We packed up Guillaume at Tebay Services soon-to-be-no-more campsite and headed south for home on the M6. A radio report soon announced that some pratts decided to have an accident on the M6 around Tebay but happily they did so behind us. We were off and running.

We were running until something broke down in the lengthy road works section around J17. Why is it always in the coned-off-anyway stretches of road? The inevitable queues and delays built up. My primary navigatrix would need a natural break heading into unknown delays so we pulled into the next services before hitting the queues. When we left the services, the back of the queue had already caught us. We crawled onwards.

Eventually we got through the trouble noticing that now another vehicle had broken down in the northbound carriageway, also in the already restricted road works section. See? Faultless!

Declining the exorbitant £10 fee for a car and caravan on the M6 Toll road, we ran into more delays where slip roads came in. Take note, cheapskate!

Getting through that delay took us beyond Birmingham and towards the next necessary natural break so we peeled off into Corley Services. Towing vehicles were directed in along with the HGVs. Chaos! Trucks were reversing into the odd remaining parking bay and others were manoeuvring. No room at the inn. I tried stopping somewhere unofficial but caused something of an obstruction The toilet stop was impossible. We were forced to continue.

We filtered off the M6 and onto the M1 heading for the next service area, Watford Gap, to try our luck there. Our luck was no better – no room at the inn, again. Francine came up with the jolly idea of refuelling just so she could use the loo. Why not? Park at the pumps. I didn’t actually need fuel but paying top dollar for it worked. Comfort at last.

As we left to re-join the M1 we noticed that, not only were all the HGV parking spaces taken but HGVs were also littered/abandoned all the way along the hard shoulder of the slip road back onto the motorway, their drivers also clearly having been unable to park somewhere official and having walked back up the slip road for their break.

We don’t usually travel on a weekday, now, preferring the weekend, and particularly Sunday, when HGV traffic is considerably less. Most of the trucks are foreign from Catholic countries and most of them won’t work on a Sunday. Here we were travelling on a Friday and the inside lane was pretty much constant HGVs, with a fair few extras in the second lane slowly overhauling the inside lane.

The truck drivers are on the clock, the spy in the cab, a tachograph, so there are enforced stops for them. Our truck traffic has increased out of all recognition since the rest areas were originally constructed and, though some may have been extended, there is now nothing like enough capacity to cope with them all. Our major trunk roads are swamped with HGVs. We did see two specialist truck stops, which are presumably a new phenomenon, signed on our journey … but two in 250 miles? There has of course been an amazing increase in private car traffic as well but where we were sitting, it’s the sheer volume of heavies with which the country can no longer cope.

When the M25 was finished I remember people saying that it was designed using traffic volumes that were now 10 years out of date. The service areas are suffering similarly.

We got home, relieved. It’s enough to make you want to stay there.

Today was technically our last full day at Cannich. However, we awoke to the gentle pitter-patter of rain on Guillaume’s roof, punctuated by the occasional syncopated beat of drips from an overhanging tree branch. [Given the choice, don’t park caravans under trees. Normally I wouldn’t.] There being little point staying twiddling our thumbs in a depressingly wet place that we’d largely already investigated, we packed up and hit the road south at 08:00 in the standard Highland morning summer temperature of 11°C, which rose gradually to the standard Highland summer high of 13°C.

After 12 miles crossing the countryside we hit Loch Ness at Drumnadrochit, which is a total tourist trap nightmare, complete with the very worst kind of souvenir shop (Nessie, Wee Monster T-shirts, etc.) and dreadful canned bagpipe “music”, against which I had to close my driver’s window, in the street. Silly Sally Satnav wanted us to turn north and negotiate the relatively heavy traffic of Inverness before heading south down the A9 into the frightful congestion caused by extensive road works near Perth. Bonkers! We were already half way down the A82 beside Loch Ness so we turned south and drove down the Great Glen passing, after Loch Ness, the amusingly named Loch Lochy. [Run out of ideas, eh?]

