‘They can’t freeze it ya know’
‘mm what?’
‘The polar bear, they won’t be able ter freeze it’
It’s 7.30pm and 17 seconds of silence had passed. I’d been watching a shrew, bemused by its fat little body tumbling amongst the tall grass, before bumbling back into the foxgloves when her broad southern accent spun me back out of my mesmerised state; ‘ ‘is fur’s too thick’.
I was stranded on the grassy verge of a B road just off the A9 with a middle-aged woman who clearly felt very uncomfortable about silence between strangers. We’d gotten off to a bad start, when explaining that I was out filming the wolves I received the blunt response ‘Don’t like ‘em’, why? ‘just don’t’. Not that I was going to complain about this new topic of animal autopsy.
The bus was now three hours late, the sun was well into its decent and the day was cooling off. I was stuck. Do I begin the 4 mile walk to the nearest settlement or do I wait for the bus? Sods law it would arrive as soon as it was out of eyeshot of the bus stop, and what would I do in the nearest village? Call for help? Who do I know out here? Knock on doors and hope to find some kind soul who’d drive me all the way back? Being two hours from home I concluded I should just wait this out, the helpdesk at Citylink assures me the bus is coming, it’s just late and they don’t know how late. Thanks.
Getting stuck and lost is becoming a reoccurring theme this week. Although I must admit to relishing in it. Wayward wanderings across the cliff tops and farmland have resulted in finds that I romantically like to believe no one else has discovered. Leaps and bounds over the deep clefts carved in coastal rock face lead me, precariously, (would it be as easy on the way back down?) upwards. High up in the rocky outcrop I found a nest, a perfect green grass space, fenced by rocks. It’s as if a rock pool had ascended 20ft in the air, bedded with thick grasses, sea milkwort and sand spurrey, I walked through the welcoming mouth of the nest, a 50cm gap in the rock fence, and plonked myself down. Just enough space to sit with my backpack to the right and my sketchbook and flask to the left. Reclining against the smoothed rock , I peered over the walls at the swirling water below. I spot the Ecoventure dolphin watching boat far across the bay and I knew it must be just past one. Lunch time. Later that day I managed to get completely disoriented crossing sheep field after sheep field and was quite relieved to find a footpath leading me down the densely gorse covered hillside. As I take a second look at the marks pressed into the wet dirt I realise I’m not following a human made footpath, but one by that of cows. Drat. There goes my plan of ‘if a cow charges jump into the bushes, it won’t go in there’ (what is the proper procedure for a cow charge?) Apparently cows are impervious, or not bothered, (unlike my legs) to the gorses myriad of spines and spikes.
Back on the roadside I was continuing to wait. Usually a delay like this would be quite aggravating but the evening light was charming, dappling the hillside and I’d done a good days work. I’d met the wolf.
That morning I’d approached the highland wolf enclosure, moving through the dense fur tree wood until I reach the perimeter fence. From a viewing post I survey the habitat; and then I see something moving amongst the trees. The wolf lops closer. I recognise the wolf as Elara, the female alpha, her mouth falls open in a wolf grin, long tongue spilling out her mouth. Stopping her prowl around the enclosure 2 meters directly in front of me, we lock eyes. Holding the glaze. There’s too much in that wolfs stare. It catches me off guard and distracts me from my purpose. She turns away and the spell is broken. I pull out my camera and sketchbook and spend the next few hours sketching and filming. I’m pretty excited about what I’ve captured so far, what I think I’ve captured, I’ll have to wait until it’s developed and digitised to see the true resulting imagery.
The bus? It did arrive eventually. I crawl into bed at 1am.
