Auld Reekie

The alarm goes off early. I hit snooze. I then thing “did I hit snooze, or did I just switch the alarm off?” So I get out of bed, so I don’t fall asleep and miss my train. The alarm goes off when I’m shaving.

The trip down is good, and I listen to 2 1/2 albums on my HTC Desire, and the battery only goes down a wee notch.

As the train nears Montrose, I recall that it was the TGO Challenge dinner last night, and text Darren (he’d have been awake anyway), and say I’ll keep an eye out. I see one chap with rucksack on the platform, as he moves, there’s a flash of a t-shirt. He gets into the same carriage, and  sits near me. I don’t recognise him, and leave him to stare at the beautiful Scottish scenery. Thinking that he’s thinking “I walked across that”, resolves me to my Summer plans of getting out to the ‘Gorms. But I’ve been there before. As the train nears the end of the line at Edinburgh, I say a few words to him. It’s JH on his way back to Taunton. We’d had chats on forums in times past. Hand shakes hand, and he’s off to wait for his train, while I wait for an old University pal.

The rest of the morning/afternoon is spent chewing the fat and buying books. I’ve a cold and he’s got things on his mind, but it’s fun to catch up again. Waterstones is raided, and I apologise to the lass at the till for leaving big gaps in their Scots poetry section:

• “Gair nan Clarsach/The Harps’ Cry”, ed by Colm O Baoill, translated by Meg Bateman [Birlinn]
• “Duanaire na Sracaire/Songbook of the Pillagers”, ed Wilson McLeod and Meg Bateman [Birlinn]
• “Chuckies fir the Cairn”, ed Rab Wilson [Luath] – purely for the title

At the nearby gallery I get Walter Benjamin’s “The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction”, and Elisabeth Couturier’s “Talk about design”. I have a hankering for something new to get me motivated.

On the way back, I switch on GPS (for 5-10 minutes) and wifi and download app updates on 3g and reply to emails … and watch the battery life drain down to the orange warning. Switching off the power-hungry apps, I settle into 30 minutes of an audiobook on MortPlayer, and reading a PDF book. The battery life remains steady.

I do notice that the image above appears much sharper on the HTC Desire’s AMOLED screen than it does on the LG LCD monitor at home. I looked at file sizes and ruled out a quality difference, as the file on the phone and the file on the pc were identical copies. All I can think of is the difference in screen quality. Or maybe it is something else.

For a' that, an' a' that

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

Extract from Robert Burns’ "A Man's A Man For A' That" (1795) (source)

==

Do I need to write why this song has come to mean more to me over the years? A revolutionary work. For a’ that. A levelling piece. An’ a that. Words that resonate the world o’er through distant Vacana and speeches in lands that had newly gained their freedom in his lifetime. So have gude faith and read and think and ponder and re-interpret one Man’s work today, on his 250th birthday. That a mere farmer, born near to where I was born, wrote words that still echo through the centuries holding their truths to be self evident. Many still wish harm on the taxman, or the lad on the pull, or the squaddie’s love. And what about the age old dilemma?

Happy birthday, Mr Burns.

If you had difficulty with the Scots words, here’s a clip featuring Paola Nutini.

Richard Long

JONATHAN MANNING OF COUNTRY WALKING MAGAZINE POINTED OUT THE WORK OF RICHARD LONG. WORD ART, LAND ART, SCULPTURES. THOUGHTFUL. THANKS.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

Robert Burns, born 249 years ago; and with 11 months left to go until Christmas.

Here's an extract from the Bard:

"Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported in his right:
But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn;
Then Age and Want-oh! ill-match'd pair-
Shew man was made to mourn.

 

Source and prose in full

The Angry Corrie 72

I think I missed this TAC, so, whilst the Alpkit Filo dries from its wash of Nikwax down proof, and my 94-year old granny clings to life after breaking her hip trying to escape from the nursing home after months of fooling the staff into thinking that she could hardly move. I shouldn't have jokingly commented on how her escape pack was coming along after seeing the knotted rope by her bed. Cunning obviously runs in the family, or in that case, hobbles slowly.

The Angry Corrie Nr 72

From the pages of TAC: Poet, Simon Armitage, is in a band "The Scaremongers". Jim Waterton's now climbed his 746th Munro, leading to a discussion on Compleators. An evocative piece from Mick Furey. An insider's view of the recent Nevisport problems.

