Loopallu - ullapooL

Loopallu is Ullapool backwards and this small boutique music festival is held each year at the Broomfield Campsite, Ullapool on the last weekend in September. This was not our first visit to Ullapool this year but it was our first ever to Loopallu.

The tickets were booked in April before any acts were announced, in fact the acts were not announced until August. The headliners were Shed Seven, The Undertones and The Vatersay Boys - mmm, not too keen on any of them, but it was an adventure, so what the hey.


The festival opened at 4 pm on Friday and we thought we had made good time to roll Bessie into camp at 2pm. Not so. The site was already crammed with caravans and campers, but in the end we were pitched in a good spot with grand views to Loch Broom. behind us tents were being whipped around in the high wind. I am amazed so many stayed up.

Ullapool Pipe Band

Ullapool Pipe Band braced the gale and opened the festival. The first act we saw was Model Aeroplanes, a young raw band with OK sounds but nothing unique. Baby Strange was similar but with an hypnotic quality I couldn't pin down. The best of the afternoon was Public Service Broadcasting - an entertaining multi media outfit; two guys with drums and guitar/banjo and lots of technology. Their interpretation of Auden's  Night Mail was spectacular. We looked in on The Undertones unimpressive set. I was amazed at how much weight Fergal Sharky had gained, then Colin told me Fergal left the band years ago.

In the beer tent Rythmnreel played in-between acts. A fusion of rock (old guys) and Scottish traditional (youngsters), this accomplished band gave us among other things Jimi Hendrix mixed with Fullsceilidh Spelemannslag and a Deep Purple/Treacherous Orchestra cocktail.

Find Bessie

Back at the main stage Twin Atlantic were taking so long to have too many guitars tuned and retuned that the bored audience began a rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. This was the highlight of the night and I suspect the band waited until the crowd ended with a rousing applause for itself before they dared to come on stage.

Utah Saints were headlining Friday and did not appeal so we went 'up the toon' to The Argyll Hotel where three piece Trad band Tweed played a fringe event. The packed bar rocked into the wee hours. On the way home we were sorry to see so many tents flattened by the wind and were glad we had a cosy camper to crash in.

Festival with a view

Day two began at noon.  One of the festival side tents was screening short Gaelic films (with subtitles) made by young film makers. Slumped in squidgy bean bags we watched a good selection of high standard and very entertaining films.

The in-between band was The Revellers followed by Davy and The Hosebeast - very Nineties.  It was sunny outside so it was possible to sit on the grass and listen rather than cringe at the dad-dancing happening inside - all good fun.

The highlight of the festival was the Alabama Three Unplugged set. They were amazing and the only band I was tempted to listen to again.

The festival was a great success; the location, the organisation and facilities could not be faulted. The crowds were good fun and happy. The selection of acts let the show down for me. There was some very experienced acts but many had the same format and the whole festival was too heavy on the testosterone; of all the bands we saw only three featured women - the two fiddlers in Rythmnreel and Aurora Dawn from Alabama Three.

Ben More Coigach ridge in the distance

Summer of War II

Bessie’s first trip to Europe was always destined to be France,  Colin and I are both confirmed Francophiles and being unsure of the roads or how the van would handle on the other side we thought Normandy was a good bet.

Apple Orchard

Once the destination was decided my expectations were simple.   Sample again the delights of France and see the Bayeux Tapestry.  Picardy would be a bonus, but I am ashamed at my poor French geography.  I had no idea Bayeux was close to the D Day landing beaches and that Bayeux was the first city of the Battle of Normandy to be liberated. 

Road to Rouen

 The ferry sailed from Portsmouth to Le Harve, and on the way south we stopped off in Jumièges, a little town in an almost peninsula on the Boucles de la Seine (The Buckles), where the Seine makes its final snake and wind before emptying into the Channel.

We booked into the excellent Camping de la Base Loisirs for two nights. We loved cycling round the quiet roads, through apple and plum orchards and watching the little ferries (bacs) cross back and forth on the Seine as part of the road network so we stayed another night.