Our route continued through Fort William, another depressing town in our view [previous trip]. In persistent rain the road then followed the shore of Loch Linnhe before climbing into Glen Coe which, if one could see it, I admit is grand and quite impressive. Today, however, with the clouds on the deck and drizzle, dream on.

Our blistering Highland temperature remained at 13°C until we began descending towards Loch Lomond where things improved a little, though not the road surface beside the northern part of the loch which absolutely sucks. As well as uneven, the road is narrow with unforgiving stone walls on both sides. We negotiated it safely but passed a disconcerting number of broken pieces of car abandoned beside the stone walls edging the road. Take care.

Now in the Lowlands, both the temperature and meteorological outlook improved a little more and by the time we skirted Glasgow we were being treated to 17°C – positively balmy.

Approaching the English border we saw sun and the temperature soared eventually to 22°C. After three weeks, we were now more acclimatized to Scottish Highland summer temperatures, i.e. 13°C, and were beginning to bake. Should we turn on the aircon?

I saw the “Welcome to England” sign as the M74 magically transformed into the M6. My heart sang; a weight had been lifted.

We checked into the soon-to-be-closed campsite at Tebay Services. It closes on 3rd September, the end of an era.

With it at last feeling like summer, I broke into a sweat getting Guillaume set up.

Wednesday morning was forecast to be fine and so it proved to be. I was interested in a second attempt at Coire Loch to see if we could get a better look at those Emerald dragonflies and Francine fancied a 40-mile trip to Ardersier, just northeast of Inverness, where there was supposed to be a colony of Coralroot Orchids (Corallorhiza trifida). Since orchids don’t run and hide if clouds appear, it made sense to try Coire Loch in the morning, while the sun was appearing, and Ardersier in the afternoon.

We packed our Wellington boots for the boggy moss beside the loch and negotiated the 4-mile single track stretch back to the Dog Falls car park in Glen Affric where we found the parking ticket machine still out of order – excellent! Somehow, knowing how much puffing uphill was involved and precisely where the loch was made our second visit seem easier. We donned our Wellies and worked our way out to the side of the main water, taking up slightly different positions to cover more territory. We waited. Quite soon, as the sun put in sporadic appearances, we began to see dragonflies on patrol along the side of the loch. They were very fast and paused only infrequently. I knew there were Emeralds but couldn’t swear to which. There are three possible suspects in this part of Scotland:

1. Downy Emerald (Cordulia aenea)
2. Brilliant Emerald (Somatochlora metallica)
3. Northern Emerald (Somatochlora arctica)

Photos of either of the last two would’ve been welcomed additions to our collection. We’d seen Northern Emeralds in France on one occasion but failed to get a picture of the tireless little beasts. Similarly with the Brilliant, I’ve seen one fly past at Thursley Common but failed to get a snap. I didn’t think the territory here looked right for Northern Emerald but hopes were high for the Brilliant, for which Coire Loch has a reputation.

I kept trying and failing to bring my lens to bear on my target. I didn’t get a single shot. Eventually, though one suspect settled in the heather behind Francine. She snagged it. It was face on which would normally be good – the face is a distinguishing feature – but its frons was partially obscured by a sprig of the heather. Drat! A little later, I heard Francine announce that we could pack up because she’d caught one in a hover and had several successful flight shots. Brava Francine! We didn’t quite pack up straight away but we’d been standing there 90 minutes so it didn’t take too much longer before we wearied of it.

When I studied Francine’s excellent pictures, I was a little gutted. She’d caught not one of our hoped for Brilliant Emeralds but a Downy Emerald. Don’t get me wrong, it was still an achievement and a very welcome flight photograph BUT we have a colony of Downy Emeralds just 2 miles from our home 500 miles further south. 😀

As forecast, the clouds did, indeed, begin to cover us. To save time, we bought sandwiches for lunch and headed out to Ardersier on the far side of Inverness in search of orchids. Driving through Inverness wasn’t too scary and we soon found the car park for Ardersier Common. Inside information from the new friends we had met in Aviemore gave us clues as to where to look. The description they had used had been “dune slacks” which are seasonal pools.

