Sgiath a' Chaise

Sgiath a' Chaise at far right from the Glen Ample track

Wednesday 23 January 2019

Ascent:      573 metres

Distance:   8 kilometres

Time:         3 hours 34 minutes

Sgiath a' Chaise     645m      2hrs  12 mins

After the first snowfall of this winter and with the mercury showing -5°C, the skies were clear and the hills were calling. I decided to climb a nearby Graham, a hill between 2000 and 2500 feet with a drop of at least 500 feet to the next adjacent hill. There are 219 of them and as I have almost completed the Corbetts, they should provide some sport in the next few years and help me recover some fitness in the meantime. Sgiath a' Chaise is one of the nearest Grahams, a mere 11 miles from the new house. It sits above Strathyre and the most usual route is from Ardchullarie Mor on the A84 midway along Loch Lubnaig. This large stone lodge is where Jim Kerr of Simple Minds lived with Patsy Kensit in the early 1990s.

Conditions were perfect but extremely cold as I set forth and climbed the steep path through the forest plantations that runs through to Glen Ample. There were quite a few trees that had fallen and blocked the path but eventually, the path joined a landrover track and continued to climb at an easier gradient to a gate leading to the open hillside. A burn had to be crossed and it was sheet ice skimmed with freezing water that made it dangerously slippery. I had to grab some protruding rocks in the burn  to inch my way across. Beyond was a picture book signpost directing the routes to Glen Ample or Beinn Each, the nearby Corbett. A couple were digging out their crampons for the ascent of Beinn Each, we eulogised about the perfect winter conditions. I continued for another 400 metres to the watershed of the track that coincided with the boundary of the plantations west of the burn.

I had the map on my phone but it wasn't loading so I decided to head directly up the snow slopes to gain the long ridge that runs south to north. A collie dog bounded up behind me and we began the climb together. Its owner was about 300 metres behind and was following my tracks. The snow was a foot or so deep and every step was a contest with gravity augmented by soft snow. I fell into my often used technique of climbing for a hundred steps and promising myself a break but then making it two hundred steps. The dog was shuttling between myself and its owner, who was falling behind. After twenty minutes of effort, I had reached the apex of the ridge and I headed for Meall Mor, the nearest top on the ridge and then Creag a' Mhadaidh. It was an extra kilometre or so from the direct ascent and a bit of a slog. The dog and its owner had given up and retreated to the glen.

The views across to Beinn Each and Stuc a' Chroin were quite spectacular against the clear blue skies to the east but clouds were heading in from the north and west. Despite the flatter terrain along the ridge, the snow was still a pernicious obstacle to progress. I continued northwards using some old fence posts to guide me on what may have been the route of a path. There were lots of deer tracks and three or four deer appeared and quickly scarpered. A couple of ravens were patrolling the top of the hill and made a couple of flypasts squawking at me with menace. The summit was flat and a lone iron post had been installed at what I took to be the high point. I sat on my rucksack retrieved my flask of coffee and regretted that I had brought no food or even chocolate with me. I had wrongly calculated that the walk would be less than 3 hours but it had already taken more than two hours to reach the summit. Tramping through the deep snow seems to double the time during ascents. Conversely,  it sometimes speeds the descent.

Having taken a longer route to the summit than necessary, on the return I headed straight down to Glen Ample from a dip in the ridge before I reached Creag a' Mhadaidh. There were large rock outcrops and the ground was full of lumps and hollows but they were deceptively lubricated with soft snow. After quite a bit of rolling and tumbling I reached the drystane wall that runs down to the track. A landrover was parked at the highpoint and two men were admiring the views but they had left by the time I reached the track. The descent was quick and easy, the landrover had broken the ice in the burn so I paddled across between the chunks of broken ice that were about 3 centimetres deep. I entered the spruce plantation through the gate and sped down the needle covered path to Loch Lubnaig. It was a mere twenty-minute drive home, a pleasing variation from the usual three hour drive from Munro bashing trips.