Hmm, I went to the Nevisport site and it looked like to old site. In the "about us" section there was nothing about changes in ownership. It was only when I googled the trading address of 149 Vermont Street, did it come up with "Trespass".

Back to TAC: There's a review of "Seachd", which I've not seen. I don't know if I can honestly add a "yet" to the end of the previous sentence, as I rarely get to see the filums in the cinemar. A review of BBC's "Mountain". Ooh, the 2007 ed of Peter Drummond's must have "Scottish hill names" is also reviewed. I've got the old edition, and don't know if I can justify buying the new version. I'll need to compare them, and I doubt that Tisos will be happy for me to do that. Maybe splash out on a copy of "The Wild Places" by Robert Macfarlane instead.

I'm amazed at the depth of research and diversity in the "Quotes", excellent coverage of old and new media. Enjoyed the empathic article on social etiquette by Davie Cunningham: "You say hello on the hills but not when it's a walk in the park. Doing a circuit of Dun Rig from Peebles, it's a socially tricky skill working out the changeover. Generally, if they're walking their dogs, you've crossed the line."

And finally, I'll need to read properly and delve back into the "Wildernista" that Oliver Francks commented on.

A packed magazine, with more than that for folk too. To be perfectly honest, for me this was a longer read than Trail and TGO combined.

Blake 250th

On the 28th of November, it was the 250th anniversary of William Blake's birth. Looking through his works, to find one of the many relevant to my own experiences, I found the poem below on Project Gutenberg.

I was going to add a photograph of a teddy bear, as that was the image that jumped to my mind. But I couldn't be bothered. In most of the world's great religions, the wilderness and Nature play an important part of their development and Enlightenment.  Not the cities and the crowds, the hustle and the bustle of modern life. No wonder there is friction. Will this ever pass? Not in my life, and not in yours.

THE DIVINE IMAGE

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is man, His child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart;
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine:
And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.

The Wave of the Cloud Becomes Calm

Ulgoods.exblog.jp 

photos noted, 富士山,

Translation poetic.

Aonghas MacNeacail

Caught a program on BBC2 Alba the other day about Aonghas "Dubh" MacNeacail. It fulfilled its mission statement and I've now added Angus' name to my mental shopping list. Sadly, only if there's subtitles for people like me, who are culturally lacking in their historical language.

Link - Birlinn; Wikipedia; interview.

I didn't know that he co-wrote Seachd (a film that I mentioned in a previous post). Hey ho, it's a small world.

My Prison - STC

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison ! I have lost
Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness ! They, meanwhile,
Friends, whom I never more may meet again,
On springy heath, along the hill-top edge,
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that still roaring dell, of which I told

From "This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Link

εστησε

Milton's Revenge

Thursday evening. I shouldn't have mentioned Milton in previous post. Turns out i did bring along the taste of Milton, having forgotten to properly rinse the sterilising tablet taste out of my hydration bag. Doh! If i don't get luck with text signal, happy birthday Mum.Tabbing it up a private road to get to my jumping off point for tomorrow. I can see many of the 5 munros that i have to get up by 1pm on Saturday.

En Route, the Flying Scot

Filled with festival folk, the train pushes on.
Past village and town, iron angel, cafe boat.
The talk inside is of plays and band,
as removed from the land as this tent inner fan.

On to the border the sun is still flickering,
the Welsh rockers stop bickering
about names hysterical.
The people before talked of Shakespeare and rhyme.
But they left the carriage when we crossed the Tyne.

Over the Tweed, we're into Berwick station:
is this the land of the Scot or still the Angle's nation?
We're into the Southern Upland, where coins merk the Way.
But the talk is of Chuck Norris, straight or gay.
Talking more shite, not watching the view.
No thoughts of Nature in any but the few.
The male train continues to Waverley terminus,
where Scott and his prose is ignored by the detritus.

Lakes - Sunday am

And then he said, "How sweet it were
A fisher or a hunter there,
A gardener in the shade,
Still wandering with an easy mind
To build a household fire and find
A home in every glade.

What days and what sweet years! Ah me
Our life were life indeed, with thee
So pass'd in quiet bliss,
And all the while" said he "to know
That we were in a world of woe,
On such an earth as this!"

