The Sequel

Four years without writing. That's a new record for me, by far. How little I realised in February 2020 how things would change in the coming few years; things I previously accepted as certainties.

As my last contract with the aerial survey company was coming to an end in America, they asked me if I'd extend. But, as this thing called covid-19 begun hitting the news, I felt it necessary to get home before the previously unthinkable came to pass. I arrived back on Lewis on March 8th, shortly before the first lockdown commenced.  Looking back on those days, I've often felt like I dodged the actual Covid lockdown unwittingly in exchange for what could have been a life of permanent lockdown.  Crofting life in a remote village can be isolating enough, but circumstances were to take it even further.

I had to learn the hard way what love is NOT, but the silver lining to that four-year cloud has been learning to recognize what love actually IS.

Suffice to say, there are some talented actors outside the theatre. Even though love wasn’t where I thought it was, it was still there somewhere; it was just in unexpected forms and places.

The first summer, that of 2020, I'll forever remember as the Summer of Nomster. Born early on the sunny, crisp morning of May 4th, Nomster the lamb was a twin to sister Dolly. This was the first year I was present for lambing, and I had a lot to learn.  One important lesson, that could have prevented so much heartache, was to recognize that nature knows best. Shortly after Nomster and Dolly were born, as soon as Dolly found her legs, mum Scarlett toddled away with Dolly, leaving Nomster curled up in a tight ball on the cold concrete at the back door of the new house. Scarlett knew then what would sadly take me 3 months (to the day) to figure out. He was never going to make it.

That never stopped me from trying. He loved his bottle ('Want bitty?', and he'd let out an abbreviated "Meh!" and would come running).  For the first couple of weeks, he slept in a box downstairs on the loom shed floor. He eventually graduated to sleeping in my ‘she-shed’, but when I'd wake up cold in my own bed in the early hours, and feel guilty about him out there alone, I'd get bundled up, bring him inside, feed him a warm bottle of Lam-lac, then we'd curl up under a demoted duvet on the couch downstairs for another couple of hours of sleep, him on my chest, attempting to suckle my hair, of all things.

When the time came to try to re-introduce him to the rest of the flock, Nomster and I both struggled with the separation, I have to admit.  The first night I put him in the field on the lower part of the croft, I left him in a covered and fenced-in shelter, as I was worried (probably unnecessarily) of flying predators (crows, eagles) picking on him, as he was alone. When I went to check on him in the morning, who had pushed their way in there but Friendly (probably my favourite ewe of the lot) and her lamb, Findlay. The three of them were quite cosy and settled, as the rest of the flock were far in the distance, grazing at the bottom of the croft. It was quite unexpected, and it warmed my heart.

I don't think I'll ever fully forgive myself for how things ended with Nomster, but I have to tell myself that he at least had a couple of good months of summer life on the croft, and that I only did the best I could, with the knowledge I was equipped with at the time. To make a long, painful story short, he was born with a malformed jaw, which meant while he could happily drink from the bottle I fed to him, he would never be able to properly eat grass. And for a sheep, that's just a non-starter. It was difficult in the weeks that followed August 4th, to wake up, and for just a few moments to have forgotten he was gone, only for reality to sink in, and remember he would never again come running to me for bitty . I had to fight back a lot of tears, for a very long time, some of which are still coming out now.  It's difficult to explain how much I took to heart the loss of this tiny being, but I couldn't help it.  Love will do that.

'Gotcha' Day

But sure as the tide, the ebb and flow of life was to bring love again the following spring, not only in the form of 15 healthy lambs, but also when I went to the mainland to collect another addition to the croft, a red-and-white border collie. 

Scotia and Joe

I eventually named her Scotia, as an homage to my home province. The original hope was that she would help herd the sheep, but making no earnest attempt, nor having any idea how to train her as such, she quickly became a full-time pet, who enjoyed chasing cars and chickens, and would frolic with the lambs, rather than herd them. We had to resort to putting her inside the loom shed if the sheep needed gathering, where she could be heard howling forlornly, no doubt suffering from a case of FOMO.

