Traditional Ways

01/08/2005

What a relief to wake to a slightly better day, although I feel for the poor sods to the South of us who seem to have caught the full force of Heather’s predictions. It is Saturday and Dotty and I have been invited to shoot at Cornfield, so we set off for the hour long drive in high spirits. There is a fair amount of snow on the hills again, colder at 4 degrees, a strong Westerly with squalls of snow and hail. However, we get a blink of sun, the first for days that is very heartening. The motor gives us some trouble on the way; at least the fourteen year old brake pedal does not flop to the floor as sometimes happens in moments of crisis, this is part of the price of still insisting on a British built motor. We pass a lot of flooding, with Dalmally Golf Course under water, although we are not delayed. The shoot is a great success, we are well entertained, fed and watered amongst many old chums. Even at my age, with a bit of luck I manage to add to the bag, although Dotty’s dogs behave badly. Gone are the days of my youth when I would only have dreamnt of shooting in August or September waiting in Hill Butts with a good pair of guns and at least one trusty loader. Now at Cornfield my heaviest gun is a 16 with light shot, then I can normally manage a full day in comfortable Tweed, Leather and the Borsalino crammed on the pate. We dine with the Connors who, realising that a late night return to The Tower of Trollaigh is not wise, kindly put us up. Several Ardbegs in great comfort, but we are utterly exhausted by their stories of world travel and busy, successful livestyles. My sleep is somewhat interupted as dearest Dotty constantly complains of draughts and the hellish noise of thousands of mice above our ceiling. But what generous hosts. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.