Scotland, one year on

A year ago on 19th March, Kate and I moved into a house in the remote village that is Carradale, a place previously unknown to us, in a country we had visited but not inhabited, and into an entirely new way of life. For most of our lives up to this point we had been what can best be described as ‘nomads’ - having neither house nor area which we could honestly describe as ‘home’, not belonging to any one place. Perhaps if you are born in a town which has a strong identity of its own then this sticks to you even after you leave – you will always be a Liverpudlian or a Londoner. Maybe those who maintain contact with old friends in the place they were brought up in find it easier to think of this location as part of their own origin. But neither Kate nor I have ever kept in touch with old school-friends and as we have moved about from one location to another over many years we have made and lost touch with so many friends that this has become more the norm than the exception.
Although many people do turn out as we have, others might regard our way of life as quite strange; they would feel comfortable only when close to ‘home’. For us, however, throughout our working lives, hardly had we begun to put down roots in one place when something would come along which caught the eye, an opportunity to change or to take up some employment opportunity, and we would grab at it and follow it across country, east to west, north and south.

 By the time we came to retire from work we had decided, so we thought, that we would be content to travel about endlessly on our boat, settling only temporarily during the winter months to catch our breath and prepare for the next sailing season. And so it continued for the first few years, our lives orientated around sailing with escapes every so often to meet up with one or other of our widely scattered family. Then quite suddenly, twelve months ago, we woke up one day feeling unsettled by the fact that we did not have a permanent base on land to come back to…. and this is how we are now living in Carradale.
Remembering back to last year (and also reading the blog entries we posted then) I can see it was a relatively dry Carradale we arrived at with enough warmth and sunshine to tempt us out exploring along the seashore before we had finished unpacking.

 Both of us can recall staring in awe and wonder at the scenery around us. With the anniversary of our arrival still a few weeks away the ground still needs to warm up and it is clear to see that it is holding far more moisture this year, moisture that as I write still drops out of the clouds just as it has done for many weeks. At this point we really cannot say whether this is the norm and last year the exception or whether the reverse is true. But neither do we really care because what the last year has taught us is to regard the weather in this place as neither good not bad, but always exciting. We take comfort from the fact that the house we have bought here has stood for many years and seen off so many gales in its past that it will continue to keep us safe too. It has a pleasant solid feel to it.
Just the other day we took another plunge towards permanence here by inviting a solar power installer to fit photo-voltaic panels on our south-facing roof. More than almost anything else you can do to a property, this is a long term decision as the financial payback for the investment will not occur for many years (if ever). Nevertheless we feel that this is a change we must make; each time the sun shines it feels like we are wasting something. We know that being in Scotland, the power of the sun is less than in southern Britain, for example, and this means less electricity will be generated by our roof. To compensate, however, we live in an area which is pollution-free, our air arriving fresh off the Atlantic and often nicely scrubbed by nice clean rain.

Clean air lets in more light, of course, so we can expect a better performance from our solar array than if we lived in a city. There are, so it seems, just too many variables for anyone to predict accurately how much benefit we will get once they are up and running. The best we can do is to measure what electricity we do get and smile smugly at our neighbours, most of whom will probably think we are slightly insane. One thing is certain, however. News of the installation will fly around this village like a wild rumour – news, good or bad, travels fast here – and it will be interesting to see what this leads to.

Twelve months ago Cirrus Cat languished miles away in a boatyard in Cornwall, lonely although not forgotten. This winter she rests in the marina car park in Tarbert so I have begun the long overdue task of scraping many layers of antifouling paint from her twin bottoms.

