Duck...duck...GOOSE!

It is not without shame that I log into my poor neglected travel blog. If I recall correctly, my last entry had Eddy and I waving goodbye to Mum and Dad in the hotel car park in York. Since then, I've written nothing, leaving the events of May, June, July and August as foggy as Fort William in February.

So, tucked up in a cafe in Lygon Street, Melbourne, with my lap top and a latte, this backpacker turned yuppie is going to attempt to make amends.

May
The last day of April found Eddy and I motoring up the A1. The Almera's engine hummed serenely as we lapped up the Northumberland scenery. Around lunch time, we came to the town of Alnwick, famous for its castle and also for its proximity to Lindisfarne, the Holy Isle. We grabbed some picnic supplies from a supermarket and headed to the castle, saw the entrance fees, and headed to the river instead. There was a public footpath sign (I miss them so much!) and we headed out across a paddock with fantastic views back across at the castle and the lawn where in 1427, Harry Potter first got on a broomstick. Fascinating, the history of these places...

We were heading back up to Scotland to the Lazy Duck hostel to begin our month there as volunteers. In addition to the 8-bed hostel, there were 4 camping pitches, two caravans and Valery and David's house.

Our home for the month was a vintage classic touring caravan; a lovingly hand made, home away from home for two, complete with twin beds, a tiny gas cooker and a radio. Eddy and I unpacked the contents of our packs and found a space for everything in the ingenious little cupboards and hideaways that were incorporated into the design. We discovered we had wi-fi internet and an efficient little gas heater. All that we were really missing was indoor plumbing.

When we stayed as guests in the hostel with Mum and Dad, we used the little bathroom there, but as caravan residents at the Lazy Duck, we were given the privilege of using the bush shower, the most scenic showering experience in the world. Basically, you filled up a large bag with hot water at the house and then hoisted it up in a little open topped wooden shelter looking out over the forest. Needless to say, on cold windy days (of which there were many) washing seemed less of a priority than it had before.

In addition to cleaning the hostel and gardening, we took on the role of duck herders, letting the birds out in the morning and then gathering them back in at sunset.

It was soon discovered that Eddy was something of a goose whisperer- fearless in the face of their charge and nimble with the shepherd crook that formed his only defence against their strong jaws. It quickly became my job to gather the eggs from the rather more obliging hens next door while Eddy had his standoffs with the geese. Then, with the chickens safely in their coop, the geese in their house, we would gather in the ducks together.

Being a duck herder was a little like being a school teacher. We got to know which ducks were coupled up, who was the cheeky one, who was always hungry and the favourite hiding spots of those reluctant to come in. As the month progressed, they started to nest and we had to be mindful to let the females out again after they had eaten so they could return to their nesting boxes.

The seniors of the duck class were the Old Aylesbury Table Ducks. Once considered fine eating, they are now very rare due to their forgetfulness when it comes to sitting on eggs. Because of this, David and Valery breed them in an incubator and we were lucky enough to see a fluffy, yellow Aylesbury chick hatch while we were there.

When we weren't at the hostel, we were out exploring the Cairngorms We circumnavigated every loch in the area, climbed Mt Cairngorm (our first Munro!) and braved the boulders of the Chaleman Pass. We came across Britain's only herd of reindeer and had many meetings with light-footed red squirrels.

Valery owned a beautiful old piano and I went up to the house one night to play through some duets with her. I hadn't touched a piano in over a year and to play one with such a beautiful tone was addictive. At Chase the Wild Goose, a guitar was often passed around so people could share a song that they knew, but unable to play, I felt like a fraud of a musician. Occasionally throughout our travels I would get out my horn, but without constant practise, my lip muscles deteriorated making it difficult and frustrating to play.

Playing Valery's piano was different. It didn't matter that I hadn't played in a year, my fingers knew what to do, my ear guided them and something inside me did a leap of joy that I was finally able to pour out some of the music that had been trapped inside me since we started travelling.

Valery organised for me to play at Ord Ban, a lovely restaurant run by her daughter and son-in-law, which had a small piano in the corner. They didn't want me to play anything in particular, just improvise. So, in our last few days in Scotland, Eddy and I were given complimentary meals at the restaurant in return for me pounding at the piano, trying to express everything we'd experienced in the last fourteen months and feeling for the first time since I'd arrived in the UK, like a musician again.