Text source: William Wordsworth "Ruth"

Good Luck TGOC 07

Good luck and best wishes to this year's TGO Challengers:

May all your rivers be low, ticks be found, midges be repelled, Lairigs be snow-free, rocks be stable and nights be merry.

Bloggers and other online folks going (I've made a couple of TGO assumptions there, which I may be wrong in):

• http://www.andyhowell.info/trek-blog/
• http://whitespider1066.spaces.live.com/
• http://www.cameronmcneish.co.uk/
• http://www.auchnarrow.demon.co.uk/
• http://alansloman.blogspot.com/
• http://www.peewiglet.com/backpacking.htm
• http://www.theoutdoorsstation.co.uk/

As Challengers begin to make their way to the starting points, through crowded train stations and airports, these lines from Mr Burns seem appropriate:

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;
My heart's in the Highlands, whereever I go.

A Greater Tomorrow

Had an early lunch, and went to the art gallery to see the exhibition "A Greater Tomorrow - Aberdonians in the Spanish Civil War" (link). Nineteen people from Aberdeen joined the International Brigade to fight the fascists in 1930's Spain. Five died over there: one at Gandesa, and four on the Ebro.

There was a good audio interview with John Londragan, who served on an anti-tank gun. He was at the battle of Jarama (recalled in the Woody Guthrie song), and talked about being up on Mosquito Ridge.

The full poem by volunteer Bob Cooney is reprinted on the wall by the blood-soaked Republican flag (link):

Seven and twenty years? That long?
It seems but yesterday
We left that war torn hill above Gandesa.
Is it perhaps because I'm growing old
That thought now skips so lightly down the years?
And the travail of a quarter century
Melts in the vision of those great days
Those days we lived and knew that we were living

We also say
Hasta La Vista - Madrid!

There is so much we want to see once more
We will stroll in the Puerto del Sol
And the Ramblas of Barcelona
We will cross the Ebro and drink with our friends in Mora
Friends who will be free!
We will look at them and at each other
And each of us will think
"This is why we came in '36"
And if we live to be a hundred
We'll have this to be glad about
We went to Spain!
Because of that great yesterday
We are part of the greater tomorrow

My Way

Extracts from Liz Lochhead's poem "My Way", from the book of poems "The Colour of Black and White". This is because Darren's not well, and he may have caught the cold from me. I can be infectious.

Now - if you want to lie back and relax, WD, you'll find the audio version here:

I only did it for a laugh
I did it because I'm a fool for love
I did it because push had come to shove
I did it because - my age - I've nothing to prove

But I did it
I did it
I did it
Yes I did it

I did it to go out in a blaze of glory
I did it to make them listen to my side of the story
I only did it to get attention
I did it to get an honourable mention
I did it to put an end to it all
I did it for no reason at all

But I did it
I did it
I did it
Yes I did

Night Song

Cameron Mcneish's diary entry about artists and mountains is worthy of a read (as usual). By coincidence, I heard a Radio 4 programme from The Wordsworth Trust library at Dove Cottage. Poems were being read by local lad, Ian McKellen, in the local accent. I caught the BBC series a couple of years back (IIRC) on The Romantics. It blew me away. Revolutionaries.

I used the series with my students. Grab a verse from a poem, and animate it in PowerPoint (or whatever prog we're using). Reactions often change as they read words written 200 years ago that express emotions that they too recognise. "So this kid doesn't want to be in school either?", realised one lad after asking what a "bower" was.

The mountain art on Skye looked atmospheric and reminded me of seeing recordings of Aida being played near the Great Pyramids. I'm not sure that lowering opera singers off the cliffs of St Kilda will be remembered in 200 years time, but each to their own. But is it not cheating if the folk can't get down themselves? No doubt there'll be a series of programmes on BBC4 (or YouTube) about it in future.

--

Finally got round to joining the Mountain Bothies Association. Costing all of £15 for the year, it is well worth it for the shelter they provide, and the warm sense of delight that such an association still exists in these days of cynicism and self-centred anarchy.

--

I hope this isn't an indication that the sultry-sounding Rose is letting herself go...

"For legs, underarm bikini line etc." [source]

There I was, seeing what else I might 'need' to get from BPL.co.uk, and noticed that 'eat shoots and leaves' moment.

Rab Survival Zone bivvy bag (described as a "sleeping bag cover") and travel-razor ordered.

