chloramphenicol & dexamethasone drop by drop

DROP BY DROP, into my recovering eye, post cataract surgery. The 'new' eye sees detail at distance, transmitting a cooler bluer world to me full of sharp clarity…  but disputing with my other eye, still back in my long accustomed short-sightedness. Boxing day and just over a week since I underwent the procedure. Three weeks more of those drops, the second one at least, four times a day… The gritty feeling is no longer an issue…

This re-incarnation cannot replicate the super close up facility I have so long had to rely on — and come to value. For now, one eyed operation is what I must work with, until my left eye goes through the second stage of what is after all a bilateral procedure. For the time being I must manage a twisted regime. Left sided: super close up, or with appropriate spectacle lens, the middle distance via the unaltered eye. The treated, right sided eye — long distance, and the more further extension of middle distance [middle distance is a little less than arm's length]: but nothing close up — unless assisted by borrowed reading glasses, which of course, conflict the untreated left. 

It is called disparity. I should think it to be the most awkward aspect of getting your eyes fixed in this manner. 

Cataract surgery for me is not principally about addressing the obstruction of my vision by a clouding of my eyes' lenses, although that too was coming to pass — but to physically respond to increasing myopia, which was reaching the end of what can reasonably be addressed via the prescription of a glass lens. 

I have waited a long time for the 'phacoemulsification of cataract and insertion of intraocularlens' (it was/is not without risk, moderate in my case, due to the shape of my eyeballs, likened to the characteristic shape of bananas by one inspecting medic, I kid you not!)…

The truth is, right now, the reconditioned eye function is conditioned, constrained, until both eyes have approximately the same acuity  status. Then we shall see. Thereafter, after further testing and re-assessment by an ophthalmologist, I am also anticipating the recovery of my ability to discern the middle distances, by recourse to my next spectacles prescription. 

Will there be situations where I can, for the first time ever, go unaided by spectacles? I shall soon find out I hope. 

I fear I shall miss, badly at first, the super close up aspect of having been so myopic. The principle advantage: to be able to inspect in detail, without lens or magnifier. To read the ever so small print! Gone for good, traded for views of the bright blue uplands! How will I find those splinters and tiny thorns that prick my fingers then? How will I appreciate the scales of butterfly wings, the interior spaces and detail of flowers, the exactitude or otherwise of maps, print and image? 

Well we will see I suppose, or rather, I will. I am sure I may hanker for this lost facility when it is no more… even now, at this midway stage, still possible with the untreated eye, I am soberly brought to the realisation that one can't have it all… if one's eyes are as compromised as mine…

I am no longer a camera. This morning I endeavour to take a picture. Hitherto I've employed the back screen to frame the scene, as an oversized view finder. Well, that won't work with the new eye. My camera's pop up view-finder, deemed an unnecessary addition when the kit was acquired, looks as though it will become an essential attribute in the coming months; thankfully, and for the first time, a digital view-finder working for the (new) me!!

e-greets (updated 2023)

 

It was in 2010 that I decided: enough was enough.

Postage costs going ever upwards, folk I heard nothing of from one year to the next, cards sent and not received, people overlooked, postal deadlines missed, cards destined for landfill, glitter everywhere, none recyclable, or too good to discard so cluttering the place up for weeks or even years,  etc etc.

I came up, quite independently of anyone who had thought of it before, with the Bullsmead e-greet. Unlike other e-greets I have seen since my first 2010 attempts, mine are always tailored to the specific recipient(s) insofar as the greeting carries their name(s). 

Unsurprisingly I received some slightly scornful observations at first: I still get the odd one even now. But I have at least taken the time to design my greeting on a personal basis, with something topical perhaps, certainly something seasonal — with an image derived from my own photographs and design, specifically worked into a customised greeting. So what if it is sent via the Internet? There's nothing to stop folk printing the e-greet out and sticking it on the mantelpiece, after all. Money saved in postage goes to increase the financial support I make to this seasonal good cause or that. The sending of an e-greet has also sometimes stimulated and renewed a contact that might otherwise have been at risk of withering away entirely. I send them out as a family greeting, but neither the son-&-heir or Mrs Melling take any part in originating the yearly offering, other than to draw my attention to weaknesses or errors in the design, layout, recipient and so on. 

