Skye weather closing in

There is only so much you can say about the weather.

From summer time and the living is easy to darkest winter with hail and gale. It gets repetitive, just like the seasons, and by definition boring. Last year was much the same and next year, barring a change in the Gulf Stream, will be more of the same. But I don't mean it's boring being here, living the life, just boring talking about it.

When you live in the great outdoors the seasons and weather dominate. Nice day today, or a bit terrible, to neighbours seldom met and shop attendants in Portree when in for the paper.

Other things happen, of course, like planting one hundred native trees, a mixture of alder, birch, rowan, goat willow and hazel, down by the burn. Not to reduce our carbon footprint or anything else so high minded, but just because we like trees.

And then there is my current crusade, or war, against the local crows. The darn creatures are eating all the garden bird food as soon as I turn my back, so I have taken to shooting them. The little garden birds could be at the table all day a nibbling at what the crows demolish in a matter of minutes. Bastards! But crows are clever. After killing a few and winging a few more they skedaddle the minute they sense my presence.

And then they return, in droves, once I'm away from the house feeding the beasts. The crows, bastards that they are, are winning. Let one slip and get cocky and its buzzard food.

It would be nice to recount a play that I had recently seen or a film viewed and start a debate on merits but life here is not like that, at least for me. I seldom venture out of an evening, except perhaps, to the monthly local history society lecture. And do I mind? Not in the least.

Because this is the life I live and I like it, just as it is.

So, so long until Spring.

As there is only so much you can say about the weather.

PS Be sure to sure to check the for sale page of the website if interested in buying cattle or come a visiting for B&B next season.

Oidhche mahath leibh

Dark Skye

The nights are drawing in and it is dark by five o'clock in the afternoon. The days will progressively shorten until the winter solstice at the turn of the year. One thing we don't have much of on Skye is light pollution and a clear, frosty night with the Milky Way stretching its magic band across the sky is a sight to behold.

It doesn't rain all the time, but it does rain a lot. The gales have been ferocious the last few days, battering me and Jay as we go about the business of feeding the cattle, and in the evenings rattling the windows and making the chimney groan with a constant background drone.

The ground is getting muddy, especially around the byre and it will remain so until the Spring.Yvonne is at work in London and life at Romesdal is pretty quiet. The bed and breakfast season is long over and I miss the company. The income came in useful too.

This morning dawned clear and bright, for a change, and the weather seems to be settling. I have been feeding the cattle hay and cobs for the past week and this daily routine will continue until next May. It is a pleasure on a day like today and a 'get it over with quick' chore when windy and wet. One of the other winter tasks is to halter train the three Highland heifer calves. The calves will then be sold, potential buyers please note.

I have also been busy with the vet (retired) at Kingsburgh Forest helping with wood sales. We sell wood locally on behalf of Kingsburgh Forest Trust. The vet is the chairman and I, for my sins, am the secretary. We use his tractor and trailer and the wood is sold by the trailer load as logs. However, the shop will be shut soon as we are rapidly running out of cut wood. A major upcoming task at the forest is the planting of one thousand sitka spruce plants, replacements for other plants that, for some reason or other, died. Never a dull moment or a quiet day around Kingsburgh.

The vet is also secretary of Kingsburgh Sheepstock Club and has been focused on gathering in the club tups from the common grazings in readiness for putting them out to the hill at the end of the month. He has roped me into helping him find the rams and, like I say, never a dull moment or a quiet day, except for Sunday.

As for my own sheep, I will be putting the ram in with them on the 28th November but before that they will be injected against scab and worms and dosed with spot-on against lice and ticks. Oh lucky sheepies. I never took much notice of sheep when Calum was alive, except to help him feed them, but seem to be getting more attracted to them as time goes by. I think this is because we had some nice lambs last year and I want to see more.

So, there you have it, nothing exciting going on here. Just changed the oil in the Land Rover and now for some diner. Chicken roasted in the Rayburn, if you must know. But before that I'll light the fire, draw the curtains and prepare for another night at home. Dark Skye again, indeed.

Such is life.

Skye Time

And the seasons they go round and round
and the sheep and cattle breed and feed
we are captured on a carousel of time

Calves are born and so are lambs to play
and grow to be big and strong
and then most end up for sale

Cash comes in and then goes out to pay for winter feed
and not much else so how do we make our ends meet
.... is the question?

