7Squared Goes Forth (Stirling)

Stirling Bridge - flood tide

Stirling 
11th - 12th May

After two nights in Edinburgh and climbing up Arthur's Seat in warm sunshine with my heavy rucksack, I took the train to Stirling. On my arrival, I was drawn to draw in Holyrood Cemetery.

I could see the River Forth from the car park outside the Castle and during my walk around the Abbey Craig: very sinuous, meandering on a broad flat, fairly built-up and cultivated floodplain. The water lwas milk chocolate brown and looking fairly full, meaning it could only be tidal. Initially, I was put off going down to it, cut off from the city centre by busy roads and roundabouts. In the early evening, though I tried going down there, following a sign to Stirling Bridge. A subway under the busy intersection, well used by walkers and cyclists.  This brought me out near green area along the river between the old (C15th) Stirling Bridge, now foot-cycle bridge and the newer, busy stone road bridge. Just downstream of that, the railway bridge which I must have crossed during the very delayed and somewhat unsettling train journey from Pitlochry to Edinburgh last year. Alongside the old bridge, a big LED sign with the day's cycling stats: they were doing well today: 19C, 410 cyclists when I arrived, 417 when I headed back into the city centre. 

The tidal cycle on the River Forth meanwhile began to ebb, strongly so. The current rapidly built up, with vortices at various scales, including metre scale ones just downstream of the bridge. swirling around the pillars between the arches. In the wake of the pillars, the current doubling back. Strong tidal currents didn't surprise me, given that the tides flow out to the Firth of Forth. I wondered what the floodtide might look like, that funneling in from the broad Firth. The following day, Friday, I was to find out.

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An interesting day on Friday, exploring around and above the River Forth: Cambuskenneth Abbey and the Wallace Monument. These are my notes from the day:

Dry, though cooler, much cloudier, though cleared later, then milder. Cloudy evening.

More sites around Stirling

The Boys Club (1929), mock mediaeval

"Play the Game" etc.

John Cowane Hospital, near Holy Rude Church

Holy Rude Cemetery - glasshouse - Victorian - angel standing over two girls and two sheep. Story of another execution by drowning Margaret Wilson, age 18, and sister drowned in the Solway for refusing to renounce their Protestant faith. We came across her dreadful fate, as the younger of the two Wigtown Martyr women, when we were in Galloway last September. 

After admiring the view north from castle car park across the valley towards the Ochill hills and the Wallace Monument, I  headed down the hill towards the river. I crossed main road near railway station; across railway towards Riverside area; left at end (counter intuitive because of sheer loopiness of river), meeting the river near the 1935 concrete footbridge across to Cambuskenneth. Sat on bench and did a quick sketch looking upriver (I think) to Wallace Monument. Tide out, water level low, hardly any current, just gentle wind movement.

The Wallace Monument from the Forth, near the Cambuskenneth bridge

Cambuskenneth conservation village

Followed the lane through the village, passing some conserved lamposts and turned right to have a quick look round the Abbey. A restored bell tower still standing, the rest of the Abbey was ruins, further to the Scottish Reformation 1560. 

Followed the lane north to the busy Alloa Road, the Abbey Craig, with the Monument ahead. Past close to the Forth, tide now well down, with  a few small gravel shoals exposed. Crossed main road (with difficulty, though later saw pedestrian crossing further up where more houses etc.), Then took a path through a small park / play area up the Abbey Craig towards the Monument. Came out at the visitor centre-cum-Legends Coffee Shop. Bought ticket for Monument (£10) and followed the path up the hill (also a minibus).

Abbey Craig and Wallace Monument

246 steps in total to the open top (Crown) of the 67m tower, albeit not all the way up in one go, with displays on three levels before the top. The spiral stiarcase was narrow. Had to take care. I didn't meet many people coming the other way, but when I did it was a squeeze. For the way down, I tied the handles of my tote bag with my sketchbook in to my waist to free up both hands.  

The Monument was Victorian (completed 1869) to commemorate / celebrate the legend of William Wallace who, with the help of Andrew de Moray and the River Forth (see below), defeated the English at the Battle of Stirling Bridge, 11th September 1297.

First Floor - William Wallace and all that. Late C13 / C14 - England vs Scotland battles, including Battle of Stirling Bridge - Edward I'd English army led by Cressingham and de Warenne Earl of Surrey, had the upper hand, being on horseback. The Scottish, led by William Wallace and Andrew de Moray, were on foot. Yet they won the battle thanks in a large part to the local geography: meanderings of the Forth right for trapping the English, especially as the horses floundered in the marshy ground. The Scots corralled them onto the bridge, then a timber bridge, a bit  upstream of the old stone bridge (c15). From the pictures, it looked very rickety. Soldiers fought on the bridge, either thrown off it into the river, or trapped when the Scots torched it / it collapsed. Battle site near the now rugby ground.

Wallace executed (gruesomely) in 1305 by Edward I, for refusing to bow to his terms (which favoured the English).

There then followed the Battle of Bannockburn, to the south, in 1314. The victor there (for Scotland again) was Robert the Bruce. His statue outside the Castle.

Both Wallace and RtB went down in history as national (Scottish) legends / heroes), their stories retold, and adapted, to suit the narrative, usually pride, nationalism, strength, heroics. Hence the building of the WM in C19th. By then, Scotland-England union, therefore Wallace seen as a kind of Up-the-British-Empire hero.

Second Floor - Scottish heroes (busts), and heroines. The men all cast in marble busts, overlooking Monument-goers. All well-known names in Scotland and beyond. Among them, Walter Scott, poet; Robert Stephenson (engineer); Robert Burns (poet); Adam Smith (Economist).  Until the public vote for the top 14 Scottish women to redress the balance earlier this year, women didn't figure whatsoever. Shamefully I can't remember any of the names, though I noted one of the top two set up cancer centres and several of the physicians, scientists and engineers were barred from doing / being awarded a degree / qualification, or only got one after great difficulty (one of the doctors qualified in Geneva after no luck in Britain). This went on well into the last century.

Third floor - building of the tower. As is usually the case with building projects, there was a substantial cost over- run.  

