by C. Litka
Chapter 23: Monday 29 July
01
I've survived another one of Red Stuart's excursions. I say that with some satisfaction. There's always a point during one when you have to wonder.
But not to skip ahead, Thursday dawned cool and overcast after the night's storm, and a fine mist still hung on after supper, so I didn't bother to go for a ride, and knowing Nesta's friends had arrived, I stayed in and spent the evening reading one of the musty pulp novels I found on the bookshelf.
02
Friday morning, I stood on the platform of Ordmoor Station – just a platform and a glass shelter, no station really – watching the blue RSR engine (a BR Standard Class 4, 2-6-0 original, and I suspect, as were the carriages) squeal to a stop in a cloud of steam. There were few passengers and I handed up my bike and climbed aboard. Settling into my seat I had to grin and shake my head. I'd been in Glen Lonon hardly a month and already I was living like my hosts – thinking nothing of taking a train down to Glasgow every weekend. I'd spent my youth merely watching the trains go by, and even at the uni I'd never enough ready cash to do more than go home between terms. It's a little thing, but having the money to buy a train ticket to Glasgow each week without scrimping was a significant, if temporary, sign of change in my life.
In Inverness I boarded the southbound train drawn by the usual 4-6-0 Class 5 new Stanier or Black Five Class which took me through sun and showers to Perth, where I caught the Glasgow train, arriving just after 7:35. Red was on the platform again to greet me. We briefly stopped at his flat to stash my bike and gear, and then went out to meet the other expedition members over dinner and a pint or two.
There would be six of us – an amusing couple in Jane, a very sharp witted and I suspect very competent nano materials engineer who worked at the uni with Red and her partner, Leslie, a shy, rather dreamy post doc in particle physics. And then there was Britney, a French grad student who was working in the lab over the long vacation, and Robert, another uni employed engineer. Red and I worked with a lot of engineers, since we are in a research field that puts a great deal of emphasis on translating theory into products and so we work closely with engineers in manufacturing and equipment design.
Early the next morning we met at the Waterloo Street Station and boarded an electric-coach for Balloch along with a pack of other rucksack toting youths bound for Loch Lomond and bens and glens of Trossachs Park. Two hours later I was staring at a far from new, if not quite shabby looking, six-meter-sail-boat tied up on the river quay. “The Bonnie Prince” was barely legible across its stern.
'Lord help us,' I muttered, and turning to Red added, 'You said we were “boating” not “sailing”.'
'Of course we're sailing. We want to take in all of Loch Lomond this weekend, and you can't do that easily in an electric powered boat. Besides sailing is a lot more fun!'
'Fun?' I just shook my head. 'Lord help us.'
'Should we be alarmed?' asked Britney with a slightly nervous laugh.
'Oh, I don't want to scare you. I've sailed with Red before, on the Blackwater Estuary and the Stour, and well, let's just say I'm here, hale and hearty to tell about it, and I suppose everyone else that sailed with him survived as well, as far as I know...'
'Oh don't pay any mind to Sandy. He's a lubber of a mariner. Gets alarmed over everything and nothing at all,' Red said airily. 'Besides, I don't believe there are any tides or freighters on Loch Lomond,' he added smugly. 'Nothing likely to alarm Sandy.'
'But there are islands to run into,' I replied.
'I'm quite competent enough to miss islands. And I'll have you know Jane is also an experienced sailor, so you can put all your fears to rest,' he replied.
I turned to Jane, who'd been taking the Bonnie Prince in this whole time. 'Are you?'
She nodded. 'I've done my share of sailing. Let's go aboard and see where we stand.'
The Bonnie Prince, as I said, was a six-meter sail boat with a cabin forward housing berths for three – we planned to camp out so that wasn't an issue. It had an electric outboard as well as sails, and though it was likely a hundred years old, and a bit patched here and there, seemed serviceable – for a lake – to my unprofessional eye. Jane and Red looked over the sails, lines and gear while I made certain the electric motor's battery pack was fully charged and then checked the wire connections to the sail to make sure the customary solar electric coating on the sails could be used to recharge the battery if need be. Everything looked more or less in order, though the coating was quite weathered. I didn't think it'd power the motor directly, which would have made me feel a bit easier. Still, it was just a lake and I was under no deadline to be anywhere, so I guess, as long as we stayed afloat, I'd not worry too much. Staying afloat was not, however, guaranteed, with Red in charge.
