Office with a View

Solar Hus 

 My office for blue sky thinking

Returning to Shetland this morning was like arriving on a holiday island.  The seas were calm, the beaches beckoned and the town had a balmy feel about it. Apparently, this is the third good day after four weeks of rain and wind.  The mood matched the day and I saw some folk without hats on for the first time since arriving last October. Cyclists were out in numbers and people were going home in the light. In the evening a sharp frost reminded me that it isn't summer yet but, after enjoying some wild winter days here, it is getting close and all sorts of adventures are possible.

My office accommodation adjacent to the Bressay Sound and overlooking the harbour is an inspirational workspace on days like this. It is close to the excellent museum and shortly to be opened Mareel, the music and events venue.

Meall Ghaordaidh



Meall Ghaordaidh summit




Clouds on Tarmachan

  

Looking east to Tarmachan




Summit of Meall Ghaordaidh looking south to Ben More



Sunday, 27 February 2011
965 metres ascent, 11kilometres, 3 hours 2 minutes

m  Meall Ghaordaidh      1037metres   2hrs 3mins


The first munro outing of the year is always a challenge.  No matter how fit or unfit from running or cycling the first burn up a mountain is something different.  The whole body is exercised, quads get some beating, ankles and feet are asked to absorb the constant shifting of terrain and ground conditions  and arms and the upper body are exercised by scrambles, carrying rucsacs and using other gear.  And instead of less than an hour of exercise the walk will often last much of daylight time.  Today was a bit of an exception, the forecast was reasonable and the hill chosen was relatively near to home. I had been up it only three years ago in 2 hours and 21 minutes although that was in midsummer in shorts, and hill running shoes.  Today was cool with a strong westerly breeze which saw me in boots, hat and gloves but the day started bright and, apart from a 30 minute snow shower on the ascent, it stayed that way.

Glen Lochay is one of those quiet Glens that most people ignore, there are no attractions other than access to 6 munros and huge water pipelines that are part of the hydro electric schemes that bring water over from Glen Lyon.  I like it and have had numerous days starting from the glen and permutating the hills in different ways.  Meall Ghaordaidh is a singleton and I have usually done it as a short morning outing or tagged it onto an earlier ascent of another singleton.  Normally I start at Tullich and make a direct ascent but today I parked at the east end of the hill for the longer walk up and we ascended a track to the old shielings at 400 metres.  Then a steady ascent up heather and grass slopes to find the broad ridge which spills down from the mountain.  There was fresh snow from about 600 metres and further along the ridge the new snow covered gullies which still held old snow and ice from the early winter.  The wind was rising as we climbed the steeper snow slopes.  A walker was descending with 2 ice axes, crampons and a walking pole and said he thought we could probably manage without crampons.  Just as well because we had not brought either crampons or ice axes but this was before he saw Gregor's hill running shoes which were working just fine.  The summit was reached in two hours and the winds at the trig point took your breathe away and made it impossible to stand vertical.  We drank some water, took a couple of photos and began the return trip to escape the battering from the wind.

The snow made for an easy descent and we had the wind at our backs. We were running down the snow slopes and lolloping through the snow coverings on the peat between the heathers.  We dropped down to the shielings and then found the track, crossed the wall and jogged down to the road.  We had managed the descent in just less than an hour meaning that we were home before 2pm, long before expected.

A9

Almost a daily event on the A9

The A9 is Scotland's backbone, but has become the deformed spine of the nation.  For almost forty years, I have been travelling it 4 or 5  times a year to climb the hills of the north or simply to make a meeting in Inverness. Today was for the latter reason, and it was a return trip. The experience was no better or quicker, owing to road works and heavy lorries, than it was in 1973 when it took three and a half hours during the Friday evening wagon train on the narrow twisting old A9 to reach Aviemore from Glasgow for a weekend on the ski slopes in the days when snow was more reliable.

The section of the A9 from Perth to Inverness is notorious for having more accidents than any other section of road in Scotland.  So bad that the Scottish Government has held back publishing the figures for the last two years. The reason for the unacceptable state of the road is usually attributed to the lack of strategic decision-making by the Scottish Government, which has direct responsibility for trunk roads.  

