Monday 22 October

7 am this morning, and the string of lights to the right is the ferry departing for Ullapool. There was a beginning of light in the sky to the east, but this had not yet spread further. An hour later, another gorgeous day had broken, with bright sunshine and only a little cloud.Out of the wind the sun is still warm, and the thermometer peaked at 13C / 55F this afternoon. Put some bulbs into pots for next spring, and let's hope that the oncoming cold spell doesn't do them any harm. By the end of the week, we'll be deep into single figures (around 40F) with snow on the mountains, and no immediate end in sight to some cold weather.

The promise

As colour fades from the evening sky
A promise of renewal the next day
Whether sunny, cloudy, rain or snow
Colour will return another morn

The last leaf drifts down to earth
Nuts litter the woodland ground
A promise of renewal the next year
Life will return another day

Winter cold approaches from the north
As daylight hours diminish by the day
Soon white will dominate the land
Accentuating what colour is left

As snow blankets the sleeping soil
And fierce winds strafe the land
Green curtains flow in the distant north
And stars are seen for longer than the sun

But when winter's grasp seems fiercest
Unbreakable it would seem
Green tips pierce the frozen soil
And delicate blooms emerge

From underneath the warm white layer
The promise is fulfilled
And soon the winter cold takes flight
With light and colour restored

Eventually day and night equal in length
The snow retreats to the mountain tops
Life recurs, gambolling in play
As lambs fulfil the promise of life

Sunday 21 October

Another cool but bright day, after some overnight rain. The leaves are falling off the trees now, having turned all shades of green, brown, yellow or red in the process. Went for a short amble over to Goat Island and round the power station this afternoon, and even on that relatively treeless stretch came across a few expressions of autumn. The forecast says we can expect a foretaste of winter by the end of the coming week, with snow on the hills and sleet at lower levels. Well, November isn't far off now, and summer a distant memory. The ferries and buses in our neck of the woods have now gone to winter timetabling; no major changes on the ferry to and from Ullapool, but there are fewer buses around. Usually. The problem is that the winter timetables for the buses have not yet been published. Yesterday was the last day of the Royal National Mod in Dunoon, across the Clyde from Gourock (west of Glasgow), which really signals the end of the season. From now on, all will be hunkering down for winter, and once the clocks go back next Sunday morning, the winter half-year will really have started.

In the below pics, the black and white boat is the local pilot boat. It has been laid up on the slipway since about July, when they found her to be springing a leak. On Friday, I discovered that the Monaco (last reported sunk at her berth) had been refloated alongside the Cromwell Street Quay.

The boat

Sailing the waters of the far northwest
Braving the elements, fair and foul
Guarding the lives of all on board
Bringing their livelihood safely to shore

Aided by motorpower, perhaps earlier sail
A net from the stern, or a line athwart
Hooks to catch mackerel
A creel for some crabs, or a lobster

Within sight of Suilven, Stac Polly or An Teallach
The Clisham a beacon, high up in Harris
Bowing for the blue men of Shiant
Or bucking in the Atlantic swell

Hastily brought in for that storm of a lifetime
Tethered on a mooring, in safety they thought
Found crashed on the boulders
When the storm had blown itself out

Many's a time I walked by on Goat Island
Ever more pieces went missing each time
Until only the bow remained on the strand
And finally only its soul, winging away to the Minch

Dusk

The crescent moon rides
high in the sunset skies
cloudstreams far above
appear motionless

Reflected in the sea
not ruffled by movement
winking into the night
a reassurance from the lighthouse

A bird slowly glides past
looking for its last meal of the day
Nothing to be seen
darkness is nigh

Wisps of mist slowly drift by
gliding over the water
ghostly appearances
from the now faded day

The hunter now rises
chasing the bull
his two hounds faithful
close by to his east

As he moves to the west
will daybreak ensue
But what will that bring?
Only time will tell

Saturday 20 October

A beautiful, sunny day but not feeling very warm. The daytime max was 11C, but as I type this (9.30pm), the mercury has plummeted to freezing. Hope the bulbs I put in pots will keep well, although said pots are right against a wall. Things are quiet in the tropics, except for the Caribbean Sea where a tropical disturbance (prosaically named 99L) is threatening rain to the islands of Hispaniola, Cuba and the Bahamas over the next few days.

Today was good for cloudscapes, so I'll share a few pics of those.



Apart from clouds, these pics clearly show the great weather we're having at the moment. Leaving the temps to one side, what's that, autumn?