Track to Glen Ample at the watershed

Beinn Each

Stuc a' Chroin and Beinn Each

Stuc a' Chroin

The Last Leg

From summit to Loch Earn

Blue Monday DisMay

Blood Moon rising on Blue Monday, a wrecking ball for democracy

The blood moon had fired up the night sky but the day dawned grey and damp. It was Blue Monday, supposedly the most depressing day of the year but I still felt optimistic despite a dental appointment to extract a tooth following a ten-month wait for root canal treatment. By the time the dental hospital got round to giving me an appointment, it was too late to save the tooth. The dental hospital had still not yet sent a letter to my dental practice to explain the diagnosis so the dentist suggested holding off for a couple of months until she had the letter. So another morning wasted and the pain postponed.

On getting home 200 hedging plants had been delivered but they were four days late, the last three days had been perfect for planting but the ground was now frozen and would be until the weekend. So my frustration was ratcheted up another notch as any Blue Monday afternoon activity was postponed.

I decided to watch the prime minister make her statement on Plan B for Brexit, which turned out to be Plan A again. It was an irrefragable confirmation of Blue Monday. Mrs May utterly fails to get it and the MPs of all parties must have felt like lemmings at a cliff edge as their requests to make progress or consider alternatives were summarily dismissed by the PM in her inimitable style of reciting a clutch of oft-repeated meaningless phrases. As always, John Crace got it right in his parliamentary sketch.

"Which bit of the EU saying it would not renegotiate the backstop hadn’t she understood over the past 18 months? The time had come for her to drop her red lines and adopt proposals that could command the support of the majority of MPs.

"La, la, la,” May snapped, sticking her fingers in her ears. She had her plan. And just because it had failed once there was no reason why it should fail a second time. Hadn’t she always said that a bad deal was better than a no-deal?

Thereafter a succession of MPs from both sides of the house became increasingly exasperated as they tried and failed to talk her out of her madness. The more rational they became about the need to consider a customs union, extending Article 50 and a second referendum, the more adamant the prime minister became that the road to glory was paved with failure. 

Labour’s Barry Sheerman tried to instil a note of optimism. Today was Blue Monday. Officially the most depressing day of the year. So could they take a rain check and come back tomorrow when they all might be feeling slightly less bleak. May declined. The very idea was an affront. She hadn’t got where she was today by doing anything to give people cause for optimism. There was no situation she could not make worse. And she’d started so she would finish."

I now believe in Blue Monday.

Ben Gullipen

Ben Gullipen summit - radio masts and generators

Ben Gullipen     417m    52minutes

ascent:       249 metres
distance:    5 kilometres
time:          1 hour 21 minutes

I managed my first short walk up a hill in 2019 today. After moving into the new house in December I have spent most days lugging furniture and boxes of stuff from room to room, installing a wooden floor in the roof void of the garage, clearing builder's rubble off the site and shifting over 200 barrowloads of topsoil to prepare for sowing grass and creating the odd flower bed. As a result, my knees are aching for the first time in my life and previous back pain has flared up. I have only managed one run since Christmas. As I was about to set off hillwalking last week at 8am on a perfect winter's day, the joiner arrived to carry out snagging repairs so the walk had to be abandoned.

Today was dry and the light was good to the north so I drove half a dozen miles to climb Ben Gullipen, the second-highest point on the Menteith Hills overlooking Loch Venachar. I followed the track from the high point of the A81 at Cock Hill. The first kilometre is a steep climb through the forest and then after a gate, it is open hillside with highland cattle grazing and superb views to the north. It is an easy walk but just what I needed to get back into regular running and hill walking.

I met Alison near the summit, she is a local legend who runs every day and walks Ben Gullipen regularly. We blethered away for 15 minutes and even ventured into a discussion about Brexit. I guessed I was on safe ground as she has two daughters who live and work in Europe. I am surprised but pleased to say that I still have to meet anyone who thinks Brexit is good. Admittedly most of my acquaintances are in Scotland but even when visiting London to see our daughters and their friends I have yet to talk to anyone who believes in this crazy stunt and that includes a senior civil servant at the Treasury who tells me that virtually all other work has been abandoned to prepare for Brexit. Do I live in a parallel universe?

