Adventures of a Lone Bass Player

 
Entry No 1 and other blog highlights: click here

Matchgirl returned from her morning run today the bearer of big news – we have two pine martens. The pair were seen to scamper across the road outside The Rural Retreat.

This might explain why we were visited at 7.30pm yesterday and again at 10pm. We now wait to see if any youngsters will also make the most of the free Nutella that's dolloped on the gate every day.

Bess appears to have entered into a non-aggression pact with the martens. Yesterday, from her vantage point on an upturned plant pot outside the entrance to the Retreat, she watched the first visitor feeding from only feet away.

Either she knows she's outnumbered or the current rodent bonanza leaves her too busy to worry.

My latest trip to Highland Wildlife Park was to partake in a wildlife photography day run by Go Wild Scotland which I shared with a couple from Ayrshire and instructor Arron, all of whom toted flashy Canons.

My Pentax did its best to keep up and produced a few decent images, some of which can be seen on my Flickr site.

The day was another scorcher, particularly at feeding time around the tiger enclosure when mass body heat raised the temperature even higher. The park was packed. I again failed to get any quality tiger cub shots but there was compensation in my first red squirrels, and Amy the baby snow monkey continues to be enticingly photogenic.


The cost of the day included a year's membership of the park, Edinburgh Zoo and a dozen other similar establishments so I'll have no excuse for not returning until I have some satisfactory tiger cubs in the bag. Assuming they've not grown up before I manage it.

Garry, who leaps around the stage as though he was born to be there, is at heart just a shy country boy. That's why he was a quivering heap of nerves before Shaker's gig at The Room – he's unused to playing in the big city that is Inverness.

The Room couldn't fit more than a couple of hundred people at a very tight squeeze, so how he'll cope with appearing before six to seven hundred at his mammoth charity spectacular in Strathpeffer, the Mac Muir Mini Fest, remains to be seen. I suspect that we won't play the Royal Albert Hall any time soon.

Friday night at The Room began busy and hot and remained so throughout the evening. Playing was extremely sweaty work, as testified twice by Matt's flying drumsticks, so it was a shame that I'd forgotten to bring a towel. Fortunately Matt's rag of a towel was big enough for two so he tore it in half, forgetting it belonged to girlfriend Toni. She was not impressed.

I had no nerves at all – not until I made a hash of the opening number, When You Were Young, something we've played without trouble many times before. The rest of the first set was not one of my better performances but I settled eventually. I blame the unfamiliarity of using the Tokai to gig; the Fender is still indisposed.

We cooled off between sets (we played three) outside the entrance where we were able to observe the crimes against fashion committed by the sophisticated female citizens of Inverness. Shorts and stilettoes?

The Room is notorious for emptying before midnight but come the witching hour we still had a decent-sized audience. The management, impressed by the feedback from its punters, was desperate to give us more gigs. Several dates were offered but none coincided with Jim's spells home from the high seas. Such is life.

Good job we're not in it for the money. My share of the spoils was enough to fill Señor Seat's tank on the way back to The Rural Retreat, which I reached at 2.30am, dawn just beyond the horizon. I was in bed by three and up again at seven to prepare for my photo day at Highland Wildlife Park. I must be mad.

The air of gloom which pervades the Great Northern Media Empire has deepened in the past week or two. No-one else has been given the boot by The Chief Gnome, but the dwindling staff has learned that several escaped employees will not be replaced.

Which made today all the sweeter, for rather than a day spent chained to a desk at GNoME HQ I enjoyed a sunshine morning amidst the scenic glories of Sutherland where I visited Glenrossal Estate in Glen Cassley.

But this wasn't a jaunt; this was work: I have the task of creating a shiny new website to promote the estate's two holiday cottages, in consequence of which Matchgirl and I may soon spend a complementary weekend in one of them. It's a tough job but someone's got to do it.


And later this month I'll get my first view of Shetland when Matchgirl returns to pursue her business amongst its inhabitants. For this I'll pay my own way, which is a pity because a flight across the Atlantic costs little more than FlyBe charges for the ninety-minute hop to Sumburgh.

However, the trip should be worth the outlay, especially if I can capture some puffins in the Pentax.