Knowing which path to follow, we soon began finding what we thought were the so-called dune slacks. They were now dried out but there were depressions in the ground which looked as though they would fill with water in teh right conditions. Francine ducked through a gap in the vegetation [no, not for that] and I saw her crouch low. “Ah ha”, she muttered, encouragingly. She had, indeed, found a few spikes of the rare Coralroot Orchid. Upon closer inspection, she was pleased to have found them but somewhat less pleased that she had essentially found them too late – the flowers had all gone to seed. We kept searching further but no specimens with flowers presented themselves. Understanding only too well this kind of disappointment, I felt so sorry for her. She’d seen them but not as she would have wished, in their blooming glory.

An interesting day, if a somewhat frustrating one given our two near misses.

I’ll keep this brief.

We were once again under the Scottish  Highlands’ blanket of cloud and back its mode highest temperature of 13°C. I have lost count of the number of days that have topped out at a meagre 13°C/55°F. Odonata hunting was clearly not going to be rewarding so we decided to go to the limit of public navigation of the road beside Glen Affric. According to the Forestry Commision Scotland, It is, after all“one of the most beautiful places in Scotland”.

Driving the 10 tortuous miles along the single track road to the end of Glen Affric is moderately nervy with blind S-bends, passing places, occasionally just before the blind bend and muddy verges. It is of more concern when road signs indicate “construction traffic” to contend with as well. I drove very conservatively and finally, after passing some of said construction traffic and a couple of jumps into reverse to let a campervan descend, we arrived at the final car park to experience one of Scotland’s best bits of scenery.

There was a short walk of about ½ml up to a viewpoint and back. As we approached, I could see that we were going to be disappointed. OK, the weather was dull and the light was rubbish but … really. The very centre of the view was ruined by a crane and assorted construction detritus. Bloody brilliant!

Thankfully the car park ticket machine was out of order, like the one at Dog Falls, so at least we didn’t waste any money.

On Monday morning we relished the thought of finally being able to leave our car park camping site in Kinlochewe. We had had a very convivial Sunday evening with our visiting friends but now it was time to move on to Cannich at the foot of Glen Affric. Our journey was about 60 miles and would take about 90 minutes. I planned to leave at about 11:00.

Guillaume had other ideas. We hooked up and one brake/rear light failed to function. Out came my tool kit. Never travel without a tool kit if you have a caravan. You may not be able to do anything to fix a modern car but caravan technology is not modern, frequently breaks and can be fixed, if you’re lucky.

I removed Guillaume’s right light cluster. The bulb looked good. The contacts, however, were not living up to their name; they were not in contact with the bulb. I fiddled with the contacts, gave a spray of good ol’ WD40 and refitted the the light cluster. rear and brake lights OK but now the indicator failed. Unbelievable! I removed the light cluster again and cleaned the indicator contacts. I refitted it all. Indicator OK but rear and brake light not working yet again. Bother! I removed the light cluster for a third time. Again, the contacts on the rear light were adrift. The securing mechanism, plastic spring clips, was not securing the contacts successfully. I used a matchstick to wedge them apart and secure them more firmly. Isn’t high technology great? I refitted it yet again – my screwdriver muscles were beginning to ache. All lights on. An hour late, we hit the road.

The other thing that hit the road for the 60 miles of our journey was my 12S (supplemental) plug – that’s the one that powers the interior caravan features, like the fridge and lights. I’d clearly forgotten to refit it in all the frustration of fixing Guillaume’s rear light cluster three times. It was ruined. Bother again!