The town of Jumièges boasts a cathedral with links to William the Conqueror, and although it is a ruin it attracts some interest, but the buckles are a detour so the town was quiet.  One evening we ate in a small bar on the cycle back to the camp site.  The owner was a cheery lady with few teeth and a walk with a hobble. She spoke no English but corrected our bad French with zeal. She impressed on us the delights of pomme de terre à la maison and what she brought us to accompany the steak was the best chips I've tasted since my mum threw out her chip pan.

Bayeux

But Calvados beckoned and after a short stay in a very busy, Brit filled site at Le Brévedent, where the kids seemed to be competing in 'who is the loudest brat competition', we headed for Bayeux. 

The Municipal site on the edge of town was spacious and the pretty town was only a river path cycle ride away.  The weather had been hot and sunny so far but the wind picked up and ominous clouds gathered so it was no hardship to head for the museum and the Tapestry.

River Cycle

The Bayeux Tapestry is actually an embroidery, thought to be commissioned around  the year 1070 and is over seventy metres in length. It depicts the history of William the Conqueror's claim to the English throne culminating at the battle of Hastings.  The regimented visit snaked along a queue rope with the rest of the tourists after being handed an audio just before entry to a darkly lighted room that held the tapestry.  This audio is supposed to aid your progress, describing each panel as it came into view, but the plumby English commentator races through the story and only tells the half of it. On each panel there is the main action but along the bottom sub plots emerge, some are quite pornographic in nature, this is ignored and after only ten minutes we were back where we started feeling slightly cheated. It is possible to go back before leaving the gloom but I was blinking in daylight before I knew it and it was then too late.

Caen Graffiti

The next day it poured so we took the train to Caen. Although known for being the City of William the Conqueror it also featured heavily in the Battle of Normandy and huge parts of it were destroyed during that time. The Château de Caen is well worth a visit, with ruined battlements for clambering over and liberal pieces of artwork to view. There is a fine memorial there for the soldiers lost in the liberation.

Caen Liberation Memorial

Back in Bayeux I was determined not to leave before paying my respects to the three thousand plus service men and women buried and remembered in the British Commonwealth War Cemetery. It was moving and I felt a real sense of gratitude to them. I feel the French do too. The liberating allies were celebrated everywhere in the region. 

Bayeux British War Cemetery

We left Bayeux in a squall and headed for the landing beaches, Omaha beach was a blur of high waves and flapping flag poles – we didn't stop. The weather had improved when we reached Pointe du Hoc the highest point between Omaha beach and Utah beach, where US Army Rangers climbed the cliffs and captured the position. And by the time we reached Utah Beach the sun was out. Although busy with tourists the beach was quiet.   Someone had laid a cellophane wrapped bunch of yellow roses randomly on the beach -a touching gesture and yet for me this wasn't a sentimental journey.  With the exception of my uncle who was lost in Italy, I have no connection to WWII. Maybe it was the John Wayne effect.

Looking out from battlements, Pointe Du Hoc

We travelled north from there to the little commune of StVaast de la Hougue.  Famed for its oysters and its twin Vauban forts this was a must destination. For some reason I love Vauban forts. I suspect it is their location round the fringes of France that attracts me rather than their architecture although that is pretty impressive too.

Tatihou, island fortress

Vauban is France’s most famous military architect.  He designed and built forts during the reign of Louis XIV making Frances borders more secure.   The twin forts at St Vaast were for keeping the English at bay.

La Hougue, land fortress

I first encountered Vauban in 2012 when visiting the fortification of Mont Dauphine and then again in 2013 when on a trip to The Alps we spent some time in Briançon where there is a fantastic example of his forts. None of this Vauban bagging was intended it just happened. So I now wonder which fort I will stumble upon next year.

I started the holiday with one war based novel and finished it with another – Dr Zhivago.  This epic begins in WWI and ends with the Russia Revolution.  Again not an intentional choice but a bargain book that subliminally made it into my hand.  In the windswept sunshine of Normandy reading of the cold harsh weather in Siberia somehow did not feel strange.

Summer of War (1)

It wasn’t meant to turn out this way, it just happened. 

It started with the Rebecca West novel I picked up from a bargain bin on impulse. The Return of the Soldier, written in 1918 is an astonishing novella about love, war, sacrifice and decency.  Read the Goodreads review here.  I took it to London to read during our week at Crystal Palace.   It must have been a subliminal buy because I had always planned to visit the newly refurbished Imperial War Museum and in particular the WW1 exhibition.