We can't of course because crofting does not make economic sense
and now I've a chance to mention the new fence and the expense,
of trying to recreate a small native woodland, along the little burn

All a matter of choices whether to do this or do that
play a game of tit for tat
or sell the lot and stay in bed for the winter

But can't bear the thought of life back in town
and its so nice here most of the time
and the rest of the time is really nice too

To watch the summer visitors come and stare
at the Highland cattle and the woolly sheep
as they gleefully tour this not so little island

Gives pleasure to know that it was you, me
and us that helped shaped this place
and added to the attraction and beauty for all to share

And even invite some in to our home
for a little bed and breakfast

That's enough now

It's my blog and I'll write how I like because you don't have to read it and
as the seasons they go round and round

with gatherings of sheep and tales of bullocks jumping and fank work and the annual escape to the the sun of somewhere which this year was Morocco

and now a circle has been completed and the winter feeding season is all but on us

like last year and the year before and next year and the year after

for ever and ever

somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds sing

row, row, row the boat gently the stream

hope I don't wake up at some office desk

.... killing time until half past five

Skye Mushrooms

There are many varieties of mushrooms at Romesdal, in the fields, under the trees and by the burn. For some reason I like to study them.

But not in a scientific way with measurements and notes. I just like to look at the different colours, textures and shapes by bending down and getting a little closer. One day there is nothing except grass and earth and the next this strange, almost creature like thing has emerged.

With head bent, intent on the ground, time passes quickly and you don't have to venture far in terms of distance for a long walk around the croft.

Is that one edible? Or is that one poisonous? And why does this one always appear on a cow pat?

And there are large mushrooms, small mushrooms and no doubt there are magic mushrooms.















I have no desire to be an expert in the mushroom field. To dissect and classify is to demystify.

For me fungi will remain mysterious forms of life with the capacity to feed, kill, intoxicate or simply make a day more pleasant by indulging in the simple act of finding and looking.

Wonder what kind of fungi tomorrow will bring?

PS can anyone out there tell me what kind this is? (Apart from the obvious that it is a younger version of the mushroom in the first photo)

Summer on Skye

Summer on Skye and the living, if not easy, is busy and interesting. Weather is changeable after a beautiful Spring of little rain and slow grass growth.

Grass is green and lush and the cows are fat with calves growing fast into little heifers and bullocks.

Bed and breakfast business is brisk with the extra income more than welcome. Strangely enough, as website enquiries have tailed off 'walk-ins' off the road have been a regular feature of the last few weeks.

Never realised Skye could fill up so quickly with tourists. Had to turn away so many people over the last few weeks to B&Bs neighbours further down the road.

Some of our guests have found Romesdal a comfortable base to explore North Skye and have stayed on for a few nights। All our guests have been fascinated at the Highland cattle grazing in the field as they eat their breakfast and afterwards there are photo opportunities galore. Just as well I am not one for hurrying.

Glad to be of service.

Jay the sheepdog and me didn't participate in gathering sheep from the hill this year owing to the fact that she was pregnant and nearing her time. As well as saying right now that it all went horribly wrong and she lost her pups. Still a sore subject.

She was not destined to be mother and the vet spayed her to prevent any future pregnancies. But she has recovered well and is back to her old self.

Major task at the moment is Kingsburgh Forest Trust's application to the Big Lottery for funds to extend the multi purpose track. So much to do.

Like I said, summer on Skye and the living is busy.

Road sheep and rams

I am not very good at keeping this blog up to date so don't expect any of the 'yesterday I went to shop and bought a Mars Bar' sort of stuff. And, as for going to the shop with the price of diesel going through the roof I may very well be going on a horse in the near future and the Land Rover will be left to rust.

I suppose that would make an interesting future entry: 'I went to the shops on a horse and bought a Mars Bar. The horse had some oats and it was an altogether more enjoyable experience than forking out £20 on diesel for the 8 mile journey. Also, the horse didn't rust'.

Keep dreaming.

(Image of a ram sheared of its fleece)

There always seem to be stray sheep wandering up and down the Mill road, not ours I may add, touch wood. They come up from the shore having managed to breach dilapidated fencing further down the loch. In fact, for many it is probably considered home range and the odd car or three to avoid is just an everyday hazard.

Once they reach the A87 junction at the top of the road however, where our house is, the situation can be annoying as, if the gate is accidentally left open then the sheep come into the garden and browse the plants. Little wooly devils that they are.

Also many a car and sheep has met its end on the road over the years from this freelance, care not a jot, sheepy attitude to staying behind wire. Road sheep are rogue sheep. Nevertheless, regardless of their renegade status, once a year these road sheep like all the rest of the local sheep, have their little lambs.

A few weeks back looking out the window at a most beautiful Skye evening scene, sun glinting off Loch Snizort, cattle grazing contentedly after a hard winter on hay and cobs, the Romesdal flock all present and correct and happily within the croft boundary, a little lamb was spotted through the fence in our field with its mother distraught on the Mill road. The little darling.

You see, wee lambs can squeeze through the tiniest hole in a quest for...who knows what. Anyway, I grabbed the trusty shepherds' crook, and hot footed it out of the house, down the Mill Road, through the gate and into the field. Jay, of course, was at my side and loving every minute of this unexpected turn of events.

