Day 1. Tues. 9^th June 2010.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

McIntosh and Matthews set off for the Galloway Forest in the recycled four wheeler Pig, with camping gear, midge repellant, provisions for several, maps, compass, knife and recording gear, arriving safely in Newton Stewart for a kind start under a roof.

The last 15 miles is through the forest and although it’s  good to be arriving, the smooth flat horizon of planted coniferous trees quietly disheartens. Where is the chaos of ancient deciduous woodland?  Wo these controlled farmed swathes of conifers!  The local single malt is Banloch and out of stock everywhere, but the fresh caught wild salmon and Peter’s Throat replace well. They are twitching with nature and full of anticipation for what is to come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 2. Wed. 10^th June.

They rise early to meet Keith Muir, Manager of the Galloway Forest Park, Forestry Commission and be taken on a tour of some of its 373 square miles. They have not yet been to this part of SW Scotland and never with detail through forestry commission land. As well as being a keen astronomer, Keith is inspiring, knowledgeable and hospitable,  so soon they are seeing the rows of coniferous plantations as carefully tended Sitka Spruce trees (originally from west California) and the ruined landscape as harvested crops, not simply ravaged hillsides. Why does the cutting of trees present such scenes of devastation? This park provides a sixth of the wood required by the UK and if humans are to continue to use wood and paper, then let’s grow it here, not bring in from abroad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They also visit two bothies and an abandoned smallholding as potential sites for the work. Bothy no.1 here, looks gingerbread-sweet in the landscape, but it’s used by local quad bikers who’ve spun perfect doughnuts in the grass outside, left empty cans, bottles and collapsing bunks inside with an atmosphere you  might only handle in late night movies.

Bothy no 2, White Laggan, is the antithesis. Run by the mba, its door is carefully held closed with a stone, floor swept and clean sleeping platforms inside,(incredible wire joinery work) with a kitchen area giving a stunning view across the glen. Yes, this one feels safe but it’s shelter feels controlled, almost vibrating with the cleanliness of gortex. Not ideal. Overall both bothys seem so occupied by their own communities, that anything they did here could be too much of an invasion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Glenhead, the third site, not a bothy but an old farmstead, sits sweet as a nut. Tucked away on the edge of Glentrool oakland, it’s a sealed house with several sheds, old fruit trees and the scent of a farming family having worked here for years. Keith is concerned about access as the public road through the oakland ends some way up the valley. They love it and are seeing its potential as a training and retreat centre for evolutionary practices in all arts.  No electricity, the land and landscape providing work and sucour for sustenance and learning.

With dry as cardboard scones and excellent fruit cake over tea at Glentrool visitors centre, they talk more on all 3 locations, the reality of star gazing in the Galloway forest and complexities involved in bringing visitors to the site. This part of Scotland is usually missed by southern folk heading for the highlands, and why should people come anyway?  It seems Yird Muin Starn could add to the pull that Keith and his team are already developing. Miraculous to have found such energetic and realistic support immediately.

Soon time to set for the night. It’s June (midge and therefore very dangerous camping season in Scotland) but they go pitch anyway, and, breaking all midge avoidance tactics, right beside Loch Trool. The sun is warm, their spirits are high and they strip to bandana bikinis,  flambé-ing tofu and ginger and local courgettes, the evening light astonishing over mirror smooth water. The silence is so thick it vibrates.  And yes. yes. No midges! Haha. Yes, it’s too early for them isn’t it?

But then just as silently, they appear. Not in ones but twenties, then thousands, then endless swelling swarms of tiny black biting masses. Their best repellant, 100% body covering costumes and continuous air fanning might stop the bites, but the midges’ relentless presence is overbearing and bang, they fall silent to  survive the onslaught. It’s completely weird.

The dinner destroyed, it’s a frantic flapping run through the forest and a dash zip lock up in the tent. Don’t pee. And then it’s freezing and the sleeping bags are too thin and no one sleeps anyway and they are having a Scottish camping experience.

 

 

Day 3. Thursday 11th June.

Clatteringshaws visitors centre is full of entertainment. Stuffed otter, red deer, birds, better cake and locally written poetry inside, Bronze Age homesteads out. The material of the build and easy symmetry is a delight. Matthews notes the Bench. Yes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They had breakfasted in the car park away from the loch, pink lumpy faces, hopping from one foot to the other, the sun shining, the midges still persistent. A local had passed by. Ah yes he intoned matter of fact. They’re always here. Somewhere. Just sleeping through the winter months and then out. Yes all day and all night. Oh no they never sleep hen. And yes nothing keeps them away.

They have decided to revisit Glenhead house alone, to see if it really could be the site to work with. Its  seclusion plus ease of walking distance from a parked car, (need to consider all kinds of visitors) stand it in good stead, but is it possible to get a decent view of the sky up the hill behind it?  Their thoughts are with the possibility of building a shelter within the farm’s grounds. That looks to the sky. Material and form to counterpoint and so enhance and redefine what already exists. The dream of an artists eco retreat fast fading.
On the way, however, McIntosh remembers something she had found on the map before hand. Culsharg. An old bothy that  Keith had not taken them too, and in fact its up that way.. McIntosh pointing.  A moment later they are going. Up the path and its on the way to the Merrick.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Up the rocky path beside the bubbling Buchan Burn, the loch falling away to their right, the water chatter disappearing as they slip plop into the hush of the forest, the trees softly whispering. Through the light at the end of the path they emerge and walk and there below them spreads a valley. With a small face looking across towards them at the bottom of a hill. And its the Culsharg bothy, the Merrick rising behind.  Ah now. Real potential.