Tuesday 29 June 2010

Medieval Castles? June Thesis Update

Warning: The following is a wall of text:

Completing a Masters dissertation here at the University of Sheffield (and likely, likewise, across England) is proving to be an interesting process. The Department of Archaeology at Sheffield runs various different one-year Masters programs ranging from Aegean archaeology to human osteology and funerary archaeology. Starting on June 1, all of us Masters students were formally able to start working on our dissertation (read: ‘theses’ in the U.S.) and prepare them for a mid-September deadline. Ideally, the goal is to carry out original archaeological research and present your results and complete report in something like ca. 50 pages of text, not counting tables and figures, etc.

As I work through my first graduate school thesis over the summer, I thought I’d attempt to share monthly updates on what I’m doing and what I’m finding. In addition, it will give me experience in putting down my thoughts on my work for a (somewhat) public readership.

So, I’m in the MSc program for environmental archaeology and palaeoeconomy. The term “environmental archaeology” has lots of guises and has to come mean different things, all of varying virtue, in its relatively short life-span as an archaeological sub-discipline. Essentially, the term is today widely taken to mean the practice of studying biological or geological evidence from archaeological sites to learn more about the conditions of the surrounding environment, how people have exploited their environment throughout time, what people ate, how they chose to make a living, etc. Various proponents of differing views on the sub-discipline will argue that you might use “environmental archaeology” to do such things as re-construct an ancient landscape, etc, but I think the term is largely a convenient misnomer. The whole thing is a product of the “New Archaeology” of the ‘60s and ‘70s that sought to make archaeology a more scientific and thus more rigorous discipline than it had been in the past, given our evolution from the more colonial antiquarians. And despite a lot of ‘political’ theoretical rifts between various factions within archaeology, I’m probably still a processualist at heart.

I’m generally more concerned with the ‘palaeoeconomy’ side of things. The study of prehistoric economies isn’t quite the same thing that a Wall Street economist would recognize as being very familiar, because it’s more akin to investigating people’s choices for animal husbandry, selecting foodstuffs, working out social ways to deal with supply, etc. Currently, I’m particularly interested in studying feasting – using evidence from animal remains to discuss the social and cultural strategies used to gain power, negotiate social roles, and shape self- and communal-identity though food. It’s an interesting little corner of academic zooarchaeology (a simple definition: the archaeological study of animal remains) that I enjoy. Recently, to complete my coursework for my zooarchaeology method and theory course, I had to deal with a dataset of animal bones from a large, unique Neolithic site in Greece that seemed to buck the Greek trend in settlement types and whose community bonded through a impressively large feast.

But, to get to my dissertation work: Sadly, while Masters theses in the States have to be original research (and thus actually add to the literature on a certain topic), that’s not so much the case in England. When I told my course-mates that I was looking for a topic that I could produce original work from as a strong thesis but would also be something that A) could be re-worked to be published as an article in a scholarly archaeology journal and B) would focus more on methodology of that subject as to be more relevant to my career returning home, my British colleagues smirked and seemed to think that would be a tall order.

Which, it turns out, is true here. However, with the help of my adviser, I found the Doncaster Museum’s archaeologist had some suggestions for material to work on. Doncaster is a nearby town that today is one of the poorest, most AIDS-ridden corners of England. But, it used to be a bustling Roman fort and town and continued to be an important center in this area until the Industrial Revolution, when nearby Sheffield began to predominate thanks to all the rivers. I’ve spent a good deal of time now taking the train back and forth to Doncaster to help their archaeologist look for zooarchaeological material for me to work on, and have ended up with a working topic from our results. Currently, I plan to look at the high-status consumption of food from Medieval/Norman period sites. Namely, two local castles and a local manor house that had a moat installed around it. This is a subject my adviser is well-known for working on here in England, and a fair bit of this sort of work has been done in the ‘South,’ but the majority of archaeological work on castles by region all stops just south of us here in South Yorkshire.

