The first serious frost of the year saw the overnight temperatures sink to around minus six over the weekend. It barely increased during daylight hours which made for some excellent winter walking. The coldest day was the Sunday and we headed through to Flanders Moss which lies on the fringes of historic Perthshire. An ancient raised peat bog, Flanders is a protected landscape and a swampy oasis within a (drained) sea of arable farmland.
We had only ever been here during the summer months when the place is alive with insects and birds. Amphibians can also be spotted in the ponds. Today was a completely different vista and glistening white was the dominate shade. My hands gradually froze as I operated my camera without gloves but it was too good a photo opportunity to miss. As I type, the image to the right has attracted over 300 likes on Instagram. This is my second photo to reach this social media milestone. I used to hope maybe one of my pics would persuade 50 people to click on it but now I seem to attract triple this amount with ease. Big Brian the influencer! Saffron Barker I'm catching you! The boardwalk circuit around the moss is just over half a mile but it's well worth travelling to see such an unusual piece of countryside. Trees ring the perimeter but the interior is mainly heather and a mosaic of sphagnum mosses with the odd stunted arboreal structure standing defiantly. I can't remember how I found out about this place. I suspect it was simply a case of scrolling randomly across online maps in search of potential walking routes.
Other than birds flying high overhead, the only feathered friend I spotted was a meadow pipit sitting on a frosted branch, the yellow hue standing out clearly against the white background. I reeled off a couple of pics to add to my Instagram post list. I upload one photo per day and like to keep a few recent ones in reserve. Saves me having to raid the back catalogue too frequently. The meadow pipit proved a hit with my followers but for some reason my most popular birdie posts have been ducks. The beginnings of The Trossachs loom in the distance at Flanders Moss and provide a picturesque backdrop to a landscape otherwise as flat as a pancake. The little ponds we passed were frozen solid with the trapped mosses shining through - a nice effect but one that didn't come across well on camera. Can't have it all. There is a similar peat bog over in Kinross-Shire, near Portmoak Airfield. This doesn't have extensive pedestrian access like Flanders, where a major part of the attraction is being able to explore the territory on foot. The lack of any major roads in the vicinity lends a welcome air of tranquillity. A wooden tower allows a panoramic view across the moss and I've never seen more than a dozen people here at any one time - even in summer. Knowledge of this hidden gem is probably most often acquired through word of mouth. Long may that be the case!
The last settlement encountered on the way through to Flanders is Thornhill - a charming village with a pub called the Lion & Unicorn which looks historic and welcoming. Their website promises a selection of fine ales and I must arrange a visit by bus or perhaps a car trip where I'm not behind the wheel (birthday outing perhaps?). Coincidentally, I once visited a town of the same name on a journey down to Dumfriesshire. I explored the brilliant Lead Mining Museum at Wanlockhead (Scotland's highest village) and walked a small portion of the Southern Upland Way, climbing Lowther Hill. I topped off a memorable day by driving 16 miles further south to Thornhill. The reason? To see the lead statue of winged horse Pegasus in the town centre. A quirky monument and one few people will have heard of, never mind seen with their own eyes. The road from Wanlockhead to the A76 was a lovely drive in its own right, winding through a valley. The Perthshire Thornhill has this striking building at the crossroads in the village centre. I thought it might be an old tolbooth but research revealed it to be the smallest Masonic Lodge in the UK. The historic county of Perthshire stretches past Thornhill as far as Aberfoyle but the post town for these places is Stirling. It is a reminder that postal addresses do not always indicate the true traditional county as smaller settlements near a boundary may be paired for mail delivery purposes with a larger place in the next shire. Postcodes frequently jump across county lines and don't in any way define political territories. They were created in the late 1960s purely as a routing system for Royal Mail. By way of example, FK (Falkirk) codes cover all of Clackmannanshire, a large chunk of Stirlingshire, a piece of Perthshire and a sliver of Fife. I asked myself why the ancient Scottish capital Stirling was never given a postal prefix. The answer is no doubt down to the fact the logical abbreviations S, ST, SL and SG are already taken by other towns.
