Technical Writer

Duncraig Castle is for Sale

http://www.duncraigcastle.com/index.html  This is the main Web page for Duncraig, in its present incarnation as home for the Dobson family, which bought the castle and have renovated much of it for use as a bed and breakfast establishment.  Duncraig is just outside the Highland village of Plockton on the West Coast of Scotland, and it has its own "request stop" on the famously beautiful West Highland train line. The castle is now for sale.  I discovered this when I was searching for remote properties in Scotland, on the West Coast.

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/property-for-sale/property-24808274.html/svr/2001;jsessionid=9323D336CEB297CCF78F4946C61A4EA0

Serious offers of more than 750,000 GBP (U.S. $1,074,000 as of today) will be considered.

Download Duncraig PDF sale brochure with12 pages with floor plans and photos.

II have stared at Duncraig with longing to own the place.  When I was in Scotland in May and June, our place was a stone's throw outside the hamlet of Duirinish a couple of miles from Plockton, and the place was magnificent and comfortable (see other posts in the category Scotland Forever), but it was not Duncraig Castle.

I would buy this place in a minute if I had a million today, but this is only what would be required to pass papers. A few million more will be required in the near term I believe, to restore and modernize the place, not that the present owners haven't tried.  If you read the Web site listed first, you'll see that the Dobsons have poured their lives and money into the castle, and apparently they have decided it is time to let it go. I communicated a few weeks ago with Mrs. Dobson, and I am very nearly afraid to ask why now they have decided to sell, although I can guess the cause is the shear effort the place requires, and the financial consequences of a bad economy. 

Twenty five years ago, a friend brought home from a trip to England a copy of the British magazine Country Life,and in its pages was a several-page advert for the sale of the largest of the Summer Isles, Tanera Mor, a beautiful island off the West Coast of Scotland, in Wester Ross.  I remember the loveliness of the photographs, and the $3 million price.  A few years ago I visited the beautiful island in Loch Broom and talked tothe present owners, and it was they who bought Tanera Mor, an island of sheep "for their amenity value," a few houses and soul-searing beauty of hills against the sea. 

Tanera Mor is not Duncraig Castle, which requires a fortune to renovate and upkeep.  Dobsons are going to relinquish their castle, and someone else will take on its responsibility. I sincerely wish it were me. 

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/05/realestate/keymagazine/105castle-t.html?_r=1

http://www.bbc.co.uk/insideout/eastmidlands/series6/castle_living.shtml

First Footing in the New Year

The Scots have a custom I am ridiculously fond of and oddly bound by, and that is recognizing that the person to first step foot over your threshold in the New Year bespeaks the fortunes to come of the household.   What one wants is the best of people to be the first footer, because then all the New Year will be sunny and bright and full of good cheer.  Fortunately for me and my household, it worked out quite nicely, thank you.

Time to Sell the Rolls

How rich is someone who is so reduced that she must sell her 1939 Rolls-Royce Wraith for $150,000?  Apparently not rich enough.  Whatever the sad little story is, we see the resulting for- sale advertisement in the Weekend Journal section of the WSJ. The vehicle is sold, but not before respectability has been lost. There can't be many '39s in excellent running condition and in perfect repair, so everyone in the club must know the shame-faced individual.  I can only hope the buyer didn't haggle.   Pass the Talisker, the distiller's edition, please.

Snarky Technical Writers

My friends are snarky tech writers. I must amend my statement.  While many of my friends are technical writers, all of whom are snarky, I do have other friends, and they are snarky, too. The smarter the snarkier. They have other qualities, but they delight in deploying witty one-liners aimed directly at my virtuous efforts to uplift common humanity with my edifying point of view. In other words, all I am trying to do with this blog is class up the joint with my literary aspirations. My pals (a loose term) are so very much more comfortable slapping their sides silly at their own humor and belching and reading The Onion, sometimes on company time I might point out. (theonion.com)

Duirinish Lodge and Gardens, Heaven on Earth

Just outside Duirinish, a small crofting village of approximately 135 people on the west coast of Scotland, is Duirinish Lodge and Gardens, not to be confused with the Duirinish Holiday Lodges and cottages nearby, or various bed and breakfast lodgings and hotels bearing similar names. The Duirinish Peninsula of the isle of Skye is also not the village Duirinish, although the village is but 7 miles from the bridge to Skye.

http://www.aboutscotland.co.uk/west/duirinish.html and http://www.georgegoldsmith.com/country/detail.html?id=254 and finally      http://www.duirinish.com/

Duirinish Lodge and Gardens is Heaven on Earth. While long ago I gave up taking a camera with me to record journeys, I find that illustrative images abound and beautiful pictures exist for Duirinish Lodge and Gardens. Take a look at the exterior (the links above will show the interior and exterior.) The best thing is to write directly to William Ross, whose contact information is on the links above.