 

The internees

It seemed like such a good idea
Sign up for the reserves
Already at sea most of the time
An old salt could learn new tricks

More out than in past Arnish
Down by the Shiants
Up near Rona
Sidle up to the Atlantic, unbeatable

Go on exercise every once in a while
Get a nice sum every year
A retainer for being ready
To drop all for king and country

Well, they shot that man way out yonder
And now the world's gone mad
I've got to go down to England
Train up for the real shooting stuff

What's this, I'm told, we're in a Division?
Not at sea but on land
Mr Churchill says so, he's our boss
Down to old Antwerp, halt Jerry Hun

Not in your wildest dreams, we're going back west
Where's that train, oh dear we've missed it
The CO says go north, boys
Let's take our luck, head up into Holland

So here we are in the land of the level
An old city, kind folk
They've got as little food as we get
Horsemeat is about the best we can expect

No fighting for us, we're interned
Some have escaped, back to Blighty they went
Others were let out to help with harvest at home
Came back, as they'd given their word

Hurray! war is over, peace for our time
But we haven't really fought, have we
Our kinsmen and friends fell valiantly
Whilst we chewed the cud in the Low Countries

No, won't mention this ever again

Friday 19 October

A nice, calm day after a very cold day. We went right down to freezing overnight, but awoke to bright sunshine.



In the afternoon, I went for an amble round the Castle Grounds to see how the autumn colours are getting along. Well, things are colouring nicely.



And the poetry is coming along nicely, thank you. The last one was inspired by the Lady Matheson Memorial overlooking the Outer Harbour.

The proprietor

A cupola and statue
Not far from his castle
Looking out east over the harbour
A man who made his mark

Now a marker of Remembrance
then a token of wealth
ruthlessly accumulated
the seedbox of the poppy, and its dried sap

A war was fabricated
in the distant Orient
over the trade in this soporific
this analgesic - this addictive

The benefactor, so hailed by some
Made many an improvement
But selective who would enjoy it
If you were in arrears, off in the boat you went

Decided by his managers
wearing more than thirty hats at once
an impressive act of balancing
an abuse of powers never seen before or since

An arbitrary power of eviction
not always based in law
exercised by those in his stead
compassion and empathy were alien to them

A mixed view from the modern times
of what some term a drugs baron
Others, one who put the island into modern times
Money talks, even to this day

The mill

Moved by the wind or the flowing of water
Grinding of corn, after dark
A meeting place for many in days long ago
None of them left, but in ruins or display

The water still flows, but passes them by
even restored, their wheels stand still
Not now do the villagers need their grinding done here
Far off machines supply all that they need

Only approved would they be allowed
If not, their stones to be broken
What more, the distilling of spirits
The water of life, from the black pot

Suddenly illegal, well, who is to stop
The still by the stream
In the back of the house
Don't breathe one word

Thursday 18 October

The day started with heavy showers and a strong northeasterly wind, but after midday, the rain ceased and gradually the sun started to come out. After sunset, the new moon was visible low over the southwesterly horizon. I read twenty pages from the Qu'ran and about 30 in my new chronological account about the First World War.

You'd think people would learn from an incident, but reports from the Coastguard in Essex would suggest otherwise. Near the town of Colchester, it is apparently possible to drive to Mersea Island, off the coast, via a causeway called The Strood. The only problem with this is that it gets flooded at high tide during springtides, which are occurring at the moment. So, yesterday someone got overtaken by water on The Strood, got out of their car and was swept away. Someone else managed to save the driver, but another seven vehicles also got into difficulties. The same happened today.

Looking on Streetview (see below), I could see no signage warning of flooding on this road, but I can only reiterate the Coastguard's advice to always heed the tides when near the sea.


View Larger Map

The storm

Dark grey and ominous, scudding by low
Sun breaking through, blinding brightness
Parallel lines streaking southwest
Pockmarking the water, running with tide

High in the sky towering tall
Deep freeze above, chilly below
A puddle now forms, where the drain is blocked
The pavement is washed, by each passing motorist

Tide rising high, through sun and moon opposing
Wind rising too, the equinox past
Angry white riders, rearing up tall
Crashing in fury, augmented by wind

The watery road is closed, as the spume flies
Tied up by the pierhead, lights dimmed
Wind rising higher, beyond Beaufort's scale
Soon triple digits, even in imperial

Stones, pebbles, spray, clatter from shore
The walls resonate with the onslaught
Are they still safe, will they keep us
No

Fleeing the elements into the darkness
From which they will never emerge
Sweet and salt water combine
And swept off to oblivion, five they were

That was a bad one, thank heavens it's daylight
My roof's gone, the barn's a wreck
Trees down, power is off
That's nothing.
Where are the five?