There are sections of dual carriageway laced with single carriageway sections all the way; completing the job seems to be beyond the ken of successive governments.  Traffic is held up for 5 or 6 miles behind lorries, caravans and Nissan Micras travelling at 40 mph.  The dual carriageway section approaches, and it is like the grid of a grand prix as white vans, souped-up Vauxhall Corsas, empty lorries and executive saloons vie to get the outside lane for a quick dash down the next couple of miles of dual carriageway.  Not to be outdone, the holding lorry, or caravan, accelerates to 60mph , with the effect of reducing the number of vehicles that can pass.  More frustration builds up, and attempts are then made on the next single carriageway section to make the thwarted overtaking manoeuvre.

My hill running partner and hillwalking friend, Keith, with whom I have often driven up the A9, is a highway engineer.  He explained how, in the 1970's, the Scottish Office guidance for road design was to blend the new highways in with the landscape and construct sweeping curves.  This made for scenic journeys when traffic was far slower and lighter than today, but it has left a legacy of suicidal overtaking traps. On most trips, there are generally two or three incidents when speed-crazed drivers are travelling well beyond any speed limit to get in front of that lorry, caravan or slow-moving car ahead.  The oncoming victims are randomly engaged as they appear around the graceful bends into the speeding madmen. Any journey along the A9 induces several bouts of road rage, and keeping it bottled seems impossible for many drivers.  It explains why there has been an average of over 200 accidents and 15 fatalities a year along Scotland's backbone.

Even the Dutch/Australian author Michael Faber, who is domiciled in Scotland, did not achieve such butchery in his novel 'Under the Skin'. This novel was set on the A9 where an extraterrestrial female, Scarlett Johannson, picks up male hitchhikers and returns their bodies to her planet as 'vodsel' - a tasty meat dish of human flesh. It might have been more believable if she had been the hitch-hiker to eliminate the sex and speed crazed male drivers. More recently, Ian Rankin has set his latest Rebus novel, 'Standing in Another Man's Grave', on the A9 with another set of killings to accompany those arising from the annual cull of road fatalities.

In the context of this level of road kill, it is unbelievable to understand how Edinburgh trams at a cost of £776m and a second Forth Road Bridge costing £1.4bn have obtained priority over the A9. Both Edinburgh and Glasgow have superb bus links from their airports to their city centres, and the Forth Road Bridge generates much unsustainable commuter traffic, whilst at most times of the day it has more than enough capacity to cope with routine commercial and visitor traffic. Of course, it may be that the existing Forth road bridge has a limited life span, but no Minister is prepared to admit that so we must assume that the A9 is a lower priority than making Scotland ever more Edinburgh-centric.

In the land of engineering legends - Sir William Arrol, John Dunlop, John McAdam, Sir Robert McAlpine and Thomas Telford - the lack of investment in the A9 is Scotland's greatest engineering tragedy.

Scarlett Johannson as A9 hitchhiker

Fitful Head

Fitful Head from Quendale

Sunday, 13 February 2011

Run  9 kilometres, 310 metres of ascent, 1 hr 0 mins 10secs

Fitful Head   283metres   32mins 

Fitful Head is the high point at the southern end of the Mainland and resembles a wedge of cheese leading to some massive cliffs that fall almost 1000 feet into the sea.  It is topped out by a giant golf ball that is a radar dome for Sumburgh airport and various transmission receivers for the coastguard and television.

All Sunday morning I had put off going out for a run in the lashing rain, there are many days like this and they are best summed up in this reflective posting from a friend, Diane, who captured the dark days of a Shetland winter with vernacular humour.  'Just spent 10 mins trying to scrub a dark rib fae around da bath - it wis da reflection o da venation blind! (Dat lang fae da sun shone dat I hidna noticed it afore!!!) Doh!'  