Another development was my realization that only one of the three sites (mildly-famous Conisbrough Castle, mentioned in Ivanhoe) has been written up at all. All three were excavated in the 1970s, by English Heritage or its contemporary iteration, and the animal bones, at least, have been in storage ever since. This is, sadly, a huge problem in archaeology back home in the States as well. But, it always provides work for graduate students. So, I have now copied all of the paperwork I could find on the sites in the museum and have spent a few weeks just staring at thirty-five year old hand-written field notes trying to figure out exactly where each bag of bones actually came from. Because archaeology, of course, is based on the notion that archaeologists can use the context you find artifacts in to suggest a pattern of use or deposition in the soil. Pottery sherds and other artifacts can be dated because you know this design was only made during these years, or because you know that this style of pottery was made before that type but after the other type. Animal bones, however, generally look like animal bones. I could tell you these look older than those because they’re poorly preserved, but that’s relative. So, without an understanding of where these bones were found, they’re fairly useless.

Fortunately, I know have a decent idea about the material from Conisbrough Castle and the nearby Tickhill Castle. However, the material from Cowick Manor seems to just have been trenched out with a back-hoe and picked out of the backfill, with the records only telling me they came from this side or that side of the moat. So, that’s worrisome. Especially since the majority of my elements are from there.

In addition to continuing to work through that, I’ve also hooked up a database I’ll be able to use to record my identifications based off of a similar database structure used in the zooachaeological work at a village nearby to Stonehenge. I’ve also been reading up on my Medieval archaeology and castle household archaeology, since it was never really a huge focus of mine. And this week, I’ve started the process of washing all of the bones. That’s something that should have really happened thirty-five years ago, but before I can do much else I need to clean them. But, luckily, after just two days I’m about half-way through.

As much as I’ve been trying to avoid all this work with trips to London and Durham and the Peak District, that’s been my academic life this month. I apologize if it was fairly boring (if you’re still reading this far)!

Wednesday 23 June 2010

Among the mist in the Great Glen, Part 2

I’ve been lucky enough to have had the experience of camping at many unique places, but camping on the edge of a cold, still, and deep loch in the highlands of Scotland in March, with snow threatening the entire night as you fall asleep, knowing there is no one nearby for miles, was thrilling and unique in its own right. We awoke with the sun very early the next morning a wee bit sore and not terribly well-rested. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, the thick brush did not oblige us with the most comfortable sleeping surface. But, eager to be off and get to South Laggan, we broke camp, packed the rubbish from our dinner of trail food, and focused our attention on getting our bearings.

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Turns out, we had been encamped on a little area one map only marks as “Coille-ras” and were not entirely far from both the Clan Cameron Museum and the village of Clunes. Deciding to see exactly what was ahead for us, we slipped our packs on and, with fruit from our B&B hosts in Fort William in hand for breakfast, set off along the northern shore of Loch Lochy again. We were shortly directed back on to the highway, walking a bit away from the shore, to enjoy watching the faint early morning sunshine rise on a gorgeously clear morning. Eventually, we passed a sign to the Clan Cameron Museum (up a road a few miles) which is housed inside the Achnacarry House. Achnacarry House has belonged to the Camerons since 1660, but was destroyed in 1748 to punish them for their role in the Jacobite rebellion. This rugged area around the Museum was used in World War II to train the British Commando Basic Training programme, making recruits have to complete a five-mile trek through this terrain, heavily laden, in under 50 minutes. Apparently, some commando recruits were also killed in an exercise using live ammunition. Unfortunately, we only rode past the monument for this the following day on a bus.

