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Ullapool is a picturesque fishing village nestled on the shores of Loch Broom, set against a backdrop of some of the best hills and mountains the Northwest Highlands has to offer. Beautiful, rugged and remote, the town makes a great base for exploring the surrounding countryside by foot, road or sea.

Driving in from Inverness on an (initially) sunny day, the road sweeps through the stunning scenery and you are immediately struck by how vast your surroundings are. The notoriously fickle Scottish weather changes from sun to mist to rain within minutes; the mist resting on the hills and mountains then sun bursting through, the landscapes constantly changing colours and atmosphere.

Ullapool is striking as it appears, a homogeneous collection of small white buildings appearing beside the rugged, hulking mountains and serene sea loch. A small fishing village of roughly 1500, Ullapool’s architectural regularity dates back hundreds of years from the original designs of Thomas Telford. Just outside of the village the historical remnants go back further still, with abandoned forts, crofts and farm lands harking back as far as the iron age scattered around the coast.

The surrounding area is a hiker’s haven, with a multitude of walks of varying difficulty in every direction. Some of Scotland’s greatest peaks are well within reach with Stac Pollaidh, Cul Mor, Cul Beag and the world famous Suilven all less than an hour away. The highlands of Scotland offer limitless opportunities to watch wildlife and enjoy nature; the hills and glens are home to many varieties of deer, while the skies are patrolled by birds of prey such as golden eagles and peregrine falcons.

Sightseeing is not just limited to land with boat trips to the Summer Isles (or further on to Stornoway in the Western Isles) proving to be very popular. The sea is similarly thriving with wildlife rarely spotted in other parts of the UK: we shared our boat trip with seals, dolphins and a pair of white-tailed eagles which are starting to flourish after being re-introduced to the region.

Ullapool is perfectly placed to explore the Northwest Highlands with an abundance of adventures on your doorstep; walk, hike, sail, reflect and relax in the middle of the most beautiful and stunning surroundings.

I would recommend:

• Corrieshalloch Gorge National Nature Reserve
• A small gallery and coffee shop just outside Ullapool Lael Craft Gallery
• Lunch at the cafe above the shop in the centre of the village Cafe Margot
• A trip to The Candle Shop, a social enterprise

Written by Kirstin Furber

Contributors Peter Keble

Technicolour gang glistening in supra-nebula sun. James Sainty (Vertiginous Viking), Freddie Haines (Clark Kent), Johnnie Kerr (Lounge Lizard), Robbie Parry (Hirsute Giant), Bart Miller (Eater of Trees), Mundy Miller (Minister of Chaos), Tom Miller (Big Pappy). Credit - the author.

Macedonia! Or more accurately (and indeed contentiously) The Republic of North Macedonia. Not home to Alexander the Great, not this iteration at least. Many would claim him for their own and who could blame them, but I'm afraid if one modern nation alone has the right to so do, it is Greece. Any further disputes we can leave to the academic fold, but this piece wants to tell you all of the majesty of North Macedonian skiing, the kindness and idiosyncrasies of its people, and the striking scrumptiousness of its culinary offerings. 

You end up skiing in a place like this by unlinear means. Those for me consisted of an alluring photograph in a weekend magazine followed by one curious phone call hotly pursued by another. Good on the FT Weekend Mag for sending a crew to Bakhmaro, Georgia, in search of light, fluffy tracks in a skimesne of which few but the most adventurous of freeriders will have heard. Sufficient the shot was to sequester the courage to call the operator behind the powderous project, Powder Project itself. Georgia being all but fully booked for the season, passed on I was to an enterprising Austrian who arranges Cat Skiing ventures at comparatively-affordable prices in what might be termed 'exotic locations' and these extend beyond Macedonia to Albania, Kosovo, Montenegro, Tajikistan, and Kyrgystan (which is an especially-lovely place to cross on horseback, for those so inclined). Our motley crew of semi-fit triathletes and Arctic walkers, accompanied by a singular lounge lizard (a moniker he is struggling to live down), mad-keen and reasonably-compotent skiers all, were greeted by a hirsute mountaineer by the name of Metodis, (nomenclaturally not of Slavic (as per the parent language in the Balkans) but rather Greek origin and from which English derives 'method' and 'skill') our guide for the week in this supra-nebula domain whose dominating adornment is named, with something approximating genuine affection, Tito's Peak, from which the summits of Montenegro, Kosovo, and Albania are all visible. As a slight herring, colouring optional, the dictator had as his right-hand man one of ours, an ex-special-forces commando cum 'black-ops' diplomat cum unhinged and remarkable individual, quite possibly Ian Fleming's inspiration for James Bond, by the name of Sir Fitzroy Hew Royle Maclean. To pickle a second herring, the author encountered an excerpt of a letter from Tito to Stalin in which the former informs the man of steel that he knows of all five Soviet agents sent to Belgrade to assasinate him. He asks kindly that the flow of sharpshooters be stemmed lest he be forced to send but one of his own.

The author taking a direct hit on the move. Credit - Pole-Cam.

A lot of the resort, Popova Shapka, doesn't just feel dilapidated, it is. Half sunken rooves and buildings abadoned mid-development both hallmarks of a region in decline since the fall of the Yugoslav superstructure. The name means 'the priest's hat' and the legend goes that this was all that remained of one such journeying individual whose fate, dinner time for wolves, quick-snow, or spiriting away, remains a mystery. Once this resort had been, to be so crude, the Klosters of the Balkans, an assuredly-glamorous destination. The church remains in tact and looks magnificent still, but the gondola has long since not run and the remaining chair lifts require the most clement of conditions to permit their passage. The best building to remain, church aside, is the Hotel Scardus (our hotel, thankfully) which comes with a spa of sorts, a well-stocked bar and terrific kitchen (I cannot emphasise that enough) serving a charming restaurant whose only fault is the Turkish soap opera (dubbed into Albanian) beemed each evening to the bemusement of the tables. The couples in the show seemed to be having a really dreadful time of it too. Something we couldn't quite fathom was the almost constant presence of a perma-puffing (you can still smoke inside here and everyone does) policeman in the hotel lobby until the charming owner told me in rather cryptic German (to be explained shortly) that 'better to stay on their good side'.