So here are the designs from 2010 to the present. I trust the good friends and relations who feature on these examples will excuse the use of their names, but without a personalisation example the illustrations here would not demonstrate quite how they work, or not —that's a matter of opinion, of course. Apsley & Thelma? Never-heard-of-'em. 

For some reason I have no record of the 2015 card (the sixth image down from the top) with its typography, I've just got the image I made. But I'm sure you can envision how it probably looked, on the basis of the other years before and after… approximately at least. No? Oh well, we can't all be typographically adept can we? For my public who might want such detail, the house-style type face for this series is generally Monotype Photina.  

But not always! Can you spot the other faces?

munro tally

EXPLANATION: 

THE TABLE BELOW THIS INTRO STARTED OUT as a list, derived from the log I commenced writing up to act as an aide memoire of camping and walking experiences in the wilds; of the hills climbed during such initiatives in Scotland, specifically Munro mountains, in the order that I visited them. After all, people these days set out with the aspiration to do them all. It has become a 'thing', ticking them off. That's not me, but no harm in making a note of the mountains that one has been up, surely? And anyway I can't help liking lists, call it a side line associated with the ordering and presentation of data that underpinned my professional career at various times. 

Let's be clear: The list does not include any associated tops and Corbetts, often just as worthy of visitation as Munros;  I usually noted those hills in my log (which is in long-hand and never likely to be seen in any other format, that's for sure).

What does this list reveal? 

Regrettably l find I have only ‘topped’ slightly less than half of the current list of Munros in the twenty years where Scotland was my hillwalking focus. Even though I gained four Munros without even stirring from the comfort of my own home, when some nerd decided former tops met the criteria for Munro status (and I'd done 'em).

Non-Munro hills which I climbed for their own distinctiveness that are on the list are in italic. Heights are in metres and the Munro ranking I’ve used is according to the SMC (1980).

Maps colour coded and listed against each hill are usually the ones I used ‘in the field,’ but in some instances, later editions with better coverage are indicated if I’ve subsequently collected them. When I first started exploring the Highlands I sometimes resorted to buying the only available maps as unfolded sheets, which I had to fold as carefully as possible so as to be useable out there in the wilderness.

Otherwise:

 

Yellow coded maps on the list are what is now called the ‘Outdoor Leisure’ series (1: 25 000 second series). They don't look like this anymore, sadly: they are just like Explorers (see below). Where's the pleasure in that?

Green coded maps are the long defunct 1: 25 000 second series, the later 'small sheet' editions being called ‘Pathfinder’. My favourites… small enough to handle outdoors, detailed enough to show what one needs to know. Usually they showed 20 x10 kms. 

The Pathfinder series evolved into the ‘Explorer’ series, which hadn't  started appearing when I was still going to Scotland so don't feature in my list These now cover the entire country. 1: 25 000 second series, big sheets, double sided in some cases, and rather impractical out there in the gales. Proper maps though. You can get digital downloads of them as well. Their covers often feature grade two holiday snaps like this one. Honestly! These maps get the Ordnance Survey top dressing of crass blue tourist symbols and pictograms that often compromise more important detail. 

Maps coded red on the list are the non metric ‘one inch’ 1:63360 seventh (and final) series or one inch scale tourist maps. Long gone of course, and tending to be a bit notional in the more remote regions, with some notable mistakes on occasion. The red style of cover saw the series out. Not pretty. The mapping itself was rather good looking and mostly hand drawn. 

Maps coded magenta are the 1: 50 000 metric series, now called the ‘Landranger’ maps. Not enough detail for my liking and without much authority either. Used in extremis only. I dislike them in fact. Toy-Town mapping… especially with built up areas and covered overall with daft blue 'tourist' information symbols. Pah! As for the early covers… FGS!

These days I think most serious hill exploring folk would be using the Explorer series, either in paper form or the digital versions that can be downloaded onto a smart phone and indicating your position in the landscape via GPS. But caution! Useful as this may be, phones can and do run out of charge. Always carry good old paper maps, your life may depend on it…

Here's the list, almost entirely for my benefit you understand, but you are welcome to take a look – if your device can screen it at an intelligible size. The ranking of the Munros is as it was defined by SMC in 1980. I haven't taken into account the additional hills (as far as rank order is concerned) that have been subsequently upgraded to Munros, added to the list but not ranked by me at any rate, hence the grey blanks in the ranking column. As if you were bothered.Anyway, who cares about rankings? 