As you approach the lodge from Flanders Moss, a helicopter is sited on parkland just before the traffic lights. The first time I spotted the chopper from the car, I assumed it was on display as part of a community event. Today I wandered over for a closer look and it actually stands on a campsite and is available to hire as "glamping" accommodation. Something different to wigwams and eco-pods I suppose. It was a 20-minute drive to the bustling little town of Aberfoyle. There are always tourists and climbers milling around and the place can be considered the geographical gateway to the Highlands, being situated close to the boundary fault that runs across the country and divides Scotland into two distinct geological zones. Aberfoyle is also the source of the Forth. The mighty river flows out of nearby Loch Ard and you could almost clear it in a couple of mighty bounds. The Forth Inn ticks two "real" boxes - fire and ale - and is the ideal place to relax after a day's walking. We drove a mile up a steep road to the visitor's lodge in the Queen Elizabeth Forest Park. The woodland covers a massive 50,000 acres and there are excellent trails to explore. The Go Ape rope climbing centre is located in the vicinity and features some of the longest zip wires in the UK. Walkers descending to the forest valley see and hear the brave souls sailing by at 120-feet overhead.
Near the lodge is a statue dedicated to the women who worked in forestry during the world wars - supplying this vital resource and helping to keep the country running. Known affectionately as the lumberjills, these ladies were officially assigned to the Women's Timber Corps and carried out the arduous tasks of felling, snedding, loading lorries and trains, and also sawmilling timber all over Scotland. A large percentage of the end produce was mining timber, used to keep Britain's engine turning during these difficult times. The unit was disbanded in 1946 and each woman received a letter of thanks from Queen Elizabeth (mother of our present monarch). The memorial statute was commissioned in 2006 and it remains a curious aspect of our society that very few sculptures commemorate females. We followed the walkway deep into the forest and took in the view of the waterfall and marvelled at the blaze of autumn shades. Quite a few trees were adorned with Christmas accoutrements which can be rather cheesy but I particularly liked the mirrored statues sporting woolly hats. It's not uncommon to find artwork installed along a woodland trail and these ghostly figures made me think of the ring wraiths in Tolkien's classic novel. I read Lord of The Rings at 18 and again a few years later. I rarely read a book more than once and have never contemplated a hat-trick. Perhaps in 20 years time I'll rejoin the hobbits on their adventure.
On a previous visit to the forest park, we completed a circular walk that skirted the beginning of the highland boundary fault. Today we planned to go only as far as the bird hide in the hope of seeing the resident nuthatch. Apparently their presence in Scotland is a recent development, most likely attributable to climate change. The humble magpie never used to be spotted too often up here but now they are ten a penny. One must wonder where this global warming is taking us. Birds venturing a few miles further north is one thing but when you hear about permafrost melting for the first time in thousands of years, that has to be a matter of urgency. Burying one's head in the sand is definitely not the solution! The nuthatch did indeed put in an appearance but proved difficult to photograph due to its flighty nature and the dimming light didn't help matters. As Nicole often reminds me, it can be nice just to sit and watch the birds rather than constantly scan for photo opportunities. Although the pictures are my main point of interest, I do concede that quietly observing the behaviour of our feathered friends is a rewarding experience. Various finches and tits buzzed back and forth while a couple of blackbirds poked around in the undergrowth.
Just as we were packing up to leave, a red squirrel appeared out of nowhere and went about his business right in front of me. It's pleasing to see the native reds in many locations across Scotland as they are under constant threat from the imported greys. The two species do not share the same territory and the more robust greys - introduced by the Victorians - are able to exert their dominance and claim the best feeding grounds. The situation for the reds in England is dire and they are sparsely distributed. A stark reminder that man can play havoc with nature by bringing species into areas where they do not belong. It was time to head home and I wanted to catch the sunset at Torryburn - a coastal village close to where we live. Joining the motorway near Stirling was the halfway point of the journey in terms of distance but time-wise it's quicker from here as we could cruise at 60-70 mph from this point onwards. I was confident I'd be in Torryburn by sundown but my visibility was being obscured not by the fading daylight but the fact my windscreen washers had been frozen solid all day. I had cleaned the glass with plain water from a bottle in Aberfoyle and had some left should I really need to use it. Meanwhile, I battered on. Although there was a fair chance the engine heat would thaw the tubes, I didn't want to risk activating the wipers and completely smear the windscreen.