Early-morning homage to the splendid church at Popova Shapka, out-of-service gondola bubble front left. Credit - the author.

To explain the conversing in a mutually non-maternal tongue, German is the prevailing second language of the elder generation, many of whom worked, studied, and indeed settled there. Essat, one of the waiters in Scardus, explained that he had worked a variety of hospitality jobs in Berlin in his late teens and early twenties, but had not come by citizenship owing to moving as an 'adult' (he missed the 'child' threshold by a single year) and not marrying a German. Another man, a professor of Ecology called Memehti, with whom I happened to feed a stray pup (the place is replete with abandoned dogs, most of whom very friendly and not too smelly) had completed his PHD in West Germany before returning home to teach.

Charming stray pup getting some well-earned nibbles outside the Ecology Institute of Popova Shapka. Credit - the author. 

Cat skiing.. what is it? Take a piste basher (effectively an articulated snow tank) and slap a tireless minibus on the back. Its bladed tracks (each blade costs a cool 200 Euros) blast a path up mountain ridges on not too vertiginous a gradient (for anything steeper, skins on skis or skis on shoulders) which lead to bowls, glades, and couloirs galore, barely a soul to be seen.

The bladed beast itself. Credit - the author. 

Could you expect anything out of the ordinary from the skies? Not really, but as with everywhere else these days temperature fluctuations prevail and for skiers and mountaineers, this means ever-more unpredictable and indeed dangerous conditions, namely heavier and thus shifting snows. The internet is awash with videos of this season's avalanches, in which not a small number have tragically perished, and irresponsible choice of skiing lines aside it is these volatile temperatures that make it that bit easier for snow banks to slide and ledges to fall. What did this mean for us? One day we could practically have skied in nothing but a t-shirt, skis sinking in sticky snow, and the very next, skis clattering over sheet-ice ruts and rivets, faces bitten by a blizzard so strong it blew wraparound sunglasses off my face (alas never to be seen again) which had even been reinforced about the nose with blu-tac. The heavy snow did have its benefits however... Having but moments previously lectured one of my companions on the danger of leaning too far forward in such dense, sticky snow, I managed to clatter into a snow drift and double somersault clean out of my skis which were lost somewhere in the drift for a good quarter hour, to the rapturous amusement of the companion in question. Revenge is a dish best served a certain temperature and at the climax of the day's final run, with a deft sleight and delicate misdirection, I was able to deliver said friend to the exact same fate, though I did get a telling-off from his wife.

Revenge shot - and moments later, struck in the nethers with a snowball he was. Credit - the author. 

Powder rolls... for anyone as yet unaquainted: find a slope with some nice fluffy snow, ski downwards (if that needs saying), and perform a tumble roll, ideally without losing a ski (unlike one of our gang who was obliged to navigate a good 400 metres worth of moguled slope on just the one peg) and confirm place within group as jester-in-chief. This artform translates to any alpine abode, or even the hillock in the local park, but in a place such as this with powder, thanks to the range's proximity to the Adriatic, so dry (salt content), light, and whippy, no cushion for any and all pushin' there be. The snow with which readers of this piece will likely be more familiar: that of the Alps; tends to be a good deal heavier and you need a PHD in neither geography nor chemistry to work that one out.

The author with a magnificent bear-cum-wolf named Gerome (albeit by us). Credit - James Sainty. 

How to get there: 

Bone-cheap flights from Luton (yes... Luton (cf. my piece on Southwest Ireland), and be sure to arrive early) to Skopje (home to a pretty river, some nice statues, and a street with boatloads of delightfully-affordable, delicious if somewhat artery-cloggin grub: Bohemian Street) on Wizz Air. 

Whether travelling to Popova Shapka for skiing or the beautiful Lake Ohrid for estival, waterborne antics, get the company in question to pick you up (it won't cost you very much and local drivers, local roads etc... trust me on this). SharOutdoors are your go-to guys.

Hammer time - dry, Adriatic powder with due whipping. Credit - James Sainty.

The view from atop Mont Gelé, Verbier (captured by the author in late December).

Snowfall has become notoriously unpredictable in recent years, but rump of the ski season beckons, the heavens are currently open for business, and so too are some of the continent’s flashiest and most bibulous ski resorts. Eddy Downpatrick selects a few high-profile lairs in Austria, Switzerland, and France.

Austria – The Arlberg

Why start here? Simple, the Arlberg has afforded the author some of his happiest memories, most sumptuous meals, and most important of all to any intrepid powder hound, some of the very best runs of his innings. There is also the admixture of local blood in the old veins. The Arlberg has more jewels in its lustrous crown than storied St. Anton alone. Now connected (since late 2016) to its transmontane siblings via a €45 million cable car, this massif is now the largest contiguous ski area in Austria and shared between Lech, St. Anton, Stuben, Schröcken, Warth, St. Christoph, and Zurs. I shall focus on two and a half of these.

St. Anton, for anyone who’s been, is renowned perhaps more than anywhere else in Austria for the quality and boisterousness of its après-ski, notably typified by the table-dancing, stein-smashing antics at the Krazy Kanguruh. To get to it, you’ll have to negotiate tired trunks to the bottom of a likely-moguled piste and to leave it, you’ll have to get those same legs, now likely full of hooch, down a most-definitely moguled hillock. For anyone who hasn’t seen it, type “Drunk guy trying to ski” into YouTube and you’ll see a not atypical example of St. Antonian post-après (not a futuristic movement of the arts). What else can you expect to find here? A lot of blokes. They outnumber the fairer counterpart (that sweet enemy) four to one and comprised of many Brits they seem to be. Why? Corporate trips.. Lads holidays.. False perceptions.. Fantasy expectations..