We continued past Bunarkaig closer to the water towards the auspicious promise of Clunes further on. Turns out, we were halfway through Clunes before we knew it. Yes, the loch-side village of Clunes, so proudly denoted as a landmark on multiple maps, turned out to be something like four buildings. There might have been a fifth. Or that was a shed. I’m not sure, but there were snug, painfully cute little cottages, a sprawling old manor house, and something akin to a two-story duplex. It make us wonder where the residents worked, or what they did. But I suppose in the end Fort William or even the bustling town of Spean Bridge were close enough by to make worthwhile seeing something like this out your front door in the early morning:

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Our road into Clunes abruptly ended with an old signpost suggesting two directions for us. The Great Glen Way and South Laggan were to the right, along an old Forest Service road up a ridge and following the shore. To the left, a smaller forest trail headed up into the foothills of the Munros (the mountain chain along the shore) and towards the famous waterfall and cave of Cai-aig. Through wonderful little interpretive signs at a station at this part of the trail, we learned Cai-aig was believed to be haunted because some Highlanders (Camerons, of course) tossed a suspected witch down it at one point. Something about karma and such. Fans of the 1995 film Rob Roy would recognize this waterfall as the bridge and waterfall that Liam Neeson’s Rob McGregor makes his timely escape from the rather sniveling Cunningham. In a somewhat unrelated note, Bonnie Prince Charlie hide in the cave here for a few weeks during his flight from Culloden.

All of this is to say, of course, that we didn’t go check the sights out! It was considered, but we were feeling good about our trek IMG_5207and the weather was turning more sour all the time. So, right we went at Clunes, moving into tree plantations on the edge of the loch in a recent attempt to re-forest the British Isles as well as stabilise the slope. This road went on for a while, really. As we slowly climbed higher towards the peaks of the Munros, the rain began to intensify. We eventually ran into a few other hiking couples, generally going our direction. At some point, the dreaded crowded hiking leap-frog had started. IMG_5209 So, we slowed down, we waltzed, we enjoyed ourselves. We even stopped a few times, just because we could. Eventually, the rain was getting really quite annoying and it was altogether too cold. We had seen lots more tree though. That was a big plus. Eventually, the rain had slacked enough that we decided to lower our packs and have lunch on a high stretch of the forest road that overlooked the loch, with a swath of trees cut and logged for our viewing convenience. And, as luck would have it, one particularly chipper older couple happened to be lunching just down from us at our little highland cafe. We decided it was over when the rain came back, this time with hail.

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At last, we began to catch glimpses of the village of South Laggan and the north end of Loch Lochy. We passed though Kilfinnan and were suddenly beset by farmers, some old local walkers, and a chatty bunch of Scots who had been hiking from Inverness towards Fort William. At this point, we were quite close to the alleged site of the Battle of the Shirts. The well-known story is that on a hot, sultry (reminder: Scotland) day in July 1544, members of Clan Donald and Clan Cameron squared off against Clan Fraser over who would succeed the Chiefship of Clan MacDonald of Clan Ranald. Apparently, it was so hot that the highlanders removed their heavy tartan kilts and fought in naught but their shirts. Stirring imagery, I’m sure, but it’s likely not to have happened here, or possibly at all. In fact, Ashley has just referred to it as “the ultimate game of shirts versus skins.”

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Eventually, we came around a corner to see South Laggan, stretched our before us in all her majesty:

IMG_5218And yes, that’s the correct photo.

We hadn’t been on the trail long, though I was admittedly a bit out of hiking shape, but the cold and rain had sapped us fairly heavily over the days from Fort William, and we had settled a pact to try to find the lone hostel in Laggan, marked on our map by a single icon without a name. Looking back down Loch Lochy as we crossed the locks at the mouth of the canal, we wished we had a few more days to just keep on and hike back into Inverness.

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In the end, though, we hiked down the canal tow-paths another mile or two and gratefully turned from the path towards a highway and back down to the hostel’s supposed location.

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And what a fantastic hostel! A wonderful old farming complex, with the main house converted into lovely little well-appointed but simple guest rooms, room to dry tents and tarps, a kitchen, little living room, and ---ooh! The internet! We ducked inside just in time: the snow was coming.

