Holyrood: running track or wildlife park

 

1st June

Both of course. And it fills both roles extremely well. I have run there for more than 20 years and photographed a huge amount of wildlife there for many years. There are over 20 species of butterfly there and nearly all of Edinburgh's finest runners. And apologies for the photo of Mary hamming it up on Crow Hill. That was not an instagram moment so much as a pastiche of one.

Nicola in the pink, heading over Abbeyhill

We met almost by chance. I left the house earlier than Mary as I had important insect chasing to do. I think we said a nominal Crow Hill or Hutton's Section and phone for confirmation. Though more recently Mary has taken to just heading up there randomly and bumping into me since she knows the patches I'll be checking out and they are generally all on the same side of the hill. And when I was unexpectedly round the back at the quarry on the back of the Crags she bumped into Ken who gave her the heads up and she found me there. 

I'm interested in one thing and one thing only - 
small coppers

I was very pleased to meet my first Painted Lady of the year on the way up to Hutton. I approached with great caution as they have not been common this year and still are not, although rumour has it a large invasion of RAs and PLs are down South in Englandshire and may yet head North. I hope so. I have somehow seen no Admirals this year as yet, though several have fluttered through East Lothian and even Holyrood. 

I got a few close ups of the Painted Lady before it flew off heading down the hill strongly. And so I thought it was an entirely different specimen that turned up right beside me at Hutton's Section. I was thinking "ahh they have arrived". Although closer inspection of the specimen (on the computer at home) and in particular of the small notch missing from the right forewing told me this was the same one I had waved bye-bye to 5 minutes earlier. If I had found the one at the summit of Crow Hill also had a small notch out its wing I would have felt hugely honoured to be stalked round the park by a butterfly. However that one had more damage to wing tips which spoke of it as an overseas visitor. The first one however, in such good condition, suggested to online butterfly friends that this might have been a release from the likes of a primary school or nursery group who buy in eggs (of Painted Ladies) and grow them into caterpillars, chrysalises (or chysalides but not chrysalii) and eventually imagos. 

There was also a suggestion that such a shop bought butterfly released into the world was somewhat tarnished by the process. I didn't really get that. Firstly I was so pleased to get close to such an amazing thing and take photos of it. Its provenance did not sway this one bit. And in fact I'd rather photograph a more mint specimen reared locally than one that flew from Africa and was a bit shredded. Also I reckoned the route through the post as an egg to a class of primary kids and distracted teacher; to be reared in sub-optimal conditions then perhaps stroked and finally released by grubby fingered schoolkids, was a rites of passage far more demanding than taking your chances flying North for a thousand miles.

Also, if this was a hand reared specimen I was impressed it managed to immediately revert to the identical behaviour of its untrammelled cousins who fly directly to Crow Hill from Europe and beyond. Born not of the plains of Africa but in the sand pits of Davie-Mains Nursery Group and raised by the offspring of aspiring accountants and middle management it has been out in the world less than a week and already aligned the starscape maps and made its way to the same place of determination as the overseas relatives that were not untimely ripped from a shrub and put in a wee baggy and sent to cold dark Scotland 3 months ago. That's enough to shake up anybody's sense of direction and yet here it is, following a dafty with a camera up the foothills of this Athens of the North. I'm all for a bit of a local release.

Someone jokingly said they should be tagged so we can tell the difference. Someone else said no joke but some Monarchs in the US are and linked to here. I'm not sure what I think about this. Monarchs are much larger than UK butterflies and is it any worse than ringing birds or collaring or tagging larger animals and whales. It is all about citizen science and no doubt someone somewhere said they were sure they felt no pain or inconvenience. Like they knew how? Glad I don't have to know what a butterfly feels; because they are so stand-offish about sharing their feelings sometimes. That one I was merrily taking photos of didn't even say "hi it's me again" even though it followed me up the hill specifically to get onto this blog. "I think you missed my right side underwing, it's my best side."

its best side - apparently

I meant to open the debate about running and writing a running blog that slowly evolves into a butterfly blog and whether I am only foisting this on a reluctant group of runners. Not that I want to spread some gossip around here or name names, but Nick was telling me another runner he met recently expressed to him a knowledge of this blog but also that it held his gaze less convincingly now that it was all about the butterflies and less about the racing and what shoes to wear while running (after butterflies.) Being a Libran (someone who works in a Libranry?) I am split between thinking "yeah I should do a bit more about running and racing" and "well, go fuck yourself." Ever the people pleaser.