The gardens have been under serious rennovation and extension for many years, and WR told me that in the summer of 2009, he plans to reopen the gardens to the public.  The public gardens program in Scotland require that a fee be charged, but the fee will be a true pittance, with half going to the national trust and the other half going to charity.

The gardens of Duirinish Lodge are a study in serious beauty. I have never seen rhododendrons achieve such height and color (except in the pages of DuMaurier's Rebecca). Poppies and larkspur splash orange and blue against the backdrop of stone walls. Walk this way or that over groomed paths, around hills, up to the summer house and back through the woods and again out onto greensward, where colors explode and fragrance fills the air.  Walk down through the woods, and come upon newly installed ponds, and quiet regions of verdure keeping their own time. Everywhere, there are birds.

I dearly love gardens.  When I was a tiny little child I lived with my parents in Portugal, outside the town of Porto. I was allowed to walk down the dusty dirt road by myself and play in the fields outside our walled garden, under the watchful eye of a caretaker.  The fields were filled with red poppies. 

Somehow alone one day, I followed a stone wall along the road, a wall that was covered in moss and vines. I came to a little wooden door that was open a small space, enough for a child to push through. The door led to a lawn bordered by flowers, behind which were trees. So this was Heaven!  Doris, our maid, had told me about Heaven, so I knew what I was looking at.  And there, digging in the beds with a trowel to make the flowers grow was God himself, I told my mother later. Heaven was filled with other new sights: There were tall women dressed in black robes to the ground, with long, plain white hats that covered much more of themselves than the black lace mantillas that Doris used to wear over her hair when she went to church. 

Now when I visit a garden, or work outside in my own small, city garden, I am remembering what it was like to find Heaven, and I try to extend it a bit with compost, bulbs, and vinca. I recognized what I was looking at when I saw Duirinish gardens.

Knitting Yarn and $11/Gallon Gas in Scotland

Travelling as I did over the one-lane roads of the Highlands of Scotland, I bought lots of gas at the pump. A top-off after driving from Kyle of Lochalsh to the Waternish Peninsula on Skye, a round trip of approximately 120 miles (after converting liters to gallons and pounds to dollars) costs $60 at the pump at the end of the day. On the way, we stopped at Talisker Distillery in Carbost, then headed north past the fairy bridge (closed to vehicular traffic) all the way to Lochbay and Shielasdair, possibly the most lovely yarn shop in the world. Here is the link:  http://www.shilasdair-yarns.co.uk/shilonskye.html.  Click on Garments/ Luxury DK Sweaters.

The gas is expensive, but I used more than experienced drivers would because I inched across Skye, negotiating space with sheep, and passing autos. The protocol on a single track road is to keep a lookout on the roadway far ahead, so if you see a car or monstrous big lorry bearing down on you, prepare to give way at an upcoming passing place.  These places can be pull-offs the space of a car or more engineered ones with small blue signs with a white P advertising their presence a quarter mile ahead.  Those fine lay-bys are used to stop and admire the views over water, or up the mountain peaks.  The only trick to remember is that on a one-lane road (even with a generous 4-inch apron before the steep gully) you may pull in to a passing place only on your side of the road, which is the left.

Climbing a steep winding hill I had to stop because a ewe and her nursing lamb were in the middle of the road 20 feet from the crest. I could only wait awhile and not take the passing place on the right because that's where an ongoing car would slam to a halt to avoid sheep and me.  I am grateful that Ken McCloud of Kyle Taxi Company decided to give me an automatic instead of the stick shift I am used to driving at home.

Single Track Roads through Gorse-Filled Fields

Suddenly I found myself facing a small flock of Scottish Blackface sheep in the roadway, as I rounded the bend in the road on Skye.  From afar, with a good view of the path ahead I thought I saw boulders by the side of the road, but from my present position and at a tense 20 miles an hour heading around the blind curve, these boulders were suddenly eyeing me speculatively, those who weren't snoozing on the warm road. What's not to like about a paved road in the Highlands?  You can travel burr-free from here to there, and the most delicious herbage is just a neck's stretch away. 

I would like to know if sheep and Highland cattle (road warriors themselves) eat gorse; it would be difficult to eat because of the sharp spines.  Before now, I knew gorse only from literature as the yellow-flowered bush that grows wild on the hillsides. People I met at Hector's Cafe in Kyle of Lochalsh, the small town by the bridge over to Skye, told me that the bush is called "butter and eggs." It grows thick and thorny and about five to six feet (and taller, too), and in June it is in full bloom.  Gorse grows on poor soil, and I've read that the plant fixes nitrogen in the soil for other plants in succession.  Seeing the vast stretches of gorse commandeering fields for its own mysterious use, I wondered what animal life lies hidden back behind the thick stems and branching eve rgreens. Surely birds build their nests in fields of gorse, and foxes den, and other small creatures make a living in the poor fields but return to the thick growth for cover.  I'd like to spend a few days watching the fields to see who lives in this cover, and to see them coming and going from their small habitations.

