Give me a rod of the split bamboo

A rainy day and a fly or two

A mountain stream where the eddies play

And mists hang low o’er the winding way

Eunice Lamberton

It had been a wet night, the weather really had not been great especially as it was late June but then down south they were experiencing terrible heat waves, closing schools and transport affected. The climate was changing, no doubt about that. We had slept late which was a luxury, we had a day to spend onshore so were not really in a hurry. The rain drizzled on, not a breath of wind as we breakfasted and used the time to make plans for later in the summer. Our middle son, his wife and two daughters were coming over, as they say, for their annual pilgrimage to the home land and that was what we had to get back in time for. I was then returning to Catalonia to help look after the wee girls during the summer holidays. I had spent five glorious summers spending time with our elder grand daughter and was so looking forward to replicating this special time with her adorable wee sister. She was as cute as a button, strong willed and comical, not talking yet but certainly made herself understood! Her elder sister adored her and was so patient when her newly created craft work was accidently toppled over and lay on the floor in pieces. The 5 yr old’s passions had turned slightly from unicorns and mermaids to KPop Demon Hunters and karaoke which was fun to see and I loved watching her grow and be part of her wee life.

We booked flights and sorted logistics which always seem so complicated in our lives, then dinghied ashore to check our bikes had not been “borrowed” by the Bad Boys of Badachro. All good, they were still nestled in the undergrowth at the top of the pier.  I pushed mine to the top of the wee road that leads down to the harbour before mounting and setting off. No wobbles so far! It had been six weeks to the day all this nervous system chaos had erupted and it felt so good to be nearly normal again. Usually I cycle at least twice a week, to and from my Pilates and yoga classes and had missed it so much. I knew my fitness level had dropped but was just glad to be active again. These periods of ill health/incapacity really bring home how things can change in an instant. I thought of friends who were going through serious health issues and impairments to their lives and resolved to make the most of what I have while I can. Sometimes though that decision is taken from you and I really felt for my friends and family who were affected.

It was delightful cycling along the twisty single track road past waterlily strewn lochans, deep dark brown rivers swollen with recent heavy rain, lush green sweet smelling woodlands and banks of bog myrtle and dwarf willows. The verges were stuffed full of meadowsweet, dog roses, rush and buttercups and I inhaled deeply, their scent so intoxicating. I felt a rush of endorphins and smiled up at the sky with gratitude to just being here. We passed Sheildaig Lodge where I had visited a few years back when I had a student  on his work placement there, then into Gairloch harbour to check out the visitor pontoons. Climbing up the steep hills, I really felt my lack of fitness and tender backside! It rained fairly constantly but it was a warm drizzle and made the decision of water proof jacket on or off a constant dilemma. We turned into the newly built museum and café building that also housed a learning centre part of my organisation NWH UHI. I knew the centre manager there so felt it only polite to call in to say hello. She had left for the day unfortunately but we decided to enjoy the café on the upper floor . It was bustling with damp warm tourists all sampling the homemade cakes and soup. We chose our cakes, Victoria Sponge for the captain and Pistachio and White Chocolate for me and used the WIFI to finish our arrangements. We made a draft passage plan to make sure we did not venture too far north so allowing plenty time for the return. It had only been five days and we had come far but it was also sobering to know that at the end of the week we really should turn south again to allow for explorations and holing up in case of bad weather.

We cycled back still in drizzle, bellies full of cake and a tuft of bog myrtle sticking out the captain’s back pack. This humble shrub holds so much emotion for us. It was in my parent’s wedding bouquet and also ours. A pressed dried piece sits above our bed at home and when crushed the small evokes such strong memories of time spent in the highlands. Smell is a strong sense for me, it transports me to the place or person it reminds me of, sometimes good, sometimes bad!


Rounding a corner the lochan came in to view again, a small island near the shore with a tall Scots pine and rowan decorating it, protected to a point from the grazing deer and sheep. Reeds swayed in the shallows in the little bays and a small wooden jetty protruded out to the waters, a little rowing boat tied to it. It was as if I could see him there, standing on a distant bank, kilt, woollen shirt, bonnet and plume of pipe smoke rising gently into the still air. A flick of the rod and a gentle lay on the surface, the fly just laid down right where he intended and that familiar draw of the line through his fingers. My father. Gone almost 30 years ago but so present in these beautiful special places. This landscape was compromised without his boots treading the stony, peaty paths that lead to hidden glens, peaks of stone, rivers of soft waters, lochs of rising trout and moors of purple heather.

I gathered myself and cycled on, captain watching me with care and I think he knew the poignant thoughts I was having.

We returned to the pretty wee harbour and dismantled the bikes and packed them into the bike bags then into the dingy and petered over to Stravaigin waiting for us, swaying gently in the tidal eddy.