Muddy Marge

 Muir of Dinnet

See Marge, we told you the weather would be good today. Arbroath looked a cheerier place this morning beneath blue skies and bathed in sunshine. We washed John's trousers and some smalls, deciding that we would invest in a more powerful washing device for our future trips. We're excited, its one up from our collapsible bucket, and you will all be the first to know when we get it. What's that black thing hanging on the wing mirror? It's Angela's bra. Bring it in, people will think I'm open for business. Don't be a prude Marge, this sea breeze is like having a tumble dryer we have to make the most of it.  

Reluctantly we left Arbroath, not wanting to give up the warmth on our bodies as we sat looking out to sea planning our day. But leave we must. Yes, let's go, there are hills to climb. Not like you Marge to be so keen. And hills there certainly were. Marge in second gear hauled us up the Cairn o' Mount, at one point having to negotiate her way around a covey of grouse running back and forth in front of her.

Well, done Marge, take a break, we're now 1,493 feet above sea level.

This was certainly the day to drive up the Cairn o' Mount, the views were stunning, we could see right to the coast. John read on the information board that RAF Edzell, where his father was stationed during the second world war, and met his mum was visible. So out came the binoculars.

We'd parked Marge with her wheels turned in to the side, just in case. She can be a little bit naughty sometimes. While we sat and took in the view a young man arrived excited about spotting a pair or eagles, but they flew away towards the coast before we could see them. We waited for a while as he had spotted another, but we didn't see it sadly. 

Our destination today was the Muir of Dinnet, National Nature Reserve, Burn o' Vat visitor centre. We're back near the mountains now Marge on the east side of the Cairngorms national park. We walked to the nearby waterfall through a carpet of bronze ferns.

The air chilled under the trees as we walked alongside the stream, a reminder we were now entering Autumn. Tomorrow is the last day of September, where had this last month gone?

At the waterfall we picked our way across the wet slippery stones into the vat, a large space created by swirling water, sand pebbles and boulders. Then John's mobile rang. Timing! Angela's son Chris. We're in a waterfall, we'll call back in ten minutes. It was true, but didn't sound believable. 

After a half hour rest back at Marge we walked out again just as the light began to fade. The vegetation all around gasped it last breath before finally giving in to the season.

Only the fungi thrived. Our walk back took us along the side of the road where we stopped to photograph Hoof Fungus on the trunks of cut silver birch trees.

 On the verge John spotted some bright yellow mushrooms, Girolles also known as Chanterelles.

Picking enough to fill his cap to go in his breakfast omelette we returned to Marge to investigate that they were the real thing and not the False Chanterelle.

Tonight there is just Marge. This is the first time we have been alone at night since setting off. It seems a little strange, but now we are approaching the end of September we think this may well be the first of many nights like this.