When life on the croft took a definitive and irreversible turn south, I took my first job since leaving the aerial survey company in February 2020. On January 1st 2023, I started part-time work as a cleaner at the Search and Rescue helicopter hangar in Stornoway. I took it in the hopes of angling my way into a certain cadet program, but fate had other plans in store; things I couldn't have dreamt of just a few months earlier.

I spent 6 weeks cleaning toilets and making beds in the hangar, which I rather enjoyed given the outstanding bunch of folk who work there as pilots, engineers, paramedics, winch operators, as well as the office manager.  When someone from the head office in Aberdeen was paying a visit to the base, and I spoke about my credentials, I was asked if I'd like to apply for a position as a drone pilot. My initial reaction was actually, Um, no thanks. But when I had a closer look at the drone, and what the job actually entailed, I realised it would be an offer I couldn't easily refuse. A couple of weeks later, after dropping Scotia off with friends for an extended stay, I was on a flight to Vienna, to begin 2 months of training for the position.

It was my first time in Austria, and I was able to do some exploring, both alone, and with the other guys who were on the training course. From a solemn visit to Mauthausen concentration camp, to the typical tourist visit to Vienna city center, to the thermal baths at Bad Voslau. The use of the City Bikes rental was fantastic, and I often covered 50km on the weekends, through the nearby vineyards, and following the network of well-maintained cycle paths.

As I was a short bus-ride from Budapest, I was able to steal away for a weekend to catch up with a

Hungarian friend, who had the best plans laid-out for our weekend together; a visit to a nearby airfield (now I have a renewed desire to fly a biplane!), a bicycle tour of both sides of the beautiful, blue (?) Danube, a train ride to the lovely village of Santander, and a good part of the day at the incredible thermal baths of Szechenyl. It was really hard to leave.

The post-Austria Reunion

It was little more than a quick touch-and-go in Stornoway between completing the course, to gather a few things (and most importantly, pick up Scotia!) and setting out for my new life in the south of England, where the position is based. 

With a pretty much to-die-for schedule (night shifts aside...) there's plenty of time to explore the opposite end of the UK. And what better to explore the countryside than an old pop-top Volkswagen camper! We've had some adventures in Cornwall, Devon, Dorset, and a few trips to Wales.  Here's Esmerelda, and some of the places we've been.... (more to read after the photos, if you're interested in an update on Effie!) 

And now, for what I've been asked about most, by far, in the last few years... What ever happened to Effie!?

I cannot recall now if I ever let on, but Effie went on to live with the captain of the sailing ship that began my sailing career, Scott of Highlander Sea.  My lifestyle was too erratic after the sale of Annie Laurie, after which I went from campgrounds to couches to bunks aboard yachts, all in an attempt to fulfil my latest endeavour of becoming a commercial pilot. It broke my heart to let her go, after all we'd been through together; raising her from just weeks old aboard the boat, and sailing far and wide together. But I knew at least that she was going to a good forever-home, with friends I'd known for years. It seemed like the best I could do for her, under the circumstance, and after all, she'd be secure, and loved, and even a doggy pal, Buffer, to keep her company.

Effie was with them over a year before I realised something was up.  While hiking the West Highland Way in June 2018, I had a short message from Scott's wife, asking how old Effie was. She was just coming up on 11 years, I replied.  I was so consumed with my own adventure, and deprived from steady internet, the inquiry was quickly forgotten, and I didn't think to even question why it was asked in the first place.  It wasn't until late August, when I happened upon a Facebook post, suggesting Scott and his wife were no longer together, that I suddenly had this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Yes, it was as I had feared... the animal shelter had wanted to know her approximate age. 

After over 2 months 'in custody', and just a few weeks before I realised she was no longer with Scott, she was adopted by a wonderful young woman named Bella. Effie is now known as Coco, and here's a picture of her and her canine-pal, Elton. She'll be 17 years young this August. Thank-you, Bella, for loving her when I couldn't, and keeping the wind in her sails. And Scott, you have my forgiveness. You'll have to speak directly to Coco for hers.