Color Her Scotland

As I said in an earlier post, my trip to Scotland was slated to be an art trip. Rather than rush from scene to scene, snapping pictures right and left, experiencing this new land primarily through a lens, we planned to slow ourselves down by learning Scotland through the elongated act of drawing by hand.

This is the study I was working on in the photo below

This shows me in heaven, above Castle Campbell.

Castle Campbell is near the town of Dollar, but backs up into a wild ravine cut into these lonesome hills. By taking the opportubity to study the ruin through sketching, I had time to notice all sorts of details of the past and present. Inside, we had seen the trap door just steps from the great hall that had once made it so easy for the laird to drop visitors who displeased him into the deep dungeon in the basement. Some of that harshness remains in the ruined stonework. On a lighter note, I studied the current caretaker's wing, with homely signs of family life in the back yard. As the Campbells' seat, this ruin had a tremendously bloody history, but that turmoil all drops away as one sits sketching in the sun, listening to the calls of birds and to the breeze rustling the grasses.

Melrose Abbey -- ruins in all shades of dusty pink, rose,
cream of orange, and caramel -- and its modern-day gatehouse.

This remarkable ruin is a ravishing pile of colored stones. The bells of the cattle, represented by my two brown dots, could be heard on the abbey grounds as they grazed their way across the far mountain pasture, adding musical depth to the memory of the afternoon. The gatekeeper's tiny office was graceless by comparison. The pretty town nearby was decked with flowers, in fact had won a national contest for its beauty.

Tom went for the rocks. Here he is at the edge of Moray Firth.

This was the eager traveler who needed to be slowed down. Unfortunately, his eagerness morphed into a compulsion to do large, finished drawings instead of sketches. I'm not sure if there are any works from his hand finished enough to commemorate the trip, but he did drink deeply of the essences of Scotland.

Here is the entrance to St. Fillan's Cave in Pittenweem,
which is also represented by a photo in an earlier blog. 

I was trying so hard to give the hillside its intruding weight that I went overboard and made it look like it's eating the village!  St. Fillan is said to have been able to light his cave enough to do his writing by the supernatural glow emanating from his left arm.

And here is the fishing harbor at Pittenweem.

Does there exist anywhere a more picture-worthy village?

Two views of Elgol School, at the end of a long,
lonesome road on the Isle of Skye..

You may remember from the caption to this photo, taken by Rachel and inserted in an earlier posting, that we visited Skye during the tag end of a cross-Atlantic hurricane. I had to draw this sketch from the car, through a waterfall down the windshield, while occasional gusts rocked the car. Rachel owns professional fisherman's rain gear, so she was well prepared for the day. When we flew out of Boston, we had been relieved that Hurricane Olivia had turned away from the coast of New England and headed into the Atlantic where -- we thought -- it couldn't interfere with our vacation. We were fascinated to see how she had traversed the ocean during our visit to Scotland and thus was able to visit her last gusts and mists upon us during our last couple of days there.

Rotten (sic) Wynd, Falkland. 

A quick sketch of the city of  Falkland, from the front yard of its palace. 

The building entrance fee was too expensive for us, so we missed any gems displayed therein. But we did climb the hill behind the city at sunset and drank in the glorious view. Oh, well, if I must confess -- we drove halfway up and climbed only the last few hundred yards due to encroaching nightfall. Even so, it was just a trifle eerie picking our way back down to the parking lot in the dark, after all the sensible visitors had left.

Thus closes this posting, with a strong recommendation to sketch your way through your next trip. Your memories will be amazingly rich.

Scots "Heiress," Part II

This is sequel to yesterday's post, which began to make public my private claim to the throne of Scotland.  No, I am not an heir by birthline, but by loveline.

Here I am resting in front of St. Fillan's cave, on Cove Wynd, Pittenweem.

My daughter Leah had visited Pittenweem while an art student in college.  She took a picture of a fishing boat in the harbor. The reflections she captured took my breath away. Visiting the cave of the earliest Christian evangelist to this part of Scotland also took my breath away, not so much from the steep climb up the Wynd but from imagining LIVING across the street from such an ancient, sacred site.

Me, starting to climb Glen Nevis in heavy mist.

We started the climb in rain and fog, but as we climbed, the sun came out. By the time we reached the height of the mountain pass the valley was a wonderland of glittering droplets on every leaf and blade of grass.

We had finished sketching rockbound Dunnotar Castle, and then
finished napping in the hayfield overlooking the North Sea.

Hints in this post may bring out the question of the drawings and sketches mentioned.
      Will I ever show them?
             OK, when I find them. Wait for another posting.

And here we are, playing Laird and Lady of Dunnotar.

Young Scots may spring into impromptu dance in joy or in mockery, but they definitely
respond to the traditional music.

We stopped in Elgin ("g" as in "good") just as some public festival was breaking up. The two figures visible beyond the raised hand of the boy in the striped sweater are me and my daughter Rachel. She had gone to Scotland to give a paper at an international marine affairs conference in Aberdeen, and then joined us. It always adds wonderful dimensions to a trip to have the companionship of the children.

Here I am, drawing sketches of Castle Campbell in the valley below.

This road was sometime used for driving cattle to market.  It was hard to imagine it going anywhere , but instead tapering off into heather and ledge.

Rachel in full rain gear, crossing a mountain stream on a rope bridge.

And here am I, on the same rig, on my way back across.

No, it didn't always rain, Here I am at the river
Clyde, back to the rainbow of the day.

There are many more photos of this trip. I will end with a couple of scenics that should clinch my claim to my heritage.

Seaside farm near Stonehaven.

A capitalist's folly, now the Youth Hostel near Loch Lomond.

A remote school on the Isle of Skye. We were there during the last bluff and blow of Hurricane  Olivia. 

Tom and Sara occupying Glencoe. I mean, what else could we do after arriving at one of the most famous sites in Scotland only to find the rain pouring down?  But tell me, does she not look like the queen of Scotland?