Musical Update: Tonight (fingers crossed) Shaker play at The Room in Inverness. Don't expect a quick report because my late night is to be followed by an early morning return to the Highland Wildlife Park for a photography day. I'm expecting around five hours' sleep. You've got to suffer for your art.

This morning I discovered that one can get too close to wildlife.

Just a few minutes from The Rural Retreat is a stretch of road I drive, or ride, most mornings. Today was no exception. What was exceptional was the deer that darted out of trees in front of Señor Seat.

Even at a modest 45mph I didn't even have time to brake. The deer missed me (or I missed him) by only a few feet. This was particularly unexpected as I'd never seen one before on that road, although Matchgirl has, I learned later.

Deer stalking in the woods, armed with a long-range Pentax, may soon become a new pastime.


Matchgirl, I'm pleased to report, has at last seen our resident pine marten who visited last night after 11pm, and again tonight at 10.30. Both occasions were too dark for photographs, which was most frustrating, but to watch an elusive wild creature leap around our rustic five-bar gate then lope across the lawn remains a treat.

Less than two weeks into summer and Bess has become a twenty-four-hour killing machine.

Matchgirl’s slumber is interrupted even more than usual by victorious and insistent yowls (I seem to sleep through the excitement) and no small creature is safe in the garden. A mouse, a shrew and a fledgling were today’s victims that we know about; how many more were consumed in private or abandoned in the bushes we can only guess.

So it’s no surprise that the pine marten didn’t appear at all last night and that tonight he was in and out of the garden so quickly he was seen by neither beast nor human. The absence of Nutella was the only indication of his passing.

Anything that ventures into the grounds of The Rural Retreat at present takes its life in its hands. Or paws.

A weekend in the Yorkshire Dales has confirmed what I already know – there’s no better scenery or roads anywhere in England. Whether the Dales is superior to Scotland’s North-West Highlands is a tricky one. The Highlands is higher, lonelier and on a much bigger scale; the Dales is more man-made, peppered with ruggedly picturesque villages and criss-crossed with stone walls. Take your pick.

The Pentax came along for the ride but was hardly used – bike club runs and DSLR cameras don’t go together too well – so I’ve delved into my archive for illustration.


One thing the Dales and Highlands now have in common is the pesky midge. This was a bit of a surprise, for I don’t remember them in the Dales a few years ago. Maybe I was just lucky.

We stayed at the Green Dragon at Hardraw, near Hawes, in a room that boasted what looked like an original 1970s avocado bathroom suite. The renovations and rebuilding that’s going on in and around the pub are long overdue, but it’s a place full of character and decent beer – worth a visit, especially for the hayfields smothered with wildflowers that can be seen just up the road.

Our route home was through some more superb scenery, up the A6 from Kendal to Carlisle (why use the motorway when there’s an uncluttered alternative with the added bonus of sheep being shepherded across the main road at Shap), then up the old A74, now reclassified as various B roads, from Gretna to south of Glasgow. After the Erskine Bridge the A82 took us north via Loch Lomond, Crianlarich, Glencoe, Fort William (there’s always a down side) and Drumnadrochit. All great bike roads.

Kawasaki San enjoyed the trip too, although his cornering was hindered by a rear tyre that will soon need to be replaced. And the new speedo cable didn’t work, so his mileometer has yet to reach 100,000 miles.

Pine Marten Update: Matchgirl has still not seen our visitor despite staying up past her bedtime tonight. He’s either playing hard to get or is sulking that the only Nutella he got at the weekend was the dollop he didn’t eat on Thursday night. That was gone when we returned today.

Perhaps I was over-optimistic to think we’d see him every night, and in photographable light too. The watch will continue.

Just when I’d begun to think that luring and photographing wildlife was easy, the pine marten proved me wrong by failing to turn up last night. This morning his Nutella was still on the gate, untouched.

There could be several explanations for this:

• He’s grown bored with easy Nutella and has gone in search of jam or peanut butter
• He is actually a she who’s just given birth (it’s the right time of year)
• A natural wildlife drama has disrupted his routine
• Bess has tracked him down to his den and shown him who’s boss in The Rural Retreat garden

I like to think the reason is number two, and that in a while we’ll be visited by mummy marten and two kits (baby pine martens, that is) but the most likely explanation is number three.