Jane and I stayed on board to smarten up things to Jane's satisfaction while the rest went off to buy provisions. I should admit that none of us are anything more than casual campers, and the shoppers opted for convenience– bread, cheese, sliced meat, some canned beans, biscuits and snacks, beer and soda – rather than anything that need to be cooked. They prudently bought enough to last a week. We wouldn't starve, as long as we stayed afloat.
After stowing our food, we cast off and slowly motored down the river, past lines of old power boats converted to houseboats by the addition of solar panel awnings, and out into the loch with Jane at the helm. Clear of the river, we raised the sail and the Bonnie Prince slowly surged ahead in the gentle breeze. Jane put the ship through a series of tacks just to get the feel of the boat before heading out towards the islands.
The cockpit was rather small for six, so two or three of us lounged forward against the low forward cabin and took in the light blue of the sky, the deep blue of the loch and the dark green of the forests that lined it and crowned the islands we slowly passed. Both Red and I were competent enough to manage a sail boat under these gentle conditions so we took turns standing hour watches at the helm letting one of the novices sail the boat under our supervision. There wasn't much of a breeze, so there was no excitement as we slowly made our way through the archipelago of islands that make up the southern half of the loch.
There were many other sail boats about and plenty of powerboats and converted houseboats amongst the islands, in the channel or anchored along the shore, having delivered their hikers and picnickers. Several long strings of powerboats and houseboats towed by steamer tugs passed us by. Rob said they were likely weekly rentals that would either spend the week sailing about the islands or further up the loch. Battery power will take you only so far, and though all had awnings of solar panels, just how fast or far you can run with solar power recharging the batteries depends on the weather, which is not to be counted on. It was more convenient to be towed to where you wanted to sail than to rely on having to get there and recharge your batteries once you do. Later on, a large steam tour boat passed close by us, setting us bouncing in its wake.
Red kept a running commentary – 'Over there you can see the ruins of Lennox Castle on the point there – that's Inchmurrin, the name means grassy isle', and on and on he went. He must memorize the guide book before setting out.
The loch itself is nearly 40 km long, and up to 8 km wide, though it narrows to one or two further north. And the further north you go, the more the heather and grass covered hills crowd in around it. There's a road and a few small villages along its eastern bank, but for the most part, once you leave the islands behind, the eastern shore is a rugged wilderness. The western shore has a road its full length and several large villages which serve as tourists’ centres in the summer.
By mid-morning we were abreast of the village of Balmaha set along the eastern shore which has a small, but lively, harbour sheltered by a wooded island, which, as Red pointed out between bites of a sandwich he'd made to supplement our rather hasty breakfast, '...must be the island of Inchcailloch, which is to say the Island of Old Women, so called because there used to be a nunnery on it
a long time ago...'
Some people find Red rather annoying, but taken in the right way – not seriously – he can be amusing since he – I think – welcomes whatever grief he gets for his enthusiasms. I'm too used to his flow of banter to pay much attention to it, Les is too shy, Britney, as one of his students had to simply endure it, though I think she just looked on Red as an eccentric Englishman, and Rob, a Glasgow native, added his own stories and facts when he could fit them in edgewise. (And when he was not paying attention to Britney.) Luckily, Jane had both a rather wicked sarcastic wit, and didn't take Professor Stuart seriously, so she was able to puncture his unending flow of enthusiasm to keep the rest of us amused.
The morning was mild, the sun bright, the air clean and soft, pushing us along a little more than a walking pace with the loch sparkling, splashing and gurgling gently against the hull while the bright scenery drifted slowly past. And, well, we were young. What could be finer?
It was just noon when talk turned to lunch. We hardly needed to land to make sandwiches, and heat up the beans on spirit camp stove, but we'd all need to take a break. I'd been studying the map and suggested that we forge ahead, round Ross Point and stop at the Rowardennan Hotel for lunch. There appeared to be a small harbour where we could dock and have a hot meal to hold us over. The motion was carried five to one, though Red, who claimed to be the leader of this expedition, objected, saying that this wasn't a day outing but a serious camping expedition. Jane at the helm ignored him, so we made the Rowardennan Hotel by 12:30. We freshened up and had big lunch and a pint before heading out to sea again about 2:00.
We reached Ardlui, a small hamlet at the northern end of the loch by 6:30 and tied up at the pier for half an hour to stretch our legs and stop at a dim lit pub for its facilities and a pint. We then set out southwards, tacking shore to shore against the wind, intending to get as far south as possible before finding a spot to moor the boat and set up camp while it was still light.
I was sitting against the bow railings looking north when Britney pointed ahead and said, 'I think those are not mountains.'
I turned around. 'I think you're right,' I admitted. Though they were still low on the horizon, the dark storm clouds stretched across the southwest sky just above the hills.