I had to go to the airport to pick up a colleague so I left just an hour to run up Fitful Head from Quendale Farm. It was blowing a gale but the rain had stopped as I headed eastwards from the farm along a track, crossing various fields and dodging the rabbits until I reached the Valley.  There was a long boggy section across some fields until I crossed some fences by a small dam and reached the track which climbed steeply until the Kame and Nev appeared as twin headlands trapping the sea between them. The coastline between them was shaped like a W and the energy of the waves was wasted destroying the headlands. The track veered south and steepened again there was another kilometre of climbing into a strong wind.

I arrived at the collection of communication paraphernalia and buildings in the midst of which I discovered a lonely trig point. I was wary of being frazzled by all the equipment so I quickly skipped over a fence and ran along the cliff edge heading towards Siggar Ness. Despite being downhill it was as hard as the ascent into the fierce wind. I decided to take a more direct route down Set Dale towards the Hill of Cleap. It would strengthen my ankles dodging through the clumps of grass.  I hadn't expected to land on a Woodcock but it made a safe escape, apparently, they are numerous in these parts and are shot by eminent Shetland folk musicians that I know as a delicacy.

When I reached the flatter grazing land I circuited clockwise round the Cleap and found the track that returned me to Quendale farm, arriving back just outside the hour.  I leapt into the car and texted my colleague, Nigel, who was due to land about now. The time to get off a plane, reclaim luggage and exit the airport is seldom more than 4 or 5 minutes at Sumburgh. This dream airport experience gives some compensation for the usually choppy descent and bumpy landing or if really windy a couple of aborted attempts before the final landing. 

Nigel was waiting at the door as I arrived at the airport and was slightly perplexed as I jogged past him into the terminal to reclaim a book that I had left in the seat pocket of the aircraft when coming up a week earlier.  The airport staff delivered it with a smile, I was by now a regular flyer and, as I knew a couple of the staff, we had some friendly banter.  I was covered in mud from my trip up Fitful Head. We returned back to Gulberwick for roast Shetland lamb and some black potatoes that I had been given when visiting Peter and his family in Brae yesterday. 

Dalescord Button Hills - Run Rabbit Run

Button Hill Cairn

I had planned to climb Ronas Hill, but first light was blown in by a strong south westerly that had raged through the night, dislodging various outdoor accoutrements that had crashed past the house.  The rain was flying, not falling, so I languished about doing bits of work and waiting for an alternative plan to materialise. There was always the Button Hills, in the middle of nowhere, south of Sullom Voe, with no obvious merits and not even appearing in any guidebook book but a Marilyn nevertheless if I could find the summit.  I knew from years of Munro bashing that even the most tedious sounding hills can generate all sorts of unseen adventures even on foul days, and so it proved.

When I mentioned my plan to a local, she said that this area was where the first bombs of the Second World War had landed in November 1939 when the Luftwaffe tried to hit the seaplanes based in Sullom Voe but had only managed to kill two rabbits. This had led to an adaptation of the popular song Run_Rabbit_Run and it became a hit. 

So late morning, I set out for Voe and then along to Susetter, where I parked in a desolate wind wind-swept glen below a scarp slope that led to a great expanse of peat moorland.  I donned waterproofs and was sucked over the nearest fence by a vortex of rain-assisted wind. With it at my back, the ascent over steep wet slopes was no sweat.  I was soon on the cusp of the scarp and could see the finger of Dale Voe to the north east and a vast panorama of peat hags ahead. I knew that there was no obvious top or trig point, but thankfully, the cloud level had risen, so I could see the full extent of the rising hillocks.  

I made for what I thought was the high point of the convex slopes, but upon arrival, concluded that there was a slightly higher button to the north west.  I headed for it, and the high point of the Button Hills turned out to be a peat hag.  There were some stones scattered around, which I collected and fashioned into a cairn on a hill I called Marilyn's Buttons.  Building the cairn was a lot easier than the return trip; it may have been downhill, but slaloming down the peat hags was no fun in the wind.  But the walk had cleared my mind, and I stripped off my wet clothes and drove down to Brae to call on Peter and his family. 