Wednesday 17 October

That was the start to the morning, and it stayed fairly bright all day. The northeasterly wind did nothing to warm things up, and we barely managed double figures. Overnight, the mainland saw a hard frost, with -9C / 16F being reported from deepest Aberdeenshire. Five hundred miles to the south, in London, the overnight low was 15C / 59F. The UK is a comparatively small country, but can certainly see some dramatic differences in weather. The Cairngorms (a mountain range with peaks over 4,000 feet, 30 miles south of Inverness) had their first covering of snow over the weekend. It's mid October, and we'll know about it.

It is also the week for springtides, which causes trouble for the ferry between Leverburgh and Berneray, 55 miles south of here. It cannot sail at low tide during springtide, because there is simply not enough (or just plain no) water in the channels of the Sound of Harris. At one point, the boat comes to a near full stop, makes a 90 degree turn on the spot, then proceeds. It is that tight. Low tide also offers me the opportunity to go down to the bottom of the basin across the way from me, and look for shellfish. Like in previous years, I did find some, but unlike previous years, they did not jump up and down on the tray. Scallops move around on the seabed by quickly opening and shutting their shells. These did not budge. Although not all of them will have been scallops (probably queen scallops), I was not going to chance eating them. You see the amount of growth (both seaweed and barnacle), so the content would have been decidedly off.



Earlier this week, the British Prime Minister and the Scottish First Minister signed an agreement to hold a referendum on independence for Scotland before the end of 2014. I have previously made my position clear on the issue: NO.

Three dozen their number

Long reach the arms of the sea
North from the channel off the isle of the mists
High rise the mountains
As they impotently block passage

Reach to the sky in vertiginous heights
Grey in the clouds, grey the rocks strewn
Brown in heather tumbling down
to a narrow green strip by the water

Three dozen their number, now only two
A ruinous house, the outline of walls
The poorest of ground, in strips parallel
Draining the bogland for crops

Fishing the waters to feed the mouths
Rearing some cattle for milk at the hearth
Three dozen their number, now only two
Where the others go to?

Look for them northward, on divided land
demonstrating the asymptote
the more you divide, the lesser you get
until you're near nothing, in all possible respects

Another sea arm, do not breathe in
You won't fit in your strip of land
You'll be wider than that
Three dozen their number, now only two

Whilst thirty-four cram onto alien shores
And two come and go
Their land went to sheep
But even that was not enough

And the stag now roars his lust
Whilst being chased, shot and gutted - for fun

Three dozen townships teetering
on the edge of existence
on the edge of the sea
pushed to extinction for the greed of another

Napoleon's defeat heralded their demise
Peace took their livelihood
An end to subsistence
An end to life, more than through war

What have we now, in the derelict corner?
A rich man's playground
A rich man's money press
Soon churning out power.

Three dozen their number
Now only two

Tuesday 16 October

A beautifully calm and bright or sunny day, although not warm at 11C. Went for an amble to view progress on the demolition of the old buildings of the Nicolson Institute, which is nearing completion. The machines were continuing to gnaw and grind their way through what remains of the last edifice.

I was not surprised to read that former Bosnian Serb leader Radovan Karadzic has denied the charges of genocide that have been levelled against him at the International War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague. Karadzic, with his general, Ratko Mladic, is alleged to have heaped unspeakable horrors on the people of Bosnia-Hercegovina between 1992 and 1995, with the nadir being Srebrenica.

A walk in the moor

Overcast skies threatening rain
The long line of water dully reflects
the little hamlet on the far bank
Vehicles turn the distant corner
out of sight

The paved roadway dips then rises
Passes the gateway to lose its tarmac
The first lake looms up below
Rocks and debris litter the track

Floodwater impedes progress
Where's the road, where is the moor
Spaghnum between the wheelruts
A deep channel fails to drain from the edge

A fleece and some horns, a skull
In front of a second gate, abandon all hope
The rise ahead reveals a lake, another lake, another lake
Where can we pass - it's a narrow causeway

Distant hills reflect in the water
Doom-laden skies glower to the south
Battleship grey is the surface
A final gate, and now find your own way

Watch you step observe the plantlife
Here you can stand, there is a bottomless lake
Shrouded by virulently green watercress
Beware of the peathags, do not be hasty

One wrong move and you may not be found
Until the next spring - or next century
Feel safe on the heather, hug the contourline
Skirt the bulrushes, circle the lochan

The valley opens out, to the left lies the township
The mountains now close, blocking out the light
Guarding the homesteads, three dozen empty
Lining the shores, now home to the deer

The crossroads is reached, the light starts to fade
The fjord looms ahead, leading out to the sea
Complete, soundless silence
But in safety, back on the road

Hurricane update - 15 October

Hurricane PAUL has blown up into a major hurricane southwest of Baja California, with maximum sustained windspeeds of 105 knots, that's 120 mph. The storm is headed for the west coast of the peninsula, where the following warnings and watches are in force.