I stood and holding on to the shroud, called out to Red at the helm, 'Storm clouds ahead.'
He grinned. 'Aye, laddie, I've been keeping an eye on them. Shiver me timbers, we're in for a blow...'
Which shivered my timbers. Though I'd been trying not to think about it, everything had been going too smoothly for it to last. There inevitably comes a time in every Red Stuart expedition when you frantically, and hopelessly, wished you were somewhere else.
Brit and I made our way aft to tell the gang lounging about in the cabin to don their rain gear while they could. Jane, who sailed boats out to the Outer Hebrides in the Atlantic ducked out and had a look.
'Aye, we might finally get a little sailing in after all,' she said with a grin as she surveyed the approaching squall line, adding with grim gusto, 'Something we can sink our teeth into.'
'You're welcome to take the helm.' said Red. 'Say and I can handle the sails.'
I stared at him, astounded.
'What are you staring at, Say?' he demanded.
'I believe, Red, that's the first sensible thing I've ever heard you say,' I exclaimed. 'At least afloat.'
'You exaggerate,' he said. 'I just happen to know that Jane would never forgive me if I denied her the opportunity to do a little foul weather sailing, even on this little lake. I'm perfectly capable of handling this boat, on this water, in a squall.'
'In that case, Red. You can have her if you want,' said Jane. 'As you said, it's just a small lake. Likely no more than a half gale and less than a metre sea.'
'Don't be like that, Jane. Take the helm,' I exclaimed in semi-mock alarm. 'I'm too young to die.'
She grinned and Red handed over the rudder. In reality, either Red or I could've handled the squall, but knowing him, it would be a close run affair, just because that's how he does things, at least afloat. And I wouldn't have relished it, as Jane clearly did.
The loch is barely a kilometre wide at this point so we wouldn't have much of a sea, but the winds deflecting off the steep surrounding hills would likely require some smartly executed tacking to avoid the lee shore – unless we just laid up or found a cove for cover, which Jane had no intention of doing. Not that we had much of a choice, there were no sheltered coves in sight. I must confess I was eyeing the little harbour and hotel at Inversnaid, but that was down the lake a’ways.
With Jane at the helm, Red and I reduced sail before the storm struck while the others stayed out of our way – and the rain – in the cabin.
The leading clouds raced overhead dragging a dark veil of cold rain, sending the temperature plunging and raising a wind that howled amongst the hills and shredded the surface of the loch. As expected, it dashed at us in uncertain gusts from around the compass. The Bonnie Prince heeled over and raced ahead with a grinning Jane at the helm. The pounding cold rain limited visibility and the narrow loch made tacking a frequent adventure, keeping Red and me busy. But Jane was in her element, so I relaxed, worked, and slowly got damp as the driving rain found every seam in my gear.
With the rain showing no sign of letting up an hour later, and it was growing dark fast, finding a sheltered cove became our first priority. Sheltered coves were in short supply, so we tacked back and forth down the loch, making scant progress for another hour until I spied a wooded point of land with a sheltered bay ahead. I pointed it out to Jane and she nodded, and slanted us into the little bay.
We ran down the sail and Red went forward to look after mooring while I cranked up the keel. Jane got the outboard motor down and steered us in to make a soft landfall under the shelter of the trees. Red slipped off onto the grassy shore and ran our anchor out to moor the boat to the trees. We then all crowded into the little cabin to decide what to do next.
It was unanimously agreed that setting up camp in the pouring rain and semi-gloom was not an option – we'd spend the night on board the Bonnie Prince using the tarp we'd brought along to cover the cockpit to extend the cabin.
Red, rightly, insisted that we get that set up before supper, after which we all crowded back into the warm but stuffy forward cabin for our evening meal, prepared on the little navigational table. Everyone had self-heating mugs, so we made hot cups of tea and coffee using filtered loch water and filled up on sandwiches, heated another couple cans of beans plus cheese and biscuits.
After the meal, with the rain still falling and the Bonnie Prince gently swaying beneath us with the little waves we got to yarning as old tars would say, and in the camping tradition, yarning about ghosts and the supernatural, with a definite Celtic slant.
'I'll have you know,' I said when the subject came around to the other folk. 'Where I'm staying this summer, it is said that the Seelie Court troops about the hills. You see their lanterns moving about in the woods at night. They enter this world, local legend has it, from a gate to the Otherworld built by Thomas the Rhymer reincarnated. In fact, I've not only seen the Riders, as they're known locally, but have had several close brushes with them as well.
