Great little video clip, first published in Dive Magazine in August 2007, about Basking sharks, the second-biggest fish in the ocean and much older than dinosaurs:
(Not sure I'm that impressed with the soundtrack, nor with the background images of Great white shark when the interviewees actually talk about the perfectly harmless Basking shark.)
Basking shark are quite common still in waters off the Scottish west coast. Shame this video does not include this information, probably because scientific proof of their existence up here has been scarce. However, almost a year ago, the Glasgow Herald published a great story about them:
Experts basking in shark find
"Two areas of water off Scottish islands have been identified as 'hotspots' for amorous basking sharks who are looking for a mate.
"Scottish Natural Heritage found that four times as many basking sharks had been recorded per hour in Gunna Sound, between Coll and Tiree, and the sea around the islands of Canna and Hyskeir than anywhere else in the UK."
Showing posts with label Hebrides. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hebrides. Show all posts
Thursday, December 09, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
A sad anniversary – St. Kilda evacuated 80 years ago today
Hiya
Today is a sad anniversary as it is exactly 80 years ago that the remote island of St. Kilda, a World Heritage Site, was evacuated after about two thousand years of human habitation.
It is a cautionary tale of the nefarious impact of so-called civilisation on a subsistence way of life that had been able to survive the harshest of conditions.
The Last of the St. Kildans (see Sunday Herald, 26 Jun 2005) is a moving account of the last true St. Kildan man's visit to the islands
(http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn4156/is_20050626/ai_n14694855/pg_2/?tag=content;col1).
It describes how "Every inhabitant was shackled into this cruel economy because in that environment your very survival depended on everyone else. The summers were spent in the dangerous pursuit of the cliff birds. In winter, the inhabitants were cut off from all other communities, with the wind whistling through the roofs and the rain running down the inside walls."
As the Wikipedia article amply describes and illustrates, boats from the mainland brought diseases, among them childhood tetanus and influenza, which decimated the population. The boats also brought tourists and religious zealots that kept the islanders from gathering food to see them through the winter months.
While some aspects of life became easier, illness and hunger drove many St. Kildan's to emigrate. Eventually, on "29 August 1930, the remaining 36 inhabitants were removed to Morvern on the Scottish mainland at their own request."
It was on Iona in 2005 that I first heard of the island when Scottish poet, author and radio presenter Kenneth Steven told us of St. Kilda – the collective name for the four islands of Hoirt, Dun, Soay and Boreray – and the sorry fate of its inhabitants.
I would have liked to go visit but I don't think I will: Having been hailed the Macchu Picchu of the northern Atlantic, St. Kilda finds itself on the eroding path of world tourism and visitor pressure is fast becoming a serious problem.
Today is a sad anniversary as it is exactly 80 years ago that the remote island of St. Kilda, a World Heritage Site, was evacuated after about two thousand years of human habitation.
It is a cautionary tale of the nefarious impact of so-called civilisation on a subsistence way of life that had been able to survive the harshest of conditions.
The Last of the St. Kildans (see Sunday Herald, 26 Jun 2005) is a moving account of the last true St. Kildan man's visit to the islands
(http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn4156/is_20050626/ai_n14694855/pg_2/?tag=content;col1).
It describes how "Every inhabitant was shackled into this cruel economy because in that environment your very survival depended on everyone else. The summers were spent in the dangerous pursuit of the cliff birds. In winter, the inhabitants were cut off from all other communities, with the wind whistling through the roofs and the rain running down the inside walls."
As the Wikipedia article amply describes and illustrates, boats from the mainland brought diseases, among them childhood tetanus and influenza, which decimated the population. The boats also brought tourists and religious zealots that kept the islanders from gathering food to see them through the winter months.
While some aspects of life became easier, illness and hunger drove many St. Kildan's to emigrate. Eventually, on "29 August 1930, the remaining 36 inhabitants were removed to Morvern on the Scottish mainland at their own request."
It was on Iona in 2005 that I first heard of the island when Scottish poet, author and radio presenter Kenneth Steven told us of St. Kilda – the collective name for the four islands of Hoirt, Dun, Soay and Boreray – and the sorry fate of its inhabitants.
