The Kelpies are sculptures a hundred feet high that sit beside the M9 motorway in Falkirk, Scotland. They are certainly impressive although I don’t quite see the point. Yes, it would be nicer if the pylons weren’t there, but never mind, you are meant to be distracted by the penetrating stare of the one on the left, while the other does that whole head-tossing thing, all in tons of steel.
Ummed and ahhed over this one for a while (two days, as you can see) but in the end I decided to go for something without a Christmas reference at all. Except, of course, in what I’ve just said. Anyway — a view from my morning exertion up Dundee Law, the walk I usually try to take on Christmas morning in advance of the food bloat that is to come. This is only the second Christmas of my life that I have spent in Scotland, after a not-so-fondly remembered time in a cabin on Loch Awe in 1992.
Anyway — if a bit belatedly, a I hope you all had a happy Christmas, however you spent it.
After a month where I felt I’d barely left the house, time to go a-travelling again, and this is Scotland’s first appearance on here since we came back from our holiday in July. Coatbridge, a few miles east of Glasgow, has had a bad rep down the years; notoriously polluted and run-down in the early 20th century, and arguably, in decline ever since, in 2007 it was apparently voted ‘Scotland’s Most Dismal Town’. But we passed through today and I thought it was OK. The Stalinist apartment-block architecture doesn’t give it glamour but it at least gives the photography some interest. Not to mention the stadium of Albion Rovers FC just down the road, but that’s another story, for a different social medium.
Our nine days in Scotland come to an end. A fine trip, although a lot of driving — all by me — including today’s six-hour stint from Dundee back to West Yorkshire. Over the last two years this has become a familiar journey, and we know where to stop for tea, lunch, the toilet, etc: and also photo opportunities, as I can’t shoot whilst driving. Broughton, a little village nestling in the Scottish Borders, has become one of those spots. There’s a great little tea room just to the left of this shot. This house has a pleasing look to it but yes, the straight line on the left (coming off a telegraph pole I presume) does bother me.
Let’s permit Scotland to offer up its combination of mountain and seascape one more time before we have to head home. The Beauly Firth is the far end of the Moray Firth; this shot is looking inland, to the Highlands beyond. And yes, somewhere over there it is raining.
Back in 2012, in the Lake District, I pictured a vague blob in the far distance that may or may not have been a golden eagle. But this one is definite. You may, of course, live in a part of the world where these noble creatures hang out on street corners, but that’s not the case in Great Britain — except, it seems, in the far north of Scotland, where this huge bird took off from some trees nearby as I passed and flapped lazily overhead for a while. Until uploading the pic later and checking the details I wasn’t sure of the species, but the wingtip feathers are the giveaway: an eagle it is.
OK, it’s another beach (after Monday), but Scotland is a country that does very good beaches — they’re just not very warm. This becomes the northernmost picture so far taken in the UK, a position it will retain until I finally make it to Shetland or Orkney. It will probably forever remain the northernmost picture taken on the mainland of Great Britain, at around 58º 36′ N.
More athleticism. Clare is in training and demanded a hill to run up. The tiny settlement of Nigg, on the Cromarty Firth, obliged this morning. The return to the Black Isle region was motivated largely by my desire to get more photographs of it, particularly of this firth thanks to its collection of old oil rigs and vessels that are either mothballed or being decommissioned. It’s proof that industry need not wreck a landscape.
Rogie Falls, near Strathpeffer, are touted as a place where one can see salmon travelling upstream to spawn and doing their leaps: but I must admit on first sight, I was sceptical. These were not minor rapids but a powerful cascade, thundering over several drops, of which the highest one, pictured here, must have been at least twenty or thirty feet high. Surely no living creature could possibly get up this, against the flow — particularly not one without arms, legs or heavy machinery.
Well, I was wrong. And I have to say that I now have a new-found respect for this species. There have to be easier ways to live out one’s lifecycle, though.
The Black Isle, just north of Inverness, is actually a peninsula rather than an island, though it is almost cut off by rivers. It previously featured, thanks to Fortrose Ness, on my trip round Scotland last May, and as it seemed a pleasant spot I have returned, this time bringing Clare along (although that’s not her in the shot). Avoch beach is just up the Beauly Firth from Fortrose; the latter remains the northernmost British location to feature on here but that is a distinction it will lose by the end of this week.
Being 42 