The Crown - plein air, therefore closed when very windy. 360 degree views - the Ochills to the north, along the valley of the winding River Forth, towards the Firth / Grangemouth (hazy / misty that way), taking in Stirling Castle, the three Stirling Bridges, farmland, the residential area along the A9 / Alloa Road. A very narrow neck in the meander near the bridges and 1297 battle site (now rugby ground area). I did a plein air pencil sketch (diagram), surround seating, pillar provided shelter from NE wind. When drawing, it was confusing trying to follow it all. Came down, about half-one taking great care on steps, though now quieter.

 

My sketch from the Crown of the Wallace Monument

Woodland walk / view points

Stirling viewpoint - overlooking the Forth, across to the Castle. Had my Sheltered from the wind, therefore midges /buggy. Did the woodland walk and had my fruit at the Ochills viewpoint, looking north - more wind, therefore midge-free.

The Forth brings a new meaning to the school run.

From the road below the Monument, I took the more direct route back, along the A9, here a residential , though still very busy, A'road, with footways. The through traffic goes on the M9. This led nicely to the bridges. Staying on the north side (left bank), I went onto the green area between the old bridge and the road bridge (Robert Stephenson, 1831). It looked very different from yesterday evening, with the tide still low, the water very shallow, the pillars of the old bridge exposed almost to their bases. However, the tide had turned, the flow upstream I looked under the nearest arch of the old bridge and I noticed the flow was dislodging sandy / silty sediment beneath the pillar. It was also speeding and roughing up: within ten minutes of arriving here, it was racing. Beneath the arches,  frothing waves of white water . I went up onto the bridge and watched the vortices ensue, along with turbulent flow patterns. I made a video, which I've uploaded to YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZSmKZtbAfE

Meanwhile another tide was ensuing, at the end of the school day. Mainly primary school children, a few cyclists, though mostly on foot,  heading north along the A9 and other nearby residential streets. Most of them passed the river by and didn't look over the bridge. A few did. I may have been imagining it, but thought I heard one of the boys say "Look at the Leckie flow". I can't remember the correct spelling, but it sounded like I'd come across in an old book about tidal bores around Britain, there being quite a few of them in addition to the Severn Bore, albeit all smaller. I checked Fred Rowbotham's 1964 book about the Severn Bore, which briefly mentions some of the others, though not the Forth. Perhaps it was a book of about the same vintage borrowed from the library during the 1980s when I tried to find out as much as I could about Britain's rivers, pre-internet. Because of the funnelling and shallowing of the estuary and river moving westwards from the Firth, a bore wouldn't surprise me. As yet, Google searches on the Forth, tidal bores, tidal currents and variations in spelling of "lekkie" have failed to turn up anything. The only mention I've found of bore waves north of the Border has been along the Solway Firth.

The turbulence was short-lived, the peak of it lasting no more than 20 minutes and, an hour after it all started the water was fairly calm again. It was also localised: much less rough away from the old bridge, a pinch point with the pillar supports narrowing the channel.  Certainly compared to the Severn (or even our local coast back home, the rise was small. It looked about a metre at most, though the tide though was probably 1m tops, though the online tide table for Stirling predicted just under 2.5m at high tide, just before 6.00pm.  I could tell from the dusty mud coating the weeds growing along the banks that it hadn't got as high as yesterday's tide. With a waning gibbous moon last night, the tidal cycle is falling. This was by no means an exceptional tide, just a regular spring in the later spring.

As the flow began to calm down, I crossed the bridge to the  community mural / panels of poetry, local history (1297 and all that) and salmon fishing in the Forth. I sketched just upstream of the bridge, trying to record the peak of the action as far as I could remember it (pictured at the top of this entry).

I left Stirling on Saturday morning (in the rain), meeting up with my Cycling Man to head north to Perthshire.

Edinburgh and the Joan Eardley Exhibition

I heading north during the second week of May, staying in Edinburgh specially to see Joan Eardley – A Sense of Place at the Scottish Gallery of Modern Art. 

I flew to Edinburgh Airport. It was cloudy most of the way, though I did get a glimpse of the peninsula where the Esk and Eden merge at the head of the Solway Firth. We came into land from north of Edinburgh descending over the Firth of Forth and Leith. I arrived on Tuesday to clear skies, and as at home parched ground with browning grass. It didn't feel like Scotland in late spring. SYHA Edinburgh Central had it's own tropical microclimate. A fine evening enjoying the views over Edinburgh from Calton Hill.

Joan Eardley A Sense of Place

Wednesday was a fresher, cloudier day. I walked to the Scottish Gallery of Modern Art following the River Leith through Dene Park for part of the way, and then amid the hotch-potch of architecture in Dene village. The river ran in an incised valley, below cliffs, passing under a high viaduct; the town houses of west central Edinburgh high up above it. Up to Dene Cemetery. I then reached the gallery, housed in two grand Victorian buildings either side of a road in a spacious area of greenery. The Joan Eardley was in building Two, which overlooked an expansive lawn with an installed light-text sculpture, There will be no miracles here.

The Exhibition had been on since December and was now nearing the end of its run. This is a review I read earlier this year:

The Guardian - Review of the Joan Eardley Exhibition:

Joan Eardley: the forgotten artist who captured Scotland's life and soul 

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2017/feb/10/joan-eardley-the-forgotten-artist-who-captured-scotlands-life-and-soul

I agreed that this show deserved to travel further and wider, beyond Scotland and reach a larger audience. The focus on her work in Glasgow and Catterline, being no reason not to.
 Sadly Eardley (1921-1963) died relatively young of breast cancer (younger than me now). She died shortly after being elected as a Fellow of the Scottish Royal Academy. Her painting, one of the seascapes was selected for their annual exhibition by her mother. Who knows what she could have gone on to achieve if she'd had more time.

While she was around , I was impressed with her prolific output of drawings and paintings, not to mention her stamina. Most of all in all her work at Catterline on the Fife coast where she’d invariably be out in blizzards and gales painting on the beach as the waves crashed in. Though I felt a kindred spirit when reading "she sometimes found sunny days a bore" and found her stormy seascapes at Catterline especially exciting, my stamina for the wind and cold is considerably less, and the natural instinct for self-preservation puts me off getting too close to rough seas. I noted that she painted Catterline in Winter, with cottages amid the snow set against a dark grey sky, in 1963. That was one of the hardest winters of 1963. Bear in mind, too that by then she would have been (unknowingly, likely) very unwell.