Most important of all however, is the facility this list affords me to remember, recall, order, and even relive to some extent those trips north. Some went wrong of course – but most went well, Very well. Nothing stays the same however… not even this list!

banner/title illustration: Black Cuillin, Skye as seen from Elgol by your author. 

fisherfield and all that (a reflection)

2023, THIS YEAR, MARKS AN ANNIVERSARY (it marks many – but this one is specifically mountainous) because dear reader, it is half a century, fifty years, (50) since I first became personally acquainted with the elegant, gaunt, challenging and majestic collection of tops, peaks and pinnacles of Torridonian Sandstone that is collectively known as An Teallach. 1973. 

You’ve got to believe it, fifty years ago. What is more I walked to it’s southern flanks all the way from Loch Maree, right through the Fisherfield Forest (no trees), taking two days in the process. I wasn’t alone in this endeavour: ‘we’ consisted of a former matrimonial associate and someone’s dog, a Scottish Cairn Terrier that tailed us (well led the way, mostly) from Kinlochewe, seemingly with aspirations to ascend distant An Teallach. Maps were hard to come by at this time: I was reduced to projecting this escapade on the one inch OS seventh series sheet (number 20, I’ve still got it!). 

The weather was good. We’d come up by train to Glasgow (overnight I think) where we unloaded our wheels (an entirely inadequate Honda motorcycle) and then rode all the way to Achintraid youth hostel to overnight. Achintraid? Had a wonderful stay there in 1972 when we used the place as a base for walking the Applecross Hills… From there we rode across to Kinlochewe via the narrow-roads-with-passing-places that still prevailed in those days, to leave the bike in a convenient barn and backpack off up to Loch Maree and then north into the wilds, flanking Slioch (that’s the mountain that hangs over Loch Maree, earmarked for an ascent on our return leg back to Kinlochewe). 

Wild country! Probably the largest slab of wilderness left in Scotland (well it was last time I walked in it, back in 1985). No habitations, no roads across, often pathless, and a long way, in any direction. But the weather good, even hot at times, that first day in the wilds: we backpacked to a divine spot to sleep out (camp) on the edge of flat calm Lochan Fada. 

I’m not going to bang on here about the pleasures and challenges we experienced crossing this land. It was a very fair traverse, the dog added interest at times; the landscape was beautiful, remote, unpeopled (save one lone walker). We found, and utilised vestiges of paths where practicable (stalker’s), lunched by a loch side (Nid: brewed coffee), arrived at the Strath na Sealga and camped by the broad shallows of the Sealga river surrounded by peaks of varying distinction but principally the flank of Sáil Lath, the southern terminus of the An Teallach complex. We paddled in the river, we ate well and fed the uninvited mutt as best we could. 

At this time I was still not disposed to employ a camera (I hadn’t got one) relying on maps and memory to record the exploits. We travelled as light as practicable. My written record also is somewhat perfunctory, and even if I were to recite the route up over and around our target mountain it would most likely fail to mean much to anyone not familiar with the hill, wouldn’t it? 

It was wonderful. We did the round of An Teallach in glorious weather. It is exposed and often testing of one’s head for heights. The views almost defy description – in clear weather – which it was, very much so; the circuit of the ridge challenging stamina and resolve. We rose to the it. Exhilarating; better still we met no one, had the hill to ourselves. After coming back down, we explored the deep Corrie (Toll an Lochan) and the forbidding loch imprisoned therein. There was snow down there, in shadowed drifts. The dog did it all – plus extras. I found a full bottle of paraffin, like a gift from heaven it seemed – we were running low on fuel for the primus. Yes! an experience, pleasure, fulfilment, and had ourselves a another night of great peace by the babbling waters of the Sealga river. I would return! And did: twice more; but sans the rest of the party, this one at least.

Our way back was the long way round. It seems  that we managed the return smoothly over and through what is after all, very rough, lonely and impressive country. The weather turned less fair, even to the extent that as we crossed the long ridge to the second target mountain, namely Slioch, we had to abandon the ambition to visit its cloud wreathed summit, to camp instead in the forests bordering Loch Maree, where it was possible to dry our clothes under the conifers even as the rain sluiced down. Concorde (the aircraft, you may have heard of it) was making test flights up the west coast at the time, prior to entering service, so we got a number of sonic booms. The dog ignored them entirely. Cuckoos. Lots of them. They weren't fussed either.

