OUT AND ABOUT WITH RALPH: Opening the door to a blanket of perfect skiing
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Occasionally I stay in a place right next to the sea. I can change into my kayaking gear in comfort then walk a few steps to the beach and launch my boat.
Within 20 minutes I can be paddling through sea-caves and under big colonies of cliff nesting birds. On the return I can wash the salt off by rolling the boat (or more likely swimming) in a convenient fresh-water pool then change in comfort indoors.
At home, though, I have to pack everything into the car and drive at least five miles. I envy those who live next to the sea who can launch a boat from their back garden! What I can do though, on increasingly rare snowy days, is ski from my front door.
The temperature had fallen to -10C overnight and the sky was blue. On opening the door the air was completely still except for the distant roar of breakers on the Murkle coast. I skied up the drive, a short way along the road and turned up the hill.
Hare tracks were everywhere and one animal sprinted off, kicking up the snow, as I headed on up the track and across the fields. Cross-country skiing is hard exercise and, having just recovered from the flu, I’d decided not to attempt a more adventurous trip from Loch More or Forsinard, where some magnificent outings are possible in good conditions.
Fences, gates and walls are major obstacles for a skier, mine are not the easiest skis to take on or off and there were frequent forced breaks to negotiate fences or to open gates.
The top of Olrig Hill is a place I’ve visited I don’t know how many thousand times, but I always take a long time to take in the view across the whole county.
Now the white landscape stretched to Ben Hope and Foinaven, to the long horizon of the snowy Knockfins and Morven, to Warth Hill above Groats and across the Pentland Firth to Stroma, Swona and the long line of South Ronaldsay.
Further north was Wideford Hill above Kirkwall, while the rounded white hills of Hoy formed a backdrop to the dark southern cliffs with the snow highlighting rarely visited places like the Berry and the clifftop pinnacle of the Candle of the Sneuk. North of Rackwick, a dark patch was Berriedale wood, the most northerly native woodland in the UK.
A short stretch of gentle downhill followed, then a ski along the top of the wood to a couple of awkward gates which led onto the road. Now I headed homeward up across the fields and moors.
I’m never sure how much you gain on skis over walking in soft snow, the skis functioning as little more than long snowshoes, but when I have to take them off at a wall realise how much more of a slog it would be on foot.
Half a dozen roe-deer were grazing on a rough stretch of moorland, scratching at heather and grass. They saw me and sprinted off through the deep snow, making it look effortless, leaping high in the air. The easiest skiing of the day was back along the road which had not yet been gritted! Not quite the Flow Country but I did at least have the satisfaction of skiing right up to my front door.
I ventured on foot into the snowy wood. It is amazing how much wildlife gets about unseen, even in the large cleared area. I usually see a deer or two but their tracks were everywhere, any unprotected young tree would not stand a chance. A hare had ventured in the gate and along one of the new paths. I could see where a pine marten had lolloped along, climbing up and crossing the roof of the log cabin.
I’ll have to watch out – a few years ago they gnawed their way in and made a terrible mess. An otter had slid on its belly over snowy hummocks and ventured round the side of frozen ponds, there were also perhaps the prints of a feral cat. Also many little tracks of mice, voles and birds.
Those who live by the sea can’t ski from their door or explore a snowy wood just a ten-minute walk away. But we can all make the most of where we live, without always having to venture far!