If looking for something a little more.. refined, look no further and up over than Zürs which sets a cap on the number of visitors encumbering the resort at any one time. The sexes are far better balanced and distinctly fewer drunken schmucks you’ll see zig-zagging their way across the thoroughfares. The Milch Bar consistently has the prettiest waitresses anywhere, honourable mention to the Flexenhütte just up the road and of course, to sexual objectification. The latter of these two can be booked out for whole-of-restaurant dinner parties in which dancing on tables ablaze is the done thing. Zürs 2 – St. Anton 0.  A note on the skiing, it happens on either side of the village itself with the south-facing side generally favoured in the morning and the north-facing in the afternoon. The local physician, a most resourceful fellow indeed, is also a charming DJ notorious for his bizarre diagnoses and even more eccentric remedies who over the years has earned the moniker, Doctor Death. He has been known to prescribe yoghurt for sunburn and neck braces for migraines. You don’t have to break the bank to stay here, but if you want to, it won’t take much in the way of effort, just stay at the Lorünser or the Zürserhof. Haus Küng and one or two of the other B&Bs offer great rates, lovely rooms, and great service. Haus Küng also plays neighbour to kindly cows wintering in their alpine cattlesheds and is run by a wonderfully-dry-humoured farmer-cum-mountain-guide called Hans and his wonderfully-wittily-welcoming English wife, no less adept on a pair of skis, Lorna. If you time your trip to coincide with the Easter Holidays, you might just encounter the phenomenon of a British social set affectionately known as the Scottish Mafia. They dress well, tell fine jokes, and tend not to sound terribly Scottish.

Zürs the village in the valley below, dwarfed by her majestic peaks. (Credit: Snow Forecast)

Two culinary treats to mention: the Hospiz Alm in St. Christoph which even has its own slide in the restaurant – well worth a ride and probably the smartest such any of us is likely to see; the Mürmeli in Oberlech, tucked away to skier’s left of the south-facing slopes, this hotel is not irregularly placed at top of the Arlberg’s restaurant charts (but be sure to book ahead – a secret it no longer is).

Lech itself has not had a mention, but it would be remiss not to give a tongue-in-cheek’d nod to the Ice Bar which finds itself halfway between main road and top of loftiest chair lift. You can ski into your seat and be served exceptionally-overpriced champagne by vacant-eyed young ladies all to the monotone thump of consciously-ironic minimal house music.

Switzerland – Verbier

Honourable mentions to Gstaad and St. Moritz, and to dwell on them for a moment, the two most elite ski clubs in the world (The Eagle and The Corviglia respectively). Is there a secret battle of one-upsmanship betwixt the two? Is it actually smarter to be a member of one over t’other? No, I imagine their lustrous memberships would give neither hoots nor champagne flutes (oyster cups is a little trickier to rhyme) when sitting in dining rooms as cosy as their own homes with meat and drink to rival the Savoy. Both resorts have a Palace Hotel, the most notable features of which are an in-built rock-pool-waterfall’d swimming area (St. Moritz) and the Green Go nightclub (Gstaad) complete with its own pool and possibly the most expensive beverages purchasable in any Alpine dwelling (though Aspen must be a competitor). What are you likely to see and what sort of person are you likely to find? As painful as it is to generalise, you will see a lot of fur and a fair smattering of Moncler, worn by no shortage of affluent exiled’s. In St. Moritz you may encounter a jolly band of eccentric Brits, army officers especially, ready to hurl themselves down the icy chute of the other prestigious club in the vicinity, The Cresta, on a bladed tea tray.

A racer takes a tumble at the infamous Shuttlecock Corner on the Cresta Run. (Credit: Bayourennaisanceman)

Moving on to Verbier, on a par with St. Anton in terms of its popularity with Brits, though more heavily skewed to the second-home-owning crowd. A similar if not even greater number of British ‘seasonaires’ (generally, 18-20 year olds drinking and uh.. ahem’ing themselves into oblivion whilst skiing with drastically-varying degrees of commitment) grace Verbier as ski instructors, nannies, cooks, handymen, figures of fun, chalet girls, bar staff, and the like. So popular has the resort become with affluent Albions that the Canton of Valais (one of 26 regional, administrative authorities that comprise the Swiss Confederation), in which Verbier and also Zermatt find themselves, imposed a cap on the number of foreigners able to buy or build homes. Not that it seems to have had much of an effect. Without delving into statistics that I do not possess, from a mere optical comparison (March 2009 vs. January 2019), the already vast resort seems to have done a balloon act, so much so that pathway access to a great number of apartment buildings has simply disappeared. How to return to the flat the wartime generation may have owned in quieter aeons past? Climb over fences and through other people’s gardens. Surely the type of place any self- and privacy-respecting individual would seek to plague-style eschew? Not so former Chancellor-of-the-Exchequer turned media mogul (irresistible), George Osborne, who has decided the best place in the mountainous world to build a chalet and avoid being verbally abused as he hauls skis along bustling streets to heaving cable car queues, no doubt attired in Roman legionnaire meets 80s onesie garb, is this Brit-infested conurbation. James Blunt splits his time between Ibiza and this place, but anyone who may have seen him exchanging verbals on Top Gear or Twitter will know he is not shy of a witty retort. Now there is a great variety of skiing to be enjoyed, from beginner slopes to vertiginous couloirs. With the assistance of a little experience and/or a guide, the steep chutes of Mont Gelé and the freeriderishly-wild realms beneath Jacob’s Ladder await. A route up to, along, and down the latter will lead the recklesser of spirit around a large and rather picturesque dammed lake the wall of which becomes skiable, admittedly to a reasonably-exclusive band of lunatics, with a sufficient dump of snow. Are there tables on which to dance, as rightly you might ask? Yes of course, and the best of them is to be found at the Farinet, packed to the rafters with seasonaires, people who could very well be their parents, and some folks pretending to merely ‘chill’ by the bar whilst they (and everyone else) gets completely soaked in Carlsberg (for some reason the resort’s predominating barley-shake) and sing university-clubnight favourites such as Robbie Williams’ Angel and The Killers’ Mr Brightside. Nice and slightly more civilised place for a drink – Le Fer de Cheval. Decent place to eat – they abound, but Le Caveau and Chez Martin.