It was cold in the breeze as I continued to the clutter of radio masts and equipment that decorated the summit. Alison had advised me to go beyond the radio masts where there is a boggy path that takes you to a viewpoint overlooking Loch Venachar. I could spot Blairgarry where Aileen's parents had had a cottage for forty years and where we had spent holidays when our children were young and visited most weeks when we lived nearby. The cottage looked south over the loch to Ben Gullipen. It was said by locals that the forestry plantations on the northern slopes of Ben Gullipen had been laid out to replicate the British and French battalions during the Battle of Waterloo. If so, the Ben Gullipen viewpoint is located where Napoleon began the charge through Charleroi to humbug Wellington.

The views of Ben Ledi and Stuc Odhar to the north of Loch Venachar were perfect and in the northeast, Ben Vorlich and Stuc a' Chroin provided a familiar skyline. The clouds were closing in from the west as I began the descent but it had been the first of what will be many trips up this local landmark, it is about the same height as Lime Craig, the hill near our previous home that I have climbed over 400 times. Ben Gullipen will become a similar prop for exercise and I will be running it in the future.

Cattle on the ascent

Loch Venachar dam

Loch Venachar looking west

Callander from summit

Towards Stuc a' Chroin and Ben Vorlich

Is Parliament now taking control?

The antics of the government in Parliament over the past few days has been an abject lesson in vindictiveness and callous irony. They have frittered away 30 months in negotiations with the EU and have used every parliamentary procedure to deflect debate and refused on numerous occasions to share information with parliament. This culminated in a deferral of a vote on Mrs May's deal at the end of a so-called meaningful debate in December.

Because of the lack of progress, transparency, lethargy by Brexit ministers and internecine warfare amongst the Tory party, the government have been made to look unprepared and wooden by the EU negotiator, Michel Barnier, who exudes a calm and courteous manner in the face the UK's shambolic manoeuvrings.

Having finally reached a deal that has had no input from Parliament and with no time left for a proper meaningful debate; the government heavies, backed by the usual pro-Brexit press, are now calling out the speaker for allowing Dominic Grieve's amendment to speed up the process. The former Solicitor General, who considered that the UK was marching into a disaster, managed to secure the votes that prevented Mrs May and the leader of the House, Andrea Leadsom, from repeating yet another of their delaying tactics.

Parliament is now attempting to take control of the process and sidelining the febrile Brexiteers who have stoked the myths and provoked the animosity that has swept through the country since dodgy Dave Cameron called the referendum and failed in his attempt to get the changes from the EU that he had promised when he called the referendum.

What happens next is anyone's guess, although it is likely that the Teflon coated, inflexible Mrs May will continue to resist any alternative to her deal no matter what the outcome of the vote. It is encouraging that following the lamentable leadership of the process by Mrs May and in the absence of any alternative strategy from Jeremy Corbyn that a formidable posse of women MPs from across the parties that are leading the parliamentary rescue attempt. Caroline Lucas, Nicki Morgan, Yvette Cooper, Anna Soubry, Sarah Woolaston and Stella Creasy have all made significant contributions that may just stop Brexit becoming the disaster that the panglossian Brexiteers and Mrs May would unflinchingly impose on the UK. We have been reminded by the more astute commentators that it was Keynes who pointed out that if facts change then you can change your mind. Democracy is a fluid process, not the means of enshrining decisions at a point in time.

What No Deal may look like

Good Reads 2018

2018 was generally a bleak year for reading rescued only by a couple of books over 50 years old and several about the malfunctioning of politics in the UK and USA.

I eventually got round to reading Nan Shepherd's inspirational book The Living Mountain. Its description of the constituent elements of air, light, water, rock, plant and animal life in the Cairngorms is a love letter to the Mountains where she spent her time walking and being spellbound by the magic of the elements. The language is very unusual in the way she captures the mood and the feelings of those open to being inspired by nature's fickle ways, as can be seen in the following abstract. "The sustained rhythm of movement in a long climb has also its part in inducing the sense of physical well-being. This bodily lightness, then, in rarefied air, combines with the liberation of space to give mountain feyness to those who are susceptible to such a malady. For it is a malady, subverting the will and superseding the judgement: but a malady of which the afflicted will never ask to be cured." So that explains why I have spent so much time pursuing my mountain habit!