I have so much to tell you about the beauties of this country. 

Birds in Paradise at Duirinish Lodge

At Duirinish Lodge (and gardens), set high above the sea loch near the tiny crofting village of Duirinish, Scotland, birds are in full flutter.  The draw for them is the world's best stash of delicious seeds and nuts, replenished daily until well past mid-summer, when nature's own larder throws open its doors.  WR, who owns the lodge and gardens, told me that it would be cruel to cease feeding the birds just as spring begins because this remains a lean time at the moment these little citizens are building nests, laying eggs, and rearing their young.

I vacationed with my husband at the lodge in early June.  Every early morning before full dawn, the birds, having quietly twittered all night in a night that is never dark at this time of the year, erupted in a chorus of song and comment upon the business of the day to come.  Much of the discussion was about fledglings, who will remain home this year, flying between the numerous feeding stations to the handy-by cover of acres upon acres of towering trees and rhododendrons and masses of other herbage.  "Why leave home?" the young ask, and the parents are at a loss to answer. Never were the warblers and finches,grosbeaks and thrushes so well cared for as here at Duirinish Lodge.   

No Rain in the Highlands

Shieldaig Village from Allt an Dubh in April, taken by Steve Carter at http://www.stevecarter.com/latest/latesttorridon.htm

The Highlands of Scotland are in a profound drought this year.  Since the start of May, virtually no rain has fallen, and this has wrecked havoc with the salmon fishing, and the deer are seeking lower ground to find water.  I learned this from Marilyn Taylor, who owns with her husband Tom the Rivendell Guest House, a country guest lodge in Shieldaig (a Viking word meaning “loch of the herring”), on the Applecross Peninsula of Scotland. Marilyn told me that her husband enjoys guiding parties of fishermen from the magnificent Torridon Hotel nearby their own small hotel.  The rivers are low and if there is no rain, the salmon may not be able to reach their spawning grounds and the fishing may be poor. 

In my own travels throughout Scotland, and especially on the Isle of Skye, I saw dry streambeds on the hills.  The soil is so thin that there is little vegetation at water’s edge, and the receding streams leave broad margins of white stones where once the water flowed.  There remains water, and it is found in the valleys, or in narrow ribbons in the larger streams and burns.  There has not been as severe a drought in Scotland since the late 1800’s.  Then, the Scots migrated from the Highlands to make their livings.  Now, on the Isle of Skye tourism boosts the population threefold from the usual 12-15,000 Scots who live on the island year around.  It is hard to make a living, many people told me, but the tourists help.

A Family on the Train Home

I live in Maryland, in the United States, but I’ve been in Scotland on vacation. I enjoy listening to the Scots pronounce Maryland, which then sounds like Mary Land.  Little Peter, age 5 and Liam his brother, age 3, I met with their mother on the train from Kyle of Lochalsh to Perth, their home.  They had been visiting their granny for her birthday.  Liam’s mother was suddenly disturbed.  She had walked earlier down the train compartment, and in the commotion of managing her boys had dropped 30 quid ($60 U.S.) that her mother-in-law had given her for the return trip.  In my experience the Scots are honest, and I told her that the money was probably lying on the floor.  I watched the boys, and she went off to find her money.  She returned with a smile on her face, and showed me the two bills folded, and probably stepped on, but still where they had fallen from her pocket.  This was a happy moment. 

She grew up on Skye, and she and her family cut peat for fuel.  You make the cuts with a peat knife and lift it wet from the bog.  The peat is stacked in place in airy triangles to dry for a month or two before it is carted home to restack by the house.  She told me how to prevent midge-bites.  Cut a potato and smear its juice over your skin.  The midges do not like the starch and will avoid you.  I also know that midges do not like wind and sun, preferring still, damp weather, which the Highlands have had not enough of this year.

Skipping a Stone in Scotland

I’ve been a technical writer for about ten years, but I’ve always been a writer, a professional writer that is, and then I discovered that technical writing could support me and I haven’t looked back. I am drawn to write to you now, as I sit with my laptop on a high stone terrace overlooking the Cuillin hills on the Isle of Skye away across the sea loch from where I am lodging. So close to the solstice now, the sky is quite light at 10:30 at night this far north. I am on the terrace and looking away for a moment from formatting a prospectus I have written that will introduce potential clients to a San Diego securities investment firm on the other side of the world.

The current project has been an involved process. Would there were another word than “process,” which makes the work seem especially transitory in the face of the wildly outrageous and ancient beauty over the sea to Skye. I have wanted to write more than structured documentation about software and business process for awhile now. This is my first letter, which I will skip like a stone on the moving water and watch it sink beneath the surface of Loch Carron.