'And you're here to tell about it?' Jane asked, with a laugh.
'Aye....' I began. 'The first time it was a foggy evening, and I could just make out the lights of their lanterns, and the second, we carefully stalked them. Only the fact that I wasn't seen explains why I'm here.'
'You've actually seen them,' asked Red. 'Seriously?'
'The Seelie Court are usually benign enough, It's the Unseelie Court you really want to avoid,' said Jane.
'So I've been told. But how to tell the two apart seemed rather vague,' I admitted with a laugh, 'But I'm going to assume they're the good ones. The first time was frightening enough...' and launched into my tale – the lights trooping along the hills, then my close encounter on the foggy road, and finally the
troop Nesta and I stalked in the woods.
'Just deer!' exclaimed Red. 'I thought you said you'd seen the Seelie Court trooping.'
'Oh, you can't dismiss these “Riders” as mere deer,' said Jane. 'The unseen inhabitants often travel under the guise of deer. Indeed, a doe and a hind were said to have entered the town to lead Thomas the Rhymer back to Fairyland. So you can't always believe your eyes. And especially not these strange days. More than one door has opened to the old lost worlds under this restless sun. There were plenty of encounters in the Storm years, and they continue today...'
Jane went on to describe some of them, and the old tales as well. I suspect she was mostly telling clever ghost stories in the best tradition of camping, though “mostly” might be the operative word. She had some level of belief in their authenticity that communicated itself to her audience. Oh, I'd still dismiss them as deer with St Elmo's fire, or at least I would come morning.
I found one quiver in her stories, however, that struck very close to home. She told stories of chaps who found themselves “under the hills” which is to say, in the land of faeries. Once there they'd experience a variety of adventures which often included falling in love with a faery princess. But in the end, they'd find themselves once again back in the real world, their love and faery world lost forever. And usually for the best, as well. In the stuffy, packed cabin of the Bonnie Prince, moored in an unnamed cove on a wild Scottish loch, it struck me that I seemed to be actually living an eerily parallel version of those stories. Glen Lonon was nearly strange enough to be the Otherworld, and Nesta, could without effort, pass for a Celtic faery princess (if she lost those round tortoise shell glasses, anyway). She was fey enough. And I, well I played the role of the stranger in the faery lands like I'd been born to it. And clearly, my fate would be the same. Later, as I lay sleepless under the dripping canvas awning I knew not only that I'd be unable to break that pattern, but that I'd regret trying. The unseen world and Glen Lonon had this much in common – I did not belong. Still, if I was careful, I might, in my old age, be able to tell my grandchildren of my summer in the Otherworld.
The cabin had berths for three, but with Les and Jane as a couple, it could sleep four – though sleep might have seemed a rather optimistic expectation. Red and I took the built-in benches on either side of the cockpit under the tarp and so wrapped in a wool blanket I borrowed from the Groom's Cottage and still dressed in my rain gear, I stretched out, doomed to spend the night on the hard wooden bench. I was not expecting to get much sleep.
Nor did I. When I did doze, I dreamed I was in the Otherworld, sometimes a black forest, sometimes an empty glen, but never quite real and always alone, but looking for someone, too much like Nesta. It was a long night, but eventually it grew light and I quietly forced my stiff body to move, collected my mug and the filter, and slipped out of the cockpit and quietly made my way forward and settled against the railing around the bow. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, but the grey clouds still arched low overhead from the surrounding hills, a mottled grey wall rising from the deep grey waters of the loch, flecked with little whitecaps and spindrift. A world of greys. Achy and groggy, I was pretty grey myself as I waited for my mug to heat the water for tea and contemplated my immediate future (also grey) after my summer at Glen Lonon. Blame it on the weather.
I hadn't quite finished my tea when the boat began stirring to life. Given our damp and uncomfortable situation, everyone, though groggy, was in a hurry to get underway, so after a few quick runs ashore, we set sail by 6:30. To make everyone feel a little worse, we motored out of the little cove, only to see just across the loch, the long white buildings of the Inversnaid Hotel that the rain had somehow hid the evening before.
We still had to beat down the loch against a mild wind, so it took the entire day to reach Balloch. Fortunately, the sun came out by noon and under its warm rays the grey loch and hills were transformed back into a sparkling blue and fresh green and heather world we'd known the day before. We reached Balloch a little after six in the evening, and some of us dozed on the electric-bus ride back to Glasgow. Red and I stood our shipmates a meal at a restaurant before we said our goodbyes and made our way home.