Whatever, investigation will have to wait until after the weekend, for Matchgirl and I will shortly climb aboard Kawasaki San and head towards the Yorkshire Dales where we’re more likely to see a ferret that a pine marten.

Perhaps a few days without free food will make our visitor appreciate us a little more.

A battle of wits is developing between The Rural Retreat's wild visitor and the domestic residents. My money's on the pine marten.

Matchgirl spent the evening loitering near the living room window in the hope of seeing the Nutella-fiend for the first time, but he was conspicuous by his absence. This may have had something to do with Bess, who's spending increasing amounts of time lurking in the garden where she pretends to have no interest in the gate.

When I returned from rehearsal, well after 10pm, the Nutella remained untouched and the light was failing. I consoled Matchgirl by showing her unpublished photos of martens, monkeys and tiger cubs. Meanwhile, Bess mooched around, sometimes indoors, sometimes outdoors. The cheeky invader has left her rather unsettled.

Night had fallen by the time the photo show ended; Bess was once again indoors. As it was too dark to see the gate clearly I stepped outside to make an examination. The Nutella was gone.

In an impressive display of stealth, the marten had eaten his snack without alerting the feline sentry or being seen by Matchgirl.

We'll attempt another sighting tomorrow, for that will be Matchgirl's last opportunity to admire the marten before we spend a long biking weekend in Yorkshire. How Bess will fare in our absence, teased and taunted by a more agile and much sharper-witted adversary, only time will tell.

Band Update: Progress was made on three new songs, at least one of which will be ready for our debut at The Room a week on Saturday. My Tokai again substituted for the Fender as Mr Guitar-Fixer was unavailable for repair duties.

Adam has offered to do the work, although handing over my prized instrument to him might be risky. General opinion seems to be that the Tokai sounds better, so this may be a ruse to sabotage the Fender beyond repair. Only time will tell.

The pine marten returned today, even later than last night. The scent of Nutella is obviously too tempting to ignore.

Bess, who earlier had sniffed around the gate with great suspicion, again stood sentry duty. She was still outside after 10pm, when the marten came in search of sustenance, so she was either asleep at her post or had sneaked off for a crafty fag.

The marten enjoyed his tidbits, clambered around the gate to make sure there was nothing he'd missed, loped across the lawn in case there was more on the apple tree (there wasn't), then disappeared into the garden's wild edges. That's four consecutive nights he's dropped in – I think we can now count on him as a regular visitor.

Tomorrow will be Matchgirl's first opportunity to admire our guest, which she'll have to do in my absence for I'll be out rocking the rehearsal hall with Shaker. Ask nicely and she might use her camera to record some video, light permitting.


One lesson I learned today was to turn off the living room light. Because of the shadows it threw, which I didn't notice at the time, tonight I produced only one halfway decent photo. Even that was too grainy, but under the circumstances I've relaxed my quality control. When the novelty of our visitor has worn off I'll be more ruthless about what images are allowed past the delete button.

Bess is suspicious. The sweet treat for our recent visitor was put out around 5.30pm, at which point the mistrustful moggy decided that what she really wanted was to relax in the middle of the lawn. Her eyes were half-closed, but as she happened to face the gate on which the passing pine marten had enjoyed his free snack during the last two evenings she fooled no-one.

There was a break for food and water after an hour, then she sidled outside again – if cats could whistle nonchalantly she would have done so – and resumed guard duty for another ninety minutes.

Coincidence or not, the pine marten didn't drop by tonight. This may have been fortunate for Bess – martens are notoriously rough fighters, unlike our cowardly cat who prefers much smaller prey.

So the only photo opportunity I had was provided by a robin. Bess, who knew she had no chance of taking the bird by surprise, pretended not to see it.


Earlier in the day I attempted to appease the rain gods by buying new waterproof trousers and overboots ahead of the Yorkshire Dales bike trip that Matchgirl and I have planned. Such purchases should guarantee sun all weekend.

Late Update: The pine marten did visit after all. A check of the gate after I'd finished blogging revealed no trace of Nutella. Either our caller was delayed while making his rounds or he varies his timetable to confuse territorial cats.