Normally I would avoid any glorification of war but as part of the commemoration to the start of WW1 I submitted my granddad’s 1918 diary to the BBC online resource.  The diary was the inspiration for my poem Scream In Dolce.

The museum is in Southwark in what used to be Bethlem Royal Hospital also known as Bedlam Asylum and was on the No3 bus route from Crystal Palace. Perfect.

I was worried the IWM would be all bluster about our great warriors, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The museum pulled no punches in its demonstrations of the futility of war.

Witnesses of War

The impressive Witnesses of War exhibits take over the atrium (including the aerial space). These include among others the Nery Gun, A Press Landrover involved in action in Palestine, a Russian tank and a rusting heap of a Bagdad car-bombed vehicle. All these exhibits were accompanied by display footage of their own particular story. I found the story of the V1 and V2 bombs particularly interesting and it set the tone for the rest of the visit. Slaves were used in the making of these bombs, a fact know by the inventor Wernher von Braun.  There were more people killed in the making of the bombs than in the actual bombings. Von Braun went on to work for NASA on rocket development and was awarded The National Medal of Science in the US in 1975, a fact the IWM is clearly disgusted with.

Other exhibits show twisted pieces of the Twin Tower, anti-Iraq War posters and a striking model called Beach Girl, showing the charred carbon remains of an atomic bomb victim. It is intended to shock and it works.

The WW11 section runs footage of the Normandy beach landings with commentary from the men who were there as well as the whole story of the war.

The main event is the WW1 exhibition. It is free but time ticketed for crowd control.   This section caters for everyone. As well as old fashioned factual information and artefacts, phone interactive games for the young’uns, there are stylistic installations where you can sit and absorb the enormity of what is going on.  One striking video rolls out the slow disintegration of a field in Picardy, from pleasant poppy field to craters and eventually into a sea of mud.

The last video is the most powerful. As the visitor leaves behind the destruction of WW1 there is a story of what happened next – after the war.  Aid to Germany, how borders changed and countries reorganised themselves to build their futures. It ends with the final frame - the words.

‘The War to End all Wars’

Poppies in the IWM gardens

 It was like a punch in the stomach and brought tears to my eyes.

Well done to all involved in this wonderful museum.

Food on the hoof

We’re just back from our longest Bessie trip so far.  Three weeks living in a campervan.

When we booked our ferry tickets from Southampton to Le Havre and mapped out the logistics, it made sense to drive south from Scotland a week before and spend a working week in London before the holiday.

We booked into The Caravan Club site at Crystal Palace and while I kept camp and scribbled about Colin commuted to work in central London every day until the time came when we could put on the ‘Out of Office’ and head for France.  

Camp Crystal

But more of that later. This blog is all about preparation.

As a keen gardener I was nerdily excited at the prospect of using my own produce to cook meals with limited preparation and cooking facilities.

Normally we holiday in June and July; weeks before the main crops harvest when there is only a few bags of salad and spinach ready to take with us.

This year, not only did we holiday in August, but the good weather in March and April meant the crops were early.  My garden was groaning with good grub.   My single courgette plant was already giving me a glut problem.   

The week before I left I had to pick all the blackcurrants to make jam.  Thankfully the garlic and onions had been lifted and plaited earlier in the month.  On the morning of our departure I lifted some potatoes and carrots, pulled more courgettes, picked broad beans, French beans, peas, spinach.  Not forgetting to choose some prime red and brown onions from the store.

Even the greenhouse plants were bearing fruit early so I chose the largest green peppers, a bag of chillies and bag of cherry tomatoes and even some green tomatoes to ripen in a brown paper bag.  Last of all a snip of salad and herbs; parsley, mint, thyme and basil. Bessie’s wee fridge was bursting at the hinges.

Tatties

In the kitchen the courgette bread was working its way through the bread machine programme but as well as the bread I had two other things in preparation. 

From past experience I know France means never missing out on fresh baked croissants for breakfast, but we oat eating Scots aren’t used to too much white flour so homemade granola and muesli made a good addition. It’s easy to make and delicious served with soya milk, yogurt and fruit.  The granola is slow cooked and the muesli only requires chopping and mixing.  I made enough cereal to last the whole three weeks.

