best part of the day: tits

For the first weekend in ages I didn't have a fully marked card. I wasn't planning any 30milers and could do what I thought best in the remaining time before Manchester. Some tempo miles on tarmac seemed to be the best use of Saturday but with the Beast from the East returning for chapter 2 the only certain thing was, as the Pet Shop Boys sang, Go West!

Mary wasn't coming along. She has had a weird thing going on with her knees and possibly IT bands that has left her nearly disabled. Happily she recently acquired a stationary bike set up with video distractions (Zwift) which to my mind seems to be more expensive than taking your bike outdoors and hiring someone to clean it afterwards. But I am a tight wad. Also there is almost always something worth a photo outside. But if you are crocked, then indoor cycling might be a good low impact option. It does make you sweat a lot.

So, due to the strong winds, I opted for a run to Dalmeny (20miles or less) then catch the train home. I dressed for running medium fast with only a Helly base layer and merino top and didn't even bother packing a rain jacket. Snow flurries were expected but they would bounce off surely? I did pack a couple of protein bars and a duvet jacket for the train ride home and threw in a couple of slices of bread for the birds.

6 redwings

There seems to be an abundance of birds this winter, cheeping and peeping in the hedges and trees. I warmed up and loosened off in the first mile and began to crank up the pace but stopped dead around 2 miles as I saw a lemon waistcoated wagtail. Rather drably called Grey Wagtails (presumably to distinguish them from Yellow Wagtails) they are spectacular and I SO wanted a photo. However it flew off and did not return during the 90 seconds I stomped about the cyclepath waiting for it. Suunto back on and back to 7 minute miling and quicker. (It is better training to crank out the fast miles at the end of a run rather than at the start, but I knew I would be dicking about the trails of Dalmeny at that point and so did the speedier stuff at the start where I thought there would be fewer distractions.)

I was only partly right. The cyclepath is a rich source of birdlife even though most were reluctant photo-models. A blackbird sauntered across the trail almost within touching distance but by the time I raised the camera had hopped away. A gang of Redwings sat like windblown leaves in a thick shrubbery, just a handful of yards off the main path but almost impossible to photograph. The frustrations at least kept me busy and my mind off the torture of cranking out faster miles. And I would get a rest every stop.

I took the Blackhall turn off for Davidsons Mains and Barnton, ran past my old school and down to the Dowies Mill end of the Almond trails. There is often good photos next to the golf course but today there was only early daffodils, a small group of tiny yellow flowers which I didn't notice till I got home had dirty faces. Probably the gale force winds blowing up dirt.

I actually took the time to read the inscription on this way marker at the Cramond Brig. Apparently the RBS stumped up the money for these 1000 national cycleway markerposts. Link here. I have just noticed looking at that link that they were put up at the turn of the millennium. It may be I noticed them because they were recently repainted. Or repositioned. Maybe they were always there? Anyway it said the Forth Bridge was 4miles away. I had run about 9 by this point and wanted to run more than 15 so it confirmed my route would have to take in a lap of the Airport square; up the Almond, across the airport boundary along Cammo Road and back to the Almond on Nether Lenny. I had new shoes on and was reluctant to get them filthy on the riverside trails but needs must and maybe I'd tip toe the worst bits.

Just at PRECISELY the worst possible moment - about the only part of the run I was heading back into the wind - a huge snow cloud blew up, covered the sun, and dropped it's load all over me. It was really horrible. I slowed to a walking jog and cursed a lot. It hurt my head and face and I had a my left side plastered with snow. I tried to shade my eyes from the shot gun blast and hoped the 4x4, parked where doggers and plane spotters watch the take-offs and landings, would open it's doors and give me shelter while the worst went by. The large black car looked empty and I didn't like to get too close or catch sight of what might be going on in the back seats. I crouched in the shade of the thick hedge and took a couple of photos. In 5 mins it had gone by and the sun popped out again. I tried to run myself warm again, brushing off the snowy layer, sorry I hadn't brought a waterproof.

blizzard!

5 mins later it had passed over

Hoka Arahi 2 - marathon shoes

New shoes. I buy most of my trail shoes online once I have established which ones work. I haven't had road shoes in a while and felt I really should check out the latest Hoka ones (I have not felt the need to try any other brand) in Run and Become otherwise I'd be running a marathon in trail shoes. I tried on the Vanquish, Bondi5 and Arahi2. Although the Bondi were much improved (wider and more comfortable) the Arahi2s were the best fit and although less stacked than the Bondi more squishy cushiony. Sometimes you really have to try shoes on to get the ones that feel best. It was a trip to R&B that made me realise the Speedgoat2s are the best trail shoe Hoka do, or have ever done. They are now beginning to sell out and I am glad I bought 3 pairs hastily to last a while. Nearly bought pair number 4 in R&B on Friday, but they didn't have them in the right colourway.

There were lots of Blue Tits on the trail back to the riverside. Last time I saw and failed to get decent photos of Bull Finches. The Blue Tits were slightly more accommodating, or I was slightly faster. I have been enjoying the cheerfulness the birds bring to a run, their singing and cavorting about, however they are something of a challenge to capture in a photo. You can see the feathers being blown about on this one as it was sitting high on a branch, while keeping an eye on me.

snow showers

I tried to get more images of the moss on the Grotto Bridge

While I was stopped at the Grotto Bridge a large (crow?) sized dark grey bird swooped underneath and landed downstream. I ran across and saw the same, swoop (again very agile in the air) back underneath and upstream. Too fast to identify, almost certainly a bird of prey, it was one of several missed opportunities. Curses!

