

On either side of the channel were blockhouses.

The other side ...

The blockhouses guarded Cromary Firth during both World Wars, and were anchor points for a double layer of anti-submarine netting. Now, as evidenced by the white-wash on the rocks, they are a favorite nesting spot for many bird varieties, from cormorants to razorbills.

We cruised south as far as these structures and caves, then turned back towards the firth to inspect the bird colonies more closely.

As we dawdled past the colonies the cry rang out, "Dolphins!" Our boat swung towards these marine mammals, and respectfully paced them as they swam seaward, hunting. This is the northernmost pod of bottlenose dolphins in the world, and one of only two in the UK.

They do love to jump.

Whee!

Back ashore our group had a first-class lunch at the Sutor Creek Cafe, conveniently next door to Ecoventures. I enjoyed the Cullen skink, a culinary initiation for me. "Skink" is a Scots word for a shin or knuckle of beef, and Cullen is a Scotish village. Jonathan, our leader, said its name was attached to fish soup recipe for those so poor they couldn't afford to throw in a knuckle of beef.

Post-lunch we visited Cromarty town, first with Jonathan and then a wee while on our  own. The Old Brewery has been converted into a multi-purpose building:

Jonathan gave us some background on a repurposed church.

But just around the corner was the fascinating East Church,

with roots back to medieval times. (Click on the image to enlarge.)

Jonathan took advantage of the pulpit, designed to reflect the sermon into every crevice, for his talk.

The upstairs pews.

View from same.

Plaques and memorials hovered in various spots.

At this point we were free to wander. Some of our group opted for ice cream, but Joan and I revisited the East Church cemetery and then wandered down the street. The sign for the "big alley" -- Big Vennel -- featured a crest with three boars, which we considered auspicious.

Andrew Carnegie, the 19th Century Scottish-American steel magnate and philantropist, endowed Cromarty with the Hugh Miller Institute. Miller, born in Cromarty, was a self-taught 19th Century geologist, who tragically took his own life.

Our group reassembled, piled into the van, and set off back to the Coul House Hotel for dinner.


But the day was not yet over. After dinner those who were interested could participate in a trip to the Aigas Field Center, with hopes of seeing a pine marten or badger from an observation blind, also called a hide. Of course Joan and I boarded the van. She had briefly seen an American marten in Canada once, and I had never seen any variety.

A brief walk from the field center took us to the blind, where Jonathan deployed treats to lure a local pine marten, known as One-Spot, into view. 

We were advised to disarm shutter and all other camera noises and waited as the long, languid dusk at 57° N latitude deepened.

The stage was bathed in light of a color that wouldn't distract the wildlife. Now we, the audience, would struggle to stay awake waiting for the curtain to rise.

Time passed, at least two hours. Then One-Spot showed up, at 1o:24 by Jonathan's watch. She was there for a few moments but skittered away when sounds echoed up from the road.

Fortunately further patience was rewarded. One-Spot returned for more peanuts and honey.

We saw our first red deer, a small herd away up the hill. This was exciting at the time, but soon it would be commonplace. Badgers? They preferred to remain invisible.

After the drive back to Coul House Joan and I had one more task before going to bed. The requested luggage limit for the next five days/four nights away from Coul House was 35 pounds, more or less, and we both had partitioning of gear to perform. The stuff we didn't need for the next few days would be kept for us at Coul House. We fell exhausted into bed around 1:00.

Tomorrow, on to Lochinver.

Highlands and Islands, Arrival

In late May 2018 Joan and I began a "Highlands and Islands" Scottish sojourn offered by Natural Habitat Adventures. After two connections (Philadelphia and Heathrow) we landed at Inverness, minds somewhat muddled by no sleep but buoyed up with coffee. We were met by Warwick, who drove us to Contin and the Coul House Hotel, our group's gathering point. Coul House is a restored 1820s mansion.

No two rooms are the same.

We were able to check in well before the nominal time, and after dropping our bags in the room we consulted with Susannah (Susannah and Stuart own Coul House) about good places for an afternoon walk. Joan and I decided on the "island walk," where fields of bluebells might be in bloom. Susannah gave us a photocopy of a map plus directions, most of which snuck off into hidden niches of our memory.

She suggested that we not walk down the long  hotel driveway, but to the far side of the hotel, past some dumpsters, and then along a gated footpath on a farm's edge. From there Joan and I headed downhill past a field with a week-old colt and its mom, through a residential stretch, and came to the main road (A835).

We turned in the wrong way along the road. When we decided to try the other direction we came across a red post box on the sidewalk that we suddenly remembered was our target landmark. From there a path led down to a wooden footbridge that spanned the Black River, delivering us to "the island," which is formed by a splitting and recombination of the Black.

Joan and I turned left and followed a quiet road to the southern tip of the island, where the asphalt crossed the Black. We stayed on the island by continuing along another footpath. The far side of the island was quiet and gorgeous, with gorse and bluebells in bloom.

