‘T was a reasonable morning in our adjusted reality – it wasn’t actually raining, though it looked as if it might at any moment. We needed a shopping visit so we could make a paella for Francine’s old college friend visiting us in the evening. There being no great choices in the near vicinity, our most likely venue that might sell chorizo sausage was likely to be Morrisons supermarket in Fort Dump/William. Mr. Scottish-Neighbour had been eulogising about a walk up Glen Nevis which heads south-east from Fort Dump so we made a plan to do the walk, hit Morrisons and then get a McWiFi fix.
The drive to the start of the walk was along another single track road with passing places. This time, though, there were no lunatic motorcyclists barging their way through. Without them and being old hands at such roads now, it was a doddle. We were not, however, prepared for the sizeable parking area to be all but full. We squeezed in, donned our hiking boots and set off, in my case with camera and monopod slung over my shoulder in case any wildlife should appear. With all the parked cars, the track was unsurprisingly something of a tourist motorway; yet another single track with passing places. Maybe I could use the monopod as a sort of cattle prod? 😉
The day’s rain began as we approached the top where the climb levels off into a high plateau with the main tourist attraction being an impressive waterfall tumbling down onto the plain. with the amount of water being delivered on a daily basis to this part of the world, I suppose it couldn’t fail to be impressive. The wildlife had more sense than to make an appearance so the camera was just so much baggage. Fortunately, Francine had a plastic bag with which I could cover my redundant camera and lens.
The only other intriguing sight was a precarious-looking rope bridge across the river resulting from the tumbling, impressive waterfall. Having only my long wildlife lens with me, I had trouble catching a snap of the lesser spotted tourist sporting what I can only describe as a crew-cut Mohican hair do. Very inventive! Incidentally, anyone who has seen Daniel Day Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans will know only too well that it was the Hurons with the wacky cock’s comb hair-do, not the Mohicans; the Mohicans had long, flowing locks that would make any dark-haired woman envious. Why, then, do we insist on calling those modern cock’s comb hairstyles a Mohican, pray tell?
On our return to Fort Dump, we did have a little wildlife excitement. There’s a dividing line that separates the dominions of Carrion Crows (Corvus corone corone) and Hooded Crows (Corvus corone cornix). The latter being restricted to Ireland, the Isle of Man and west Scotland, we aren’t used to seeing them. They are as common as muck here but we found spotting one quite exciting. Sad, really. 🙂
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