I would have liked to go visit but I don't think I will: Having been hailed the Macchu Picchu of the northern Atlantic, St. Kilda finds itself on the eroding path of world tourism and visitor pressure is fast becoming a serious problem.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Summer moan
Hiya
Need to have a quick moan about the heat. It's been tropical these days. Anyone in their right mind would go flop on the lawns by the river (aka Marzili) and enjoy the occasional dip in 18°C waters (or the 24°C pool, but I heartily dislike swimming pools). I dropped everything yesterday evening and joined a mate from one of my favourite NGOs for a chinwag and a good, long swim. Very refreshing, invigorating. So much so that I was wide awake after just two hours sleep. Woke in time to watch and listen to a massive thunderstorm. Huge bolts of lightning came out of the black sky, crashing thunder following almost immediately. Quite scary, actually, but also exciting. And the rain that followed had that sweet, sweet deep summer smell -- of hot asphalt, grass, leaves being tossed about. Mind you, there was very little wind, which is odd for a storm like that.
Woke much too late, to a hot sun in a relentlessly blue sky. Not so relentless: it's quite overcast now, but still very hot and extremely humid. As I said: anyone in their right mind...
But I'm not, and I'm busy, so I better crack back to jobs in hand. Ciao!
PS: Would give an arm and a leg (metaphorically speaking, of course, to be sailing, swimming, walking up and down the Scottish West Coast right now!). Next summer, hopefully. Anyone else interested?
Need to have a quick moan about the heat. It's been tropical these days. Anyone in their right mind would go flop on the lawns by the river (aka Marzili) and enjoy the occasional dip in 18°C waters (or the 24°C pool, but I heartily dislike swimming pools). I dropped everything yesterday evening and joined a mate from one of my favourite NGOs for a chinwag and a good, long swim. Very refreshing, invigorating. So much so that I was wide awake after just two hours sleep. Woke in time to watch and listen to a massive thunderstorm. Huge bolts of lightning came out of the black sky, crashing thunder following almost immediately. Quite scary, actually, but also exciting. And the rain that followed had that sweet, sweet deep summer smell -- of hot asphalt, grass, leaves being tossed about. Mind you, there was very little wind, which is odd for a storm like that.
Woke much too late, to a hot sun in a relentlessly blue sky. Not so relentless: it's quite overcast now, but still very hot and extremely humid. As I said: anyone in their right mind...
But I'm not, and I'm busy, so I better crack back to jobs in hand. Ciao!
PS: Would give an arm and a leg (metaphorically speaking, of course, to be sailing, swimming, walking up and down the Scottish West Coast right now!). Next summer, hopefully. Anyone else interested?
Friday, October 06, 2006
Scotland, the Hebridean island of Mull, 2005
Hello again
I'm looking back to spring 2005, when I visited Iona for the second time. After a week on that lovely little island (see my other post), I toured Mull for a few days.
The next few photos show Phionnphort harbour and a few coastal areas on Mull. I took the long, leisurely way round, ambling up to Calgary Bay, which I had to visit because of a close friend who is deeply homesick for Australia. Now Calgary Bay is not Ozzieland, of course, but the beach there is something else. But see for yourself.
As I was leaving Fionnphort, the last stop on Mull before one takes the short ferry ride across the Sound of Iona, the little boat Iolaire was chugging into the bay, back from a fishing trip, or more likely back from the one-hour trip up to Staffa:
I've never had a chance to talk to the fishermen on Iona or at Fionnphort, but judging from these lobster creels, there's still plenty of wildlife in these beautiful clear waters.
Now the tour of Mull proper begins:
Looking along Loch Na Keal.
It didn't take too long -- maybe a couple of hours -- before I reached Calgary Bay. The weather was good enough, despite some impressive clouds overhead, for a good ramble all over the beach:
This mountain, according to my map, is called Mornish Hill:
Nature, as ever, is a great artist:
Back on Calgary beach. After Iona, which remains my gem, I couldn't get enough of this wide expanse of sand, and the surf in the distance.
Simply spectacular!
I discovered a beautiful woodland next to the Calgary Bay hotel, full of the most mysterious, funny, weird, beautiful artwork: ropes snaking down from trees, benches, woodcarvings, whale's teeth, massive slabs of rusting iron -- I'll have to create a separate post for all these images.
Of course I would have loved to stay at Calgary Bay and Beach but I had a reservation at a B&B up in Dervaig, so that's where I drove next. But I made sure that they'd have a bed for me at Calgary the following night -- what a delightful place!
First, however, a look at the striking church of Dervaig -- a bit of a lighthouse, don't you think?
No, I wasn't drunk when I took the next picture... :)
I wish I had known then about the Little Theatre at Dervaig. As it was, I spent a very rainy night indoors, chatting with the hosts and other people staying at the B&B (which I believe is no longer, the owners having decided to sell up and retire).
