Happy Landings
06/11/2008
High powered spotlights blink on the ridges at night, as neighbouring Keepers stay on top of predator control. This reassuring rural practice is poorly understood by urbanites, however I am pleased to note that even the fluffiest of organisations such as the RSPB are beginning to agree, all be it through gritted teeth, that it is the only way to save our many ground nesting birds and a few waders, to say nothing of checking the ever advancing tide of “non natives” such as that grizzly grey squirrel.
We have had our own set of twinkling lights in Glen Trollaigh as we welcomed the traditional and down right dangerous night landing by Great Aunt Amelia Trollaigh as she completed her eightieth annual Gypsy Mothing around the relatives. As Lachie and I hurried to set out the landing lights along the Tower of Glen Trollaigh driveway, we could already hear Great Auntie putt-putting overhead, the last light was only just in place when GAA touched down and buzzed to a halt. As I waited to embrace the old bat, and as dearest Dottie hurried to assess the damage to the greenery, I was very surprised to receive a dashed painful blow to the Baronial bounce from a foul smelling flying helmet, accompanied by a loud diatribe casting some doubt on my levels of intelligence. GAA claimed that we had set out the lights arse about tit, so rather than landing conventionally into the breeze, the dear had had to struggle with18 knots up the chuff, and which apparently is not “a good thing” aeronautically speaking. There was a lot of huffing and muttering about Batan in the winter of ’32, however a stiff dram seemed to calm things down, and for me too.
Later, as she sprawled comfortably in the library with her boots insensitively resting on my desk, I learned we are to see a bit more of the GAA as she is tickled pink to have landed the post of Main Pilot with Highland Airways for the new Connel, Colonsay and Coll service, dearest Dottie twitched as Amelia suggested that a suite at The Tower of Glen Trollaigh would be just the ticket for a month or two. Her picture is on page 9 of the Oban Times to prove it, although she has had to use a false name and a serious physog make-over from J Graham & Co of Inverness to get around the problem of being a decade or three over the maximum age.
We have been without any serious rain for many weeks and plenty of midges keep the less desirable type of campers on the move; however the lack of water also keeps the fishermen away from the West Coast Rivers, where outboards are being removed and wheels fitted to loch boats. The occasional hopeful cove pulls up beside his favourite pool; how painful it is to witness his desperate look as the chap views the trickle on the riverbed. Mind you the conditions have produced a splendid crop of wild flowers, with Orchids and Cotton spreading further than I can recall, and soft Bog Myrtle fills the air. We really could do with a week of heavy rain, “don’t say that” declares a farming neighbour, “you’ll turn the taps on”! That’s the whole bally point! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.