As we approached the Fife Coast, Nicole was skyping from the passenger seat with her nephews in Germany. I gave them a quick wave and it struck me how lucky we are to be connected across the globe and I wondered if today's youngsters even know how to write a letter? We pulled into the car park at Torryburn shore and it instantly became apparent a few other locals had come up with the same idea as me. The sun was dropping to the horizon and Nicole tried to give the lads a view by pointing her phone at the windscreen. At that moment I gave the washers a blast and - hey presto - the screenwash spurted out, revealing the orange-tinted vista to our onlookers from afar. There are always fantastic sights to be seen on your home turf but we don't always fully appreciate them. It brings to mind an interview with the legendary British rock n' roll guitarist Wilko Johnson. An Essex Canvey Islander, the latter stage of Wilko's career has been so dramatic you couldn't possibly have dreamt it up and there's no space to recount it here. I recall him being asked to name the place in the world he found most scenic. Without hesitation he replied "Thames estuary" - which is of course right on his doorstep. Knowing he had toured and travelled extensively, I didn't really expect him to say that but it served as a sharp reminder to "look aboot ye" - the motto of my neighbouring county Clackmannanshire.
The previous day had been a crisp one and we headed down to Ravenscraig Park in Kirkcaldy for the elevated short walk along the coast to Dysart. There is a car park at shore level which offers great views of Ravenscraig Castle but further progress depends upon the tides. The castle dates from around 1460 and is an early example of artillery defence. I assume this means firing big guns (or canons) from a clifftop position. The entire estate was gifted to the town in 1929 and is a popular spot for local walkers as well as forming part of the Fife Coastal Path. We did stray off the trail to make our way down past the dovecot to the beach, where I snapped the above photo. Back on the main footpath, it was a pleasant walk to Dysart Harbour where several episodes of Outlander have been filmed. The success of the fantasy TV series has undoubtedly brought a lot of people to Scotland with an accompanying boost to the economy. Ticking off the shooting locations is certainly not unknown among the Outlander crowd. As we neared Dysart, Nicole spotted a wren at eye level and it sat long enough for me to take my first ever decent picture of our second smallest bird (beaten only by the goldcrest). The wren's tail is almost always cocked up and this is a tell-tale sign to aid identification.
Dysart is generally regarded as part of Kirkcaldy but was in fact a separate burgh until the 1930s. No doubt the locals still cling on to their old identity. I certainly hope they do! The harbour is a beautiful location overlooked by the Harbourmaster's House - now the headquarters of the Fife Coast and Countryside Trust which administers the Coastal Path and the newly-opened Fife Pilgrim Way. The B-listed building contains an exhibition and café on the ground floor. A plate of warming stovies was the order of the day as we escaped the chill and uploaded photos. The official map of the Fife Coastal Path is an essential purchase for those walking the route and I noticed an equivalent publication for the Pilgrim Way on sale behind the counter. Nicole said I might find it in my Christmas stocking so I had to hang fire. I'm looking forward to tackling all 64 miles of the Pilgrim Way. A coastal path is an easy sell and it's great to see so much publicity surrounding the new inland trail. It has been purposely routed through the more obscure parts of the Kingdom in order to boost footfall in those areas. We went for a stroll around the harbour which is still very much a working concern. The haven is carved out of the surrounding cliffs and backed by a high retaining wall of natural stone. We climbed the stairs to this excellent viewpoint and the boats glinted in the winter sun.
A curious modern art installation stands on the shoreline. The "Sea Beams" form a pole sculpture of nine vertical pieces of oak timber. Each beam is painted a different colour and the heights vary. The shades are said to represent the waters of the Firth of Forth in its varying moods. I don't always see the merit in trendy sculptures but the Sea Beams undoubtedly blend in with the surrounding landscape. Perhaps I'm not completely devoid of culture after all! A pleasant walk took us back to Ravenscraig Park with some fine views of the estuary along the way. Then it was up to Ostlers Care Home on the edge of town where my father is currently residing. He's there for a 6-week assessment period and it was pleasing to see he had settled in well to his new accommodation. Working in Kirkcaldy also means I can pop along a couple of times per week after my shift.
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