Also getting up early to commute into Central London required a quick nutritious breakfast.  So these two breakfast recipes, written into my personal recipe book about thirty years ago, were happily resurrected and from now on will be a staple for all holidays.

A post script to this was the return.  While I was away my neighbours watered the garden and helped themselves to any crops that ripened. It's just a pity they don’t like courgettes.

Courgette anyone?

Cool Camping and Cycling

I am going to start this blog with the book review. A couple of weeks ago I read The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd, a wilderness and travel book about the Cairngorm Mountain range.

The beauty of this book, apart from the wonderful language used by Shepherd, is the fact that the book was written in 1944, not published until 1977 and yet it is still relevant today. As a keen walker Shepherd tramped these hills and absorbed their essence. I have been in the Cairngorms many times but after reading The Living Mountain I yearned to go back, I felt I had not given them the attention they deserved. So with this in mind we set off up the A9 one Friday night heading for Rothiemurchus.



 One of the optional extra we had fitted to Bessie was a bike rack and up until now it had never been tested. The Cairngorms are perfect for biking so what’s stopping us.

 Rothiemurchus campsite is just two miles outside Aviemore. I phone ahead and booked a pitch and was glad I did because we got the last one and they were turning vans away at the gate. The site is set in the old Caledonian pine forest with pitches located in nooks and crannies giving the impression of exclusivity to the woods. The park felt secure with kids cycling their bikes round the one way system and a burn gurgling over a small rise just by our pitch. The toilets and showers, accessed by key fob, were in pristine condition. In the morning as we ate breakfast al fresco, the site owner offered us another, better pitch; he had an early leaver, but we were settled and decided to stay put. We set off mid-morning, cycling the track from the campsite. Not far from the site the track splits. The left fork leads to Lairig Ghru and the right through Glen Einich to Loch Einich. We chose the path to the right.

my abandoned bike

 Colin had downloaded a geocaching app to his phone to try and we had fun finding a cache before we even got beyond shouting distance from the camp site (more about geocaching in later posts).

The track through the forest was well made. I felt exhilarated as I always do when amongst the ancient Scots pine, and a little sad at the thought that once this land was covered in this forest and now there are only a few patches scattered over the Highlands. As we left the trees behind the track grew rougher and my sightseeing was over as I wobbled, skitted and watched for every bump, stone, rubble and root to avoid. I’m a rubbish cyclist and helmetless so we ditched the bikes and walked at a relaxed pace. My wimp-out decision was vindicated when round the next bend we witnessed a young girl fly off her bike onto the rubble, she was OK but her bloody knees and arms needed attending to.

One of the river crossings

 The track led into a basin where bulking hill rose out of the loch at the base. At a river crossing we met three cyclists with skis strapped to their backs. They pointed to the west face of Braeriach, to three small tongues of snow on an otherwise bare hillside. ‘Tom, Dick and Harry,’ one skier explained. ‘Great spring snow, you’ll see our track on Harry and the jump I made.’ He was so happy he didn’t seem to mind his bike skidding and adding a paddle to his day’s activities.


At the loch side as we ate our picnic of dragon’s eggs and homemade Flapjack I tried to imagine Nan enjoying the same scene, the same tranquillity all those years ago. There was no pollution here, no wind turbines and no ski tows. Earlier we detected a geocache somewhere in the area, but had no telephone reception to find it! Yellow algae swilled at the shore side, flowers sprouted through the pebbles. My latest addition to the van was a Collins Flower Book, I took photos and later identified the species back at the van as, Dog violet, Lady’s Mantel and Colt’s Foot.  It was hard to believe that just over the mountain was the ski centre.

The walk back revealed the full expanse of the Rothiemurchus forest and I was happy to know I would be safe under its canopy for another night.


The soundtrack for this trip was the movie soundtrack for O Brother Where Art Thou. I could lie and say I chose this because it is the story of three men's bid for freedom and the Cairngorms is the place where I feel free. But the truth is I pick the CD up for £3 from the supermarket when I stocked up for the trip. And what a find it is. As well as the famous theme I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow, there are old folk classic like Big Rock Candy Mountain and You Are My Sunshine with crystal clear performances from among others Gillian Welch, Alison Krauss, Emmylou and The Fairfield Four.
It might not have much to do with Rothiemurchus but its foot tapping rollocks will always remind me of this trip.