When the lamb saw me it went off like a shot into the furthest corner of the field and bleated like crazy whilst trying to butt its wee head through a very stout wire fence. Bless. As I got closer to the corner the tiny mite of wooliness was off again, this time to the Mill Road corner, by the burn (stream). And so I slowly followed.

Patience paid off in the end and I finally caught the lamb with crook (after a good soaking from running through the burn chasing it) and deposited the beast on the right side of the fence to find its agitated mother.

I was ready for that Mars Bar when I got home to replace the energy expended chasing the lamb, I can tell you.

But I digress because what I meant to relate was how I managed to get our oversized and overweight ram sheared whilst on holiday in London (see image above). Which for me was an unusually clever piece of work as the alternative was to shear the giant ram by hand and the following chain events gave me the opportunity.

I was walking down to the Mill Road to the shore with Jay one day shortly after the incident with the lamb in the field and spotted amongst a gang of road sheep a pair of Kingsburgh Sheepstock Club rams (See 'The Gathering' for more detail on 'sheepstock club'). I knew they were club tups because of the orange paint mark on their rear ends.

Now, being a member of the club I could not very well allow these valuable beasts to wander nilly willy up and down roads until they maybe caused an accident, for which the club would be liable, or vanished into the sunset of an evening. So I called my trusty bitch Jay to heel and directed the rams through our field gate and into the field where we keep our own rams and wedders (see 'Tupping the sheepies' for term explanation.)

On meeting the vet (now retired), who doubles as secretary to the Sheepstock Club one day soon after and informing him of the tups in my field, he asked me to bring them to fank as all the club tups and hogs were going to be sheared on the following Friday. I said, no problem and can do, but I am going to London for a week's R&R and therefore wont be able to help with the shearing and stuff on the appointed day. The vet said, well don't worry about it as 'what can you do'? Which is not a lot, I thought, as I would be on London town.

So the next morning I gathered the rams and wedders into a pen, backed up the old but serviceable livestock trailer and shooed the club tups, along with our own much larger tup, into the back and trundled them down to Kingburgh fank. I informed the vet of this successful operation and said my own tup had accidentally got in with the rest and it would be just as well to shear him also. The vet looked at me knowingly.

On return from London the tup had been sheared, was duly collected and returned to his rightful field.

Nice one.

Skye peace and quiet

But first an update:

We have increased our stock by 6 calves and 14 lambs. Offset against this is the sale of two Highland beasts to Loch Greshornish campsite and four yearlings cross Highland heifers at the local mart in Portree. We are near standing still in terms of cattle numbers and the lambs will be sold in the autumn.

(Image of twin lambs having a feed)

The big difference, I suppose, is that this year all our calves will be pure bred, pedigree Highland cattle. Iain the stock bull has worked well and the calves, 4 heifers and 2 bull, are thriving and looking exceedingly well. ( I'm biased, of course).

Dolly the Highland cow, for some reason known only to her hormones and genes, has still to calve. She had a nice calf last year and we don't expect any problems.

Anyway, this is what it is all about - seeing your animals safely through the winter to deliver strong healthy offspring in the spring. Beats working for a living.

The cows have nearly stopped coming for food in the mornings as the grass growth takes off. The weather has been absolutely fantastic. Sunshine and more sunshine with the only cloud on the horizon the lack of rain. Never thought I'd see the day on Skye when that was a problem.

But what about the peace and quiet and the sound of silence, et al?

Well, a friend was here recently for a visit, which was very nice and helped enormously with cleaning old wire from around the croft, but his presence sparked the thought in my head as to how quietly I live life in general. Could it be I'm becoming reclusive?

(Image of two Highland calves)

With the wife in London working most of the time I spend a lot of time on my own, in relative silence except for the occasional hour or so of television or radio. The visiting friend, however, obviously enjoyed living life to a near continual soundtrack of radio and television with news and sport interspersed with music and talk.

This was a bit of an eye opener. Is there something I'm missing?

And then, when back on my own, I listened to that old cliched 'sound of silence'.

There is the quiet hum of the washing machine in the kitchen next door;
the sound of bird song filters through the open windows from the garden;
a lost lamb bleats for its mother in the field - she replies in a deeper voice;
a car passing on the nearby road is a faint but distinct event;
a ringing phone intrudes on my writing;
Jay is moving restlessly in her basket in the kitchen.