I sat in a beautifully constructed timber frame house with a view that only nature could conspire.  I scanned across the voe, had the chance to hold and admire the smiles and tears of a 5-week-old baby, learnt more about community life, local football, and felt privileged to be welcomed into the abundant sharing that takes place across the Northern Isles. I am not surprised that life expectancy is so high, folk just "breathe in the air and aren't afraid to care" in Shetland.  I left with a bag of Shetland black potatoes,  Kenny Dalglish's biography and advice on where to buy a leg of Shetland lamb for tomorrow's evening mea that I was cooking for colleagues whom I would be collecting from the airport. 

I went out to an evening meal with other friends, four people had contributed to the different courses, and it was a fusion meal with a Czech starter,  lobster chowder and some dark chocolate brownies made from an iPad app recipe. I was given a bag of frozen rosemary to cook the leg of lamb, which will be served with black potatoes, parsnips and kale later today. I'm afraid I shall have no kitchen assistants so I will eke out the meal with the help of some wine and a Tesco apple crumble.  

Shetland Black Potatoes

I was reminded by Wiki that Run Rabbit Run was in the lyrics of Breathe in the Air, one of life's enduring soundtracks and the opening track on Dark Side of the Moon
Breathe, breathe in the air
Don't be afraid to care
Leave but don't leave me
Look around, choose your own ground
For long you live and high you fly
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
And all your touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be

Run rabbit run
Dig that hole, forget the sun
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down, it's time to dig another one
For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave

I didn't see any rabbits, which is unusual on Shetland, but in that weather, I think Pink Floyd had it right; they had run to dig another hole, and I just breathed in the air.

Coalition isn't working

In the last couple of weeks, there have been some surprising displays of anger as the coalition policy decisions begin to be revealed to the public.  The Tories have upset their own traditionalists and conservationists by proposing to sell off the Forestry Commission, there is an upswell of opinion from celebrities and establishment figures to safeguard libraries, bus transport and Citizen Advice Bureaus.   The first tranche of Council budget cuts are being announced and are being met with shock and horror.  The headlines are about the number of jobs lost but the real impact will be noticed later once the staff have gone, buildings are closed, grants for the third sector are reduced and services that folk took for granted evaporate.

The well-rehearsed retort by ministers is that councils should determine their priorities for savings and that the government regrets the closure of libraries, reduction of grants and the removal of home care etc. is disingenuous in the extreme.  Tory and Lib Dem-controlled councils are already rejecting this script from the coalition in Whitehall and the emerging narrative is far more concerned with the impact on communities and the vulnerable.  Meanwhile, morale has dipped further in public services and in those companies that are dependent upon public sector contracts.  The uncertainty about jobs undermines the confidence of existing staff as well as diminishing opportunities for young people.   It has created a mood which is reminiscent of the recession in the early 1980s.

The latest wheeze by the PM to divert attention away from the meltdown of public services is to set up a new front on the need for a more muscular liberalism which appeals to the more xenophobic press and hard-hearted citizens.  Advisers who dare question policy decisions are sacked and, despite the long saga of Andy Coulson's departure, there is still a bullish air about the PM's utterings.  I have tried to triangulate what the government mean by the Big Society, muscular liberalism, and an economic model based on business investment and savings. I can only conclude that it is remarkably like Thatcherism but for real. No one may have understood the last government's 'Third Way' either but it didn't really matter because things were generally getting better. 

The problem of collapsing support for the coalition is magnified by the pyramidal effect of the internet with thousands of instant critics able to vent their frustrations.  The public knows how to play against the spin and the coalition briefings against councils and other public bodies are increasingly exposed as inept and brutal demonisations of the very organisations that deliver services but are blamed for having to axe them.  This form of defensive communication by the government has been banished by most progressive organisations who realise that customers need solutions not reasons for failure.  Customers also value honesty and acknowledgement when things go wrong.  It took six years for the last government's popularity to nosedive, the coalition is moving at such a pace that they have achieved this in eight months.

In Scotland, we have been spared the more brazen and ill-conceived attempts to reform schools and the NHS but the scale of cuts is still damaging confidence and what will happen after the Scottish elections in May creates a further layer of uncertainty.  Given that last year's cuts have been deferred I cannot believe that any of the big four political parties will be too upset if they are not part of the next Scottish Government.