She painted in oils and drew in pastel and gouache. Pastel being ideal for brisk sketches in fast moving weather, such as the storm series of sketches made of a storm approaching over Catterline. In her later paintings (1960s) she added small amounts of collage: grasses in some of her Catterline paintings and sweet wrappers and newspaper cuttings to the Townend paintings.

The show was in five rooms, the content spread evenly between Glasgow and Catterline, beginning with her paintings and drawings of Glasgow tenement children painted in the 1950s. She had a studio in the Townend area of the city, one of the poorer areas, subsequently consumed by grand development schemes proposed from the late 1940s onwards. To me the pictures gave an impression of life being pretty basic, certainly compared today. Compared to today, too, I didn't think everyone looked well. Though the key issue of with the nude painting was women painting nude men was scandalous back then, what came across to me was how elderly and grail he looked, specially lying down. Her later Townend paintings were much more striking. As well there being more colour, they showed a real sense of personality in the children. She regularly drew members of the Samson family, 12 children.

Amid what I took to be unseasonably warm sunshine and exceptionally dry weather for the area, I took walks on Salisbury Crags and on Arthur’s Seat.

Recommended Reading:
1. Patrick Elliot and Anne Galastro, Joan Eardley A Sense of Place, National Galleries Scotland (2016) - published to accompany the exhibition, showing much of the work on display.
2. Fiona Pearson, Joan Eardley, National Galleries Scotland (2007) - overlaps with 1, also work from France and Italy.

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Leaving the gallery, it all having been very worthwhile, I walked back into the city centre. Had a late light lunch and then walked over to Holyrood Park and Salisbury Crags, by now sunny again.

Before leaving on Thursday - Rucksack today full to the brim largely through cool northeasterlies back home making me believe it would be much cooler - I climbed up Arthur's Seat and looked down onto Salisbury Crags. Again sunny and clear, ground still parched. Would there be any water left in the rivers, Scottish ones included, come the end of the summer. Looking down on the path running along the top of the Crag, the paths looked to me like a network of dried up rivers in a desert. I sketched it, as people crowded onto Arthur's Seat above me, though the desert vibe didn't really come across.

Notes and Sketches from Scotland

The Falls of Dochart, Killin

The next few entries are about our trip to Scotland in May 2017, illustrated with our photos and a selection of my sketches. More of my sketches can be viewed on my Water & Art blog – see Scottish Sketches I-VII, uploaded 30^th May 2017.

I travelled up during the second week of May, staying in Edinburgh specially to see Joan Eardley – A Sense of Place at the Scottish Gallery of Modern Art. Very thought provoking and well worthwhile. Sadly Eardley died relatively young (younger than me now), but while she was around (1921-1963), I was impressed with her prolific output of drawings and paintings, not to mention her stamina. Most of all in all her work at Catterline on the Fife coast where she’d invariably be out in blizzards and gales painting on the beach as the waves crashed in. Amid what I took to be unseasonably warm sunshine and exceptionally dry weather for the area, I took walks on Salisbury Crags and on Arthur’s Seat.

I then moved on to Stirling. There, I was drawn to draw in Holyrood Cemetery and along the very sinuous, tidal River Forth. There were particularly good views of the Forth from the Wallace Monument on the Abbey Craig to the north of the city, taking in Stirling Castle; the three bridges now spanning the Forth on the south side of Stirling; and the nearby site of the Battle of Stirling Bridge, where William Wallace defeated Edward I’s English army in 1297. The Monument honouring him is Victorian. Later that day, Friday, the River Forth brought a new meaning to the school run in the form of racing, almost bore-like flood tide coinciding with local school children heading home across Stirling Bridge (15^th century, now a footbridge).

The weather broke on Saturday 13^th: heading down from the Beheading Stone in the pouring rain, I met up with my other half, my Cycling Man, in Sainsburys café. He’d travelled overnight from the south. We then headed north, in the rain to Perthshire.

For the next fortnight – thankfully not wet or hot all the time, all the time – we were based at holiday cottage in Fearnan, above the NE shore of Loch Tay. In this same area my parents first introduced me to Scotland on a family holiday during the early 1980s. We’d holidayed as a couple further down the River Tay at Pitnacree five years ago. Last year (April), I stayed in Pitlochry for a couple of nights before heading home from our Speyside-Inverness trip. We were back now to enable my Cycling Man to ride the Caledonian Etape on Sunday 21^st May. He went out for two  solo rides either side of that. Off the bicycle, there was plenty of interest in the way of water, woodland and forest walks; and plenty to sketch. We did a couple of short woodland walks around Aberfeldy; visited the Tay at Perth, Dunkeld and around Aberfeldy; Glen Lyon; the Falls of Dochart and Head of Loch Tay at Killin; the Ben Lawers pass area; Pitlochry and around; forest walks above Loch Tummel and Loch Rannoch. Local cafes frequented for tea and cakes: my Cycling Man sampled the scones at Rannoch railway Station café during his final training ride before the Etape. After the succession of Scottish trips we’ve made over the past fifteen to twenty years, we’ve now very familiar with  the Watermill Café at Aberfeldy and the Festival Theatre, Pitlochry overlooking the River Tummel, especially the second one as it is near the A9.