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Sunday 20 June 2010

“Well then how in the hell do you expect to get here?”

SAM_1976 Before heading off on our big adventure up north we surprised many a native Briton by not renting a car in Scotland and instead depending on public transportation for not one, but two weeks. After returning, I understand their misgivings. Traveling around Scotland without a tiny, European rental car is challenging, and yet I personally would not have wanted it any other way. We would not have detoured and seen York station for the first time, glanced the eastern coastline amidst the northern sunset, seen what Harry Potter saw, or detoured once again through Glencoe and it’s beautiful mountain ranges.

With this being said I would advise those who tend to worry about punctuality and the smooth carrying out of pre-planned plans to please rent a car, especially if your trip falls in those disastrous days before British summer time in the abandoned north (although I cannot for the life of me discern the difference in seasons between March 25th and March 26th, the date of which spring is apparently completely skipped over to blistery “summer,” and now that I think of it, being currently in the throes of actual British summer, March 26th is not that much colder than June 19th for one vacationing once again in the north, but that’s another story.)

SAM_1974 All in all, we boarded 7 trains, 6 busses, 2 boats, and one slightly dodgy taxi in order to complete our two week journey. Of our original travel itinerary, only two legs of the trip were accomplished as originally designed, the beautiful journey between the Isle of Skye and Fort William by way of a brisk ferry trip and a ride over the acclaimed stretch of track connecting Malliag to Fort William and a direct train trip from Stirling to Edinburgh. During our two weeks in Scotland we rode both scenic railway lines accessing the remote and mountainous west coast of Scotland. The first, connecting Malliag and Fort William, is part of the West Highland Line, famous not only for its unparalleled views but also for the Glenfinnan Viaduct, overlooking the Glenfinnan memorial and most recognizably used as the route to Hogwarts in the Harry Potter films.

One very drunk, elderly man made part of our journey on this line equally unforgettable when he decided on a mostly empty train car to not only sit right next to us but to also engage us in a stream of dribble, the content of which is still debated today. I can say for certain he told the tale of being unfaithful to his wife, who, upon discovering this, would certainly sick their dogs on IMG_5008him. He also advised Kevin to keep me in line through the use of certain domestic violence. Both fortunately and unfortunately he detrained at Arisaig. Fortunately as it was the second call on the line, thus leaving us earlier rather than later. Unfortunate because as we pulled into Arisaig, a small village placed on the map by poet Alasdiar MacMhaighstir Alasdair (but most likely is now better known in the region due to its having a railway stop and a Spar), I found it to be the most agreeable small village, lost to the beauty of the West Highlands. That is, until Crazy McCrazytown said his goodbyes, asked us to pray for his safety, I’m pretty sure made a racist comment, before detraining at the lovely Arisaig. Sorry, most adorable little town, I will surely never patron you based on this one encounter.

We arrived in Inverness late into the first day of our travels. Our original train journey between Sheffield and our first destination in the north was disrupted by “vandalism,” according to the station authorities, which caused gas leaks on certain vital points along the track. Thus we were delayed and detoured, our first of many travel adjustments made throughout the next two weeks. Besides this hiccup, and the need to hop on and off three trains instead of two, the CrossCountry service to Inverness was IMG_4688 perfectly uneventful. We did have to sprint and jump upon an almost-moving train in Edinburgh, but that’s besides the point. The views up the eastern coast were worth the many hours sitting across from a paranoid business man who shuddered and winced each time my knee accidently grazed his own. The staff were friendly, the train was clean, and before we knew it we were sliding into Inverness.