There was a late train that would get me to Perth, and then on to Inverness early in the morning, but after a largely sleepless night, I decided Red's front room sofa was too inviting and took an early train this morning instead. I stopped to do my grocery shopping in Ordmoor before pushing on to Glen Lonon.
03
I arrived back in Glen Lonon mid-afternoon fairly well rested and got to work. With her friends still here, I had the evening to myself and put in a few more hours of work before calling it a day. I was enjoying my cup of tea in the slowly deepening twilight on the bench outside my door when Guy happened by.
'Long time, no see,' I greeted him. 'Where have you been?'
'Evening Sandy. Aye, I've been very busy these past few weeks. Maude is on holiday and I'm sort of filling in for her. Her assistant in Belgate Woods is officially in charge, but he and I have a good understanding and I look after Glen Lonon for him. It keeps me jumping. Still, Maude needs a break from her old man now and again, so I stay behind.'
'Where did she go for her holiday?' I asked as he settled on to the bench with a sigh.
'Oh, as far as I know, just down to Sterling and then on to Glasgow. My son's a shop foreman in a carriage works in Glasgow and my other daughter is married to a farmer down near Sterling, so she spends a week visiting each, and then this last week, she goes off on her own as she fancies. Won't know where until she comes back. She works hard all year, so it's good for her to get away for a while. I spend time with the kids during the winter, when things get slow here. It's nice of Maude to put up with me, but I'm sure I'm a burden to her at times, so I like to give her breaks. Besides, the other kids have to take the rough with the smooth, and have to put up with their old man visiting for a fortnight every now and again...'
'I'm sure it's no burden, you certainly can look after yourself,' I said.
'Aye, so far, lad. So far.'
'I've been meaning to talk to you about TTR's lab...' I began.
He gave me a searching glance. 'Aye...'
'I don't want you to worry. I've had a look at it, and as you can see I survived, but I've no intention of going near that place again. And you can rest easy, the young people know all about it, so when something can be done, it will be done.'
'And how did you find it? Was it like I said?''
'It's everything you said it was.'
'And what is that, young man? What does a scientist say about it?' he asked.
'A mystery. It could be a gate to the Otherworld for all I know,' I replied, and then sketched out Hamilton Fraser and the clan's solar battery theory.
'What do you intend to do about it?' he asked.
'Me? Nothing. Hopeful the work I'm doing on TTR's papers will eventually allow someone to deal with,' I replied. 'You see, unless you know just what's going on, it might be dangerous to do anything at all, which is why Learmonte had it fenced off and forgotten. And why I'm here to transcribe TTR's papers.'
He shrugged. 'So I guess I didn't need to get you involved, after all. But I felt someone needed to know...'
'Aye. Still, I'm glad you did. I'll be able to keep an eye out for anything that might explain it, something I might otherwise have missed. Now, I've another question for you. whatever happened to the second station, the receiving station, so to speak? Was it dismantled or is it still about somewhere?'
Guy considered that for a moment, 'You know, I've never given it any thought. It was just a shed that could be taken apart and moved. Nothing elaborate. I don't recall what happened to it, to tell the truth.'
'Did they move the receiving unit back to the lab, or would it still be in the second unit?' I asked.
He shook his head, 'That wouldn't have been my concern. I'd see to the moving and putting up of the shed, but that was the end of my involveme
nt. I seem to recall that the last place we put it up was in the woods above Minton. We had to bulldoze a track into what's known as the Old Forest. Just a swipe of the blade or two, good enough to get a lorry up with the pre-fab shed to the spot TTR specified. Back in those days we had those GPS satellites so we could position it exactly where TTR wanted. Should be pretty easy to locate, though. It wasn't too deep in the Old Forest. Least not back then. Do you think it's important?'
'Honestly, no. More of a matter of curiosity. I'm thinking all that electricity around TTR's lab is the result of both units being there in close proximity, and so all the electrical energy collected is somehow stored in that specific locale. But if I've the opportunity, I'd want to check out the receiving station just to be sure.'
'Well, if it's still there, you'll find it in the hills above Minton, near the summit. But I've never heard any mention of it by the gillies, so it may well have been taken down when the Mackenzies came back after the Storm.'
'Aye. Still, a loose end. I don't think it'll tell me anything. But it always pays to tie up the loose ends.'
We talked for only a few more minutes before Guy pushed off, leaving me alone in the darkening twilight.
I sat for the next hour on my bench watching the aurora dance above the hills to the north. It felt good to be back in Glen Lonon. Like home. But I missed not seeing Nesta, which after only four days, couldn't bode well. Still, that's a bridge to be crossed when it comes, I decided.