Though glad that the weather didn’t break into constant rain and sog, the more changeable weather was a relief from the unsettlingly settled weather prevailing throughout Britain in April and over much of last winter, at least for anyone like me into water. Falling water levels, not just back home down south but throughout Britain and across the Channel had made feel somewhat dispirited, and demotivated in terms of going places. Demoralised, too by a drought of sales from three recent exhibitions involving ten framed pictures; six more unframed; twenty-five cards; and around £200 in expenses. Even though, everything still appeared well down on what it usual for May, the plentiful, wildier water here was a moral boost. My art flow recharged. Most of all sketching the waterfalls at Killin and Glen Lyon, together with the reflective River Tay Perth and Dunkeld. These sketches were done quickly and freely in a mix of water media, marker pens and Neocolor oil and water mixable pastels. Most of them in A4 sketchbooks. Invariably the weather forces me to work quickly, be it cold and windy, showery or warm. The wettest days were during the middle of the weekend: Saturday clearing in the evening, with low evening light on the Tay and Loch Tay as we headed back from Pitlochry. My Cycling Man got the Loch Rannoch circuit and long climb on the Etape route in before the rain came down around 11.00am. The second week was increasingly warm. I was very of midges, both knowing full well what they can be like. They are worst in the summer, though we’ve seen them, and been bitten by them, even in May. Mild winters have meant that they aren’t being killed off by the cold and are getting active earlier in the year. The last two days of the fortnight were hot. A combo of mountain-glen topography, lack of wind, higher humidity and the threat of midges make warm weather feel uncomfortable at a lower temperature than back home down south. Twenty (^oC) is more than plenty here. On 25^th May it was around 25^oC and five years ago it we had a chilly first week followed by an overheated second week with highs of over 30^oC. It’s a case of packing for everything. The change five years ago occurred over the space of a couple of days. Thankfully. What makes a big difference is the design of buildings, holiday cottages no exception. Five years ago, we were in an old rambling place where the upstairs was comfortable one week, downstairs the next. This time, in common with many places, we were in an otherwise well designed cottage, with an open plan main room with large windows and outside deck with the views across the Tay. The southwest aspect and long light Scottish evenings at this time of year meant that it got the sun from noon until well after 7pm. On the two hot days, there was no relief from the heat during those hours. As well then, that it was just for two days.

From Killin and the Ben Lawers pass road, we could see the Tarmachan mountain range which included my Cycling Man’s first Munro. He’s now climbed nearly 200. Had it really now been thirty years since his first? By the Tay and Tummel, I reflected on everything that had happened in our lives and in the wider world over the past five years, but most of all over the past year, the weather changing in more ways than one. I wondered if we returned in a few years time whether we’d living in a dis-United Kingdom. At the risk of rocking the boat with deep running, turbulent emotional currents, amid a seemingly blocked political pattern, the outcome of last year’s EU referendum had a much deeper, more emotional impact on me than I’d expected.  It went way beyond the political and economical implications of being in or out of the EU. In the immediate aftermath I felt I was living in a much more isolated country. Not only did The Continent feel much further away, Scotland did, too. I hope people will remember that the outcome of the vote was very different in Scotland than in much of England and Wales, with a very clear majority in favour of remaining in the EU north of the Border. There are real implications here for the integrity of the United Kingdom. Though a vote for Scotland to breakaway (vote for Independence) with a view to remaining in the EU would be  perfectly understandable, it would hurt me deeply if it was to become a reality. For nearly fifty years now, I’ve been used to living on one landmass (mainland Britain) which is all part of one country (UK), with “abroad” being across the sea. Though we’ve always lived in England, we both have a deep attachment to Scotland through friend and family connections, along with some our fondest holiday memories now spanning more than thirty years.  

The following entries explore various aspects of our trip in more detail:

Edinburgh and Joan Eardley

7Squared Goes Forth (Stirling)

Loch Tay, the Upper Tay – Kenmore to Aberfeldy

The River Tay – Perth and Dunkeld

Killin and the Head of Loch Tay

Glen Lyon, the Caledonian Etape, Two Forest Walks

Pitlochry, Killiecrankie and Hydropower in Perthshire

The Ben Lawers Pass road, more on Hydropower

Water levels (UK / Scotland:

Spring Low-Down 2017

Two Contrasting Winters

Recommended reading and online material

Spring Low Down 2017

After the largely dry autumn and winter,  in which no effective rainfall fell in many areas of southern England until January according to the Environment Agency, spring came early and turned the screw, especially the very dry April.

The dry River Lavant near West Dean

March saw significant rainfall in northern England, but this didn't benefit the south. As soon as the rain stopped, river levels fell quickly. Early April was dry and very warm, the rest of the month was dry and cool with strong winds. We had no rain here in south Hampshire until the end of the month, 30th. This was the case in many parts of Britain. If it hadn't been for that day's rain, the monthly rainfall totals would have been even lower (see links to Met. Office monthly statistics and news releases below). The mild, early start to spring in March and abundant sunshine meant plants grew quickly, as did the rate of evaporation. By the last week of April, soils were bone dry and cracking and patches of brown grass were appearing. This brought an end to groundwater recharge, which had been inadequate during the crucial winter season anyway. River levels, including normally more stable flowing chalk streams fell everywhere. In most parts of the UK, gauged flows were either below normal or at the very low end of normal as if it was late summer (see links to relevant Environment Agency and CEH reports). In eastern and southern England, demand for water increased sharply as farmers were forced to begin irrigating crops much earlier than they'd usually expect. The situation across the English Channel was much the same, or even more entrenched, according to Eaufrance (see links).

According to the Met. Office, the monthly total for the UK in April was 47% of the long term average (1981-2010).  The total up to 19th April was just 26%. The best case was Scotland, with 71%.

A brief May Day respite from the high pressure, Emsworth, 1st May

May began with the customary cool wet / showery Mayday public holiday. I went to Emsworth and looked round the Art Trail. The rain was mainly showery and confined to about a couple of hours during the middle of the day, with sunshine between the showers. After so much dry and preferring cooler / mixed weather to clear skies and relentless sunshine, I took real pleasure in the lull as I sketched around the harbour.

Dry paths above Salisbury Crag, Edinburgh, 11th May

Bank hols over, normal service resumed, with high pressure setting in yet again, though this time, it was to the north of the British Isles, meaning that the warmest and driest weather was in northern Britain. For much of May, we were in Scotland. Being cool and breezy back home, the warm, generally very sunny weather in Edinburgh caught me out (9-11th May). The soil was at least as dry as it was back home and the grass in Holyrood Park was looking very brown. As I looked down onto the paths above Salisbury Crags, they reminded me of a network of dry rivers in a desert. My 45 litre rucksack was bursting at the seams partly as I was having to carry my layers of clothing rather than wear them. From Edinburgh, I moved on to Stirling (11-13th May). There, I visited the River Forth: Stirling Bridge and the view of the very sinuous river from the Wallace Monument. As noted in 7Squared Goes Forth it was very tidal. On the Friday afternoon, I chanced upon some shortlived tidal turbulence as the flood tide rushed in at Stirling Bridge on the Friday afternoon. While I was at the top of the Monument, though, it was about low tide and the river in the nearer distance shallower than paddling depth, with dry shoals of gravel exposed. Not knowing the area, I couldn't tell how much of this was tidal and how much due to low fluvial flow, but the burns I glimpsed in the Scottish Central Belt all looked fairly low.

