Thursday, March 24, 2005
Long-a-go Perfect Camping
03/24/2005
Gail Magrain keeps the good weather forecasts for the west. Mainly dry, cloudy, mild. Who could ask for more as we sweep into an early Easter Weekend? I hope that we will experience the best weekend weather, although the downside is that our roads will be clogged and a rash of campers will jerk us from the serenity of winter to the rush of spring. Most of our camping visitors are perfect citizens and follow the code that we all adhered to, as enthusiastic youngsters, to camp in secret places, leaving no sign that we had ever rested there, following the romance of the Swallows and the Amazons, and, be assured that these campers are most welcome. Unfortunately, we also receive the attentions of the “neds”, average age nineteen, hand painted Fords and Vauxhalls, caps on back to front, out on a spree with cider and peer pressure, who are, let us face it just a bloody, litter ridden nuisance. I do hope that as they age, they will grow up to realise that along with freedom, the countryside brings responsibility, not just for wildlife and environment, but also for the few who still struggle to make a living here. I suppose that, that does beg the question, should we be here at all? My answer is, Yes! My secret hope is that a few of those “neds” will, one day come and help to regenerate our declining communities. Then they also will be most welcome. I pace the galleries that survived last night’s thunder and pensively nurse one Ardbeg, sentimental fool. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Sparks Fly
03/23/2005
Pleasant spring temperatures at sixteen degrees, soft south breezes and mostly dry, although the overhead conditions are a hundred shades of grey to almost black. The sun does show through in the afternoon, but the weather girls promise a band of rain for tonight, with a chance of thunder. Thunder means that we must go through an exhaustive safety checklist inside the Tower of Glen Trollaigh, not for us the protections of the city, here we are attached to miles and miles of high voltage cabling and resistance free copper telephone wires. Lightening strikes anywhere within a multi-mile radius can instantly blow modems, fax machines, telephones, cause structural damage to buildings, long power cuts and, of course set fire to the Tower or even the surrounding landscape. Being woken by a clap of thunder in the middle of the night is one of the few things that stirs me into instant action, straight out of bed to patrol and check the property and everything inside it. There can be a few lighter moments with lightening strikes. I remember with great satisfaction the day the farm had a visit from a department inspector who, in a rising storm insisted on carrying out an internal examination of a fine and long suffering cow. Old Betsy was leaning uneasily against a cattle crush whilst undergoing this indignity. The crush was touching the steelwork of the cattle shed. Lachie nudged me to look at the telltale St Elmo’s fire flickering around the farm transformer, and with a satisfying snap and crackle the inspector, who had foolishly become Old Betsy’s route to earth, arced across the cattle shed, sparks snapping from his shiny steel-capped boots. He was still smouldering as he drove off at speed, never to visit again. Oh, how we laughed! In fact, the memory of it prompts an Ardbeg momment. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.