lucky, dip

 

Monday 19th Feb

I am a fairly pragmatic person and try to put to one side the temptation to think I can sway fate with hocus pocus or mumbo jumbo. Same goes for flim flam, argie bargie, tittle tattle, bric-a-brac or spick and span. It just won't wash. It's a one way road to hopping in circles while chanting and throwing rice over your shoulder thinking anyone is paying a blind bit of notice. Instead, ask yourself What Would Brubeck do*?

I felt my luck boat had docked yesterday with the unexpected appearance of a butterfly long ahead of schedule and placed ideally and perfectly, right in front of my lens in perfect weather. The chances of that happening were slim to none and yet, like winning the lottery, it happens nearly every week, albeit to someone else. I was further awarded the supreme accolade of cover photo on East Scottish Butterflies, the jewel in the crème de la crème of the butterfly world.

At the time I did wonder what I had done to deserve this. Luck-jobs of this size do beg the query where did that come from. At the time I was at a loss. Having accepted fate as a random accident that sometimes parks outside your front door and sometimes crashes in your front window, I find I am probably dealt an average amount of yin and yang, of up and down, of fun and games. Too much of what we'll call good luck must necessarily be paid for, either in hard cash or an absence of good fortune until life is in balance again. Statistically that has to happen. I may have used up all of February's luck in one encounter. I heard recently "jesus gave you that burden because he knew you could shoulder it". Really? Because he has a dark sense of humour? Because where would we be without suffering?  

Anyway, all this is a long way round to explain why the next day after the butterfly encounter, I got an invoice for the outstanding luck. To be paid in full immediately. Well actually it all went fine till about midday and then the lights went out. *BTW did you know Brubeck graduated college on the understanding he would never teach piano? Apparently his professors were concerned about his sightreading or lack of. He had bad eyesight and faked his way playing by ear through early classical lessons from his mother.

My plan was to run off the early train to Longniddry, up the cinderpath to Haddington and then down the riverside paths to East Linton. If my cup was still not overflowing I'd run across to North Berwick and use the return stub of my NB train ticket back to Waverley. 13 miles to East Linton. About 20 total. Although there was a potential wee diversion downstream of East Linton to a corner of the river where early bird butterflies have been seen, half a mile beyond Preston Mill.

I'm pretty sure I've done this route under the same circumstances in previous years. Rivers are a good place to check for early butterflies although you also need sunshine and temperatures in double figures. I've certainly chased absent orange tips here a week before they appeared, just because I was keen to bring about the event. It does not always return the investment although if you are happy just to be out and about you can pretend it was everything it wasn't. And I'm imagining that is what religion is - talking to someone who doesn't reply but having a good conversation anyway? Although I aspire to being that mature and mindful, I am much more readily pleased by the tangible gain of a snappy butterfly photo or Portuguese Custard Tart. (Henceforth known as a PCT.) You can't argue with either of them.

we've discussed these before

Early on-ish this deer walked out and across the path. It is way further away than it appears here - this is full gas zoom and then cropped. It has seen me but realised I was no longer Usain Bolt and never again would be. It sauntered, the cheeky devil. Then 2 more appeared, lazily following the larger beast across and into the field on the southside. They weren't in any hurry so as soon as they were out of sight I did an elderly Usain Bolt impression up the trail and half-hid among the trailside shrubs to take their photos in the crops. 

deer pee!
Now that is relaxed

(no) mudguards and the benefit of hindsight

Hopetoun Monument

chipper chaffinch

Coming off the cyclepath in Haddington you are faced with this building. Every time I see it I congratulate the architect for those colourful windows which add such an element of style that you forgive the shoeboxy-ness of the building. Even though I have seen it loads I still take a photo each time I run past. That has to be a successful outcome: to zhuzh up an otherwise dull office warehouse. Talking of jazzy, Dave Brubeck was one of the most successful jazz artists of his generation and didn't have a problem with drink or drugs. Isn't that refreshing?! He was married to his wife for 70 years and died at age 92.