After a calming drink and lunch, we used the essentially pleasant afternoon to forget ruined plugs and to scout out a likely location. The campsite owner was kind enough to point me to one walk in particular which did a loop around Dog Falls and included Coire Loch. I was surprised to find that Coire Loch was specifically mentioned in the Smallshire/Swash dragonfly guide as being known for Brilliant Emeralds, one of my few missing UK species. Hmm?

The road up Glen Affric is one of Scotland’s beloved single track roads with passing places, though not quite as frequent as those we’d become accustomed to on the single track roads around Poolewe and Kinlochewe. The road is 10 miles long. We had to negotiate only the first 4 miles to get to the Dog Falls car park. Mercifully, the parking ticket machine (£2 for the day) was not working so parking became free.

The walking route began gently enough and then headed uphill.  It continued uphill. I couldn’t quite imagine a loch/lake in this generally very sloping terrain. The route began heading back downhill, around some turns. Further down and around a few more turns we finally saw a very attractive looking piece of sheltered habitat, Coire Loch. Mr Campsite had referred to it as a lochan; whatever it was it was delightful.

We descended and the path got close to the edge of the water – close but not that close. To get really close, where the footfall became very boggy, one really needed Wellington boots. We were clad in trainers but I did try a few tentative steps onto the squishy moss beside the water proper. It remained overcast and this was just a scouting trip. Picking my way via small trees, which don’t grow on the boggiest areas, I got to lochan-side. For a while nothing moved but then we did spot what looked like a a couple of Emerald dragonflies.

There’re three species of Emeralds possible in this neck of the woods. I thought what I glimpsed looked quite bright but we’d need another chance to be definite.

We’d need better conditions and a lot of luck, too – Emeralds do not perch readily.

Francine and I have been “stuck” in Kinlochewe’s Caravan Club gravel-rich car park for the last three days. As ungracious as stuck may sound, we have been stuck because we have a long-standing meeting arranged with friends who are driving up to Kinlochewe just to see us today. The weather has been utter crap. We have been treated to solid grey skies of one set of shades or another, strong winds and frequent lashing rain.

We’ve had a few valleys to investigate to try to keep us amused. We drove up to a viewpoint looking down on Loch Maree where Francine could capture several of the multiplicity of shades of grey commonly available on the northwest coast of Scotland.

We investigated Glen Torridon, sporting several more shades of grey over Loch Torridon. There was one outstanding nature highlight, however, when we spotted a browsing Red Deer stag in velvet, unconcerned about those pointing cameras at it and slamming car doors nearby. The door slamming was actually quite good because it was about the only noise that would make the stag look up from its browsing.

We did have the “pleasure” of driving what I believe must be the remotest stretch of hilly, winding tarmac, I’ve ever driven. Beyond Torridon itself (another one shop settlement), this single track road wound its way over pass, down and round water to remote Diabaig. It made Alpine passes look like a doddle.

Francine had begun these three days admiring the moody grey skies. The moody grey skies had now become clichéd and tiresome, though, and she has finished feeling wearied of them and desperately wanting some colour and light to return to her photographic life.

There was a glimmer but it was only a glimmer and very brief. The fifty shades of grey were still there, though.

As convivial as our evening with our friends was, we’re both looking forward to moving on, at last.

Today we moved on from Poolewe, 25 miles down Loch Maree to the Caravan Club site at Kinlochewe, which had been my originally planned centre for hunting the Azure Hawker (Aeshna caerulea). Moving Guillaume occupied us for the morning. Checking in to the Kinlochewe site after the delightful Camping and Caravanning Club’s Inverewe Gardens site at Poolewe was a bit of a shock. Even though our Inverewe Gardens pitch was hard standing, the site had a grandstand view of Loch Ewe and all intervening spaces were grass. Now at Kinlochewe, we were faced with a campsite that was not just hard standing but hard everything.; each of the five or six enclaves were entirely gravel, not just gravel where the vans stood. It was like camping in a car park. We both felt disheartened. I would happily have dragged Guillaume the 25 miles back to Poolewe. Our feelings were not helped by the fact that we had packed up in brighter conditions at Poolewe, driven in those bright conditions for at least 20 of the 25 miles, then hit leaden skies with little light as we approach Kinlochewe. Still, it was new, gave us a couple more valleys to explore and gave us easier access to the hunting grounds. It’s also 25 miles closer to escaping Scotland. 😉