IMG_4703IMG_4704 A few days later we were at the station again, which boasts its own old-timey barber parlor, and aboard the Kyle of Lochalsh Line, the second scenic railway, bound for the west coast with plans to reach Armadale on the Isle of Skype by nightfall. Now plans are a funny thing. So are travel advice websites, where one can read in plain, black and white English that traveling from Kyle of Lochalsh to Armadale is as easy as two swift and cheerful bus rides, one across the famous Skye bridge into Kyleakin, and SAM_2020another down Sleat, a peninsula on Skye on which one finds Armadale. Reality is another funny thing. Arriving into Kyle of Lochalsh, a town about SAM_2024the size of my thumb, finding the bus stop was as easy as walking down the only street in Kyle of Lochalsh. Finding the bus was another matter entirely. According to the schedule plastered inside the bus shelter, we had arrived within the only hour that no busses come or go within the village. And then it started pouring. Not any kind of rain with which mere mortals may be experienced, but coastal Scotland rain. We found a chippie, warmed ourselves in our new found fried delicacies, and waiting, and waited.

Soaked and aboard the bus to Kyleakin (which we could see from the bus stop and most likely could have swam there by this point and had been just as wet and cold), and being the only passengers, we discussed our options with the bus driver about getting to Armadale. We were told that without a car there was no way we would reach our destination that night. But, after our 7 minute bus ride across the bridge into Kyleakin, if we wanted to wait another hour or so, the same bus with the same driver would be back to bring passengers the 8 miles to Broadford, not on Sleat but a tiny bit closer.

SAM_2028 Sitting in another bus shelter watching the sky pour down now on the other side of Kyle Akin (yes, the strip of water between Kyle of Lochalsh and Kyleakin is called “Kyle Akin”) we phoned the Flora MacDonald Hostel, as camping seemed no longer an option, explaining that we were attempting to get to the accommodation advertised as “just north” of the Aramdale pier (which was in fact a little over 3 miles north), without a car, he replied, “Well how in the hell do you think you’re going to get here?” This simple question summed up our entire carless experience in Scotland.

Understanding now that this task may be a little more difficult than originally perceived, we were instructed by the hostel manager to hitch hike. He assured us that Skye is very friendly and locals are used to hitch hikers. Stuck in Kyleakin, hitch hiking seemed the most viable option, that is if either of us proved themselves able to successfully hitch hike. My predisposition to believe every person passing was a potential homicidal maniac based on the make and model of their vehicle, and Kevin’s indecisive suggestions of, “maybe them…maybe them…maybe them…” lead us to fail in our first ever joined hitch hiking experiment. The empty bus returned prompting me to wonder where it had even gone in the first place and if, as it seemed, we were the only passenger of the entire day, the driver couldn’t take a slight detour onto Sleat and deliver two wet and weary travelers to the unknown hostel awaiting us. Instead, we went to Broadford.

Broadford serves as the metropolitan center of Skye. It has a Co-Op grocery store (from which we bought wine), a gas station (at which I scoped out prospective hitchees, finding none desirable), some restaurants (all of which seemed closed), and a youth hostel (at which we contemplated stopping). Instead we hooked up with Norma, the taxi driving grandmother extraordinaire. Norma showed up in a nondescript four door sedan which had no makings of a taxi. Regardless she shuttled us the 18 or so miles to our hostel, of which she had never heard. She spoke with us candidly of how little she valued England, her belief that Scotland was much more inviting and much less racist than England, and IMG_4782 what it takes in someone’s character to live on such a small island, isolated from most of the world. Pulling into the hostel I was a little sad to see Norma go, and even sadder to say goodbye to the car, as the next few days saw us traipsing up and down the A851 (which only took 10 years to build according to prominent signs scattered throughout) towards Armadale and back.

After some days on Skye it was time to catch the Malliag ferry and be on our way. Equipped with our heavy packs and with about a 3 mile hike to the port we made another go of hitch hiking along the A851 (the full bus service along this route started literally the next day, thank you British-Summer-Time). This go around I did not discriminate, I was an equal opportunity hitch hiker, sticking my thumb out for all who crossed my path. There is nothing that inflicts low self esteem more than being turned down with shrug after shrug, (trust me, they all pity-shrugged) of local Skye residents. My yearn for four wheels and regret at packing across Scotland stopped in that moment as we viewed a rare sea eagle taking to the sky, reminding me of all we were able to see on two feet.