The River Forth from Wallace Monument, Stirling.
"Exceptionally Low" in May

Another wet interlude began on 13th May as I left Stirling, meeting up with my Cycling Man for a fortnight in Perthshire, based in a cottage on the northeastern shore of Loch Tay. The weather that fortnight was more mixed, with rain over both weekends - I watched the latter part of the Caledonian Etape in Glen Lyon stood under golfing brolly kindly lent to me by one of the marshals. It was generally, though very warm, especially during the second week. The last two days in the mid-twenties (celcius) and warmer than back home. It felt uncomfortable, and more so than the same temperature would do back home. I put that down to the mountain-glen topography, higher humidity and the notorious midges. The latter weren't as bad as I'd dreaded they might be. Some years / some areas they can be out and biting in mid-May and we both have very sensitive skin. Though we were lucky this time, it felt as if they were on the cusp and when the time came to head home (27th May), there was a real feeling that we were getting out just in time.

The main issue was, in common with so many otherwise comfortable / well designed buildings around the the UK, the cottage wasn't built for comfort in hot weather. All along the main wall, large windows and doors out to the decking, making for great views along Loch Tay. The southwesterly aspect and long light evenings in the north meant that the sun streamed in from 12 noon until it dropped behind the hill at around 7.30pm. Though pulling the curtains cut down the light and the glare, the heat built up in the building, clearly not insulated against the heat. Luckily back home our main room is relatively cool.

Despite all the other stuff going at the time,  the dryness caught the media's notice in mid-May, reflecting farmers' concerns about crop yields about the lack of rainfall and its potential impact on crops, especially cereal crops and the apple harvest. In the printed edition of The Guardian - page 11, 13th May, the poster river here was the upper River Eden at Appleby-in-Westmorland. The photos contrasted its healthy during the Appleby (gypsy / traveller) horse fair in early June 2015 with the trickling flow this spring. When I looked at the river level here (EA - Rivers and Sea Levels), 13th May, it was just 9cm deep (low end normal range 25cm). At Carlisle (Sheepmount) it was down to 0.53m (low normal 0.65m). There was some pick up here after the rain on 13th, 14th May, the level rising about 20cm at both sites, then it quickly dropped again.  Usually, its its notorious floods which make the headlines, but it is a notoriously flashy river with a roller coaster regime, the full flow range being from about 5 - 1700 cumecs (cubic metres per second).

Loch Tay, Kenmore, 17th May

North of the Border in Perthshire, meanwhile, I thought the Loch level at Kenmore (the outflow of Loch Tay) looked low, with tree roots exposed high and dry on the shore - see Perthshire - Loch Tay and Around and the Tay subdued - see The River Tay - Perth and Dunkeld. I wondered if canoeists and white water rafters heading to the Grandtully rapids (below Aberfeldy) might have been disappointed. I wondered how much there would be to see at the Falls of Dochart (the Tay by another name above the head of Loch Tay) at Killin and on the tributaries. The Tummel below the Pitlochry dam certainly looked lower than it had been last year. The Falls of Dochart were probably down to their late summer level, nonetheless, I was pleased that there still seemed to be plenty of water coming over the falls to enjoy and sketch. I also sketched waterfalls above Fortingall in Glen Lyon. The River Garry in the gorge below Killiecrankie looked low but reasonable and there was still water to see at The Soldier's Leap. As we learned at the new Pitlochry dam visitor centre and exploring around the Lawers Dam between Glen Lyon and Loch Tay, the regime throughout the highland River Tay is heavily influenced by hydropower. There is the Loch Tummel scheme above Pitlochry and the Breadalbane scheme in the Loch Tay-Glen Lyon area.

Lawers Dam hydropower reservoir, Perthshire,
26th May

The reservoir above the Lawers Dam was almost empty, though one of the key things with these schemes is the network of aqueducts and pipelines which enable water to be transferred between different catchments, eg from Loch Garry to Loch Ericht. See: 

Pitlochry, Killiecrankie, Hydropower

The Ben Lawers Pass Road

Killin and the Head of Loch Tay

The Met. Office say that it was the second warmest May in the UK in a data series beginning in 1910, the first being May 2011. It was the warmest on record in the Central England Temperature series which began in 1659; and the warmest on record in Wales and Northern Ireland (Met Office, 2nd June). The May rainfall for the England was about average (Met. Office 1981-2010 average). In southern and eastern England it was above average (130% in some areas), mainly falling during the second half of the month, the 17th being particularly wet, apparently. As usual in late spring, though, this was ineffective in recharging aquifers or mitigating the rainfall deficit which has built up since last summer. because of the high rate of evapo-transpiration in warm weather and plant growth at full pelt. In Scotland, monthly rainfall was only 68% of average. In most parts of the UK, the rainfall deficit since last July, was at least 10% at the end of May. Soils dried out in most areas. 

The EA and CEH's river flow maps for index rivers in England and the UK respectively show most rivers running below the norm expected during April and May (record lengths vary at different gauges, but all have data going back at least 40 years).. Particularly in northern and western areas, the hydrographs traced well below the line (long term average) during April and May. Many rivers were down to less than half. Six rivers in northern Britain were ranked as exceptionally low in May (red on the maps): the Tyne at Bywell (just 30% LTA). The other five were north of the border, confirming my impressions on holiday. They Tay was down to 40%; both the Spey and the Forth hit new lows (mean daily flow rates). 18 UK rivers around the UK were notably low (orange), including the Severn (Bewdley, down to 39%), a river in high demand for water abstraction; the Dorset Stour; the Great Stour in Kent; and the Salisbury Avon. The Itchen, a chalkstream was among those ranked below normal. The hydrograph for the Highbrook and Allbrook gauge has traced below the (LTA) line since last October. The more flashy (responsive) rivers in parts in SE England seemed to benefit from the rain later in May, eg the Mole and the Medway.  The river flow map for July 2016 - end May 2017 reflects the rainfall deficit accrued since last summer throughout the UK, with 9 rivers ranked as exceptionally low, including the Spey and the Dart. 19 were notably low including the Severn, the Welsh Dee, the Medway, the Great Stour the English Tyne, the Tay and the Tweed. The Thames was below normal. The Itchen was among only 8 on the map ranked in the normal range (green).