Upon our approach to Kinlochewe our cannine spruced himself up, went on ahead – and disappeared into one of the houses thereat, with not so much as a nod of farewell or vote of thanks for victuals and shelter shared. Dogs…who needs them?

The remaining personnel retrieved their wheels and went on to visit Skye, camp in the remote Loch Courisk, climb in the Black Cuillin etc. etc. And other stuff. But the wild country between Lochs Maree and Broom became a favourite with me. Subsequently I have visited most of the Munros therein… Including that most remote, coveted and aesthetic of Munro mountains, A’Mhaighdean. That would be next time perhaps…

I am indebted to the late Alfred Wainwright for the illustrations used in this post. Yes, it's him, he's done illustrations of all the Munros, and some.

The opening illustration is of Coire Toll an Lochan, An Teallach; the second is of some of the hills of the Letterewe Forest; the illustration above is a view of Slioch from the west bank of Loch Maree. I took no pictures y'see. No camera in '73… 

Here endeth part one, reflecting on what some call the Fisherfield Forest, others call the Letterewe Forest, the Dundonnell Forest… and so on. All correct in part. Essentially it is the wilderness extending from Loch Maree to Loch Broom or between Kinlochewe and Dundonnell. North west Scotland. South of Ullapool. 

SIX YEARS ON – IN 1979, after investing in fresh tentage and other kit, after a number of other exploits on the wild side,  I outlined a trip to what I then called the Dundonnell Forest – to two like-minded individuals. We could manage a fortnight only to coincide in the August-September period, when the mosquitos are at their very worst. It would do. I drew up the plan and it was met with general approval. This is, if you like, part two. 

By now I had become more familiar via book learning with the distinguished Munro A’Mhaighean – claimed to be the most remote Munro of all and seemingly with some of the best vistas in all of Scotland from its summit. So it was my principle objective, but I added in the carrot of the much better known An Teallach as a suitable target. This is how it went:

DH and self drove (in the latter’s company car) from Oxford, stayed over with TA in Durham, the third companion, and eventually fetched up in Kinlochewe after arriving late into our chosen area of Scotland and a frightful camping experience near Achnasheen with the insecta. We each carried our own kit, food and tentage. But still no camera, not even one between the three of us. It wasn’t an issue then.

The weather was indifferent, muggy, cloudy but dry as we set off along the north-east bank of Loch Maree, all the way to Letterewe where we turned up the hill to toil through Bealach Mheinnidh and to cross the causeway between Dubh Loch and Fionn Loch where we camped.  It was my proposal to stay here two nights and travel light south-east to climb A’Mhaighdean plus any other hills adjacent that took our fancy. However, as is often the case the night turned wet, the following day even wetter and we contented ourselves with enjoying the scenery, eating, drinking (coffee) and catching up on stuff. We did get a view late on in the day I think, something like this (below). That's A’Mhaighdean right of centre and Ruadh Stac Mor behind it. 

So no A'Mhaighdean this time… another time may be… 

We proceeded. You may have noticed that the ’79 six day round was pretty much the ’73 round in reverse…… I point it out in the interests of transparency.

Once again the party had exemplary weather on An Teallach, I enjoyed doing it again (we separated so that we could scramble round at our own pace; we saw no one else) – that, and the camping, right within the Coire an Toll Lochain, in the foreground of this Wainwright rendition, quite a spot, what? The hill tends to funnel strong gusting winds into the corrie, coming down over the pinnacles and suddenly battering one’s shelter in a rather alarming fashion. That was our experience at any rate. But worth that inconvenience at least for a couple of nights. 

We found some aspects of the return trek rather hard work, daunting, even a touch tedious, unrelenting. It is (or was) quite empty and still; no fences, walls… and rather indistinct paths, if any. Few signs of human interferences apart from the absence of most trees. 

En route back, we came across a considerable set of waterfalls south of the Loch Meallan an Fhùdair which simply did not feature on the maps I had access to, then or now. We discovered them in 1973. in an otherwise quite featureless, pathless part of the round – so it was quite reassuring to stumble upon them again, a second time. Sorry, no pictures, no camera you see, I might have mentioned that previously.

And no chance either to try for the Slioch summit (seen from near our final loch side beach very wet camp in the Wainwright illustration below) before returning to Kinlochewe… another time may be (again)? We shipped out down Gleann Bianasdail and bolted to Kinlochewe for some much needed R&R.