If I haven't been this way in a while I forget which right turn to take to cut through between some houses and hook up with a stream which runs into the Tyne. Those seed-pods or whatever they are, are a good reminder I am on the right path. The cactii waving from a window are possibly a new addition. If I take the right line I get to see grazing bunnies. They are used to passing traffic and don't mind you walking quietly closer until about 14 yards when they keep a beedy eye on you and shuffle closer to cover.

close enough!

lots of blackbird activity

note the look of butter wouldn't melt

Tradition has it I take this photo of this unusual street name.
The fact the daffs weren't out behind it did not bode well.

goosander (m)

wren with tick near eye

lots of duckies and crocuses near the bridge at Haddington

geese

starling

more jazz

A couple of streets through Haddington and you leave by way of this bridge. This blackbird posed magnificently, gleaming in the sunshine. Although it was cool, the sun was out and I felt there was a good chance of seeing an early butterfly at a spot just this side of East Linton. I was very chipper and feeling very positive.

that look again!
(It wasn't me!)

blossoms on the tree by the weir

And that was about that. A bank of cloud swept in and covered the sun. What warmth there was diminished and it became cold and dull. The imaginary butterfly-o-meter went from about 5% to 0%. I tried to keep buoyant and upbeat and continued to watch the riverbank for kingfishers, otters and sparrowhawks. But I might as well have been looking out for pelicans and parrots. 

strong winds had taken their toll and there were a few fallen trees

some had been sawn and partially removed

This dipper was nearly the last decent thing spotted. As I struggled to get a line of sight through the sticks and bushes it flew off. I got several photos but none better than this one and all in drab grey light. Jackdaws perched on the castle ruins across the river. I searched my memory banks for the name of the ruins. It took 5mins of rummaging to remember Hailes Castle. Mary and I regularly set ourselves the challenge of recalling (rather than googling) a film star's name, a place name, that band who played the gig we saw, the name of that film, the word for fingers, the word for memory. Oh the joys of getting old.

I had a health bar at a bench where I've made Mary wait while I tried to flush out orange tips. This side of the A1 before it appears round the corner. There were no flowering anythings and no nectaring butterflies on those. It was a sad snack although I enjoyed it greatly as I had been fighting the hunger for a few miles. Things were so bad I threw the bread from the bird-food bag to the swan who had been eyeing me hopefully. It came hurrying back upstream and gobbled the crumbs as they floated downstream. Taking photos of a swan on a sunless day is just desperation. I had already made up my mind to go no further than East Linton as what would be the point? I was sure the forecast didn't say the sun would disappear at midday so comprehensively you almost needed a headtorch at half past. But there we were. This is the price you pay for that outstanding luck yesterday. Utter gloom and doom. Still, in my favour there is a new rail station in East Linton I get to try out. 

Not enough light to bother taking pics of the starlings on tv aerials. I went into the coop to get a sandwich for lunch and my luck wasn't entirely out as they had PCTs. I think I limited it to one but could have happily munched down 5 or 6, but that would offset the calories burned, one of the few decent outcomes of the day. Just call it quits and head home. Going across the park to the new station I was halted in my tracks by 20 finches flying up from the grass into a tree. They looked exotic and my first thought was waxwings? They were bullfinches but also had a few stray chaffinches and greenfinches in the mix and going about in a garrulous gang from tree to tree with visits to pick up seedcases from the ground. I did my best to get some photos although it was nearly pitch black! 

The bullfinches cheered me up nearly as much as the station let me down. The next train back to Edinburgh was in about 90 minutes. Fuck you very much. I had heard you have to check the timetable more carefully than for instance North Berwick to Edinburgh which is every hour. Oh well, looks like I'm getting a bus. I did contemplate jogging over to NB but was feeling too low. I went round to the bus stop and there was no timetable, well hey, thanks. Maybe the hunger was making me feel dismal so I got the (prawn mayo) sandwich out and put the camera away. I'd have a look on my phone to see if I could work out the bus timetable after my sandwich. Only at that point and halfway through my sandwich the bus came round the corner, Edinburgh written on its forehead. I got on, sandwich in hand, fumbling Saltire card and gloves.
I think I dosed on the bus like a pensioner and got off in Abbeyhill, a year later, to hirple down the road, home.

not likely

14 miles in the shape of a sardonic smile