Loch Einich

Applecross – More than an Inn

There are a few places in this world I think of as home and Applecross is at the top of the list.  So it was a thrill to take Bessie over the famous Bealach na Bà, the imposing mountain pass and winding single track road that separates Applecross from the rest of the world.  To meet a vehicle on the road is bad enough in a car but when driving a large van the prospect is daunting.  No matter how many times I go there my heart always lifts at the first sight of Applecross Bay.

The famous Bealach na Bà

 We owned a house on the peninsula, in the small hamlet of Toscaig, between 2003 and 2006 and although it was hard work to maintain, these were some of my happiest and most inspirational years.   So it was no surprise we headed to Toscaig as soon as we arrived.  

As we drove to the pier, I spotted all the new developments and was pleased to note nothing spoiled.  We were delighted to see our old house looking well cared for.  We never seemed to find the time to give the old croft house the care it required.    At the pier changes were few and for the better.  New barriers had replaced the rotting timbers.  The oystercatchers were still presiding over the shoreline; seals nosied around the pier; it was raining – no, not much changes.

I heard a cuckoo, but Colin couldn’t.  The cuckoo is the overriding audio from our time there, could I be imagining it for old time sake?

The road north with Raasay in the background

As we sat down to our dinner of scallops and Stornoway Black Pudding we spotted our past neighbour, Robert, skilfully bring his yacht to anchor in Toscaig Loch.  He had sailed over and back to Broadford, Skye, for his weekly shop, as you do.   We caught up on all the Tosciag gossip while he admired Bessie and pondered swapping the boat for a van.

Next day we drove up to Applecross village.  Wild camping is discouraged on the main bay but we found a good spot on the north side and within easy walking distance to the pub.

The Applecross Inn has always been a popular spot but the good food reviews it has received in recent years along with featuring in the MontyHalls TV show have turned this pub into a mega tourist attraction.   Despite the fame we always receive a great welcome from the owner Judith and when things settle down for a few minutes she joined us to fill us in on the rest of the gossip.  

I was honoured that she, and some of the locals, had read and enjoyed my novel The Incomers.  It’s a bit of a paradox but I felt I belonged.

Our new camping stop was idyllic, with fine views over to Skye and Raasay.

The next day we woke to the sound of many cuckoos - so I hadn't imagined after all.  The weather had cleared and we managed a walk we never did when we stayed here; the ridge above Strath Maol Chalum. It was a steep ascent (and descent) but a fabulous ridge walk along to the high point trig at 626 metres. Amazing views to Skye and Raasay to the west and the Torridon range to the east.

The voice of Sorlie Maclean reciting Hallaig rang in my head as I looked on Raasay’s flat topped Dun Caan, giving me the soundtrack for this trip.  Deer watched us from the hillside as we headed back to the van.  The sun slashed through the darkening clouds giving the Minch dabs of that special light peculiar to this coastline.  At that moment there was no finer place to be.

As a thank you to the bay I did a #2minutebeach clean before we left.  There was surprisingly little rubbish but I left it cleaner than I found it.

On our drive out of Applecross we visited an old friend we heard had been ill. I am pleased to say we found him well on the way to recovery.   It was with joy not sadness that we waved him goodbye in the knowledge that Applecross will always be there for us.

The locally appropriate literature I have chosen for this trip is Calum’s Road, Roger Hutchinson’s inspiring account of the back breaking work of Calum Macleod who, despite being in his fifties and armed with only a pick and wheel barrow, built a stretch of road over the course of ten years to give the inhabitants of a remote hamlet on Raasay access to the rest of the world.  As well as being well written it has a wonderful sense of place and gives the reader an insight into what life is like in remote communities.

Bands of Gold – Fèis Rois 2014

Fèis in Scottish Gaelic means “festival” or “feast.”  Over the years the word Fèis has become synonymous with the Fèisean movement (Fèisean is the plural of Fèis)  A movement set up in the 1980s to encourage, mostly young people, to celebrate and learn the music and song culture connected with the Gaelic language.  There are now hundreds of Fèisean in the calendar with Fèis Rois (Rois is the Gaelic word for Ross-shire) being held for adults in Ullapool in the first weekend in May.