France – Les Trois Vallées (Courchevel, Méribel, Val Thorens)

Flashy Russians; old-school Brits; intoxicated ski-bums (largely Brits) unceremonially merged with uni-trippers. At a great and crude oversimplification: Courchevel, Méribel, and Val Thorens respectively, and these make up the largest skiing area in the world. Despite the oligarchic multiplexes that now (rather spectacularly) litter Courchevel, home to some mighty-fine skiing she is and among her most-prized assets, the Saulire couloir – among the more accessible and yet gloriously satisfying anywhere in the Alps. Courchevel is a place where managing directors of investment banks can genuinely feel impoverished by comparative measure and as a general observation, in few places and within such proximity is there so staggering a wealth gap as in a premium ski resort. Courchevel is one of those that serves to more readily expose the gulf, but think about it, ski bums and middle-income families vs. multiple-times-over billionaires rubbing shoulders in the same watering holes. Yes, if Bill and Melinda Gates walk into a West African village on a charitable mission to cure the next in a string of diseases the wealth gap will be the more pronounced, but ski resorts are places where people at least purport to play on equal terms. Courchevel, inter alia, has been a kindly breeding ground to some of Britain’s best skiing talent, most notably Scottish Olympian Alain Baxter who was so cruelly stripped of a bronze medal at the 2002 games in Salt Lake City all because of a supposedly-steroidal ingredient in a US-purchased Vicks Inhaler.

From what the author remembers, Courchevel is also home to a commendable cinema (first experience: The Fellowship of the Ring, 2001) – for public enjoyment that is; plenty of home cinemas to be found here too. 

Val Thorens.. and it would be a shame if too much personal bias interfered with an appraisal of the place, but to start with the positives: altitude and concomitant early-season snow; comparative affordability; rambunctious nightlife. The village feels like it has been expressly designed for inebriated university students to prolong the previous term’s misdeeds and it also looks, to more-politely paraphrase a close acquaintance, like a Soviet cinderblock. There is however a charming Irish pub where you can attempt to break the record for the fastest downing of a yard of ale (the record holder might still be a man by the name of Benjamin Tucker), but all this aside, it is the highest resort in Europe at 2,300m and as such, you are very likely to find good snow in the early and indeed late seasons and therefore be able to stay, affordably, outside of peak season. Lest it be forgotten, in VT you are of course very well connected to the glitzier neighbours that are Courchevel and Méribel.

Last of all we come to mirthful, multi-altitudinal Méribel, perhaps the prettiest (and by this I mean neither dramatic nor stunning) of all the resorts herein mentioned. The wining and dining is ubiquitously first rate and revellers will tend to coalesce around Méribel Centre, though the cosiest hollow is arguably Méribel Village, peaceful and sleepy, where families hide away in blissful seclusion perched at a favourable vantage point, views meandering down, along, and up the valley face opposite. Two refuges of particular note: Le Blanchot for its sun-drenched terrace, proximity to the altiport (which feels quite James Bond), and its wine list; Le Clos Bernard for its sylvan setting and the arboreal pathway that leads to what is a charming wintry cottage of a restaurant whither one could very easily lose one’s way. Not a lot comes close to the vast range of tree-skiability found in the Rockies (the tree-lines tend higher over there), but if quantity can contend with magic then Méribel assuredly has the latter. Quantifying as much is empirically challenging, but take it from someone who has cut a fair few lines through forested fluff, if woodland fairies could choose an alpine demesne to call home, it would most likely be Méribel. 

Le Clos Bernard in all its woodland-fairy glory. (Credit: Tripadvisor.co.uk)

Special mentions deserve to go to a good many more, but that’s all for this instalment.

A beautifully-b’grassed rockcrop of the Dingle Peninsula. Credit: Ireland.com

Hidden gems of Southwest Ireland – four men, a race, and some of the most beautiful scenery in all the Isles.

There may exist a corner of the Emerald Isle where all the stereotypes (the nice ones at least) of our trans-hibernomaritime-amigos (the Irish) may in fact be true. Nigh-indiscernible vocals, and all the same, the indisputable gatekeepers of ‘craic’, an admirable capacity for consumption of thick, tenebrous liquid, and possibly the most approachable people on the planet. A tweed b’everything’d gentleman stopped me on Dingle’s main thoroughfare to ask the fortunes of the regional rugby team (Munster) and by Fungie* was I glad to be able to tell him for thereafter ensued a 30-minute conversation on the prospects of our respective international sides (nb. the author is, among other things, a rugby nerd). I also conveniently missed the next round of drinks, my round as it happened.

The face that launches at least two ships... Credit: Dingle Dolphin Tours.

*Fungie is a wild Bottlenose Dolphin, Dingle’s cetacean-in-residence for 32 years, an absolute charmer and genuine local celebrity. Experts fathom that he has a lifespan of anywhere between 40 and 50 years so any fans in waiting had best get a shift on (because we don’t know what he was doing before he took his seemingly-early retirement from the open seas). Whosoever bought the commercial rights to his name, leaps, face, backflips etc. has made a not insubstantial killing (albeit mainly from tea towels). There are also ‘Fungie Tours’ whose alumni of attendees include ex 007, Pierce Brosnan and Irish singer, Mary Black. The author can’t help but think there is a glaring opportunity for a budding film producer to cast Colin Farrell as a windswept fisherman who becomes the dolphin’s best friend and wingman (Fungie has been known to introduce numerous girlfriends to the tour boats). Flipper franchise, watch out (and Hollywood execs, you’re welcome).

Inch Beach, Dingle Peninsula: idyllic surfcation for the wilder (and wrecklesser) at heart.

The area itself is one of nigh-surreal beauty and very quickly you see what the producers of the most-recent entry into the Star Wars saga saw (tax breaks aside). Glistening greens, golds, silvers, and blues which lend credence to the old chat-up line “your eyes look like the Irish countryside after a soft rain” which here could be more clumsily rendered “you’re as goddam beautiful as the fjordscape of the Dingle Peninsula” or perhaps a little-less bumpily, “your eyes glisten like the Dingle sound on a summer’s eve”, no Jedi mind-tricks required. Surfing off the mega-Isthmus (cue a topographer’s wrath) that is Inch Beach drops you even more romantically into the love affair that only the truly soulless could avoid (and is one of the few sports in which both men and women look as sexy as t’other.. oh we know). Red herring and Star Wars-grapevining for just one inexcusable second, we had it on good local authority that Daisy Ridley (the heroine of the last two episodes, for those uninclined) is “terrific craic” on the beers and I for one can (/want to) bloody believe it.

