Highland Insider

Nosy Norris and I followed the Pack Leader up the Ullapool Hill paths this morning and as usual his choice of route didn’t disappoint. Nosy got the chance to bounce around in the heather and chase snowballs (puny wee things, but still fun) and I got my first view of bonny Loch Achall.

A great walk and great views but as I looked down on the gleaming water I thought the only thing missing was a bit of wildlife. We’d walked for about forty five minutes and seen nothing but a few crows and gulls mooching overhead. There were signs of critters – a pile of fur-filled poo, a young beech tree stripped of its bark – but nothing to stop and watch. Just as I was thinking this I became aware of a busy twittering noise coming from over the next hillock and getting nearer. We waited a minute or two and were rewarded when a gang of long-tailed tits flew past us and settled in the stand of birch trees below.

I always love seeing long-tailed tits. I don’t know who first described the bird as ‘a ball on a stick’ but they were spot on. The wee round body with the long straight tail makes an unmistakeable silhouette whether perching or in flight. These ones were specially welcome as they made a good walk complete.

Visitors to Nairn are drawn to the beaches like a seagull to a bag of chips. You can’t blame them. Nairn’s east and west beaches are glorious, golden stretches of fine sand with views across the Moray Firth to the Black Isle and the mountains beyond. But if you take a step back from the east beach and venture over the dunes, you find a quieter, less spectacular landscape that is, in its own way, just as lovely.

The sandy hillocks give way to a strip of wetland with reed beds which fill the gap between the beach and the Scots pines of Culbin forest. Paths wind through it with little bridges crossing the wettest parts. In summer the reeds are a magnet for butterflies and day flying moths; skylarks sing above them and the Minister’s Pool at King’s Steps is a great place to watch waders.

Even on a rather driech February day like we had at the weekend, it’s a great place for a walk. The expanse of flat wetland had a lonely sort of charm and the stillness was broken only by the distant swish of waves and the odd curlew calling. We went fairly early and met just a few fellow dog-walkers and the odd jogger, but by the time we got back to the car park it was full of more doggy types, families and a bunch of cyclists heading into the woods. Visitors to the beach might not realise there’s a hidden gem behind them, but the locals know it’s a great place to explore.

Get there either from the Forestry Commission car park at King’s Steps or by popping over the dunes on east beach. Check the tide first though - some parts will be under water at certain times. There’s more information on the Forestry Commission’s Culbin pages.

I used to believe that my husband and I had our relationship on a thoroughly modern, equal footing. Decisions shared, household tasks divvied out, a perfectly balanced partnership. (See this post for proof.) That was until we got a dog. They say you can’t fool a dog and after eighteen months, I have to concede (not without a bit of a grump) that we have a definite Pack Leader, and it’s not me. 

Take yesterday’s traditional New Year’s day walk up to the loch. There we both were, striding out, both interacting with the dog in the calm, assertive manner they taught us in the obedience classes. But does the hairy hound listen to me? Not while he’s around. If it’s just me and the dog  (Nosy Norris), then we get along fine. As soon as the Pack Leader appears, I’m relegated. 

I was thinking about this as we tramped up the hill, past the Wall of Death where Nosy Norris does a vertical run if she’s in one of her dafter moods, past the pebble love heart on the side of the path, left by our romantic neighbour for his wife last summer, past the old hare carcass hanging inexplicably in a tree, all the way up the loch. I realised that I do tend to defer to the Pack Leader quite often. He nearly always decides where we’re going to walk, for example. That seems a bit pathetic now I think about it. Although it is partly to do with my tendency to choose paths that end in thorny thickets or knee-deep bog. I let him decide when we can have an extra boost on the central heating. That seems a bit much, does it not? Mind you, it’s in the interests of keeping the carbon footprint of the Nairnshire below that of the whole of Scandinavia – I’m a right cold tattie. 

So as we skimmed pebbles on the frozen loch, seeing who could make the loudest ping, I decided I’m quite happy with being second in line, up to a point. After fifteen years we’re still laughing so we must be doing something right. I reckon we’ve settled into the natural order of things, and as long as Nosy Norris stays below me in the pecking order, I won’t be challenging for the position of Pack Leader. You can’t fool a dog after all.