Aberdeen in a Hired Motorhome
The Granite City of Aberdeen.
The City is proud of being the home to the country’s largest national park, the Cairngorms.
Aberdeen Harbour.
The harbour busily coping with the supply of services to the oil-rigs out in the North Sea.
Caledonian Forest.
The Poachers were at camp just outside of Ballater;
‘Ok, ye two eejit fishermen, off ye go,’ Jessie said. ‘We’ll see ye at tea-time, an’ dinnae come back empty handed,’ she said.
‘Aye, bring us back a big salmon, Francie,’ said Phemie.
The lads set off:
A mate of Josie who had worked with the forestry commision had told him of a little lochan on the moor at the top of the hill. He had said that it was boiling with trout. The boys climbed over the dyke and started up the steep hill entering into the forest;
‘How far tae go noo, Josie?’ asked Francie.
‘Och just aboot a mile, Francie,’ answered Josie.
‘Look at the height o’ that hill, Josie. Is that yin o’ yon Munros. Dae ye think I’m some sort o’ mountaineer, Josie?’ asked Francie.
Kinlochleven.
An hour later and the lads reached the top of the hill, dripping with perspiration and muddied from head to toe. They collapsed in a heap beside a boathouse at the edge of a little loch. Complete silence, not a sound, except the sound of nature. A stream was flowing gently and the call of a curlew could be heard in the distance;
‘Who owns this place, Josie?’ asked Francie.
‘I dinnae know, Francie, probably some Duke or other, yin o’ yon people ye see goin’ aboot wi’ a deerstalker hat on his heid, an’ broon leather ridin’ boots, wi’ corduroy troosers an’ a short sleeved Fair Isle jumper, an’ a blunderbuss draped o’er his elbow,’ said Josie.
‘We’ve nae permit, what if we’re caught, Josie, what if they dinnae gie us a chance tae surrender, what if they just opened up an’ mowed us doon, Josie. I suppose we could say that we werenae fishin’ an’ we arenae really fishin’, we’re usin’ a bubble float an’ worm, Josie, we’re no’ fly-fishin. We’re actually murderin’ the fish, Josie, they dinnae stand a chance. Och, what if they charged us wi’ murderin’ fish, Josie?’ asked Francie.
‘Och for goodness sake, Francie,’ said Josie.
‘Whit if some guy comes alang in yin o’ yon giro-copters and machine-guns us doon, Josie?’ asked Francie.
‘Och for goodness sake, Francie, what if I crack open a bottle o’ nookie-broon ale, Francie?’ asked Josie.
‘Sure, Josie, sure, Josie, nookie-broon ale, Josie,’ said Francie.
After drinking their beers, Josie threaded a worm onto the hook and expertly cast the bait out into the loch. When he brought the line back in the worm had gone;
‘Can I have a go, Josie, can I have a go?’ asked Francie.
‘Ok, Francie, pal, you have a go,’ answered Josie.
Francie threaded the worm, whirled the bait around his head and cast out. The complete rod left his grasp and landed with a splash, out in the middle of the loch;
‘Och, Francie, look what ye’ve done, noo what dae we tell the lassies?’ asked Josie.
They arrived back at camp;
‘Here they come, Phemie, like a couple o’ tramps. Well, what have ye got for us then?’ asked Jessie.
‘We’ve got four lovely fish, an’ a big bag o’ french-fries frae the chippy doon in Ballater,’ said Josie.
‘Och, they smell nice,’ said Phemie.
Life’s a Beach at Aberdeen.
Joe Sharp.
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