River Mole, The Stepping Stones
beneath Box Hill,
7th June

Rainfall during the first week of June (5th, 6th) brought a temporary pick up in flows on responsive rivers in SE and NW England. The Mole was flowing well when I saw it beneath Box Hill on the 7th, and across the Sussex watershed, the Arun at Pulborough showed a similar rise superimposed on its tidal flow. After running low in May, the Eden at Appleby and Carlisle returned to its normal flow range, though the Sheepmount gauge seems to have been playing up and giving spurious readings lately (EA River and Sea Levels). The Severn (Bewdley) responded more slowly. By mid-June, though, levels were dropping again. My energy and mood seemed to reflect these trends, independently though sympathetically: early June, energised after our Scottish trip; relishing the fast changing skies over Emsworth on the 6th; then dropping again during the second week of June as temperatures rose. 

Looking ahead to the summer during what's so far been a very warm, generally dry year, a trivial point I know compared to most things going on in the wider world, but when talking about hot weather, it would help my flow and wellbeing if weather and news people could acknowledge that hot weather isn't for everyone. I.e, less of the "we are enjoying a heat wave", "the nation is enjoying temperatures in excess of 30 degrees" and "the people have spoken and they like it hot".

Links / References

Met Office News releases / blog:

Dry weather in April

https://blog.metoffice.gov.uk/2017/04/19/early-april-remains-dry-but-some-rain-is-on-the-horizon/

April 2017 UK weather statistics (temperatures, rainfall, sunshine hours) -

http://www.metoffice.gov.uk/news/releases/2017/statistics-for-april-2017

Long term average 1981 - 2010, records from 1910.

Spring 2017 UK Weather Statistics
http://www.metoffice.gov.uk/news/releases/2017/warm-and-dry-may-to-round-off-spring

CEH monthly hydrological summaries for the UK:

CEH National River Flow Archive (gauged flows and hydrographs):

Environment Agency - weekly and monthly Water Situation reports for England and English regions including soil moisture, river flows, groundwater levels, hydrographs at various river gauges and groundwater wells.

Environment Agency - River and Sea levels around England for the past few days: https://flood-warning-information.service.gov.uk/river-and-sea-levels

Ditto Wales

SEPA - ditto Scotland

Eaufrance - monthly summaries for France

Vigicrues - gauged river levels and flows on French rivers

My blogs:

My artwork - http://artywater.blogspot.co.uk/2017/

Spring on the Wey 2017

Friday 7th April -  A stroll along River Wey (Wey Navigation) from Guildford town centre, through Millmead, to St. Catherine’s Lock and as far as the road bridge at Shalford. It was a very warm afternoon, with strong sunshine from a cloudless, anticyclonic sky. The willow trees along the river bank upstream of Millmead were coming into leaf. Everywhere, there was lots of greenery.  This greenery was restful greenery, and much easier on my eyes than the glare off tarmac, concrete surfaces and buildings in this sort of weather. That said, the larger trees alongside the car park facing the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre and Debenhams were pollarded and now looked very bare. Marsh marigolds in water meadows beneath St. Catherine's Hill. Marsh marigolds flowering in the wooded meadow on the SE side of St. Catherine’s Hill. There wasn't, though, much shade in the  open area between St. Catherine’s Hill and the railway bridge upstream, walking south past St. Catherine's Lock. 

A narrowboat called Weyout moored in front of the old lock keeper's cottage just below the railway bridge. 

Back at Mill Mead, sketched in the shade of the willows opposite the busy pub garden on the far side. Reflections in the river. I tried sketching them, though didn’t really have the right materials and I got lost in the detail. Nextdoor to the pub, on my left, a tarted up boathouse painted in white and turquoise green. Two blue canoes stood end on to one side, adding to the reflections.

Nextdoor to this, Guildford Boathouse was now seemingly closed; boarded up; and generally looking in a very sorry state. A tired Hoeseasons sign on the wall facing the canal. I don’t think I’ve been here for a couple of years and before then I hadn’t noticed. I don’t know, then, how long it’s been like this, the past couple of years, perhaps?  At one time, you could do boat trips in narrowboats from here, as in summer 1982, with my cousin over here on holiday. Before then (1970s) I think there were some to Godalming as well (an early primary school assembly in which one of the other classes read out their story of the boat trip they'd taken to the rest of the school assembled in the hall “Steve opened a window, Shaun got wet…”. Much later on (early 1990s) I tried out the rowing boats with Guildford YHA Group, though I wasn’ t very good; or not according to the little boy in the boat with his parents,  “ Dad’s better at this.”, or similar. Until now (past 2-3 years) all the rowing boats were moored just upstream of Millmead Lock. But none today. If it has all been allowed to fold, that’s a big shame. It was busy in the Millmead area this afternoon and in the warm sunshine they could have been popular. All the more at the weekend.

Before heading for the train, a cuppa on Debenhams terrace. A couple of mums on a nearby table mentioned the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre being flooded one year. This probably would have been September 1968, which (despite major flooding in 2000 and winter 2013/14) are probably still the worst floods in the southeast in living memory. I don't think the theatre flooded in winter 2013/14.  In February 2014, I sat in Debenhams cafe looking out to a view of a flood, one of a succession that winter. See my blog notes from that period. Amid amid the prevailing weather now, all that seems a very long time ago. I thought the river now looked a bit low, certainly for this time of year.

My father, out painting at Waverley Abbey today (his peace disturbed at one point by a toy drone) begged to differ. He thought it looked fairly high. After a dry, warm week, I'd have thought that unlikely. I gather they adjust the water downstream of Godalming with sluice gates to keep the Wey and Godalming Navigations topped up, but it looked lower than normal where the Navigation and river ran as one channel (below Millmead Lock). I took some reference photos, including from Debenhams and the Danger sign on the bank just below the footbridge at the foot of the High Street. This sign partially submerged in February 2014. 