The Rural Retreat's visiting pine marten returned tonight, tempted by more free Nutella. Isn't he a beauty? (Or she, if there are any experts reading who know the difference.)

Although his snack was put out at 7.30pm he's already established a routine that brings him here after nine, which is a nuisance as far as light levels are concerned. I had to shoot at 3200 ISO to get a decent shutter speed and that's made the result a bit grainy.


Never mind. I'll be waiting again tomorrow. If I put the Nutella out around 5pm he might pay a call while there's still good light.


Matchgirl Update: The traveller is enjoying her walking weekend in Shetland where the weather, it seems, is again glorious and the island an idyll. Happy days.

Matchgirl will be jealous – I’ve at last seen the pine marten that Soo and Tony spotted on the limbless apple tree while we sunned ourselves in Namibia.

I made my first sighting yesterday evening during a visit to Mr and Mrs Snapper’s house. The marten scampered across the top of their wheeliebin, beneath their car and in and out of their garage in his hunt for food. Nothing was to be had so he didn’t stay long, but conversation naturally turned towards the animal’s culinary preferences.

The answer, it seems, is Nutella.

Martens have a sweet tooth, I was told, and chocolate hazelnut spread is their idea of heaven. Put some out and you’ll see, Mrs Snapper assured me.

So tonight I pulled the gate far enough around for me to keep an eye on it from the comfort of the sofa, spread a generous helping of Nutella along its top bar, then sat back and waited. Within an hour the confectionery-crazed creature had followed the scent to its source. Fantastic.

After licking the gate clean he ran up the apple tree, where Soo and Tony had left peanut butter during their residence, then down again, disappointed. The loss of a few of the tree’s buds was worth the sighting.

He’s a beautiful animal: rich red-brown fur with a cream bib and ear tufts, agile, inquisitive and a pleasure to watch. I have a few photos but nothing I wish to put before the public because they’re too blurry. The camera tripod is now in place. I’ll try again tomorrow and use the highest ISO setting to counteract the failing light at dusk. Fingers crossed.

Matchgirl has gone. I’ve been abandoned so she can spend a weekend hanging out with the Vikings before she gets down to real business in Lerwick on Monday. She won’t return until Wednesday – the greatest length of time we’ll have been apart since the fateful day almost two years ago when we met in Borders’ coffee shop and life changed forever. Coping will be difficult.

I consoled myself today with a jaunt to the Highland Wildlife Park in search of tigers, and found them. Sasha and Yuri are now the proud parents of three five-week-old unnamed cubs: one male, one female, and one unidentified. So far they’ve not been touched by human hand. That will change at nine weeks when the trio receives its inoculations and a thorough health check. Heavy-duty gloves will be required.


The Pentax was put through its paces but my photographic skill was hampered by wildlife-lovers who insisted on getting in the way and the necessity to snap the teeny tigers through a glass window in their den. Getting photos without the reflections of onlookers was difficult, and despite all my practice in Namibia I’ve still not mastered the art of keeping the 300mm lens still, as some rather soft-focus results testify.

The snow monkeys (and a bonus red panda) were a big consolation, particularly two-month-old Amy, the only baby in the troop (if troop is the correct collective noun). Choosing which photos to keep wasn’t easy as every individual has a face filled with character. Click on the slideshow and you’ll see what I mean.

I was so inspired that I’ve signed up for a photographers’ day out at the beginning of July at which I’ll be able to hone my wildlife photography skills. Perhaps someone will teach me how to keep the lens still.

We are cursed. The band, that is. No other explanation is possible.

Last week we lost several gigs because Jim’s offshore rota changed. The managements involved were willing to give us new dates but could offer none that coincided with our availability. Such is life. We’ll get the call if there are cancellations to be filled.

However, we had a bird in the hand – an owl, in fact: The Winking Owl at Aviemore where we were to play on Saturday. Were to play. Today we were informed that a water leak had contributed to a collapsed roof at the pub which is now closed for repairs. So the gig is off.

On top of that, my trusty (but aged) Fender Precision has ceased to function, probably because of an internal wiring failure, so Mr Guitar-Fixer will soon be called upon to render aid. My Tokai Jazz fretless filled the gap at tonight’s rehearsal, and did so well. I should play him more often.