Loch Broom from the campsite

We attended Fèis Rois in 2011 and 2012 when our accommodation was a rented chalet in the hamlet of Ardmair three miles north of Ullapool.  Then we envied the campers who were in the heart of the town, they could stay out late at pub sessions and could toddle along to the classes at the last minute.  This year was different.  Bessie had us trundling into the fast filling campsite on Friday evening and by the time you could say ‘hook-up’ we were hooked up and off to the chippy for a much anticipated fish supper.

Registration took place in Ullapool High School next morning and it is there we picked up our bands of gold. These wrist bands entitle the wearer to get into all the many fringe events taking place throughout the town, like any festival the wristbands are on for the duration.

Unlike the other years both Colin and I chose the same classes. Morning was Intermediate Guitar with the very young and hugely talented Matheu Watson and in the afternoon we were beginning Step Dancing with John Sikorski.

Bands of Gold

I was a bit apprehensive about both classes. My guitar is always a bit hit or miss, but Matheu is an excellent teacher and introduced everyone in the class to drop D tuning. He has a knack of making music theory simple. And his famous people stories kept us entertained while we gave our hands a rest from the contortions of new chord shapes.

The step dancing class was mixed ability but most were beginners.  John took us through the Strathspey and Reel steps and consolidated our learning as we went.  By the end of day one we’d learned (not mastered) a dozen new chord shapes and as many dance steps. By four o'clock my brain was puree.

But there was no time for relaxing. It was back to the van, shower, change, food and off to the school for the Homecoming Concert.  Cathy-Ann Macphee, Louise Mackenzie and Patsy Seddon had all been involved in the first Fèis Rois in 1986.  Their performance was a selection of Gaelic song, clarsach and fiddle tunes with some good old craic thrown in for a laugh.  This was followed by Rant, a quartet of fine female fiddlers, Jenna and Bethany Reid, Lauren Maccoll and Sarah-Jane Summers.  Even after all the dancing toes were still tapping jig time.

Aaron Jones, Jenna and Bethany Reid in session at The Argyll Hotel

And that wasn't the end of the night.  Nearly every pub in Ullapool had a music session happening. We dashed for a seat in The Argyll Hotel where things were already in full swing with some local musicians and Aaron Jones. We were soon joined by Jenna and Bethany who fairly pumped up the pace. Keep up or listen is the moto at these sessions, I mostly listened and it was a treat.

Despite the late night we had to do it all again next day. The Sunday evening is dedicated to the tutors concert, a great opportunity to see everything that is on offer. The hall was packed for this highlight, but the gold band secures entry.   On the way back to the campsite we popped into The Arch to watch the Simon Bradley Trio play an unusual mix of fiddle, viola and with Matheu on guitar.  Excellent. We left them to it about midnight.

Mondays are shorter teaching days but Matheu still managed to cram in some theory and taught us how to play The Beatles Blackbird. (I can’t say I learned it though but I have the gist.)

If it sounds exhausting it’s because it is.

By the time we got to the step dancing I was Feis’d out.  After such a packed weekend there was only one thing left to do.  Go to the Ceilidh Place for a well-deserved beer and wonder if tomorrow any of the chords or steps will be remembered. 

A huge thanks to all the organisers who make things run smoothly and keep everyone supplied with tea, coffee, cakes and music. They deserve more than a beer.

Sleeping in the heart of a volcano

A volcano?  It sounds bizarre but that is exactly what we did.  The fact the volcano erupted fifty five millions years ago doesn't detract from the glamour.

This all took place last weekend when we drove Bessie to Ardnamurchan in the West Highlands of Scotland. Although Ardnamurchan is a peninsula, the five minute Corran Ferry crossing saves an hour drive and gives the trip a real 'getting away from it all' feel. We have made this crossing many times but this was the first with a van and we only just squeezed in behind a huge lumber truck.   The peninsula is ribboned with mostly single track roads but we reckoned if the truck can do it so can we.