The Environment Agency's webpage giving the river level at Guildford read 1.24m, Sunday April 9th, 3.39pm. The EA say this is in the normal range, though it is at the lower end of it (1.10m). Probably, as the French would say, estival, ie more like what would be expected during the summer.

This reflects the largely dried winter - one February's rainfall was up to the long term (1981-2010 UK and regional) average according to the Met.Office. At least in southern England, spring got going with avengence. Now the trees are coming into leaf, it's pretty safe to assume the recharge period for 2016/17 is over. A long hot summer ahead if the synoptic pattern stays anticyclonic.

Warm, dry weather like this in April is not unusual, (eg 2014, 2011 and 2003). The spring of 2014, though came after a much more reassuring recharge season than the one we've just had. That spring was tough on the Mole (next river eastwards), though that has a much more impermeable catchment, its flow dominated by surface run-off, as with the northern rivers and most of those in central and western France. The Wey's flow has a high proportion of its flow derived from rainwater which has percolated through the ground, ie baseflow.  Normally at this time of year,  that should be comfortably topped up for the net evaporative season (April - October). Chalkstreams such as the Itchen and Test are even more baseflow-dominated (upwards of 80%). Dry winters such as the one we've just had aren't so good here. Two or more successive dry winters are worrying. A lucky escape in 2012, when weather changed for the wetter in April. 

I worry, though about a repeat of the largely dry period 1988-92. During this time period, there was intense rainfall and floods during winter 1989 /90 including Burn's Day storm, January 25th 1990. That winter, too was followed by a warm, dry spring, then a hot dry summer. It was the successive dry winters in 1988/89, 1990/91 and 1991/92 that really took the toll on the Wey and the Wessex chalkstreams. People wondered if the Lavant would ever flow again. 

Given growing awareness (though disappointing lack of action) of climate change at that time, I feared this regime becoming the new norm. Since then, part or all of  Britain and western Europe have had a mix of very wet winters (eg 2000/01, 2013/14, 2015/16) and dry ones (1995/96, 1996/97, 2005/06, 2010/11, 2011/12, 2016/17). However, my perception, certainly in southern Britain, has been of generally early, warm, dry springs; later, warmer, drier autumns chopping the winter recharge season from both ends. The rainfall patterns have seemingly reflected blocked synoptic patterns. Prolonged spells of dry weather lasting months on end have been punctuated by a bursts of full-on intense rainfall which invariably leads to flooding (recently and notoriously winter 2015/16 in northern Britain). 

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Among the many varied, vibrant exhibits at this year’s AppArt Exhibition and Sculpture Trail at Priors Field School near Godalming was a handmade book by Alyke Thorpe about her Short Wandering along the River  Wey, several decades of walking along the river with various generations of staffy dogs. A recycled hardback book filled with her photographs of the river and dogs, her embroidery, collage. 

No Business with Flow Business on the River Lavant

It was a showery day when I walked on The Trundle on the South Downs near Chichester on Saturday 4th March. The back half of me, facing into the weather, got soaked as I walked up the hill. The sun came out again as I walked up the hill and dried off. I sketched on the north side of the hill, the brick hut near the masts sheltering me from the chilly westerly wind. As I walked back into the city centre, the sky darkened again as showery clouds rolled in; though the rain held off until I was on my way back home. These showers came with at least a temporary shift to more unsettled weather, with the low pressures taking a more southerly track. Good for rivers whose flows are predominantly dominated by surface run-off after rainfall. For groundwater, and groundwater chalk streams, however, this could be too little too late. Certainly for the Lavant: I found it still dry, but for a few puddles as I walked through East Lavant. There may yet be some flow if and if and when the rainfall during late January and February percolates through the soil into the chalk to raise the water table. If so, it's likely to be meagre and brief: groundwater levels are still well down after the dry winter and the window of opportunity for recharge is now closing. Weeds were beginning to grow in the riverbed. Daffodils were flowering along the bank in Sheepwash Lane, showing spring wasn't waiting. 

According to the monthly hydrological summaries published by the Environment Agency and the Centre for Ecology and Hydrology, groundwater levels in the Compton House and Chilgrove House wells (both near Chichester) were respectively at their 7^th and 13^th lowest levels in 122 and 181 records at the end of January. The level at Chilgrove was lower than it was at the same time in 2012; the last winter no-show of the River Lavant. That came after two successive dry winters. The subsequent pick up and about turn in water fortunes which came with the wet spring was very unusual. To assume it will happen again this year is wishful thinking. This entrry illustrated by photos from East Lavant (4th March), together with subsequent doodles involving daffodils, dipsticks and dowsers.

Readings on Water - Spring (Springs)

Tim Bradford, The Groundwater Diaries, paperback (2003). 

I picked a copy of this up about a year ago in Kims secondhand bookshop, Chichester, though only started reading it at the beginning of this month. I was expecting something fairly straight and conventional about the groundwater under London (in the Chalk, beneath the younger Palaeogene layers of London Clay etc); references to occasional flooding of subways (like the Exhibition Road-South Kensington tube station one) when the water table is high; or something about the lost (buried / banished) rivers such as the Fleet on the lines of Nicholas Barton’s The Lost Rivers of London. The book is indeed about lost, buried rivers, though the take and tone of the book is completely different from what I’d expected – in a good way. The subtitle should have give me a clue, Trials, Tributaries and Tall Stories from beneath the Streets of London. The overall tone is witty and, in places, surreal. Compared to my readings on water earlier this year, it’s light relief for spring (in both senses of the word). There are illustrations on about every other page with the author’s sketches and cartoon drawings. Some of them would have benefited from being bigger, though they were generally sharp, especially considering the lower quality of production (slight yellowing of the paper). I started reading it to read myself to sleep after an evening meeting which went on a bit. Instead, it had the opposite effect, laugh-out-loud. I only stopped when my Literary Man wanted lights-out ahead of his busy day involving meetings dragging on a bit. 