Spa Seafoods, Tralee – some of the pengest piscine fare you’ll e’er devour (and you can do it seated to boot). An extra, coincidental delight to the weekend’s heroics, the Dingle Food Festival – worth the going alone.

It wouldn’t make the author weep in despair to be told he were wrong, but when people talk of the beauty of Ireland, the tales quickly turn to Galway, Mayo, Sligo, and co. and inevitably that song surfaces for air, but rarely if ever do you hear people, certainly on the British mainland, vaunting the delights of the Ring of Kerry, Dingle Pensinsula, and Killarney (Cill Airne – which sounds a bit like ‘Chill, Ernie’ when pronounced in Gaelic) National Park, around the latter of which our troupe engaged in, and emerged gloriously battered from, a not-ungruelling triathlon (courtesy of the admirable sadists at Quest Adventure Series). It’s worth mentioning that of the hundreds of competitors, the only non-Irish voice I perceived was that of a cheery Burgundian. The point to be made, and this is the author’s endorsement – get ye thither, ‘mainland’-dwelling folk. Fine, Luton has consistently and not unfairly been voted the worst airport in the British Isles over the last *insert fairly large number here* years, but only bring hand luggage (and a blindfold?) and you don’t have to spend too much time there and stand (amidst the denizens, for the most part equally non-plussed) happy in the knowledge that your surprisingly high-grade Ryanair service (as they go) to the much merrier Kerry has set you back but £60 (booking only a couple of months in advance). 20 minutes and a very speedy car rental pick-up later, you’re in Killarney, and not much more than half an hour, high-fiving Fungie in Dingle.

Muckross Lake, around which we paddled with great ferocity, a facet of the gauntlet prepared for us within the wilds of Killarney National Park. Brightly-coloured evidence of the sadists’ handiwork centre right.

Gang from Left: Mundy Miller, the author (Robocop meets Lollipop Lady), Sam Ader, and Freddie Haines, afore the endeavour.

The now world-famous Luskentyre Beach on Harris. It is not irregularly voted the most beautiful in the world. It extends well beyond that isthmus in centre screen, providing what could be hours of celestial walking. Photo: Eddy Downpatrick

In the ne’er dying early-summer light of the Outer Hebrides - why it is so worth crossing the Skye Bridge (and the Sea of the Hebrides). 

White-sand beaches, turquoise waters of varying turquosity, 3-billion year old rock formations that could surely only exist in sci-fi films… greens the like of which make sense of the fact that Gaelic has 9 different words to describe them (and possibly more), much in the same way that the layman’s identification of ‘snow’ to an Inuit will be met with rapturous laughter (they have 50 words for the stuff), it makes our singular (non-hyphenated) offering look rather pedestrian by comparison. The translation for the green glimpsed upon what looked like a bonsai bush atop an island within a sea-loch’d archipelago I have not been able to locate, so perhaps someone could help me track down: ‘type of green one would only expect to perceive whilst hallucinating’.

Approaching North Uist from South Uist, shot taken on the move. Photo: Eddy Downpatrick

Yes alright, enough with the colour fixation/asphyxiation, but no no no, please no… there is a seriousish point to be made here. We go away, well some of us at least, to ‘experience new things’, to be surprised, to feel and perceive the world in ways hitherto unimagined or imagined alone. To get to these rarefied isles is no mean feat. If you fly, private/chartered aircraft aside, you will need to do so via Glasgow or Inverness, quite likely not within the same day, and at not inconsiderable expense. Logan Air are the tartan-wing’n’finned flydudes who’ll do it you, though for all our sakes, they could do with some competition. Their propeller planes will land you on an impressive number of airstrips, many of them beach runways in previous incarnations (and in the case of Barra Airport, not that long-ago b’tarmac’d), but as with a host of lovely things in this mortal coil, it’ll leave you shy a penny or three.

North Uist’s semi-surreal archipelago of sea lochs stretching out northwards. Shot taken atop the isle’s loftiest perch, Eaval. You have to get to high ground to truly comprehend the isle’s rather unique topography. Nb. The tallest peak in the Outer Hebrides is in fact, Clisham, on Harris. Up here, so close to the summer solstice, the day and the night share but a few hours of darkness. 

Photo: Eddy Downpatrick

Option number two (oh calamity, the beautiful roads up past Glencoe, Eilan Donan, beneath the Cuillin, gazing out at the isles of Scalpay and Raasay, past the Sligachan River, a doff of the cap to the Quiraing…): the more scenic, adventurous, (ahem) superior, but more time-consuming of the twain, is to drive over the Skye Bridge at Kyle of Lochalsh, head to the port at Uig, and jump on a Calmac (Caledonian McBryde) ferry. In the words of Gimli son of Gloin, “what are we waiting for?” If travelling in the fiendishly-busy months of July and August, which in my humble opinion give you both a better chance of terrible weather, getting stranded, and being surrounded, make sure you book your car onto a ferry as far in advance as possible as the demand far outweighs the supply. A little but not exactly like Logan Air, Calmac could not so much do with extra competition as it could extra boats. It should be mentioned that if you’re a foot passenger, little to less bother you’ll have getting aboard sans booking. Holidaying with children restricts all parents, but if I could sway you to head up over the May/June or October half-terms, I would. Fewer people, fewer cars, normally drier conditions.

Talisker Beach, Skye … ought to speak for itself. One of the isle’s many treasures; something to see alongside the Storr, the Faerie Pools, the Cuillin, and more, on your way Outer Hebrideswards or back. Photo: Eddy Downpatrick

Right, I’ve slightly lost my train of thought so here’s a totally non-staged shot to keep everyone sweet. But the train of thought was… these extraordinary colours, unusual landscapes, and vast wildernesses transform that long journey into that unforgettable experience.