On moving house in May I discovered an Upton Sinclair book that had languished in a box of old books since I cleared my parent's house ten years ago. No Pasaran! is the story of an American German Jew who went to fight against Franco in the Spanish Civil War. Upton Sinclair wrote this novel with the dual purpose of informing American readers about the events on the Spanish battlefields, as well as warning the rest of the world about the danger that fascism's triumph in Spain would stimulate across Europe. Sinclair's writing is distinguished by that rare characteristic, American Socialism, it references the main political events in the USA including the New Deal.

This book inspired me to dig out Upton Sinclair's World's End series of books and to begin rereading them. There are 11 books that include over 7000 pages to digest. They are less wooden than No Pasaran and I have so far revisited the first two books. They were instrumental in shaping my views as an impressionable teenager. During the year that I was to take my 'O' grade exams, I read the books as an interesting alternative to revising. The black covered hardbacks with red titles had been gifted to my father during the war by an army major. They were always shelved prominently in the living room. The World's End series embraces the period from the outbreak of the Great War to the rise of Hitler through the eyes of  Lanny Budd, a wealthy young American. He spends much of his childhood and youth in Europe before becoming a geographer and art dealer. His contacts include many of the key political actors of the period including President Woodrow Wilson, whom he works for during the negotiations to establish the League of Nations. The books provide a fascinating account of the outbreak of the Great War, the machinations of the munitions industry, the 1929 crash, the New Deal and the rise of fascism in Europe. The books must have had quite an effect on me and even my 'O' grades did not suffer as a consequence. I hope my second reading inspires similar outcomes.

More fun was John O'Farrell's Things Can Only Get Worse, his latest epistle on the awful effects of the Cameron years. It also contains a pithy critique of Blair's Education policy on the introduction of academies. As a Labour Party activist, he dissembles Blair's obsession with academies with the practical experience of being the chair of school governors. Never have I read such an elegant defence of local education authorities.

I was pleasantly surprised by Jon Sopel, the BBC American correspondent's account of the descent of the American dream. If Only They Didn't Speak English sets out to answer questions about "a country that once stood for the grandest of dreams, but which is now mired in a storm of political extremism, racial division and increasingly perverse beliefs" as the Trump years began to take their toll. It is about time that more BBC correspondents started writing like this. They are obviously under threat of showing no bias in their 'on air' reporting. This strips their reporting of the larger truth and devalues the BBC as an informative source of news. You could never accuse the Channel 4 news of not allowing their journalists to call out injustices when they discover them.

New House

Welcoming Skies

Ben Ledi from the kitchen

In late February 2017, we looked at a building plot that was about to become available. It had been an ambition for a couple of years to build a house but where? We had spent almost 30 years in the family home. It had unbeatable access to walks and cycle routes in the Trossachs and direct access to Craig Mor through the back gate but the stone-built house was over a hundred years old and not easy to keep warm in winter as heating, electricity, and tradesmen maintenance costs were increasing faster than inflation. The rainfall average in the village was 75 inches a year with the road flooded two or three times a year and from late May to September the midges kept us inside in the evenings. We also needed to have a clear out of possessions that cluttered the house and garage.

The plot was on the site of a farm where a cluster of barns was to be demolished. On a cold damp day in February 2017, the attractions of the site, which was littered with rubble and farm detritus were dubious. It was only 12 minutes away from Stirling, there was a good local pub that we frequented and there were two or three families whom we knew, There were 8 plots, one already sold and under construction, We were able to buy a large plot next to a burn and with astonishing views, We would have a clear view of the Campsies over Flanders Moss to the south. Ben Lomond, Ben Ledi, Ben Vorlich and Stuc a' Chroin were all in sight to the west and north, although these views would disappear as other houses were built on the site.

We also had the opportunity to specify our own house. It took nine months to design the house, obtain detailed planning permission, negotiate a price for the construction and acquire the site. It was February 2018 before the work began. We considered pulling out on several occasions as costs were rising, many of the fixtures came from Europe and the £ was plummeting. We were unsuccessful in selling our existing property before construction started and this required us to obtain a bridging loan to pay for the construction. These are not easily available and together with architect fees, structural engineering fees, planning permissions and building warrants added to the mounting costs. The property market had stalled as a result of the Scottish Government introducing a Land and Buildings Property Tax of 10% on larger houses and the uncertainty caused by Brexit. However, we figured if we didn't make the move now, it would be too late to enjoy the benefits of a new house.