In a little over two weeks we’re scheduled to perform at The Room in Inverness. I’ll believe it when it happens.

The three tiger cubs born at Highland Wildlife Park made their public debut today, which was rather frustrating as I was chained to a desk inside the gloomy headquarters of the Great Northern Media Empire. I plan to visit the park on Friday, armed with the Pentax, in a bid to capture some award-winning photos, or at least some cute and cuddly ones.

Matchgirl will be unable to accompany me, much to her disappointment, for first thing on Friday she makes her carbon footprint a little larger when she returns to Shetland. She enjoyed her visit there last month so much that this time she’s incorporated a holiday weekend into her schedule. Rotten timing.

I’d hoped to fly with her but as Shaker are live on stage in Aviemore on Saturday I’ll have to stay home. First sight of the cubs will be my consolation prize.

My best photo will doubtless appear here in the fullness of time. Until then, here’s some video courtesy of the BBC.

Matchgirl's renewed interest in gardening has survived into a second day.

A trip to the cinema this afternoon gave us the opportunity for a stroll through the flora on offer at the back of the big Homebase store in Inverness Retail Park. Much was found that may be suitable for the proposed but so far unplanned wildlife garden in the grounds of The Rural Retreat.

Planning may never take place. Matchgirl's ultimate idea of gardening is to hire a man and let him get on with it; mine is to plant clumps of varied herbage in various places then wait to see what survives and thrives.

Digging and watering is not Matchgirl's idea of fun. The most animation she showed while window-shopping was when we found an aisle filled with power tools and heavy-duty pruning implements. A petrol-powered strimmer will sooner or later take up residence in the outhouse.

The film we saw, by the way, was the latest Dan Brown blockbuster, Angels and Demons. Very silly, very predictable, but very entertaining.

Señor Seat returned from the car doctor on Friday restored to full health, so today Matchgirl and I took him for a short jaunt up the A9 to glamorous Golspie where we peeked behind the dove-grey walls of Dunrobin Castle, home of the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland.

The castle's interior is worth seeing but the real attraction is the colourful formal garden – Matchgirl made notes as we perambulated for she still has big ideas regarding The Rural Retreat's broad acres. A further attraction is the twice-daily falconry display which today featured a saker falcon, a barn owl and a golden eagle. More birds could be seen lined up on their perches.


I went armed with the Pentax, of course, but returned with a disappointing set of snaps. I was too slow to capture birds on the wing, while mighty hawks tethered to blocks of wood make poor pictures. However, I managed to salvage a couple of shots from the junk.

If this was the old days I'd have used more than two rolls of film to get these. Isn't digital photography a boon?

The Rural Retreat’s feline resident is making the most of the long days, which can mean early mornings for Matchgirl and me.

In the winter, Bess is usually to be found close to a radiator or curled up in one of her baskets, unwilling to move even at mealtimes. Matchgirl, who should know better, has been known to take the food dish to her basket so the pampered puss doesn’t have to move too far to reach nourishment.

Summer days are different. The frisky feline is up and about at the crack of dawn (before four) and eager for food. If we’re not awake already she stands at the top of the stairs, bellows loudly, and stares down the stairs where she knows the food should be. Sometimes we can ignore her; sometimes we give in to get some peace.

Once fed, she disappears into the garden without a word of thanks. That’s often the last we’ll see of her for the day apart from occasional reappearances to demand more sustenance. Where she goes, and what she does, is part of the mystery of cats, although the odd savaged rodent corpse left on the lawn offers a partial clue.

There may also be sightings of the sun-worshipper on her back, squirming in cat ecstasy in the warm grass. What a life.

But today is rainy. The comfy cat mat at the top of the stairs is being put to good use before its occupant descends, sits by her dish and looks pointedly at the catering staff. Afterwards, if there’s no improvement in the weather, she’ll return to her mat.

Lots of energy is being stored. Tomorrow we may be awakened at three o’clock. I can hardly wait.

It's been a while. Shaker returned to Mulbuie Hall tonight for rehearsal. The lack of practice showed in places but we're pros (well, semi-pros) and pressed on regardless. In ten days we make our Aviemore debut at The Winking Owl so improved proficiency would not go amiss.