Corran Ferry - Bessie's first ferry crossing

Our first night was spent at Far View Campsite in Kilchoan, a motor-home specific site that had all we needed for a stopover. The owners keep an impressive garden and sell honey and herbs. It is situated in walking distance from the pier where a regular Mull ferry and trips to Staffa leave daily, so it would be an ideal base to leave the van and take a day trip to the islands.

The Ardnamurchan Lighthouse is reported to be the most westerly point on the British mainland, but Corrachadh Mòr, a wee tip of land a kilometre south of the lighthouse, should hold this title. Never the less a visit to this Stevenson lighthouse is a must.  The climb up the stairs of the thirty six metre tower is not too hard and rewarded with amazing views to the islands on gfood days.

From there we drove through the Ring of Ardnamurchan (the volcano crater!) to the small crofting community of Sanna.  There large sandy beach is littered with lava rocks and an abundance of cockles. The now rare sound of a skylark heralded our walk. Along with other walkers on the beach I craned my neck to spot and there it was, a speck, way up in the sky, warning us off with its distinctive chirup.

Sanna is an idyllic spot on this remote west coast, but life has been a struggle for the crofters there.  The excellent lyrical memoir Night Falls on Ardnamurchan by poet, Alistair Maclean laments the decline of Sanna's crofting community and is worth reading if planning a trip to the area. Because if the precious nature of the crofting land here we were forbidden to park the van overnight, so we headed back into the crater.

Wild Salmon and squeaky cheese kebabs

 We found a perfect flat piece of land just off the small road, put a couple of blocks under two wheels and set about preparing our first Bessie barbie.   Upon leaving Kilchoan I popped into the well-stocked village store and bought a couple of pieces of wild salmon to go with squeaky cheese and veggie kebabs. Colin had our spanking new Blue Mountain folding BBQ smoking in no time and then stumbled on a wee pile of wood, just perfect for a camp fire.  

Smoking in the crater

As the sun set behind the western ridge of the ring and a golden hue burnished the van, it felt as if we really were inside a volcano.  

The night was empty of animal and bird sounds.  Only the disturbance of a car passing on the road about four am broke the impression of total isolation.

The next day broke warm and sunny.  We donned our running shoes and ran a trail over a hill track, past a ruined hamlet of Glendrian until we reached the trail end in a remote pebble cove northeast of Sanna.  The first and last parts of the trail were good drove roads but a bog trot in the middle soaked our feet. I guess this route was once used by the crofter of Glendrian to take cattle and sheep to boats, but sadly this pastime has long ago fallen into history.

Maybe the dry sunny weather contributed to the enjoyment of this trip, but I suspect in all weathers Ardnamurchan will remain a special place.

The sound track for our trip was unintentionally in keeping with the remote, mountain and island theme.  The recently acquired Fred Morrison CD Outlands is a blend of whistle, Highland, Uilleann and Reel pipes accompanied by banjo, mandolin and bodhran to create a rollicking blend of Scots Trad with an Appalachian feel.  Yea hah.  

 Eigg and  Muck with Rhum in the background

In the Beginning

In March 2014 we took possession of a WildAx Aurora Leisure Campervan.  And that is about as technical as this blog is going to get.  I could go into lots of specifications and geeky stuff but I wont.

I will just say that the process we used to chose our van was this:

We looked at as many vans as we could, we asked van owners for recommendations but in the end we chose this van for a couple of reasons. It has an integrated gas tank we can refill with autogas from service stations and the water tanks have heaters to stop freezing in winter; this is a must if we want to go touring in Scottish winterland

So what is this blog about?   It is about having fun.

As a writer I have a main blog that I use mostly for writerly things, book reviews, and news. This is the business end of blogging.

When we first drove the van from the retailer, up through England, stopping off in The Lake District and the Borders, I experienced the excitement of a whole new life of opportunities opening up for us. Just sitting up high in the cab gives a different perspective to the world and that different perspective carries on into the whole philosophy of living.  When I came home I planned my vegetable patch to suit the two ring, plus oven way of cooking. There will be new photo opportunities, new ways to park, places to visit, soundtracks and a complete subculture to explore.

I know there are other campervan travel blogs out there but as the title of this travel blog suggests, it's 'Not About Bessie'.