Monday, February 26, 2007
UFO’s
02/26/2007
Dearest Dottie and I have been back in the classroom for a whole week, studying navigation in Ballachulish, which must be as good a place as any in which to sit my first exam for almost fifty years. I pass with flying colours, not surprising with my Senior Service background, although I suspect that dearest Dottie may have pipped me by a point or two. As with all modern exams you do not get any marks, one is either Good, Average, Fair or poor; one does not want to upset the dumbos after all! Apart from being a bit of a spree, this was all a ploy to stay one step ahead of looming euro legislation to introduce the International Certificate of Competence in boating. The Frogs are pushing for this as being good republicans; they have to have mountains of paperwork to justify the slightest tweak of anything official, although, in honesty, I doubt we will see many Greek or Croatian skippers waving their ICC before trafficking a few pale northern tourists on the salty Ionian or Adriatic for a euro or five.
Each day we had to make an early trip north through Glen Coe. We admired the new bridge at the gorge, which must be opened at any moment, as well as the tenacity of hill walkers, and climbers, who were up and bout even at that early hour. Our evening return proved more interesting as we watched a series of military aircraft fly low over Rannoch More, Hercules dropping parachutes, helicopters and fast jets, all of whom appeared to roll starboard and disappear south through Glen Trollaigh. By mid week the nervous mutts and I were keeping a watchful eye on the dark skies of the glen and our vigilance was rewarded as all the household enjoyed a close encounter with a UFO that drifted with a pale starboard green light up the glen, shadowed by a very twitchy Sea King helicopter, all lights ablaze at zero feet. When the Sea King saw us at the edge of the park, presumably with high tec night vision, both it and the UFO fairly took off at an unusual and extreme angle. It is an honor that aliens have chosen yours truly and the clan to represent normality in Scotland, or at the very least, the North Argyll Glens, a most satisfactory selection.
We have had a week of fair weather and the sun now kisses the Tower of Glen Trollaigh at 10.00 am, garden birds fairly twitter, badgers set about their spring digging and shapely deer hover on the glen floor for fodder and shelter, all is well in the glen and it not difficult to push aside paperwork and phone calls, to drink in the beauty of this special place unsurprisingly now on the “must see” list of little green men from Mars! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
,Poma Problems
02/18/2007
Jean Pomajalski has had a lot to answer for over the years. When first this engineer of dubious origin set up shop in Grenoble to satisfy the need for mad English to rise uphill without effort, prior to throwing themselves back down snow covered slopes with waxed Hazel boards nailed to their hiking boots, little did he realise that he, almost alone amongst men would chop The Baron Trollaigh down to size. I should explain that dearest Dottie and I have been inveigled out to Austria, within a mile or two of the very spot where we spent our idyllic honeymoon so many years ago, indeed almost to the anniversary date. As part of our preparations for this trip we were advised, in the absence of the white stuff in Glencoe, to visit Xscape near Glasgow where a two hundred meter indoor snow slope would give some much needed practice. Apart from the mile or so one has to walk from the motor, (now returned with some new wiring) and a large crowd of school children enjoying their mid term holidays, it was all remarkably civilized. However, Jean P had the last laugh as yours trurely fell on his arse half way up the first uplift powered by JP’s devilish wheels, wire, string and candle apparatus that has not changed for almost a century and is well know as highly dangerous to many an old telemarker. To add insult to injury, as I struggled to right myself from a snowy capsize, a sallow youth of about eighty years swept smoothly to a halt alongside and with great concern offered a hand to pull the Corpse Baronial to a vertical state. Such shame! However, after dearest Dottie recovered from a fit of hysterical laughter we made good use of our hour’s practice and several unused muscles received a mild workout. The rather painful climb from the changing rooms to the surface of the planet made it easy to forgo the “Senior Citizen’s Offer” of a £4 lunch in the Sno Bar that dearest Dottie had been eying up. Another visit is needed to fine tune the technique over the next couple of weeks.
Here in Glen Trollaigh there is a touch of spring. Temperatures soar to ten degrees, a light southerly zephyr gives good light from 7.15 till 6.00 and although the colours are generally dry browns, the snowline is pushed back; snowdrops, jasmine and broom appear. Secretive black birds break cover and crossbills present a concert of spring song. Surely it will not last for long! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.