29th September 2000

Dear All,

Shaun(etta) is no more! No we haven’t done away with her, I haven’t touched a lamb chop for ages honestly. Readers of my diary will know we had unwelcome visits from a show jumping sheep belonging to a neighbour. Don’t get me wrong, I love sheep, it’s just the ‘things’ they leave behind and the tide mark around the white walls of our cottage from having a good old scratch I object to. Rod’s streaking didn’t do the trick, so more drastic actions had to be taken, a fence was required. Enlisting the help of our neighbour Davey (I told you they were nice) we soon had the job done, we no longer ‘feared to tread’.

All this action took place a month or so back, another of our whirlwind weekends. It was just a ‘jobs’ run from here in Essex, which I thought would make boring reading, although we did have Hamish, and my niece and nephews’ Boxer puppy Isla along with us, but that as they say is another story.

However we have just returned after a ‘proper ‘weeks holiday, if you discount the plumber and mini JCB working away outside! We had intended to go with the girls and Hamish to the Outer Hebrides first, Rod had more to do on his family tree. An Uncle had died in South Uist last year, and being childless the croft had passed on to someone else. This person was on the Aunts side (she died last year too, hope it’s not something in the water) so wasn’t a full relation, just a second cousin twice removed on your Aunts side who only married into the family. That’s the kind of mind boggling thing that I can never get the hang of, or work out exactly who’s who, or where exactly is their place in the family. You just nod wisely and move on. Anyway we were told there might be some old family papers and photos shoved in a shed somewhere, and were hot foot to rescue them. Ferries were booked, good old Caledonian MacBrayne, from Uig to Loch Maddy in North Uist. The hotel booked, the Lochboisdale in Lochboisdale South Uist. A route and timetable made, belongings mustered. It was just like an army manoeuvre, we even bought one of those plastic aerodynamic top boxes for the car roof. Anyone who knows us would understand the need for one of these! We just overlooked one thing. The petrol tax protest!

We had scouts out looking for supplies, we searched the Internet for information, we phoned garages. Not a drop to be had. Reluctantly we were forced to cancel the ferry, and the hotel, and just hoped by the end of the week we could still make it to Abriachan. Thankfully the protest ended and we made it up the road.

The weather was again glorious, you never expect it, but it is just so wonderful when the sun shines. Hamish was in his element, so many smells, so many nooks and crannies to explore, so many rabbits to chase. He never catches any of course, only in his dreams.

The previous visitors, according to the book, had all enjoyed themselves, and left nice messages and recommendations, a great start to my week. The girls went off on the quad bike, I made a cup of tea, went up onto my rock to sit and gaze at just the most fantastic view, one I could never tire of. The loch twinkled like a million diamonds, as small white clouds puffed across the blue, blue sky, God was in his heaven, and so was I.

There was logging to be done the next day, ready for the winter. We buy our supplies from The Abriachan Forest Trust at a small cost. I believe I mentioned them before, they are doing some marvellous work, having purchased our surrounding forests by fund raising and grants, enabling the community to enjoy these in the safe knowledge that they will stay that way for ever. Woodland paths have been laid, so has a boardwalk to a bird hide built near our local loch, Loch Laide, and a reproduction built, of an old bronze age hut of the kind that was found in the glen many, many years ago. This later work is all carried out voluntarily by the villagers, fund raising at our own local Highland Games, dances, barbecues, firework nights, etc. At the moment the village hall and car park are being extended and renovated, so much is the demand by local groups, again a lot of this work is by volunteers, where would we be without them.

On the left is Loch Laide, and to the right is Clare and Hamish exploring the Bronze Age Hut

Whilst the logging progressed, with the help of a mound of bacon sandwiches, I was closeted in the conservatory (I have my fingernails to consider!) slapping a coat of terracotta paint onto the back wall, which sun had faded badly. Faye by this time was also worried about her nails, and as the bacon sandwiches were all gone, she came in to give me a hand. The job, two or three cups of tea later, was finished, the logs logged, so what do girls do then, we went shopping! Rod was left in his element, otherwise known as a steading, (a small Scottish barn) he spends so much time in it pottering about, we are threatening to buy him a kettle and armchair, then he never has to come in!

Monday saw the digger man arrive, or Mick the Dig, as we christened him. He was to clear away a build up of earth between our steading and the ‘big rock’, which was causing damp to build up in the walls, so eventually they would crumble. We are anxious to preserve this lovely old building which was once the original farmhouse on our land, dating from the 1700’s. The old fireplace can still be seen at one end, whilst livestock would be kept at the other end. The walls are two feet deep, and it still has the old corrugated iron roof, so typical of these Scottish buildings.

Mick the Dig!

Our new dishwasher arrived that afternoon, along with the plumber to install it. After much sucking of teeth and chin rubbing, he concluded we needed a new ‘waste’, which surprise, surprise he didn’t have, he’d have to come back Thursday. He did however have time for a ‘quick’ cup of tea, and a lean on the shovel with Mick the Dig and Rod.