First came the lists of contents and illustrations which intrigued me as to what was to come, and made me laugh: among the illustrations listed: A Danish farmer’s punk crossover; Algae Scum kicks Rupert’s head in; Special Brew Dowsing; and who are The Littlehampton Boys (page 135)? In the first chapter a little known, “third rate” punk album is floated in a Lincolnshire river to placate it after a flood in the early 1980s. Flowing on from this, speculation about the album heading out across the North Sea and sparking off a Danish punk movement. Subsequent mentions of a famous eighteenth century painting; the powers of Special Brew beers / lagers in aiding perception and one-ness with subterranean rivers; Arsenal FC / football in relation to rivers…

As of the first week of March, I’m up to about page 100, in the midst of a pub crawl along the valley of the buried and sewered River Fleet. The Fleet is the largest and most famous of the lost (underground) rivers of London. Others include the Tyburn, the Quaggy, the Effra. It seems from this that there are numerous other smaller ones, too: among the Ching (sounds like a till or  stereotypical 1970’s English bloke's stereotypical picture of the Chinese) and the ostentatiously named Moselle (I thought there was just the one in flowing into the Rhine at Koblenz). In the appendices at the back, a “Highly scientific diagram of flow rates”, the units of measurement , much simplified, ranging from A few puddles to Raging torrent .

The author would have been his early to mid-thirties (as I was) around the time of writing. He admits to being a river obsessive, Come and see my etchings of tributaries of the Tyne. Good to know I have a contemporary kindred spirit out there. He was writing, then, about the London of the 1980s, 1990s and very beginning of the 2000s, so lots has changed since then. The rivers are still buried, though above them, much more building work; the high rises; and of course the 2012 Olympic Park area around the lower reaches of the River Lee.

PS - I’ve just spotted a Wanted poster near the very end, on similar lines to my Lost Lavant posters. We came to these completely independently, albeit via through inevitable idea-flow running along lost rivers.

Readings on Water - Winter

Non-Fiction - Tristan Gooley - How to Read Water (hardback 2016)
Starting from puddles on muddy downland paths to ocean waves. Text supported with some good colour photographs, including some of very familiar stretches of water such as the River Arun. The author lives in West Sussex.

Fiction - Barney Norris - Five Rivers Met on a Wooded Plain

This is set in Salisbury, with five rivers flowing and converging in the area: the Avon, the Nadder, the Wylye, the Bourne and the Ebble. First and foremost, it is not a geographical or hydrological guide to the area. Neither is it an easy going story about five easy going chalk streams. Instead it a confluence of people: five people living in the area whose lives intertwine. Their lives much more turbulent than the courses of the rivers flowing through the area. It is one of the most emotionally intensive books I've read, full of grief, sadness, loss and regret; something I'd been forewarned about by my Literary Man who'd read the book not long after it was published in hardback last year. Being wary, yet curious because it was set in a city we visit regularly, I gave it a try in January. I was almost reduced to tears at times, especially the school boy having to confront the biggest fear I'd had as a teenager and young adult; the army wife dealing with loneliness and depression; and the farmer who couldn't face going back home after everything one particular day in May had thrown at him. Yet, even with all the swirling currents of emotion, it had me hooked. I tend read at bedtime, and usually it's head drooped over the book in a dose after a couple of pages (me, not the book), but not this one. It is powerfully written, with some good river analogies along the way: I liked the one about the "oxbow lake" family. Norris puts across the sense of place well, too, setting the scene in the first chapter, beginning with the formation of the river valleys and Britain as an island. Then a brief history of Salisbury from Wood Henge, Stone Henge, Old Sarum and the present Cathedral with the tallest spire in England (red light at the top for planes). We pass through Market Way, past the library, when parking in the large car park in the city centre, walking towards the square. I've sketched the view from Old Sarum quite a few times now. Beyond the Avon and Nadder between Stratford-sub-Castle and and Hardham, I don't know the rivers very well. This is partly because of the drought of public rights of way along them (and most chalk streams). Salisbury is also a convergence of a number of busy A'roads meaning awkward, tricky crossings when trying to explore the area on foot. As with the people in the story, there's a look at the OS Explorer map (1:25000) shows convergence, together with intertwining of waters. Rivers split into one or more channels to feed mill streams and water meadows. In between intricate networks of water meadows drainage channels, especially along the Avon downstream of the city. This is something I've been completely unaware of at ground level.

Non-Fiction - Rachel Lichtenstein - Estuary - Out from London to the Sea (hardback 2016)
Other than vague memories of crossing the Queen Elizabeth toll bridge enroute to East Anglia and even vaguer memories of visiting a great aunt living near Southend during the 1980s, I know very little of the tidal Thames downstream of the Thames Barrier. This engaged read went some way to filling these gaps in my knowledge. It is illustrated with photographs, though compared to Gooley's book, the quality and clarity is disappointing. Captions would have been helpful too. Thankfully not so for the maps printed on the endpieces, beyond perhaps the seven-squared reader's spectacle upgrade being overdue for reading the small print labeling of the treacherous channels and sandbanks in the outer estuary. Not knowing the area well, I found these essential for pinpointing the locations of the people and places encountered. The book covers the estuary from the Barrier eastwards, also taking in the north Kent coast, the Medway; Foulness and the Blackwater estuary to the north. It all begins with a trip on a Dutch barge out from London in 2011. It had to be cut short, though not before a very unsettling night moored at Southend Pier. The story Lichtenstein told of that reinforced the thoughts I've had along the Thames from time to time of the river being haunted by its very eventful history, especially in London and along its lower reaches.

Flowing on from this read, a move north to the Blackwater estuary for:

Fiction - Sarah Perry - The Essex Serpent (hardback 2016)

Was the serpent real or imagined? Certainly a sense of something creepy and unsettling seeping out of the estuary: an induced hysteria. With everything going on around the time of reading - giving me the general feeling that it wasn't just the winter weather stuck in a blocked pattern but everything everywhere, this atmosphere felt timely. It is set during the late nineteenth century, referring among other things to Mary Anning at Lyme Regis, the 1884 Colchester Earthquake, contemporary medical knowledge.

They say, don't judge a book by the cover. As with Lichtenstein and Norris, I'd had this recommended to me by my Literary Man. The story did not disappoint, though surely the cover with its strong blues and golds would have drawn people in. In January, Waterstones had it displayed prominently on their shelves. The endpieces inside attractively printed, too. It went to show that reading a well produced book is much richer and engaging experience than the equivalent electronic book via a Kindle or similar. I have a Kindle, though now almost exclusively for the OED and foreign language dictionaries here. The downloads don't come with a striking cover and tend to be rubbish for any illustrations.