The author gazing east towards Skye from one of Eaval’s surrounding foothills. Photo: Eddy Downpatrick

Stuff not to miss on North Uist, Eriskay, and Harris:

• Walking out to the eerie ruins of Vallay at low-tide.

Isle of Vallay. Credit to Canmore www.canmore.org.uk for this shot.

• Walking around Balranald RSPB reserve (not far from Vallay) and catching a glimpse and a symphonic squawk (it actually has a very nice and indeed distinctive call) of the legendary and extremely-rare Corncrake.

I hope the photographs herein enclosed have been enough to sway you.

Ascending Eaval – even beneath clouded skies, a not infrequent occurrence up here, the doily-like, silvery-greeny-black patchwork of waterways beguiles. Photo: Eddy Downpatrick

• Watching the sunset from along the Udal peninsula – cloud dispersion will optimise such, but turquoise waters will grace you ne’ertheless.

• Walk along Eriskay Beach and swim in its turquoise (and rather chilly) waters. 

Eriskay Beach beneath clouded skies. Fine white sands await your toes, crystal-clear turquoise waters your eyes, and a life-renewing dip your body and soul. Photo: Eddy Downpatrick

• Luskentyre Beach – cf. the photo closer to the top (and any further Google imaging you may wish to do). Photo: Eddy Downpatrick

The rest, you can decide for yourself, but if you’re looking for two lovely places to eat and drink, look no further than the Langass Lodge (where you could also stay) and Hamersay House (where you could also stay), both on North Uist.

Stuff I wish I’d had a little more time to do:

• Ascend Ben Mhor on South Uist (our attempt was blighted by seriously-dicey weather).

• Get a boat out to St. Kilda (westernmost landmass in the British Isles).

• Get another to Mingulay (southernmost point of the archipelago and of which a beautiful mariners’ tune called The Mingulay Boat Song is written: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgkGrm5516k ).

• Explore Lewis and Harris much more rigorously.

• And a whole lot more… says he, wistfully.

 The author, Eddy, looking somewhat bedraggled, atop Eaval.

You may have noticed a few new items on our social media posts recently. Our founder, Eddy, has been putting our soon-to-drop Rucksack and Green Sweater through their paces on a recent trip up to the Uists.

The Rucksack has a classic design with comfort in mind, and a few smart touches to boot. Perfect for the commute or day trips away.

We've used the same cut and material for our Green Sweater as used on the grey version. If it ain't broke...

Check out the shots below, and keep an eye out... they'll be available very soon!

This blog post comes courtesy of Eddie Downpatrick, FIDIR founder and explorer extraordinaire. This week he recounts a recent trip to the Norwegian Arctic full of stunning views, overpriced beer and one tactically-placed emoji...

A not-staged-at-all shot of me pointing at the spot on which I’d build a cabin (a tiny place called, Russelv).

To many, and with not unwarranted reason, communing in close quarters with a bunch of smelly skiers, subsisting on cod and tinned mackerel, the ocean one’s sole bathing means, arctic winds chilling you to the bone, peaks accessible by power of limbs alone, all sounds rather non-vacational.

That is a little hard on the collective cheffing abilities of the gang in question however. Saffron cod stew, chilli onion relished garlic aioli’d fish tacos, double-bacon cheeseburgers, pancake breakfasts... a far cry from hardship (and I just happen to find tinned mackerel an absolute dream; half of Norway, in Marmite fashion, agrees with me).

Sunset over the Lyngen Alps, snatched around 11pm.

How does it all work? The best time to do it, and ‘it’ involves inhabiting a boat which takes you from one mountainous island and/or peninsula to the next with a bunch of ski dudes and dudesses primed to put grippy things on planks and ascend lofty peaks - late April. How to get there - find a way to the northerly city of Tromsø which out of Northern Lights season is not deemed worthy of a direct flight from the UK (so via Oslo is your best bet). This city is home to a great many students, encouraged that far north by a sense of adventure (possibly) and a government who saw an increased chance for the place to thrive beyond booming oil and fishing industries. The nightlife is ‘lit’, in more ways than two (explanation for the bewildered below*), but goodness knows how any of these late-teens and early-twenty-somethings afford to get drunk on £10 beer. You wonder if a stipend, given the energy of Norway’s tax system, exists for as much. 

Primary bathing solution, edited to render PG.

Once embarked upon your vessel (ours was a catamaran aptly named the Arctic Princess) and shiftily greeted by a gang of relative strangers, you head north into what is an other-worldly realm of glittering fjords surrounded by oft towering mountains. If the Norse gods had intended this an alternate playground to the likes of the much-Instagrammed Lofoten, the glaciered Jostedalen, and the mighty Jotenheimen, they assuredly succeeded. One might imagine Thor, in between expensive beers, summoning thunderbolts to hew all of Norway’s northerly fjords to his particular design. This far north the closest westerly landmass is Greenland’s east coast, and a fair way up it. To the north, Svalbard and polar bears, and to the east, more Norway and ultimately northernmost Siberia.

The Arctic Princess doing its thing, fjord and mountains in frame.

A highlight or three from my time this past late-April.

1) Double-summiting, i.e. doing it twice, arguably the most picturesque peak of the bunch (called Vanntinden, meaning Vann’s Peak; what a great guy Vann must have been) on the sunniest day we enjoyed. Blessed with an immense number of natural ‘kickers’, snow-covered rocks over and off which one springs into the air, the day was replete with mirth. It wasn’t all smooth runnings however, unless you were my runaway ski. Stopping for the customary boil-in-a-bag lunch, failing to open the break on just one of the skis, a slivering whoosh heralded its departure seawards (as one’s descents tends to be in that direction) and were it not for a kindly rock to divert it, my hundred-metre dash across the snow would have been many multiples more.

Peak evidence of Vann evidently having been a great guy.

2) Elsa, the vivacious octogenarian who lent us her barbecuing deck, bringing us coffee and telling the expedition leader and me that we had the type of manners that would see us safe to Valhalla (we just happened to be the only two sufficiently capacitated to rise for her arrival). That, admittedly, was a translation from her coastal-dialect Norwegian, but I definitely heard ‘Valhöll’ and her wink tended favourably.

