Tote that barge...

It was Scotland for the family holiday this year.  Not all of Scotland, of course, as there is a limit to how much time you can spend enjoying yourself, but the bit between Inverness and Fort William.  Now, if you have a gander on a map, you’ll see that to get to Inverness to Fort William involves a bit of Scotland that’s even wetter than the fairly damp country which surrounds it.

It’s the Great Glen, where, a very long time ago, the top of Scotland bumped into the mainland and hung about with lots of water in the middle.  That’s Loch Ness, Loch Oich and Loch Lochy (I think whoever named Loch Lochy got bored with thinking up something different to come at the end of the word “Loch”).  The bits in between are filled in with the Caledonian Canal.

We hired a boat from Caley Cruisers, and there we were; six of us, aged from 87 (Dad) to Jenny (16) and various assorted in the middle.  The thing you’ve got to remember about hiring a boat – the really important thing to remember about hiring a boat – is that you drive the thing.  All by yourself. Yes, there’s a training film.  Yes, the bloke from the boatyard tells you what to do when you climb on board, but he gets off, you know, and  it’s your boat and you’re in Loch Ness and the wind is a bit fresh and the rain’s coming down and it’s not half choppy and should the boat be bouncing like that?

Jenny retired to lie face down on her bunk and think about life.  Elspeth ditto.  Aged parent did the crossword in the cabin, Lucy entertained herself by standing on deck saying things like, “Wow, that’s a big wave,” and Peter, skipper’s cap firmly on his head, drove the boat.  Peter, thank goodness, absolutely loved driving the boat.  Very politely, at times during the following week, he’d offer to surrender the wheel and we, just as politely, reassured him that no, it was fine, he could do it.

I’d taken a shed-load of books to read but by jingo, I needn’t have bothered.  For one thing, I didn’t have time. On a beach, you see, the scenery stays still but on a boat, especially somewhere as gorgeous as the Great Glen, the scenery keeps nipping past you.  Or vice-versa, but you know what I mean.

And then there’s the ropes. The  front and back (or, to dazzle you with technical jargon, the prow and stern)  of the boat have ropes which have to be thrown off, passed round bollards and secured back on the boat, untied, hauled in, coiled up and this happens a lot. Obviously you have to tie the boat up when settling down for the night, but going through a lock requires an awful lot of rope-handling.  (Ironically, there aren’t any locks on the Lochs but there are on the canal.)  And tote that barge?  Yup, when it’s a series of locks, the only practical way to get the boat through is to haul it.  Ol’ Man River…

Oddly enough, the scourge of Scotland – midges- didn’t bother us.  I’ve been eaten alive in Fort William before now and had stocked up with enough repellent to equip an Amazon expedition.  I think the word got round and the midges retired, knowing when they were beaten, and went to chew on someone else instead.

It stopped raining for a couple of days and the place looked like paradise.  I shed two of the four layers of clothing I was wearing and got out the fishing rod.  Ho hum.  No fish in Scotland was harmed during the making of this holiday.  I caught some pond weed, but that was about it.  The fish and chip shops, on the other hand did a roaring trade.  We didn’t encounter the weirdness of the deep-fried Mars Bar but Lucy developed a liking for chip-shop haggis and black pudding.  It resembles fried loofah or a very old depth-charge and the innards, when you dig into it, look like old-fashioned mattress flocking.  It’s as well she had it on holiday because, believe you me, that’s one thing I’m certainly not going to try at home.