Down by the stream:

water tinkles gently as it flows down the little water fall;
primroses and bluebells are quite silent but beautiful none the less;
a skylark trills high above my head as a song thrush burst into full bloom;
two crows squawk raucously across the sky as they worry a harried looking buzzard;

Walking to the byre:

Someone is using a chainsaw far off in the distance;
A man shouts faintly at his dogs on the croft above Eyre;
a fighter jet screams so loudly as it bombs a group of cows and sheep and lambs scatter; (In training for war)
Cows begin to bellow as they see the man approaching;

At the byre:

The tractor thunders first time as its fired up for work;
the quad bike sputters badly, in need of a service;
Jay barks excitedly at the prospect of work.

You get my drift? I would hate to live my life in silence. But I must say that I much prefer a natural soundtrack to the inane prattling of manufactured sound.

Takes all sorts, I suppose.

A Crofting Life

Get up in the morning, porridge for breakfast
Feed a dog and wash face,
Not keen on venturing out
To start another day of this crofting life

Rain against the window,
That is nothing new
Another soaking in the offing
This is the crofting life

Battle out the back door, wind hard to beat,
Made it to the Land Rover,
Temporary respite.
Ah, the crofting life

Drive the hundred yards to the byre
Reverse up to the door
Inside warm and cosy,
Not so bad, this crofting life

Turn on radio for company,
Cheery man flirting with traffic woman,
Playing songs and talking
Irrelevant to this crofting life

Cows outside awaiting, eager for their rations
But price of feed is through the roof
So hard to keep animals on the hoof (...ouch)
Oh, oh, oh, the crofting life

Cattle and sheep waiting outside of yard at byre,
Bull and bullock in other field
And six yearling calves in yet another field
This is the crofting life

Load buckets and bags in Land Rover
Drive short distance and feed the big boys
Next calves at Rita's and then back to byre
Ah, ah, the crofting life

Cows turn for feeding, sheep last of all
Call Suzie and Flora into yard for ease
Fill buckets and distribute
Another day in this crofting life

All things going smooth, with not a problem
Shoo Suzie and Flora out the back gate
Fill sheep troughs with feed,
A crofting life

Tie bales of hay to back of quad bike
Drive up to the old wall with clever cows a following
Make hay bundles in the shelter
For this is this crofting life

Just about finished for the morning
By now wide awake and hungry
Back to house at lunchtime
Oh, oh, the crofting life

Head to the forest for firewood,
Spend the afternoon a chopping
To the buzz of a chainsaw
Echoes of a crofting life



Repeat daily until Spring

Highland catttle merry-go-round

If you separate cattle from the main herd for some reason and then reintroduce them after a time there is nearly always a fight between two beasts of equal size to re-establish rank within the group. Also, sometimes a beast will just fancy the chance of attaining higher ranking by testing the beast next in line. This horn locking and pushing can be alarming in its ferocity, until one beast gives ground and backs off. Sometimes the status quo is maintained and other times it is changed.

Flora (image above) is a the bottom of the pecking order in the Romesdal fold and knows it. The other cattle will not tolerate her at the feeding rings and she stands on the periphery with a forlorn expression. We have tombstone style feeding rings designed to prevent bullying by horned cattle but the bullying persists. The Highlanders seem acutely aware of personal space and rank and when feeding will give way to a beast of higher rank and the higher ranking beast will do all in its power to prevent a beast of lower rank feeding, until she has had her fill and is content.

You would think they would get fed up interrupting their feeding at the rings by chased another beast away, but they don't. 'This is all mine, squirt,' they seem to be thinking 'and you can go take a hike'. And this is the point when human intervention in the shape of your truly steps in to redress the balance of power otherwise poor Flora would lose out and lose condition.

And then when watching cattle at the feeding rings a strange a confusion of rankings was noticed. At first I thought that there was a straight forward hierarchical structure with Morag at the top, I am not counting the bull as he lives separate from the main fold, and Flora at the bottom. But Highland cattle society is not so simple. We have two feeding rings with ten head spaces on each giving, in theory, room for twenty cattle to feed. However, it is obvious that with Romesdal cattle at least, issues of personal space and rank consciousness restrict the comfortable numbers to three or four per ring. Which is slightly galling from the human perspective.

As we have eight cows, not counting calves which sneak in to the rings and don't matter in terms of rank, two are in for a hard time, one being Flora the other Dolly. But Dolly though second bottom in rank, is much braver than Flora and by sheer persistence manages to get her fair share. And then the confusion in rank gave rise to an odd situation.

Skelper, Mairi and Seanag were going round a feeding ring in a circular motion. It was obvious that Skelper was giving way to Mairi who was giving way to Seanach who was giving way to Skelper who was giving way to Mairi who was giving way to Seanach.... ad nauseum, if you get the drift. As one beast stopped to take a mouthful of hay the one behind would give a dunt and the cattle were trapped on a carousel of an anomaly in ranking.

This sad situation only stopped when a cow of higher rank decided to switch feeding rings and scattered the circling beasts. In the age old refrain of frustrated stockmen, 'what can you do?'