Dervaig is a beautiful little village, well worth the visit.
Loch Cuin by Dervaig.
The morning before I drove down to Calgary again, I went on a bit of a wander along a track that led me to Loch Cuin and the Quinish Estate. The gate was shut but not locked, there was a stile, so I felt entitled to having a quiet look around. What a magical place it turned out to be, too! Odd how some rubbish can acquire an air of landscape art -- but odd, too, that in a nature reserve it should be possible to leave useless stuff to rot away and perhaps leach poisonous substances into the environment.
No comment -- this is well within the bounds of the Nature reserve. Funny way of preserving such an otherwise pristine place!
Interesting collection of rusting farm implements -- nature art with a twist...
A brief rainshower, more like Scottish mist, brought a shine to this otherwise quite nondescript woodland path.
I was just too slow with my camera, but there was a rustle, a flapping of wings with a flash of cream -- I'll swear I saw one of the sea eagles said to be nesting out there.
A huge tree's limbs had come crashing down and were spread all about, like a giant's fan.
I can't get over the fact that in early April this far north, camellias should be in full bloom. Absolutely delighted to see this gorgeous bunch of blossoms.
Nuff said for now. There will be more in a different post.
I'm looking back to spring 2005, when I visited Iona for the second time. After a week on that lovely little island (see my other post), I toured Mull for a few days.
The next few photos show Phionnphort harbour and a few coastal areas on Mull. I took the long, leisurely way round, ambling up to Calgary Bay, which I had to visit because of a close friend who is deeply homesick for Australia. Now Calgary Bay is not Ozzieland, of course, but the beach there is something else. But see for yourself.
As I was leaving Fionnphort, the last stop on Mull before one takes the short ferry ride across the Sound of Iona, the little boat Iolaire was chugging into the bay, back from a fishing trip, or more likely back from the one-hour trip up to Staffa:
I've never had a chance to talk to the fishermen on Iona or at Fionnphort, but judging from these lobster creels, there's still plenty of wildlife in these beautiful clear waters.Now the tour of Mull proper begins:
Looking along Loch Na Keal.It didn't take too long -- maybe a couple of hours -- before I reached Calgary Bay. The weather was good enough, despite some impressive clouds overhead, for a good ramble all over the beach:
This mountain, according to my map, is called Mornish Hill:
Nature, as ever, is a great artist:
Back on Calgary beach. After Iona, which remains my gem, I couldn't get enough of this wide expanse of sand, and the surf in the distance.
Simply spectacular!I discovered a beautiful woodland next to the Calgary Bay hotel, full of the most mysterious, funny, weird, beautiful artwork: ropes snaking down from trees, benches, woodcarvings, whale's teeth, massive slabs of rusting iron -- I'll have to create a separate post for all these images.
Of course I would have loved to stay at Calgary Bay and Beach but I had a reservation at a B&B up in Dervaig, so that's where I drove next. But I made sure that they'd have a bed for me at Calgary the following night -- what a delightful place!
First, however, a look at the striking church of Dervaig -- a bit of a lighthouse, don't you think?
No, I wasn't drunk when I took the next picture... :)
I wish I had known then about the Little Theatre at Dervaig. As it was, I spent a very rainy night indoors, chatting with the hosts and other people staying at the B&B (which I believe is no longer, the owners having decided to sell up and retire).Dervaig is a beautiful little village, well worth the visit.
Loch Cuin by Dervaig.The morning before I drove down to Calgary again, I went on a bit of a wander along a track that led me to Loch Cuin and the Quinish Estate. The gate was shut but not locked, there was a stile, so I felt entitled to having a quiet look around. What a magical place it turned out to be, too! Odd how some rubbish can acquire an air of landscape art -- but odd, too, that in a nature reserve it should be possible to leave useless stuff to rot away and perhaps leach poisonous substances into the environment.
No comment -- this is well within the bounds of the Nature reserve. Funny way of preserving such an otherwise pristine place!
Interesting collection of rusting farm implements -- nature art with a twist...
A brief rainshower, more like Scottish mist, brought a shine to this otherwise quite nondescript woodland path.
I was just too slow with my camera, but there was a rustle, a flapping of wings with a flash of cream -- I'll swear I saw one of the sea eagles said to be nesting out there.
A huge tree's limbs had come crashing down and were spread all about, like a giant's fan.
I can't get over the fact that in early April this far north, camellias should be in full bloom. Absolutely delighted to see this gorgeous bunch of blossoms.
Nuff said for now. There will be more in a different post.
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