Tuesday the electrician came, I forgot to mention him. He was to put in a point so that the dishwasher could have power, and we could use it to wash dishes, only of course, it wasn’t plumbed in, because we didn’t have the right waste etc. etc. Fortunately he didn’t have time for tea, or a quick lean on the shovel, so once the point was in, he was off.

Mick was progressing well, Davey had come up to join in a bit of shovel leaning, not wanting to feel excluded. Suddenly disaster struck, beneath the soil Mick was clearing must have been a water pipe, because we had acquired a large garden fountain. Shovels were hastily pushed aside in favour of raincoats, as the need to plug the deluge became paramount. Mick was obviously prepared for such an eventuality, unlike our plumber, and rushed to his truck for connectors and the like. Scrambling around in the growing mud pie, he and Davey managed to mend the leak, but not before poor Davey had slipped into the gushing water and was drenched! It is really very difficult going to someone’s aid when you are helpless with laughter. Fortunately he didn’t want to take himself into my kitchen to clean up, but squelched off home, he did manage to see the funny side of it, not sure his wife would when she saw the state of her kitchen. After that, bacon sandwiches and mugs of tea were definitely needed, and we weren't even wet, it’s the shock you know. The rest of the day passed quietly after that, quite enough excitement for a wee while.

A day off was called for, we left Mick to it, prised Rod away from the steading, and took the road even further north. Clare has always had the notion to buy an old church, with pews if possible, to convert into living accommodation. So off we went to look at a…warehouse! Admittedly it looked out over a harbour, and seemed to have possibilities, bad news being it was the other side of Wick, and quite a way from us. Nothing daunted we set off, the road further up follows the coast, and as the Americans would say, the waves crashing in on the rocks were ‘awesome’. We stopped to walk Hamish along the beach at Brora, a strong wind was coming in off the sea, the breakers so high they dwarfed us. Bracing, was the kindest word to call it, the roar of the wind taking our voices away from us. Back in the car we continued on our way. Magnificent castles hugged the coast in several places, a particularly spectacular one is at Dunbeath, privately owned by an American millionaire we were told. That reminds me I must get some lottery tickets.

Through Wick, a bustling little town, and on to Keiss. We found the warehouse, and by now the wind and waves were heaving up and over the harbour wall. Yes it did have character, but it needed so much work, and was so far north even Clare admitted defeat, a church afterall is "what she really wanted".

Back home, that same wind was scattering the leaves everywhere. A bough had come off the big tree, (more logs!) but everything else appeared to have stuck fast, I’m glad to say. Not feeling in the mood to cook we took ourselves down into Inverness for a meal. Men in kilts were everywhere, there is nothing like a man in a kilt. The SDLP annual convention was in full swing, as were the kilts, and a ‘night on the town’ was in full progress. Our table looked out over the river, and it was lovely to see all the delegates dressed in their finery, wandering over the bridge from their hotels. We’ll never know how they wandered back!

Our week was disappearing fast, doesn’t it always? The storm had gone next day and the sun resumed its place in the sky. Mick had finished, and we were left to ourselves again. The girls and I took the car and went up the glen over the back road to Beauly. It has the most fantastic views over wide-open spaces towards Ben Wyvis, often snow capped quite late in the year but not today. Beauly is a refined little town, often winning the ‘Flowers in Bloom’ yearly competition. We all love the ‘Made in Scotland’ shop there. It is full of beautiful and interesting things, great books, traditional clothes, and of course all made in Scotland. For foodies, try the shortbread, Faye, something of an expert on shortbread, says it’s the best she’s ever tasted, and there is a small restaurant for more serious eating.

Three or four purchases later, including a book about Abriachan, and I’m chuffed to say a Christmas present, we escaped. Some men were fly-fishing in the Beauly river so we stopped and admired their skills for a while. Looks easy, bet its not. We came back via Drumnadrochit, still quite busy with tourists, and stopped in the lay-by to talk to Murdo Urquhart (fabulous name) who has played his bagpipes for many years here, to the backdrop of Loch Ness and Urquhart castle. Many of you will I’m sure have seen him and possibly photographed him. He certainly looks the part, smartly dressed in his kilt.

Friday arrives, our last day before travelling home. The time always flies by. It has been a good week, jobs all done, although it was a shame we didn’t get over to the Islands, we’ll save that until next year. Visitors to the cottage have still to arrive until the beginning of November, hope the weather stays good for them. It’s always a risk coming late in the year, but if you are lucky with the sun, the autumnal colours are so special. The aerodynamic box goes back on the car, and we have a last run on the quad bike up to Corryfoyness, (nice walk or ride past us which follows the ridge line above Loch Ness.) We are lucky, as it’s twilight to see several young deer, their horns still covered in velvet. They are a little distance off and didn’t appear to hear us, so we watched them for several minutes before they moved off. A special moment to end our week.

The next time we'll be in M�r Carraig as a family will be Christmas. A favourite time for us with snow and log fires, some of our family join us for New Year, and a good time is always had by all. The alcohol helps of course, mulled wine and brandy to keep out the cold!

This thought tempers our mood as we leave, we’ll be back soon M�r Carraig, promise.

Hamish on M�r Carraig