Things sounded better towards the end and we even got the latest song to sound halfway decent. Not a Killers track this time – Everlong by Foo Fighters, which left the rhythm section gasping for breath after the umpteenth repetition.

When we emerged from the hall at 10pm it was still light outside. It must be summer. Long may it continue.

At last – Shaker has a gig at hot and happening Inverness music venue The Room.

Regular readers will remember that our planned debut there, many months ago, was scratched at the last minute – almost literally – when Garry developed a throat problem the night before. Since then the very forgiving management has offered us several short-notice gigs, none of which we've been able to take.

But perseverance has paid off. One band's cancellation has become our opportunity, on Friday July 3. Ace guitarist and North Sea roughneck Jim has confirmed that his new rota means he'll be onshore that weekend and ready to rock.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that his new rota means most of our forthcoming gigs will have to be rearranged. Life can be difficult. Fortunately the various managements were warned that this might happen and all were prepared to reschedule our dates.

As for The Room, fingers are now crossed that nothing goes wrong and the gig itself is worth the wait. The venue, which closes at 1am, is notorious for emptying rapidly just before the midnight curfew when drink-desperate punters head for the pubs that stay open until 2am.

Maybe our block-rocking beats will keep the punters so enthralled that they won't notice the time. Or maybe not. Time will tell.

I've spent time recently in a beauty salon and a care home. I was surprised too.

Another career change isn't on the cards – my visits were brought about by pursuit of the alternative income stream I wish to develop in case the Great Northern Media Empire decides that my services as a part-time freelance sub-editor are a luxury it can do without.

Glow Beauty Therapy and Maple Ridge Care Home are now both happy owners of small but perfectly formed websites created for them by Bassman IT Services (BITS). Take a look and boost their sites' visitor numbers.

If you or a business near you needs a helping hand I'm only an email away. And my prices are very competitive.

We didn't need to travel all the way to Namibia to see zebras and meerkats – just a few miles from The Rural Retreat they can be found at the Black Isle Wildlife Park.

Forget lions and cheetahs, though – the park aims at the Cbeebies demographic so bunnies and chicks feature heavily, plus ducks, llamas and other cuddly creatures. However, it's still an entertaining morning out, especially around the raccoons' pen. They're worth the entrance fee alone.

The only down side for photographers is the amount of wire mesh that encloses some of the pens. Good job the peacocks roam free.


The Stables exhibition ended today. Little more seemed to have been sold, including my trio of contributions. Such is life. The photos now languish in a corner of the Retreat but I've a few other places in mind for possible sales. I've not given up yet.

Work and other commitments have kept Matchgirl and me from viewing the artistic excellence on show at The Stables in Cromarty, but yesterday we finally found time to visit and confirm that my three Namibia photographs were displayed with due reverence.

The bad news was that their last-minute inclusion was made obvious by two of them being placed on windowsills where exposure to sunlight had caused the mounts to warp a little; the worse news was that none of them bore the little red dot that signifies a completed sale. My dreams of overnight success as a wildlife photographer have taken a severe jolt.

I will not be the only disappointed exhibitor; of around two hundred items of art, photography, ceramics and sculpture on show only five had been sold.

There may be several explanations for this: the credit crunch; lack of art appreciation in Ross and Cromarty; thrifty connoisseurs hoping for a bargain on the final day of the exhibition. Or it may just be that many of the contributions are over-priced junk. I saw little I'd wish to grace the walls of The Rural Retreat, but maybe my inability to enjoy a shapeless green splodge or a wishy-washy headless nude proves I'm a hopeless Philistine.

The exhibition ends tomorrow so there's still time for art lovers bearing gold credit cards and open cheque books to descend in droves. However, I suspect that the cheetah, the pelican and the lilac-breasted roller (a bird, not an avant garde nude) will end up on display in the Retreat.

Transport Update: Kawasaki San has continued to behave himself, even yesterday when exposed to some severe showers when ridden to business appointments. He was pressed into service because Señor Seat has developed a severe limp as a consequence of a failing wheel bearing. Machines – there's always something.