By any stretch of the imagination this is a miserable and thankless task as crouched between the hulls I work away with a scraper showering the ground with scrapings and filling the air with blue dust. I emerge after an hour or so stiff and sore, damp from lying on the ground and looking like an extra from a sci-fi movie. Using the tool two-handed I have to apply considerable pressure to cut my way through at least five or six layers of blue and several layers of black paint down to a white primer applied after the boat was epoxy treated many years ago. Trying to create a smooth surface whilst avoiding scratching the surface or cutting down too far, all the while kneeling or lying beneath the hull, is just about as physical a task as anyone would wish but this is the sort of punishment that all boat owners must endure for their hobby. Just part of the fun really!
The pressure is on now as we have been given a date for the lift-in, when a crane is booked, boats are lifted back into the water and the car park is restored to its summer use. Having this date will focus the minds of the owners of all the boats around us so we can expect company over the coming weeks as we all prepare for launching.

Carradale

We have been on another of our walks (it only takes a bit of sunshine to get us out), this one to a viewpoint just above the snowline from where the whole village spreads out like a map. It is very wet underfoot and the air is cold, but the view is well worth the effort of the climb. Before coming here we were told that snow rarely stays for long and that the climate is generally milder than its latitude justifies due to the influence of the Gulf Stream.

From the mid point of our first winter it is difficult to judge the accuracy of this statement but a photo taken recently from the lane close to my mother’s house in East Sussex seems to indicate that there may be some truth there. The contrast between the two landscapes is striking.

Arriving back from our walk we are barely out of our outdoor clothes when the phone rings and Kate is answering a query about the minutes she has drafted for either the Village Hall or some other committee. I nudge her gently to remind her that we must get ready to go out again soon as we are playing bowls tonight, an activity we have become involved in since moving here. Our coats go on again and we march off through the village then on down the lane towards the Village Hall. Night has fallen and the darkness beyond the reach of the yellow streetlights is impenetrable so we use torches to throw pools of light before us as we skirt the edge of a field then dodge the water-filled potholes to the door of the hall. Soon inside we greet our friends; all of us have turned out for the highlight of the week, carpet bowls.

In simple terms this is all about the art of the seemingly impossible, rolling a ball along a curved path on a flat surface. The target jack, a smaller white ball, is placed at one end of the mat behind an obstructing block, in such a way that it is impossible to aim in a straight line. The bowls are weighted on one side giving them a ‘bias’ which makes them swerve gently to one side and the trick is to get this just right so that the bowl comes to rest nestled up to the jack. Slight imperfections in the floor of our village hall add interest to the whole process so that even the most skilful players are sometimes caught out and beginners like us can strike lucky and appear impressively adept. Which all adds to the fun, of course. A perfectly targeted throw usually generates a satisfying inner glow although unlike in a game of football, hugging and kissing rarely takes place.

There are times now when our lives get quite busy and it seems we hardly have time to catch breath. The fact that it is all of our own doing is of little consequence. Sometimes it is very difficult to refuse when we are asked to take on this job or to sit on that committee – we are interested, proud of our village. We are suffering (not really the right word) the plight of many newcomers, seized upon as new blood by those who have lived here for many years, giving them the opportunity to step back for a while. Jobs like Village Hall Secretary have been passed around the community for so long that when someone new arrives they are weighed up for suitability and roped in. There is so much going on here. The carpet bowls we have tried and taken to – it is gentle fun – and then there is the badminton, netball and soon Scottish country dancing as well.

The Campbeltown Sailing Club keeps me fairly busy too. There is the website to look after and a newsletter to be produced every so often, and with the project to develop Carradale Harbour – moorings laid outside the harbour are just the start – there is now another website which will document the history of the harbour and track the forward progress of the Harbour User Group (CHUG) in its efforts to re-generate the harbour area. For Kate and I we must avoid taking on too much so that our lives here cease to be pleasurable.

Despite all this activity, sometime later this year we plan to take to the water again aboard Cirrus Cat.

We are delighted to learn that our friend Richard, who hails from our old sailing ground in Faversham, Kent, plans to bring his boat Endeavour to the Western Isles this year. What’s more, Richard’s son Tim, seen here playing music with dad in Endeavour’s cabin, now plans to bring his own boat (and music) to the Western Isles too. Is Scotland entirely ready for this influx of yachty Irish-Englishness or should we stand ready to repel them perhaps? No, their company will be most welcome and we look forward to sharing an anchorage with them some time soon.