We marked out the site with the builder in early February. Within a fortnight we had run into a major problem as the slab for the foundations extended to a steep slope down to a burn that was part of the plot. The additional concrete that had to be poured to secure the foundations wiped out all of our £25k contingency. The upside was the glorious weather, by July the house was well ahead of schedule. We visited the site about twice a week throughout the construction and progress continued apace until mid-summer, when the house was 4 weeks ahead of schedule. We managed to sell the existing house a couple of weeks after securing the bridging loan, this had to be rescinded costing £5000 for the month we had held the unused loan. We moved into our daughter's flat in Glasgow for 6 months, eager to experience life in the heart of Glasgow.

The summer holidays meant that some of the tradesmen were on holiday when they were scheduled to complete their work. The kitchen fitters were late and then had to reorder parts from Germany and suddenly we had lost all early gains in the construction schedule. The biggest problem was the failure of the vendor of the serviced plot to commission the provision of water, electricity or drainage. Together these issues delayed the final completion by 4 weeks and the supply of water was a quick fix that was not resolved for another 6 months, delaying the completion certificate on the house. The access road was a muddy track from all the construction traffic. Services that should have been installed at the start of the site works were left to be fitted retrospectively, this was costly for the vendor and hugely frustrating for the residents.

We eventually moved in early December on a rain-filled day, it was a struggle to get the large removal lorry to the front door and an eight-hour job to unload the vehicle that had to make two trips from the storage depot. We managed to sort out much of the chaos by Christmas and are now into the snagging, the broadband connection has still to be provided. Meanwhile, we still have a couple of dozen boxes to unpack when our energy levels are restored and we have the inclination.

The plot on first viewing, some imagination needed here

Are we serious?

The pile of rubble is now the location of the house

Week 1 - Marking out the foundations

Week 2 - Groundworks

Week 10 - Lifting on the roof trusses

Week 11 - Open plan upstairs 

Week 13 - Timber Kit complete

Week 16 - Slating the roof

Week 18 - The Shed/Garage

Week 18 - Perfect weather for the joiners

Week 18 - South elevation, solar panels installed

Week 18 - Stonework

Week 33 -  Shipping Container for garden stuff and bikes

Week 35 - interior fittings

Week 36 - Laying the slabs

Week 37 - Flooring

Week 40 - Sparkle clean

Christmas Eve with Kit 

Christmas Eve

The Campsies from the living room

Looking west to Ben Lomond

Week 68 - Lawns greening

Campsies

Summertime 

No internet

We moved to the new house on 7 December. We had booked for the installation of a telephone and broadband package from our providers, BT, and promptly received confirmation of our new telephone number and that it would be installed on the day of the move. We have since had three messages indicating that there will be delays and tonight we have been told that Openreach will not be able to connect the cables before January 7. So I will be offline until then.

This is what happens when infrastructure providers like BT, which provided the telephone and broadband network as well as being the main phone operating company, are split up into different operating units by the government. The dire lessons from the privatisation and separation of network rail from the franchised train operators is beyond the ken of this government.

Little England or Big Britain

As we drift into the debacle of Brexit decisions and frenzy of confusion that has been the soundtrack of the past 30 months, I am struck by the contrast between the cool countenance of the EU negotiators and leaders and the panic and confusion of the UK government and its negotiators. This is echoed in the reporting by the BBC. Katya Adler, the European editor, provides concise summaries of the position of the EU that invariably turn out to be accurate. Laura Kuensberg, the political editor, resorts to rambling speculation depending on who she has just spoken to and her comments are seldom worth a hill of beans.

I was a lukewarm remain supporter at the referendum and had voted against joining in 1975 because I thought the UK should redeem the Commonwealth countries after centuries of exploitation. However, in the 1980s the EU was the salvation of many declining communities that benefited from its investment in development areas and skill training. Since then the EU has pioneered important environmental legislation and employment rights during periods when the UK government was laggardly or obstructive. Most recently its ability to stand up for taxation of the global tech and social media behemoths has been exemplary compared to the frigid and yet to be implemented promises of the UK government. There are still many aspects of EU policy and the stance of some of the leaders of the 27 other members that concern me, but then the UK government has the monopoly when it comes to regressive policies and an unctuous self-righteousness

What is becoming very clear is that both the prime minister and the leader of the opposition are intransigent dinosaurs lacking both emotional and political intelligence. They appear to have no sense of the destruction caused by their inflexibility or recognition of the economic and social havoc that is being caused by Brexit. Their unwillingness to accept that democracy operates in real time is equally a measure of their unsuitability as leaders.