Loose Austrian mountain chiller and moonshine distiller, Flo.

National drinking customs. Neither of which, this time around, to do with the country in which we found ourselves. On our boat were two Austrians, both excellent skiers, both guides and racers at one stage or another in their careers, both on their annually-allotted week’s escape from their children, both gifted in the craft of homemade schnapps. The Enzian flower, very pretty little blue thing that grows on Alpine meadows and mountainsides. Its root, an ugly little thing that yields the concomitant moonshine which is the bitterest liquid to have passed anyone’s lips, so earthy it will suck the air out of your lungs. Once two or three have made it through, you’re laughing (hard) and singing a song (in an Austrian mountain dialect) about a girl named Johanna who seems to have been somewhat liberal with the distribution of her kindnesses. The second custom involved singing an altogether more civilised song about shrimp, consuming a vast number of them, and sinking aquavit at scheduled intervals.

Rad spectacles and a shrimp that didn’t quite make it.

*Lit as in 1) during winter, by Northern Lights; and 2) during summertime, by 24-hour daylight.

Flights: Norwegian Air; SAS.

Boats: Pukka Travels.

Rental (if required): Tromsø Outdoor.

Time of year: Late April (for skiing); Deepest Winter (for Northern Lights and Orcas).

Skis to purchase: SGN Skis (based in Sogndal – beautifully-designed skis, both from artwork and construction perspective, perfect for backcountry and touring skiing). SGN can send them up to Tromsø, this avoids paying a whack of customs fees (but deducting Norwegian tax), with the skins and technical bindings you’ll need to ascend the mountains.

To celebrate our love of the great outdoors, we launched our campaign #GoOutside.

We are sharing photographs of spectacular landscapes from Fidir's own staff, friends and photographers, and asking our followers to submit their best shots to be featured.

To get involved, post your favourite photos to Instagram, Facebook or Twitter with the hashtag #GoOutside  and tag us @fidirstore. Our favourite submissions will be shared on our page.

Check out some of the great photos we've been sent so far below.

Shenandoah River, Virginia, USA - Lauren Guidry

Aylestone Meadows Nature Reserve - Adam Monk

Rothesay, Isle of Bute - Robert MacKenzie

South Stack, Anglesey - James Mccall

The Cliffs of Moher, Ireland - Steve Glasper

View of Raasay from Applecross Peninsula - © Leticia Rodriguez

Have you ever visited the west coast of Scotland? Do you long for rugged mountains, ocean vistas and abundant wildlife? The Applecross peninsula offers all of that and more.

Situated as the crow flies 95km to the west of Inverness, it is not the easiest part of The Highlands to access. From the south the only road takes you over the alpine Bealach na Ba pass to a height of 626m, from which the views of Raasay and Skye are fantastic on a clear day. The upside of course is relatively quiet roads, and it’s easy to go hours without seeing another person.

A Vibrant Flora

Heather (Calluna vulgaris) - © James Richardson

Much of the peninsula is heavily grazed by red deer or sheep, but where the grazing is less intense, blankets of pink and purple cover the boggy land in late summer. Two types of heather, the light pink common heather Calluna vulgaris and the darker bell heather Erica cinerea are a favourite of late flying bees. On wetter ground, devil’s bit scabious Succisa pratensis adds a splash of purple, contrasting with the ubiquitous yellow flowers of tormentil Potentilla erecta. Further south in Scotland and England devil’s bit scabious is the main larval food plant of the rare marsh fritillary butterfly Euphydryas aurinia.

Abundant Marine Life

Phoca vitulina (Common Seals) - © Leticia Rodriguez

Look closely at isolated rocks in the many bays an inlets of the peninsula and you may spot seals. There are two species of seal found regularly in the UK; grey and common, and those pictured are the latter. Their common names are however misleading, as in the UK there are roughly half as many common seals than grey seals.

A Haven for Seabirds

Sterocarius skua (Great skua) - © Leticia Rodriguez

The bird life of the peninsula includes some species with an astonishing natural history. Of the world’s migratory bird species, none covers a greater distance during an average lifetime than the Arctic tern Sterna paradisaea. Every year, these birds migrate to the UK to breed before departing in late summer for the Antarctic; experiencing two summers per year. This is an average annual round trip of nearly 90,000km and is the longest migration of any animal on earth. Over a 30 year lifespan the birds can cover 2.4million km – the equivalent of flying to the moon and back three times.

Sterna paradisaea (Arctic tern) - © Leticia Rodriguez

In both hemispheres the terns must negotiate the attention of large predatory seabirds known as skuas. In northern Scotland the great skua Sterocarius skua or ‘bonxie’ is the largest species. Aggressive and agile in flight, it robs even larger seabirds such as gannets of their food and is even capable of drowning and killing the similarly potent great black backed gull Larus marinus.

Entertaining Grazers

Cervus elaphus (Red Deer) - © James Richardson

Red deer Cervus elaphus aren’t particularly difficult to see in Scotland and were easy to see on the peninsula. With a Scottish population of around 380,000 their numbers have increased rapidly since the 1960s. This often leads to a lack of food, particularly in winter. Coupled with the harsh Scottish climate, this means Scottish stags can be half the weight of those in Exmoor or the New Forest; nonetheless they still provide charismatic subjects for photography.

The Applecross peninsula is essentially a microcosm of the Scottish Highlands. The alpine pass from the south may well be treacherous in winter, but the abundant wildlife, stunning views, warm welcome of the locals and a pint of the local Caledonian ale make the journey totally worthwhile.

Written by James Richardson

Early August saw one of the highlights of the Highland calendar in the Tartan Heart Festival set in the stunning surroundings of the Belladrum estate near Inverness. Of course, we at Fidir couldn’t resist the opportunity to join the fun!

Belladrum is a uniquely Scottish experience, you won’t find an atmosphere like it anywhere else. With a huge presence of local and internationally renowned acts and performers, there’s something for everyone. And the recent award of UK’s most popular summer music festival from a site with the reputation of tripadvisor really cements its place as an event not to be missed.

