Home from the Black Isle – and another white dog will now be sharing our lives

We are back from the Black Isle and a visit to son Robert and daughter-in-law Katie. It’s a part of the country we have grown increasingly fond of. Chanonry Point, lying between Fortrose and Rosemarkie on the Moray Firth, has become one of Scotland’s most important destinations for dolphin watching.

The Black Isle’s name reflects the rich, fertile land of the peninsula whose shores are washed by the waters of the Cromarty Firth on the north and the Moray Firth and Beauly Firth on the south. With a temperate climate of its own it is one of Scotland’s bread baskets.

As important – maybe more so – much of the barley grown there goes to local distilleries for the production of malt whisky – the Cratur, the Auld Kirk – the blessed water of life, no less.

We are always aware on these visits north of the sense of heightened light. The fingers of the Beauly and Moray Firths, the Cromarty Firth and, further north, the Dornoch Firth, extend deep into the Easter Ross coastline, folding back the hills and creating boundless views of far peaks.

Very different from the more compact Angus glens of home but summing up the infinite variety of Scotland’s landscape.

We took ourselves off for what, for me, was a day out down memory lane to Ullapool, a 50-mile drive over to the west coast.

From 1949 to 1956 the Whitson family spent a month’s summer holiday caravanning on the shore of Loch Broom at Leckmelm Farm, three miles south of what was one of Scotland’s busiest fishing ports in the days when there was a Scottish herring fleet.

Today’s town is much changed from the village I remember.

I was just a laddie in short pants and my father would get me to shout down to a boat that was landing its catch and ask for a fry of herring. Five or six whopping great fish would be thrown up on to the pier which I had to clean when we got back to the caravan.

We drove on to Ardmair village opposite Isle Martin which was offered to my father to buy for £1,000. He was tempted by this and, looking back, it was a blessing he didn’t accept. It would have been an expensive burden he could have ill-afforded.

On the outskirts of Ardmair, a black house with a rusting wrinkly tin roof – still there – was home to an old lady who lived with her cat and a cow, which provided her with milk. All just memories now.

On the drive back to Rosemarkie we

stopped at a car park and picnic spot in Inverlael Forest which is also the start of half a dozen interesting and instructive woodland walks.

Nineteenth-Century landowners were enthusiastic agricultural improvers and planters of trees. They financed the expeditions of intrepid tree and plant hunters such as David Douglas of Scone – after whom the giant Douglas Fir is named – who brought back strange and exotic trees for their patrons.

Part of the old Caledonian Forest, Inverlael is dominated by Beinn Dearg – the red mountain – a Munro (mountain more than 3,000 feet high).

Two hundred species of trees from around the world are planted at Lael including Caucasian Fir, Japanese Cedar, Corsican Pine and Oregon Maple, together with familiar native species such as horse chestnut and birch.

The oldest were planted around 1870 by the then owner, Sir John Fowler, who was

an engineer and notable as the joint designer of the Forth Bridge.

Meet Hamish who we have rehomed as his previous owner was no longer able to look after him. He is aged seven, Kennel Club-registered and we are getting to know one other.

He is bigger than Macbeth, our previous West Highland Terrier who we lost several years ago, but nicely proportioned. And like Macbeth he has the classic carrot tail and black pigment in his ears. I’m told Westies with pink skin can be prone to skin complaints. He’s clean in the house, gives a bark if he needs out and sleeps the night through.

It’s good to have a dog in the house again and it gives a purpose to going for a walk. But rehoming a dog brings its own challenges. Hamish is accustomed to his previous family’s lifestyle and has created his own accordingly. It’s taking him time to

adjust to his new surroundings – so the Doyenne and I must start to think like Hamish and make adjustments to our lives.

It will be an interesting experience and we’ll keep readers in the picture.

I’ll end with the story of the man who, when offered a glass of “well-mannered perfect water”, would ask for a knicker – just enough to cover the bottom, he’d explain. I wonder if a pair of knickers might not have doubled his pleasure.

We took ourselves off for what was a day out down memory lane

NEW COMPANION: Hamish is getting himself accustomed to his fresh surroundings in what will hopefully be a succesful rehoming.