--

Not only was it being sported at the OM Meet last weekend, but Mont-Bell got (another?) mention in TGO this month. I'll need to have a nosie round their site. As I can barely write "Totoro" in kanji, I'll have to use the English version.

--

Channel 4 are starting a series today about survival, called "Born Survivor: Bear Grylls". I'll give it a watch and see if it is worth giving up an hour of my life to be educated in surviving in the jungles of Costa Rica. The gent has been in the UK Special Forces, climbed Everest after breaking his back in a parachuting accident, and explored the Arctic. Golly. That's some list of credentials.

BBC1 are starting a new series of "Castaway". In New Zealand this time. I have some painting to watch instead.

Now...why not combine the two, and have a real "castaway" with survival experts. And guns...sorry, Battle Royale slipped in there.

--

Bored with reggae, I've switched to "Native American Legends". I note with interest that there is a 3-cd version too.

On my iPod, I have Michael "Kickingbear" Johnson's podcast, "Indigenous Peoples Music". He has a mix of audio and video, and a selection of modern and traditional Native American music and related interviews. Link to Kickingbear's blog. I'd love to see the video he produced of Schemitzun. I'll have to make do with YouTube for now.

Burns' Night

Happy birthday to the National Bard, Mr R. Burns. We humans don't change in emotions, and his work, like so many of the previous generations speaks across the ages. Here's a few that people may be less familiar with.

 

---My Heart's In The Highlands [1]---

1.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valour, the country of worth!
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Chorus
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe -
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go!

2.
Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below,
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods!

 

---I'll Go And Be A Sodger [2]---

O, why the deuce should I repine,
And be an ill foreboder?
I'm twenty-three and five feet nine,
I'll go and be a sodger.
 
I gat some gear wi' meikle care,
I held it weel thegither;
But now it's gane - and something mair:
I'll go and be a sodger.

 

---Epigram On Parting With A Kind Host In The Highlands [3]---

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er,
(A time that surely shall come,)
In Heav'n itself I'll ask no more,
Than just a Highland welcome.

Escape to, or, Escape from?

To sacred hills, woods and groves, 
To sacred trees and shrines 
Do people go, gripped by fear.
But they are not safe refuges, 
Not the best refuge. 
Not by going there 
Is one freed from all suffering.

Part of yesterday's vacana that I pondered about last night after a couple of days back in the granite.

Earlier I'd seen a teenage girl, not even breaking her stride, kick out at a telephone box. "Two days back in the city, and I'm already annoyed by the way people behave". The 20mph speed limits in the city centre haven't made any difference, don't seem to be enforced, and just seem to be money wasted on signage. Do I want to escape from this, or escape to somewhere where people have more respect for their surrounds and society?

People have talked about the spiritual nature of the wild places, and tying it in with beliefs of old (actual or re-invented). I usually just have more time to think about things when I'm out walking - it's not the places, it's the lack of distractions. Then I often find that the big hills, river crossings, or walking carefully over scree, helps me get things into perspective, and the worries shrink away.

"No-one took the minutes of the team meeting before Christmas...so what, there's a golden eagle hovering. Oooh."

In the same way that the chav kicking a telephone kiosk doesn't care about me, neither does the landscape. It doesn't provide a stunning valley for me to appreciate because it gets some sense of pride in return, it is just nature, geology, erosion, weather, wildlife - in the raw. Uncaring in the main, or in the case of wildlife, just trying to get on with life (which it'll do once the sodding humans have gone past).

So, in the words of the adage "wherever I go, there I am". There is no escape from feelings, but the wild places allow me to get some 'head space' to put them in to perspective, show how unimportant some things are, and how important other things are to me. The estimated times in trekking books are never enough for me when I'm solo, as I can stand for 10 minutes just watching a herd of red deer retiring into a forest, noting the way that the stags watch the threat (me on the other side of the glen). I'll watch a bird flap from one rock to another and wonder what it's going after as there are no insects around. I used to be able to 'people watch' in the urban environment: now I just get annoyed by the attitude of most people, so I can't do that any more.

I mainly get annoyed by my own attitude.

To me, the urban environment is uncivilised and wild; many of the inhabitants are soulless beasts, hunting goods in the shops that never make them happy.

Humans are spiritual people. We can't help but take our beliefs out into the world. That doesn't make the wild places spiritual places, just places that people go to get in touch with their problems or memories.

I caught a petal fallen from cherry tree in my hand.
Opening the fist
I find nothing there. *