Francine had arranged to meet our allies, Pablo and Susana, in the Beinn Eighe Visitor Centre at 13:00. Once Guillaume was set up, we crunched our way across the expanse of grey gravel and drove about 1 mile to our rendez-vous. Pablo was off trying to get his Wellington boot stuck in a Scottish bog while Susana waited to meet us. We investigated the cloud-shaded track from the visitor centre first. On the way out we saw nothing – hardly surprising – but having turned to return hawk-eyes Francine spotted a Common Goldenring (Cordulegaster boltonii) hung up low down sheltering from the wind in the heather. It gave us something to do with our cameras and, as I said, they are always a thrill for me not being one of my home team.

We returned to the car park through mizzle and set off to a second Beinn Eighe car park to show Pablo and Susana the boggy area we’d eventually found at the end of the Woodland Trail a few days earlier. We spared them the unnecessary height gain followed by a descent and took the more direct, flat route, by going “the wrong way” round the trail. In a stiff breeze under Beinn Eighe’s cloud, the story was a similar one: “not a creature stirred, not even a mouse”.

The Poolewe end of Loch Maree still looked brighter. [BUGGER!] We drove back in that direction to see what transpired. Approaching Slattadale, life looked brighter, if not actually sunny, so we called in to see if we could improve our luck. We (Pablo and I) both knew the trail to walk up but Pablo had read something that spoke of “a glade on the  left with logs”, that might be a profitable location. On the right, we did disturb a couple more Goldenrings but we were having trouble finding anything resembling a glade on the left. On the left was mostly thick bracken descending into a tumbling stream. We played with the Goldenrings again.

Just after 16:30 the sun put in an appearance. Shortly afterwards, we found an area that could, possibly, with a little stretching of the imagination, be called a glade and there were certainly discarded sections of tree trunks in it, constituting, perhaps, logs. A dragonfly buzzed around and landed on the end of a log. I stood on a tree stump and snapped. I shouted, “there’s one here”. I fell off the tree stump in my excitement. Bother! [Or words to that effect.] I was inelegantly flat on my back amongst bracken and stumps, legs in the air, desperately clutching my camera and monopod to save them but I thought I’d got my own first shot of an Azure Hawker (Aeshna caerulea). The things we do for love. No herbage obscuring the beautiful critter anywhere – what a delightful beastie.

My compatriots joined me as I extricated myself from my ungracious position, with Francine’s help. There were actually two individual Azure Hawkers flying about and settling occasionally. One had a sideways-distorted abdomen. The other was a fine specimen and turned out to be quite a showman. It began by making it impossible for Francine to snag a picture by settling on her hand, beside her camera. A while later, it settled on Francine’s bum. Pablo could hardly believe he was zooming in on Francine’s bum. Eventually it settled on each one of us. In cooler weather Azure Hawkers have a reputation for settling on rocks to bask and soak up heat. This beauty was clearly borrowing warmth from our mammalian bodies. When it settled on Pablo, he could hardly contain himself.

The sun remained and our friendly Azure Hawker continued to fly sorties but return to our “glade with logs”. I got one particularly interesting shot of it sitting on a curved section of bark, pressing the entire length of its abdomen down into the bark in an attempt, presumably, to increase the contact area and absorb as much heat as possible. I’d never witnessed this sort of position before.

Target #2 well and truly achieved, even without a female. Pablo and Susana may have been staying in a naff hotel but I have never seen four such happy campers in all my life.

Right, targets #1 and #2 achieved, we can leave Scotland now, Oh, no, we have friends driving to Kinlochewe just to see us on Sunday.