Miraculous Snowdrops

In the few days since our last walk through Philorth Woods the first miracle of early Spring has taken place and sudden clumps of snowdrops have emerged through the leaf litter. Soon the whole wood will be carpeted by them.

Liz Lochhead and Green shoots

 Rufus having a happy birthday playing with his second favourite ball

Grey Granite and Rufus walked through Philorth Woods where they found lesser celandine leaves and the rounded shoots of snowdrops and the pointed shoots of wild garlic, the latter already pungent, showing through the frozen ground.

They came home to find this poem by the newly appointed Scots Makar in The Scotsman. It seemed apposite for the miraculous new growth in the wood.

Poets need not



be garlanded;
the poet's head
should be innocent of the leaves of the sweet bay tree,
twisted. All honour goes to poetry.

And poets need no laurels. Why be lauded
for the love of trying to nail the disembodied
image with that one plain word to make it palpable;
for listening in to silence for the rhythm capable
of carrying the thought that's not thought yet?

The pursuit's its own reward. So you have to let
the poem come to voice by footering
late in the dark at home, by muttering
syllables of scribbled lines -- or what might
be lines, eventually, if you can get it right.


And this, perhaps, in public? The daytime train,
the biro, the back of an envelope, and again
the fun of the wildgoose chase
that goes beyond all this fuss.


Inspiration? Bell rings, penny drops,
the light-bulb goes on and tops
the not-good-enough idea that went before?
No, that's not how it goes. You write, you score
it out, you write it in again the same
but somehow with a different stress. This is a game
you very seldom win
and most of your efforts end up in the bin.

There's one hunched and gloomy heron
haunts that nearby stretch of River Kelvin
and it wouldn't if there were no fish.
If it never in all that greyness passing caught a flash,
a gleam of something, made that quick stab.
That's how a poem is after a long nothingness, you grab
at that anything and this is food to you.
It comes through, as leaves do.


All praise to poetry, the way it has
of attaching itself to a familiar phrase
in a new way, insisting it be heard and seen.
Poets need no laurels, surely?
their poems, when they can make them happen -- even rarely --
crown them with green.
Liz Lochhead





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Frosty morning walk

Another clear frosty morning so Rufus and Grey Granite decided to take advantage of the weather by combining two of  our favourite walks: through Philorth Woods to Invernorth and Muiries Hill, down to the Water of Philorth then returning along the top of the Bents.

'Earth lay as hard as iron,water like a stone' and a thick rime covered the grass and fallen leaves in the wood.

There is a light, airy feel about the trees mainly, Scots pines, larch,sycamore and beech near the track leaving the wood by Kempen Hillock



The floods between Mains of Philorth are gradually receding, this morning the water was frozen over and a large flock of geese was waiting for the ice to thaw. As we passed a flight of ducks left the frozen water and a huge flock of lapwings tumbled in the sky overhead, the low sunlight catching the white undersides of their wings.



Grey Granite particularly likes this panoramic view from Muiries Hillock over Rathen to Mormond Hill

Rejoining the Fraserburgh -Inverallochy road, we crossed over the Water of Philorth close to the old railway bridge. There is currently local controversy, fuelled by rival Councillors, about the location for  a possible new footbridge over the burn either here or closer to the sea. Grey Granite considers this to be unnecessary, there is a foot path along the road bridge at this point and further down the burn is tidal and regularly changes course, there would be an adverse environmental impact at any point.

The edge of RAF Fraserburgh, a satellite station of RAF Peterhead during WW2. The airfield extended from Inverallochy to the Water of Philorth. During the war it was temporary home to several  RAF units, many flying missions to the Norwegian coast. In the Summer of 1943 the airfield took part in Operation Tindall, a plot to convince the Germans that an invasion of Norway was imminent. Decoy aircraft constructed of timber and canvass, tents and imitation gun emplacements were positioned round the airfield.  Air Sea Rescue planes which carried lifeboats slung beneath them flew from here in support of crew who may have been forced to ditch. The lifeboats had parachutes to enable them to drop slowly to the sea, lifelines to enable crew to climb aboard and were equipped with food and an engine.

The tide being high, we returned to Fraserburgh along the top of the Bents. This was a perfect walk, along a varied  route, the weather was as we expected and we met nobody. Grey Granite reflected that now that he is a year old Rufus has largely settled into an excellent walking companion and has increased both Grey Granite's knowledge of the area and her level of fitness.









 

Signs of Spring

A mild bright morning bringing  a, no doubt false, promise of Spring as we walked along the Chapelton of Phingask lane accompanied by the cry of curlews.



 There were several signs of new growth, this goose grass in a sheltered spot under a thorn hedge by Merry Hillock, rosettes of new leaves in the crowns of alkanet and dockens. 

We spent an enjoyable afternoon in the Tower Pool Hide at Strathbeg watching herons stalking the shallower pools, lapwings and curlews coming and going to the islands, swans and coots and unidentifiable ducks in the distant open water. There were geese grazing in fields on the far side of the loch with many more coming in to land as the light began to fade.




A single snowdrop showing through in a sunny spot by the Merry Hillock dyke





Cairnhill gorse

A cold morning walk round the Cairnhill was brightened by the first gorse flowers of the year.

The path to the abandonned Cairnhill Croft is rapidly being taken over by gorse



This morning the temperature was 2c as we walked over the Cairnhill. The ground was frozen hard, puddles were frozen solid and frozen snow remains at the roadside but
 some of the gorse is already bravely struggling into flower

The Way Through the Woods

A cold, crisp morning  (-3c at 10.a.m.),  with a light dusting of snow was perfect for a walk through Philorth Woods and along the Line back to the bents.

An elm opposite the North Lodge



The light covering of snow revealed the footprints of not only horses and humans but also deer, rabbits and pheasants



The woods were quiet and still, intensely beautiful in the snow and sunlight, their silence only broken  by the keening of buzzards and the occasional harsh cry of a pheasant. 

The field behind Philorth Halt Station is flooded and frozen over, a couple of  disconsolate swans sat on the ice surrounded by  a posse of gulls.

Elderly alders stand in frozen water on the way to the Line. We took advantage of the freezing conditions to do this walk today without the inconvenience of the usual widespread dubs on this section of the route.

We returned home along the available narrow strip of beach, the sand was frozen and  there was a surprisingly big swell.

Phingask Shore

Not a great shot but, at 3c and in the midst of a hail shower and strong winds, it was almost impossible for frozen fingers to press the shutter. There are hundreds of oyster catchers on the rock, all facing in to the wind.

What can only be euphemistically described as a bracing walk along the shore at Phingask this morning was redeemed by the good numbers of birds and wildfowl along the shore. Species included starlings and crows picking over the seaweed, greenshanks, eiders bobbing like corks on the high swell and roosting like round dapper footballs on the rocks, three shellducks, several mallards and a small neat golden eye sitting on  a rock as well as assorted keening gulls and curlews.The pond at Pittendrum supported three whooper swan sand a dense raft of several dozen mallards. Daisies and dandelions struggle to flower.

Making the most of life

 

'If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it'

Kipling

 

We began as we intend to continue and on the first morning of the year walked down to the beach where, despite the wind and hail, Rufus barked and caught at the foam and we 'laughed like the waves of the sea'.