Our footsteps carried us in proximity to the riverbank through a carpet of color, including a few white bluebells.

We hadn't encountered anybody else, although this was clearly a popular walk.

Further along we came to an old church and its cemetery, which we visited (click on the image to enlarge).

Also on this tramp we saw a bird that was zooming repetitively from bank to bank, a buzzing metronome that Joan characterized as a "killdeer on meth." We had broken one of our own rules and set off without binoculars, leaving us no chance of identifying the creature, which was likely harvesting an insect hatch.

Joan and I had dinner by ourselves, having arrived a day early to buffer against airline problems. As we  were eating, two more of our group arrived, Candy and John. We've traveled with Candy several times before and wondered if John was mythical. He isn't. At least, her companion claimed to be John.

After the exemplary dinner Joan and I had to cope with the unusual (for Scotland) warm weather. We had already opened the window, even though no window in Scotland has an insect screen, and Joan disassembled the utterly unnecessary duvet so that we slept under only the sheet. Fortunately we weren't bothered by midges.

The next morning, fortified by a large breakfast, Joan and I set out on a longer walk that would include View Rock, Loch na Crann, and Rogie Falls. We consulted again with Susannah, who was very helpful for the first part of the hike: most of the way down the drive to the main road, not through a farm field path, turn right onto a trail through the "Five-Acre Wood," then on through a small housing development, and then on to the routes and logging roads marked on our map. Although it sounded convoluted it went smoothly; we navigated the housing development successfully if uncertainly.

The way narrowed to a trail and then expanded into a logging road; after a short while we took a wide path heading up to the right. An expedition of about a dozen students soon passed us. We wove between, on one side, land recently cleared by the Scottish Forestry Commission, and on the left a plantation -- replacement trees that had been planted in regular ranks.

A stump sculpture!

Probably not a product of the Scottish Forestry Commission

A turn in the path gave us an unobstructed view of a soaring red kite through our binoculars. This raptor was extirpated from Scotland but has been successfully reintroduced from other European lineages.

Soon Joan and I were approaching View Rock.

Trees had regrown and narrowed the view, a phenomenon we've encountered elsewhere, including the crest of the Appalachians along the Blue Ridge Parkway.

From View Rock we passed through a hodgepodge of thinned woods, plantations, occasional wild patches, and in sight of occasional clear cuts. Other hikers and especially off-road bicyclists were enjoying the sunny Saturday. (The paths and roads we were tramping today are also used by the Strathpuffer January 24-hour cycling marathon.) When we saw one earnest cyclist for the second time, we asked how many laps he'd done. He was working on his fourth of the day.

We swung by Loch Na Crann and observed a grey wagtail, some ducks, and blooming white water lilies, thanks to our binos.

From the outlet of the loch ran a wide logging road, which merged into the "main" logging road paralleling the river. Some of Scotland's investment in renewable energy poked above the skyline.

Then a short path down to Rogie Falls.

Many visitors park off the A385, on the other side of the river, and saunter down. That's the lazy approach.

Looking back from the bridge the stages of the salmon ladder are visible. (Click on the image to enlarge.) At this time of year was was not being diverted to fill the ladder.

The wooden structure is the approach to the bridge.

Taking a closer look at the upper falls.

I was entranced by the swirling patterns of foam beneath the bridge.

Is that a satellite photo of a hurricane?

Joan and I walked along the far bank searching for a good lunch spot, but between the sun and the steepness we found nothing suitable. A shoreline path also wound upstream from where we'd approached the falls, and it offered up a good sit.

Here we munched our energy bars.

We climbed back up to the logging road, and soon encountered Candy and John heading the other way. They had attempted to follow a path along the river to reach the falls, one which appeared on the map Susannah had given us but which, she warned, didn't really go all the way to the falls. Apparently some bushwhacking ensued.

Joan and I continued on the logging road and encountered a sign indicating a river-side path. We descended through mixed vegetation, much more agreeable than the logging road, coming close to but never seeing the river. Occasional bicyclists passed us. The path broadened and we emerged into a glade with picnic tables, parked cars and backhoes, temporarily out-of-service toilet facilities, and an asphalt approach road. Joan and I turned up a side path for View Rock and reached our original route.

When passing through the housing development we paused and Joan chatted with an amiable woman digging in her garden, hair in curlers. Everybody was maximizing the wonderful weather!

Our NatHab group gathered before dinner for an introductory session and briefing, except for Bob, who had been delayed by a pet emergency but would arrive that evening. Our leader, Jonathan, and his "shadow" on this trip, Louise, dispensed water bottles, advice, and an overview of the coming days. Jonathan also solicited stories from us about the places from which we'd come.

Tomorrow (May 28th), our group of ten would embark on our first adventure. It would start early and end late. Very late.