Reflections on a life still full of wonder
THE young lad of 18 years pictured right is me on the hills above Loch Ness with a peregrine falcon, the picture with my byline is of me now, at the grand age of 65.
If I was to ask my younger self one question, it would probably be, ‘Do you know what you are in for lad?’
To be fair it has been a ride of epic proportions; the highlight being my three children and two grandchildren.
However, for the purpose of this column, I think sharing my favourite wildlife experiences from 43 years of writing columns is the order of the day. Selecting my number one experience is easy, as nothing matches the first sighting of European Bison emerging from the forest of Bialowieska in the far east of Poland one winter’s morning, which was simply breathtaking.
I believe it was my time spent in small villages which shaped me. In the black-and-white days, the times of pounds, shillings and pence, I sometimes think that life made more sense and was much easier to understand for a rufty-tufty rugby-playing writer like me.
A pound of butter was just that, and with a ten-bob note (50p) I could have a night out when I’d turned 17, including bus fares, several pints, and fish and chips on the way back home – or even entry to Loughborough University to watch the band ‘Free’ for six shillings, yes six-bob.
My time was spent between little villages in England, Ireland and Scotland, and there then came a 28-year sabbatical at Bleak House, Crowden – 800 feet above sea-level at the Head of the Wood – before we landed at the Old Co-Op, which is now the Laughing Badger Gallery in one more little village, Padfield.
Thankfully I’ve never lost my sense of wonder, and watching the red fox saunter across the hill below Mollie’s Farm this morning is a classic example of it – beauty and the English countryside personified.
It would be very difficult to pick stand-out village moments, but here goes: three memorable vignettes from three small-but-beautifully formed places...
In Achnamara, on the