Here ends part two. The '73 contingent got a good day on Beinn Eighe in this trip and some excellent coastal camping, it wasn't all wet either… happy days!

ANOTHER SIX YEARS ON… and I have a camera. With film in it.

I was determined. The ambition burnt strongly. This time I'd get to A'Mhaighdean, see those views and record same for my own private posterity. Hmmm…  read on… This is part three.

This time the party is once again three persons. Dr G, RS and my good self. In two cars! That's because I was going on to spend more time in the Highlands than my companions would, after the three adventures we planned to do together, i.e. Fisherfield, Beinn Dearg (Inverael) and Torridon… Here's Wainwright's take on the two Beinn Deargs of Letterewe, visible in my photo above:

I drove Oxford to Nottingham, overnighted with my companions then we left at 0400 in convoy, to get right up into Wester Ross by early afternoon. The weather was dirty upon arrival so we took ourselves off to Dundonnell hotel and had tea before returning down the road, parking and beginning the jaunt outlined above. 

The photograph that introduces this third part of the Fisherfield and all that post was indeed taken by my good self with the last exposure in my camera, as the daylight drained away, after returning from the Beinn a' Chlaidheimh ascent. Time for a new film, obvs.  I wound the exposed film back into its cassette, as you do, removed it from m'camera and stored it safely, ready to send off for development. Transparency film you see. In preparation for the big day (the visitation to A'Mhaighdean) I loaded a new, unexposed colour film into the Pentax… but what I didn't do, right? what I failed to do, was to ensure the new film was fully engaged with the wind on mechanism. It wasn't. 

Even though the wind-on counter indicated each advance after making an exposure,  back inside the camera, the film was not advancing, but just sitting there. It wasn't until the counter showed 38 (36 exposures on the film, so finished) and I could  seemingly still advance the film, that my suspicions were aroused and I realised my awful error. Merde merde triple merde… the film was unexposed, had not advanced and I'd failed 36 times to capture a scene. God's Teeth!

The A'Mhaighdean round was excellent. I scored five Munros (six if you count Beinn a'Chlaidheimh) the last three/four solo. The views from the title mountain were as superb as I had been led to believe, exquisite in fact, as were other summit views, the terrain steep, sharp, very varied challenging. Probably one of my best single days out. I arrived back at our camp, exhilarated and reasonably confident that I had captured on film this most memorable of circuits, a classic of Scottish hill climbing. I slept well that night, the stars out, just the sound of the river, after saying good night… the error I had made with the SLR wouldn't come to my attention until we'd left this area, finished our exploration of that other Beinn Dearg and climbed the Horns of Alligin! That part of our jolly falls outside this account however.

So to conclude, here are a number of Wainwright's representations of this fabulous wilderness. They give some idea…

This is Beinn a' Chlaidheimh, climbed on day two and now relegated to Corbett status

as it is believed to be just a fraction less than 3000 feet in height. Shame! 

It was a Munro when I climbed it!

Here is Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair as seen by Wainwright from Gleann na Muice
which drains Lochan Fada. Can't place it?
Where's the map?

This is a surviving snap of distant Beinn Tarsuinn left centre, looking south up the valley we trekked up to get to A'Mhaighdean (whch is hidden to the right) y'see… 

And this is Beinn Tarsuinn from Wainwright's  southern viewpoint – so that must be a distant A' Mhaighdean on the left (Tarsuinn is centre) because I climbed Tarsuinn after 
A' Mhaighdean as I progressed east. Do you follow me? 

Well, it gives you some idea at least, if you want it. I could have filched some snaps from books I suppose, but none I've found do the landscape justice, although some later visitors to these summits have clearly had better luck with their image making… go on line if you feel like it!

Acknowledgements again to the late Wainwright for his excellent drawings. Redolent! The few photos herewith are mine, and I end with an impression of Beinn Dearg Mhor from Shenavall drawn by ME. We should have climbed it even though it falls just short of Munro status. Next time eh? Yeah… right. 

Sorry about the lack of maps. Credit for the sketch maps I have borrowed goes to Jim Renny (SMC). 

Thanks for your time if you read through this… it was a piece of pure indulgence on my part, upon an anniversary that influenced my recreational outlook for many years thereafter… if this text has turned blue for you, I can't hazard a guess as to why that should be. Not my doing. 

I'm past caring…