Yet another strong line up saw Scottish favourites Franz Ferdinand close the festival on Saturday night with legends The Pretenders topping the bill on Friday and none other than Sister Sledge seeing out the opening day. There was also plenty of Scottish talent such as KT Tunstall, Twin Atlantic and Neon Waltz on display to keep the crowds going.

The festival proved a great opportunity for Fidir to get our product out on display, with plenty of people coming to check out our stall and grab some product. We gave the Packable Rucksack a good test, with it proving to be the perfect festival accessory, even withstanding Friday’s downpour with ease. We were also fortunate enough to have the guys from Franz Ferdinand, Feeder, Neon Waltz, Slow Club, Milburn and Kioko stop by and have a chat.

Our friends at Black Isle Brewery and Tomatin were on hand to keep the party moving. Aswell as this, the cycling stunts of Highlands hero Danny McAskill and friends and a host of circus performances kept the crowds entertained on breaks from the music.  

Thanks to the bands who came to visit us. Also huge thanks to James and Rose of Ancarraig Lodges for their invaluable support over the festival.

Fidir is delighted to once again collaborate with Hermione Gibbs in producing this Limited
Edition Duffle Bag to celebrate the launch of The Ivy on the Square, Edinburgh, Scotland.

Produced in The Ivy’s signature green and lined with Hermione Gibbs’s beautiful watercolour/ink and oil pastel take on the iconic stained glass windows that adorn The Ivy’s restaurants, the duffle bag forms part of a very limited Ivy collection.

Available in very limited numbers, so be sure to pre-order yours from the Fidir store today.

Have you visited The Highlands of Scotland? Do you know about the dynamic history of its landscapes?

The ecology, climate and human populations of The Highlands have all influenced the unmistakable scenery found there today.

Here I share a brief history of The Highlands, focusing on the ecological condition, and provide an insight into its potential exciting future.

 A Remote Landscape

The feeling of remoteness isn’t hard to find in the Scottish Highlands. At 9.1 people per square km, the Highlands have one of the lowest human population densities in Europe, roughly half that of Sweden or New Zealand, and similar to Chad.

This hasn’t always been so; a result of the infamous clearances and later outward migration during the industrial revolution.

In 2015 1.7 million people visited the Highlands, no doubt many wanting to experience the closest thing to wilderness on offer in the UK, but what kind of wilderness is on offer?

The seemingly endless, open moorland can certainly provide a feeling of isolation and freedom from other parts of our crowded island, with often uninterrupted views over entire valleys. The area proudly boasts some of the world’s best salmon fishing, cleanest air and darkest skies.

But the purple moor-grass and heather-clad glens didn’t always look this way.

 Forests in The Highlands

Following the retreat of the last glacial peak 12,000 years ago, a diverse forest spread back into the Highlands, reaching its peak around 5,000 years ago. Later there was a decline in forest cover in the north and west due to a cold, wet climatic period.

Then around 4,000 years ago, people began to make significant impacts on the remaining forest through cutting wood for construction and burning the forest to create land for agriculture. Today only 2% of the former ‘great forest of Caledon’ remains.

With a more favourable contemporary climate, Scots pine should be found growing to around 640m or higher in Scotland, with a diverse montane scrub of willows, birch and juniper above this height, grading into the barren plateau landscapes above 1000m.

In many parts of the northern and western Highlands it is the enormous population of deer that prevents such forest from returning. Due to mild winters, lack of culling effort and the absence of significant predation the deer population in Scotland has more than doubled since 1965.

Browsing pressure is such that almost all accessible vegetation is overgrazed, natural tree regeneration is suppressed, and as deer are not removed from the hills or forest in the winter there is no period of the year when the vegetation is able to recover.

 Wild Forests and Wild Animals

In the last year, as well as the Scottish Highlands, I have been lucky to visit both western Canada and Norway. These regions have a similar climate, geology and human population density to the Highlands, but there the landscape is cloaked in a diverse forest of spruce, fir, pine, poplar, birch and willow amongst others.

 In these forests you can find an associated diverse range of wildlife, including many animals which often define boreal forest wilderness such as moose, brown bear, lynx, and grey wolf.

All of these species are native to the Highlands and were hunted to extinction, with the last wolf probably killed in Sutherland in the 17^th century.  

 How are The Highlands Changing?

Awareness is growing about how landscape and ecological restoration could re-invigorate both the ecology and the human population of the Highlands. The charity Trees for Life, recognising this potential, are busy planting thousands of native trees, centred on Glen Affric.

A visit to the remnant native forests of Glen Affric is a magical experience. Huge Scots pines covered in beard lichen and mosses. Crested tits calling from the dew-laden canopies. The smell of heather and juniper, and the springy, peaty soil under foot.

The Highlands are already blessed with the densest population of golden eagles and otters in Europe, and a flourishing white-tailed eagle and osprey population. The forest and lakes of the Abernethy forest in the Cairngorms offer superb views of the latter in the breeding season, and you may be lucky enough to see the world’s largest species of grouse – the turkey-sized capercaillie.

Lost species are also making a comeback. Beavers have been reintroduced and are now a protected species, helping to reduce flooding downstream whilst creating diverse wetland habitat.

Wild boar have been released, either accidentally or deliberately, and their presence should help the germination of tree and wildflower seedlings whilst supressing bracken growth.

 What Might the Future Hold for The Highlands?

In the coming years, to help reduce deer numbers, aid the forest’s return and further boost the already lucrative eco-tourism industry, could the Highlands once again be home to Eurasian lynx, even wolf?, Both species are now found in almost every European country where they were formerly native, after natural recolonisation or reintroduction. It would be fascinating to see the Highlands in perhaps 20 years’ time, when no doubt some areas will be well on their way to becoming true wilderness once again, where a reinvigorated ecosystem and human population continue to thrive together.

 Written by James Richardson

I am a Principal Ecologist & Landscape Architect at Wardell Armstrong LLP, based In Manchester. I recently completed a Masters degree where my project focused on addressing desertification in rural Portugal through reconnecting people with their landscape and through ecosystem restoration. My travels have taken me to 6 continents on the search for jaguars in Brazil, tigers in India, wolves in Spain, bears in Canada and blue whales in Sri Lanka.