After running back down the Almond (no dippers again!) I turned left at Cramond Brig and headed into the Dalmeny Estate. On the way down to the shore there were a few pheasants in the grassy fields and 3 deer a long way off checking me out before running out a gap in the hedge. I half considered following them but remembered I was wearing road shoes and better just stick to the trails.

I had noticed the work had started on the new water pipes and electricity cabling being laid at the Big House last time I ran through. I had dodged around the road closed signs and waved a hello-I'm-just-a-harmless-idiot wave to a guy in the JCB without looking to catch his withering glance. So with huge arrogance I ran around the ineffectual sign above, thinking "well that's surely just for other folk. Not I!" Rules being for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men, and all that. Plan B, if it came to that, was either to run inshore to the tarmac path, or down to the shoreline and follow that. I reckoned at that hour on a Saturday Mr JCB would have knocked off a while ago. (Indeed.) There was further discouraging signage and more substantial railings on the road in front of the Big House where it goes past Barnbougle Castle, which is where the most intense work is being carried out, including a large, deep trench that is only just jumpable (and probably not if you are being chased by the guys driving JCBs) - so I would avoid that area until April 6th.

I was pleased I had not on this occasion though, as I came across a troop of Long-Tailed Tits which I rarely see in the wild. What I mean is I have only ever seen them at Morton Lochs, Tentsmuir, where they are paid in nuts and berries to perform at the feeding tables for photographers and birders. They are totally cute balls of fluff with titular long tails and I was fairly sure I didn't get one decent photo as they (were there 5 or 6 or more?) hopped up the tree next to me always on the move and so never still for more than a second. (I got a dozen photos out-of-focus and 2 ok images.) I left them some bread on the ground nearby which they regarded with complete indifference.

Long-Tailed Tit

The L-T Tits were just near the stream. Just checked OS Maps and it would appear to be called Cockle Burn (which makes sense given all the small white shells at it's mouth.) It's called Dolphington Burn further upstream. At it's estuary is a special place and I often break a run to walk round there and take photos. If nothing else is about the teasels will do. However today they were bending over and rattling in the wind making them poor subjects. It was also too cold to stop for long, though I did stop long enough to notice the stream (where I found the deer's head last time) was easily cross-able with dry feet near the large stones. Just the other side of the stormy weather the channel was yards wide and there was no way you'd step over. It seems the landscape of movable shells and sand changes regularly with the wind and tides. That would be a good project - take a daily photo from the same vantage point and watch the stream lash back and forth on the beach like a cat's tail.

Cockle Burn

same place the week before

Inchmickery aka Battleship Potemkin

machenery fail, untill fail

Glad to be past the excavation works, I was running along towards the bridges when I saw this on my left. I knew instantly what it was as Bruce M has been on about it before. I wondered why I hadn't come across it before then realised I usually take the scenic beach trail at this point. I thought I best explore and take some photos. It is quite a sharp climb (in road shoes!) and only once up there I saw the easier trail round the side.

This would appear to be Hound Point Battery, a gun point built in 1914, though there is remarkably little info online about it. Feel free to google.

There are places along the coast near here where I have (when the warmer weather comes) considered doing an overnight bivy. This isn't one of them. Might just have been the wind howling through the trees.

Then back down to the road and along to the wearisome steps up towards the station. I saw 2 trains cross the bridge while I was approaching it and then I heard another pass by while I was doing the last half mile to the station. And yet I only had to wait 4 or 5 mins on the next train back into town.

Also waiting was a prick in a Oirish hat - those terrible green felt jobs presumably worn with irony to celebrate St Patrick's day and I was going to be rude about until I saw a pic of Mark K wearing one and now I have to be moderately polite - anyway the prick who was drunk was trying to impress his girlfriend with a sentence about how I might be quicker running back into town than waiting on the train only he couldn't get all the words out because he was too drunk for his mouth to work on anything but consuming more drink. Is St Patrick's Day anything other than a huge piss up? I saw a photo of a queue out an Irish Pub about a hundred deep early on in the day. Really? It made me think I should open a pop-up-Irish-Bar for the day and remove armfulls of cash from people who would willingly pay three to five times the supermarket prices to be jammed into a sticky carpeted cage fight, to a soundtrack of Irish pipes and riverdancing, full of pricks in green felt hats. Right enough I used to enjoy a drink but don't remember ever buying into anything quite as enjoyment-free as that. By the way I know plenty of lovely Irish folk and do not level these accusations at them. The prick at the station was 100% Scottish.

On the train (full of drink and jollity, with only me sitting in a dark disgruntlement) I ate the bread I hadn't given to the birds. I sort of missed lunch apart from a sports bar (trying to lose a few pounds before Manchester) and the bread (unadorned and dry) tasted just magnificent. That's what a longish cold run can do for you: elevate your appreciation of the plain until it is outstanding. But beware, it can also make you (me) intolerant as well.