I think the thing is I used to obsess about running and now less so. I am more obsessive about wildlife. And taking photos of it. A couple of other running pals expressed a drop off in enthusiasm for racing and running competitively. Notably they are also in their fifties and I think after a year off from competition, they are struggling to remember why they might want to return to it. It is easier to forget the highs than the lows and the pain, and since one's pbs are all firmly in the past it is very easy to swap attending events for a life of just running recreationally and maybe taking photos of the landscape, or architecture or butterflies. 

If you want a running blog you are free and welcome to start writing one.

so just how angry is this mother shipton moth?

furious!

I was wandering around Hutton's Section (that's it bottom left just peaking into the pic) when I saw these young turks bouldering in the first bay of the crags. After a bit, it went that deathly silence you hear when the chat and laughing stops and you know someone is putting their head into the noose and hoping they don't fall off. I used to climb and know the feeling of both doing it and watching it and am quite happy to not be doing either anytime soon. I walked about taking photos of moths and butterflies while the deathly silence roared all around and the dude halfway up risked his life up a slippery line of great resistance. I took some photos and really hoped they'd not be used in evidence at the inquest. That in a moment or 2 we'd all breath a sigh of relief and I'd exchange email addresses with his mate who'd pass on said photos of the climber so everyone could see his brave and foolish heroics. The general feeling was if he fell there would be broken bones but not death. I was relieved there were neither and in due course did get an email address to send on the photos. No thank you in return as yet but hey, when you are young you live fast and free. 

Then Mary appeared without prearrangement, although I had a feeling she'd be coming round the mountain when she came. Saves on texts and calls. She went in search of the Mr Whippy support vehicle that sometimes parks at Dunsapie, but we arranged to meet up the top of Crow Hill after that. I went up the steppy route of the 7 Hills. We did some insta-photos then off she ran while I found a third Painted Lady, although it later got demoted to second. It was the genuine article and you could tell because it showed me its preferred left side. "Take a look at that" it said, "all the way from you'll-never-know-where". If only it had been tagged.

get off my hill

crow of crow hill

Ken, again

So, you are on your way home and you see this. Someone doing corpse pose just the other side of the ditch where most passers-by wont see. What do you do? I was just about to go over and tap this one on the shoulder risking the wrath of the daytime snoozers. But I stopped. I was busy weighing up the visual evidence. Do you put your hood up before you collapse, no, you put it up to have a snooze. Is that a natural pose, no, looks like he passed out. I went up close and made some throat clearing noises but he was out cold. But also I could see some regular slow breathing. I decided not to get involved. When I got home I saw (in the photo) the silver paper in his hand. Junky. Glad I left him to it. Okay I admit to a lack of sympathy for those whose lives are so crap they resort to junk. Perhaps because it was most likely a junky left a cigarette end in our close to catch alight and cause a fire that became so large so quickly that Mary had to be taken out our third floor window by firemen with an extension ladder/cherry picker. (Read all about it here.) All the flats round here (the postie tells me) have notices to say keep the main doors locked as otherwise junkies sit in the stairwells shooting up after buying gear locally. So, yeah my feeling about junkies is not very sympathetic these days, and reckon they can call their own ambulances. If you can't do the death, don't do the meth.

arsehole

Mr. Whippy x 2 support vehicles

Is this national sleep outdoors day?

I'd rather look at flowers.

Hour of Power!

Okay here's a bit for those runners who aren't all that interested in butterflies. Just that same night I went to PRC training. It was a particularly arduous session, especially after I'd already been wearing running kit earlier, albeit just chasing butterflies and taking photos. Alan's Hour of Power ™ was to start at St Margaret's Loch (North end) where they feed the swans and to run (fast as you like) to touch the trig point atop Arthur's Seat. Then back down. All the way to the post we started at. Then up again - but by a different route - then down again. As many times as you can in an hour. 3,2,1, go!

If you think this sounds pretty hellish, you'd be right. I reckoned I'd get 3 summits but struggle to make it back from the third under an hour. So I was pleased to find I got back down from the third summit in 58 minutes. A minute for every year! And was ahead of most of the group who probably have a 20 year age advantage. I was also pleased to see that the three lines I took  - the tourist route, the Dasses and Hunter's Bog all seem to be about the best lines to take. I returned home smiling but very broken. It is club sessions like this that remind me of the positives about racing or running hard until you feel like puking. It may not feel like pleasure when you are doing it but there is a great feeling of satisfaction once it is done, assuming you don't fall off the crag and break a bone or two before you top out.