It is the non-parliamentarians: the political leaders in Scotland, Wales, the Republic of Ireland and the Mayors of the Metropolitan areas who are far more attuned to the economic and social issues and far more cogent in articulating the real world truths. They speak not just for their bailiwicks but for Britain as a whole in a way that escapes May and Corbyn. Could it be that their experience of executive responsibility for public services gives them an insight that seems impossible for MPs to have in the vortex of legislative indecision that masquerades as parliament? Mrs May and far too many of her MPs behave and act as Little Englanders. When she declares that her Brexit deal will safeguard the union, she really has lost all credibility.

Imperial War Museum

Portico of Imperial War Museum

Weeping Window of Ceramic Poppies at IWM

It was Remembrance Day and after the cold morning showers had passed we headed to the Imperial War Museum with the grandchildren. We arrived just as the service was finishing. Crowds had gathered to admire the cascade of ceramic poppies that draped the north facing portico of the building. It was my first visit to the museum.

I was pleasantly surprised that the exhibits included sections showing the living conditions in Britain during the dark days of World War II. The Anderson shelter reminded me of the one in my Great Aunt Doris's back garden that I used to paint every few years to earn some pocket money. There were exhibits of terraced houses in south London that had suffered regular bombing raids. The sleeping arrangements required the upstairs bedrooms to be abandoned. It took me back to stories about my father's grandmother and his mother's sister who survived a direct hit to their house in Manchester by sheltering under the heavy kitchen table that protcted them from the falling rubble.

As well as the exhibits of fighter planes, tanks, and small boats, there were examples of vehicles used in the North African campaign. These included a Chevrolet 30cwt truck used by the Desert Rats in the battles against Rommel. My father had been driving one of these at El Alamein and had been blown up by a landmine. He lost all his teeth but returned to active service within a month to complete the war in the Greek and Italian campaigns with the Eighth Army. He spent four years from the age of 19 to 23 as a soldier on the frontline but like so many others seldom talked about it until in his sixties when he and my mother began to make trips abroad for the first time in their lives. They revisited parts of Italy and Greece where he had fought in the war. Chios became their regular holiday haunt after he made contact with some of the local Greeks who had welcomed the British Army when they landed to free the island in 1943.

There was so much more to see but time was limited. On remembrance day we were made to think of  the devastation to families of the 450,000 UK citizens who were killed in WW2. Similar numbers were lost in France and Italy. What surprised me from the exhibits was that this paled in comparison to Germany with 7 million, Poland with 6 million and well over 20 million Russians.

The most dangerous looking UK exhibit was the Spitting Image puppet of Mrs. Thatcher looking bellicose and obviously taking no prisoners. Her hawkish economic policies in the !980s had led to the collapse of traditional industries and seen unemployment rise to over 3 million or 12.5% of the workforce. The impact on families and communities is still evident in many old mining and manufacturing communities. Unlike the period after WW2 when there was a commitment to rebuilding the public realm and investing in education, housing, and health by governments of both main parties; there was no such public investment in the 1980s and many regions of the UK have still not recovered from the civil trauma caused by her pursuit of neoliberal economic policies.

As on all visits, the children demanded to explore the adjacent playground facilities. The blue skies, autumn leaves, ceramic poppies and the massive presence of 15-inch guns from dreadnought battleships provided a peaceful location for the playground equipment. It was miraculous the way that the freedom of the playpark rejuvenated tired children as they climbed the equipment commando style.  Nearby the sinister spike of the Shard dominated the skyline and cast doubt on the sanity of having a capital city that sucks the wealth and investment out of the rest of the country.

Spitfire and Harrier Jet in Main Hall

Chevrolet WB 30cwt truck used by Long Range Desert Group

Willys Jeep

Commando training

Most bellicose exhibit