IMG_4977IMG_4979 The lack of a vehicle also came in handy while boarding the ferry, as pedestrian crossing is much cheaper. The Sound of Sleat must be viewed from the water, don’t let anyone tell you any different. Sailing into Malliag, we quickly boarded the West Highland Line to Fort William.

IMG_5246 After two days hiking the Great Glen Way, I was ready for a city break. Next on the agenda was Stirling, then on to Edinburgh. First we had to return to Fort William to board our train to Stirling. We easily caught a bus near Loch Lochy and traveled down the opposite banks of the Loch up which we had just hiked. Once in Fort William, another change of plans. A piece of track was out between Fort William and Crianlarich and we detoured on a bus through Glencoe instead. The winding mountain pass was IMG_5259 beautiful. Once in Crianlarich I was reminded once more that such detours were serendipitous as we passed by a small and unique church. The local service into Stirling provided passengers with remarks concerning points of interest along the way, and although the sound system made the mini-speeches unrecognizable, I appreciated the efforts of the elderly porter.

Our last train ride was from Stirling to Edinburgh, and was thankfully uneventful, unlike our means of transportation from Edinburgh back to England. So yes, we packed through Scotland in the cold, frost-bitten March without access to a car. But we reached remote villages of the West Highlands, islands with more sheep than citizens, and journeyed on rail lines renown for their beautiful scenery. We camped along an ancient Loch kissed by a rainbow (OK, that’s going a little overboard, but it DID happen!) I would not recommend this journey to the faint of heart, or to anyone who would rather have a seamless, perfect vacation, but for those who like to get their hands a little dirty, and maybe like to view many, many sheep, leave the car at home and take Scotland by foot.IMG_4883

