Okay, those last two words were carefully chosen, not (only) because I have a ribald sense of humor, but because purportedly there is a defunct broadcasting guideline that used the Mull of Kintyre's shape and orientation to determine whether images of a penis could be broadcast on the BBC. Apparently, if the penis in question was displayed at an angle greater than that shown by the peninsula of Kintyre on a map of Scotland, then said image was too graphic for television. According to the BBC, an actor's penis must never appear more than "slightly tumescent." When I first read this golden nugget of trivia in an issue of The Independent, I came perilously close to wetting myself. "Slightly tumescent." That is a phrase that I am going to incorporate into my vernacular posthaste. In fact, I plan on using it somewhere, somehow in my thesis. Below is a map of Kintyre--Mull and all--for you to make your own assessment of the next slightly tumescent penis that crosses your path.
Now that my mother and Nani will never read this blog again, let's move on to the real photos, shall we?
Kintyre, like much of Scotland, has a varied, patchwork geography. The granite beaches that line both coasts give way to lush oakwood forests before turning into hilly moorland in the interior. Driving through Kintyre is a character building experience: when you're not driving on the edge of steep cliffs, you're slowly climbing up a road with a 14% incline, or navigating hairpin turns in the hills. It's a beautiful, if distracting, journey.
The beaches along the motorway aren't sandy, but rather quite rocky. The water is a beautiful turquoise, clear to the bottom, where you can see the kelp swaying with the waves.
I spent most of my time in Kintyre in and around Lochgilphead and the Taynish peninsula. Much of Taynish is now a protected nature reserve, unique among many Scottish nature parks in that it was only lightly managed. Timber was collected only for use by the laird and the land was never clear cut for commercial planting. As a result, the area gives one a clearer idea of what a pristine Scottish landscape looks like.
On my way to Taynish, I had to take a very small, single track country road. En route, I stopped to chat up some of the locals.
This picture just barely captures the majesty of this slice of Scotland. In the five or so miles of trail that I followed, I was rarely under full sun. Instead, the sunlight filtered through the verdant canopy, flickering as the breeze came in from Loch Sween.
When left to my own devices, I tend to dawdle, picking through the undergrowth looking for bugs, flowers, and salamanders, among other things. Some days I get lucky and find a treasure trove of goodies--from bones and teeth to seed pods and nests--others I find one or two footprints. Either way, I leave happy. If only "naturalist" were still a legitimate scientific profession. Sigh.
This trip was a fruitful one. Shortly after setting out, I was collecting a sample of detritus under some moss. While setting my GPS coordinates, I glanced down and saw a flash of blue:
It was springtime, and all the babies were out in force, including the former resident of this egg (belonging to a robin, for those not so well versed in ornithology). Walking among the oaks, I could hear the urgent peeps from a chorus of hungry chicks all around me.
Digging a little further into the underbrush near a boggy plain in the reserve, I stumbled upon one of the 12 amphibian and reptile species native to the UK. (For comparison, Alabama has 156.) This little guy is a young Bufo bufo, or a common toad. I had hoped to find a Natterjack toad (Bufo calamita), but they are exceedingly rare. There are days that I really miss working with herps, wrangling the huge pythons or feeding the wee frogs. But fungi are cool, too.
Speaking of fungi, this is one of my collection sites. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some good stuff to come out of these samples. These soils should be fertile and full of detritus without all of the bacteria from agriculture. Lots of detritus - bacteria = bumper crop of chytrids
After walking through the preserve, I took a trail to the top of Barr Mor, which is Gaelic for "bald hill". This site has been inhabited for the past 6,000 years. "Bald hill" is a bit of a misnomer. The hill itself is pretty densely wooded for the first 300 ft. or so, with the trees thinning into a bluebell glen for the last 100 ft. of the ascent.
Just the very top of the hill is cleared of trees, offering absolutely stunning views over the peninsula and the surrounding firths and lochs.
After spending part of the afternoon lounging among the bluebells on Barr Mor, lazily thumbing through a book and munching on macadamia nuts, I headed back to my car. On the way out of Taynish, I stumbled upon some of the most charming residents of Scotland: the heilan' coo'.
Is he not cute to the point of absurdity?! Lucky for me, a wee fold of these guys was milling about by a fence near the roadway. (Groups of highland cattle are called folds, not herds.) I stopped to take some photos when one started toward me--equally as curious about me as I was about him.
What. a. DOLL. This charming fellow--who surprisingly smelled of a sweet mix of oats and hay--let me scratch him behind the ears for a few minutes, and tousle the soft, thick locks on his darling bovine forehead. I sent these pictures to my sister later that afternoon, and she went absolutely batty. She vowed to pet one when she got to Scotland (an adventure yet to be posted, but in the queue), a quest that would take the whole of our time in Alba to achieve.
1 comment:
I should have been more specific in my request for pictures of cute redheads.
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