For the west coast of the Baja peninsula:
A HURRICANE WARNING is in force from Santa Fe to Puerto San Andresito, Mexico
A tropical storm WARNING is in force from Puerto San Andresito to Punta Abreojos as well as from Agua Blanca to south of Santa Fe.

NHC is issuing advisories every three hours. If you know anyone in Baja, please advise them of the situation; the hurricane warnings were only issued within the last few minutes.

The far north

Looking out to sea, distant mountains looming
Rolling in from far away, long dark swells
Born of distant winds and currents
Immutable yet ever changing

A demure chapel, long since out of use
A place of devotion, for those no longer there
Once in summer, they would flock there
With their flock of beasts to tend

Rows of lowly houses strung out side by side
Strips of narrow land beyond
Stretching for a mile towards the shore
Where all ends on a precipitate cliff

Sand swirls on the currents
whether in the air or in the sea
Changing coastlines that impercetably crumble
Only the brick tower remains, a tall beacon

The ancient rocks, dating back to earth's beginning
Root the soil, thin and meagre
Where little grows, worthy of mention
Only a sea of flowers, next to the ever-moving sea

Journey's end's beyond the gate
A rock is all that will remain
As tangible reminder of
Those whose footsteps have long faded

Monday 15 October - an island funeral

A bright and sunny day, with the odd light shower about.
This afternoon, I attended the funeral of an acquaintance, who died last Thursday of cancer. It may interest readers though to hear of the procedures that are adhered to at a funeral in this island.

The service was conducted at the Free Church (Continuing) in Sandwick. This split off from the main Free Church of Scotland a number of years ago. In common with the Free Church, no musical instruments were present in that place of worship, which was also totally unadorned. I was 20 minutes early, but the carpark was already full - and carparks at churches here tend to be very spacious. Virtually all the men were wearing black or dark long coats, particularly the elderly. Some of the ladies wore a hat. Once all the mourners were inside, the chief mourners (the relatives) filed in and the service commenced, at the exact time advertised. Those who know Stornoway will be familiar with the little death notices in the windows of certain shops. The notices intimate the time of the funeral, and the time of the service - in this case the service commenced half an hour before the funeral.

The service started with the singing of part of Psalm 98, where the tune was precented a capella by the precentor, with the congregation joining in, at their own pitch and at times their own tempo. One minister offered up prayers for the family, friends, colleagues and acquaintances of the deceased. A church elder then read from Isaiah 40 and Matthew 11, before Psalm 23 was sung in Gaelic. On that occasion, I hummed the tune, as the words are beyond me. Following a final prayer by another minister, the chief mourners filed out of the church with the rest of the congregation standing up, following on behind.

Once outside, a unique ritual began to unfold. The menfolk, myself included, filed up in two lines, standing next to each other. In between, the coffin stood on a bier, and men took turns to carry the bier a longer or shorter distance. The road was closed to traffic, and in this instance it was Sandwick Road, the main road linking Stornoway with the airport. There were about 200 people present, and the carrying of the coffin carried on to the junction with North Street, and up North Street. Once people had done their stint of carrying, they would stand aside and cast their gaze aside as well. Those who had not yet done a stint continued to follow the coffin, until they had their chance.

Once the procession had passed me, after I had done my bit of carrying, I left proceedings. A bus was ready to take the chief mourners to the cemetery at Gress for interment. I walked back to town.

Angus, RIP.

Sunday 14 October

A bright and sunny day, with only a few drops of rain. As indicated in previous post, it was autumnal in a quiet sense. Sundays are always quiet in this neck of the woods, and this week's was no exception. The ferry slipped out without any fuss, on the last Sunday sailing of the summer timetable. The winter schedule commences next Sunday, without changes on our route. The route between Harris and Skye will see an appreciable reduction in service, and the Sound of Harris ferry will start its tightrope walk between high tide and daylight.

Felix Baumgartner jumped from 128,000 feet down to earth in a matter of about 7 minutes. It took him more than 2 hours to float up to the altitude. I don't have a head for heights, and get giddy standing on a ladder. However, it all has to do with having points of reference. Nonetheless, plummeting to earth at 700 mph in just a spacesuit is a bit hairy for me. Well done Felix.

I have now started a Facebook page for my writings after receiving positive feedback, thanks all.