Wednesday 9 June 2010

Among the mist in the Great Glen, Part 1

Some time has passed since Ashley and I were packing our way through the highlands of Scotland, but while our graduate school coursework is over for now, it’s time to fill in some of our adventures in Great Britain this spring.
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As part of our two-week jaunt through Scotland over our Easter break, Ashley and I planned to hike a portion of the Great Glen Way. The Great Glen, or An Gleann Mòr in Scots Gaelic, is a long series of lochs in a deep valley formed by the transverse fault of two different tectonic plates. Sparing you, the reader, from what I’ve been told is likely the ‘boring geological details,’ suffice it to say that this long, straight valley cuts Scotland in two, with the Grampian Mountains to the south and the northwest Highlands to the north. It’s been a major travel route for millennia, with fairly easy walking along the rivers and lochs from the southwest to northeast. Myth asserts that Saint Columba (or Calum Cille in Scots Gaelic), the Irish missionary monk, travelled along the Great Glen during his time in Scotland. Various proponents of St Columba suggest during his time evangelising the Picts of Scotland, he walked the Great Glen towards Inverness in the north to meet with the pagan king Bridei.
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The Great Glen has long been seen as an important point in controlling the highland clans, with three English-built fortifications along the route. Fort William, at the southwest edge of the River Lochy and Loch Linnhe, Fort Augustus on the south end of Loch Ness, and Fort George at the northeast end of the River Ness, near Inverness. During the Victorian period, the Caledonian Canal was constructed along the whole thing, linking the long, deep lochs and rivers of the Great Glen and allowing commercial and military vessels to move from the Atlantic Ocean to the North Sea without having to move around the dangerous waters to the north. It was also undertaken to help the highlanders out due to all the economic and social issues caused by the Highland Clearances which forced many a Scottish family to America and others, but that’s another story.
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We set off from Fort William for a two-day hike with a mind to hit a midpoint along the Glen at South Laggan, where we’d then make our way down to Sterling to continue the tour. Our lovely IMG_5119B&B hosts in Fort William offered to drive us down from their hill-top home near Ben Nevis (the highest peak in the UK) to the ruins of Fort William itself. We then followed the trail through a few suburban paths and across railroad bridges to the ruins of Inverlochy Castle. The castle itself has an interesting history, having likely been built on a Pictish settlement destroyed by Vikings in addition to being an anti-IMG_5114 Robert I (the Bruce) stronghold and the site of a 1431 victory for Clan Donald against the army of King James I. But we’re trending back to me and my historical ramblings. Long story short, the castle was unoccupied for a time and is now cared for by Historic Scotland. So, wanting to get at least 12 miles or so in for the day, we left.
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When passed through a few of the other small towns that have cropped up along the southern end of the Caledonian Canal, IMG_5135 through neighbourhoods with local pipe bands practicing in schools, and out at last to the first locks of the Canal. Here, we joined the old tow-paths on the flat banks of the water and hiked towards Neptune’s Staircase. While most of the Glen doesn’t change too much in elevation and thus never requires more than a lock or two, here at the end of the River Lochy, Neptune’s IMG_5148Staircase is a series of many many locks that spans 60 or so vertical metres and takes boats over an hour to traverse. It was also, for the most part, the steepest incline for us for the day.
It was a chilly, windy, and frequently drizzly morning along the banks of the canal. We passed the occasional canal boat, groups of friendly old Scottish people we made friends with, and even a horse-backed group of tourists. Eventually, a small note on our map indicated we were getting close to the Sheangain Aqueduct. IMG_5163 During the construction of the Canal, a few rivers actually have to be crossed over, so the man-made canal flows on bridges over smaller natural streams and rivers. We decided to drop our packs and head down a small footpath to see the base of the aqueduct, the second largest on the canal, for ourselves.
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From here, it was trudging back on, with the shrill wind letting up a bit but more rain (read: it’s the highlands of Scotland in March).
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Making good time, we hit upon the Moy Swing Bridge and little town of Gairlochy by mid-afternoon. The Moy Swing Bridge is quite cool, in that it’s the oldest original swing bridge still on the IMG_5174Canal, in which the keeper still lives in a cottage by the canal. When a boat comes, the keeper swings open one side of the bridge, then hops in a little Zodiac raft, boats across the canal, and opens the other side for the boat to pass.
There wasn’t much to Gairlochy, but here our trail diverted off IMG_5177 the Canal tow-paths and up the hill slopes as we came southern end of the long, narrow Loch Lochy. For the rest of the day and the entirety of the following day, we’d be keeping the loch on our right as we hiked along its 9 miles. It’s not as deep as Loch Ness (only 230-something feet), but, not to be outdone by its more famous cousin, is home to its own plesiosaur/mythological creature known as “Lizzie.”
IMG_5180Also, I spied the partially sunken hull of a ship along its banks.
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We worked our way up and up, along the A82 highway for a while, but always keeping the Loch on our right and in our sights. Unfortunately, we were losing the daylight and had also made better time than we had planned. So, casting about for a place to pitch our tent (in Scotland, you can camp on anyone’s land or fields for a few days legally). However, most of the land for IMG_5182 the next foreseeable stretch was owned by the Scottish Forestry Commission, and was posted as off-limits due to logging. So what did we do? Found a quiet, secluded hummock of land, sheltered by the gentle swells of the ground from the ever-persist wind off the loch on one side and view from the highway on the other. With the threat of more rain and the possibility of snow coming on, we sent up camp.
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And had this view from our tent:
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With the sunlight fading and the chill really coming on, we made ourselves a quick warm dinner and settled into our tent to read by head-torch (headlamp) and warmed ourselves with little sampler bottles of Scotch we had picked up in Fort William a few days before.
Next time, we’ll continue our hike on the shores of Loch Lochy and explore some cool points of interest along the way to our destination of South Laggan.