Scotland 2021 Pt1 Goatland A Viking Saga

"If this doesn't work I'm arresting you for wasting police time" 

Both the coppers piss themselves laughing. I laugh too, by this time it's all wearing a little thin. The smells of boiling piss and burning clutch hang in the air. But all that happens much later   

Spontaneity  its a wonderful thing.  I love surprises and the words “ lets sack it off and go Deerstalking” have crossed my lips more than once This time it was all booked a month in advance. Still turned into a bit of a saga.

A Viking saga for our times, featuring: a viking, an ambulance chasing lawyer, a lightweight rifle in the 6 to 7mm range, some stout boots, the finest german glass, the infuriating loss of a bipod,  300+Kg of rare books, a panel van, a mob of goats and a rather handsome Roebuck. In an earlier iteration of the plan there were also three 17th century cannon, but for reasons both practical and fiscal. they are being saved for another day

There are always unintended consequences, they abound. When that first wolf decided to saunter over to the campfire and maybe catch a few scraps, he had no idea that a few millennia of civilisation later one of his descendants. with nearly all the wildness wrung out of him, would wear a pink bow, sunglasses and travel around in a Kardashian’s handbag. The feral goats of Scotland have made the opposite journey, forgoing the easy life of food delivered by bucket and a bed of straw, they live wild and free  amongst the crags and feast on seaweed and juniper. 

Somewhere on that continuum there are a few wild hairs left in us all, and I'm easily lead.  

The Viking is a crafty one, like Loki the blacksmith. Unable to drive himself he lights on a simple but effective plan. He asks me how many goats I've shot with the rifle lovingly known as The Money Pit  having heard the answer he already knew, zip niltch nada, he happens to mention that he’s going to be moving to the industrial belt that crosses Scotland and will therefore be within spitting distance of Stranraer home of the delicious Juniper feasting Goats  would i perhaps join him?

The cast and crew

SBW: Your pal and humble Scribe of this chronicle 

The Viking: blacksmith and vintage firearm enthusiast the sort of person who wouldn’t own a gun made in his lifetime. Tidy shot with a side by side. He doesn’t own any rifles that meet modern standards of accuracy so his precision shooting remains cloaked in mystery  

SSD: South Side D some time dispenser of cab driver wisdom, some time arborist, traveling sport, and now Working Stiff  

Matriarch In Waiting: all gun clubs are ruled by a matriarch, it's the only way to keep order. Our club has two  

ACL: Ambulance chasing lawyer Monday while Friday, dad taxi on Saturdays, niche firearms enthusiast and stalker on Sundays. 

When heading out of town its not a bad idea to see who might be about I contact a chap I know on Facebook, our West Cost Correspondent, and suggest we meet up for a few beers  

"East Kill-feckin’-bride! Wha? Does he like single mums and roundabouts?"

It turns out im not the only one who fancies a trip to Scotland to pit his 6.5 against a wiley adversary. Some people know the ACL as a suburban dad, and partner in a law firm. Secretly he's an adventurer, a hunter and outdoorsman: ad-libbing freestyle poetry about lairy pistols around the campfire, living entirely on fried food and panic-inducing espressos. 

One afternoon at Bisley, we’re discussing the sporting opportunities made possible by dropping The Viking off on the west coast of Scotland, 

ACL: If you’re going goat stalking I thought id tag along 

SBW: I would love that, a tale of two 6.5’s, Creed vs Swede, we can share the driving and theres a farm shop with a cantina attached i want to visit  that’s basically on the way.

MIW: Is there anywhere you go where you don’t use food vendors as way points?

SSD: No. Never. It’s called Fat Nav 

SBW: we will be literally passing Cumbria have you ever had Potted Shrimp?

MIW: Are you going too?

SSD: nah Working Stiff

MIW: we'll have to change your name to Not Allowed Out

SSD: nah you’re alright, that one's taken

A quip that proves precinct. A few days later, I receive a phone call, ACL doesn’t sound quite as ebullient  

ACL: spoken to the missus, turns out I’m a suburban dad, a partner in a law firm who is preparing for trial, and that spontaneous six day hunting trips with a pair of anarchists are ‘taking the fucking piss’ 

I try to change the subject “ I've been reading Helen McDonald’s excellent book about falconary, H is for Hawk, did you know the falconers knot is so loose its kept closed with one digit? Its where the expression ‘ under her thumb’ comes from ? 

I know i heard it, but I'm still not sure if it was the roar of an enraged goat or yap of a lapdog that came from telephony or telepathy.   

No SouthSide D, no ACL, this is starting to look like a very long drive, knowing the answer full well I make a halfhearted attempt to engage MIW in the trip. She politely informs me "Sorry I'm, busy that day, when are you going?"  

More soon

Your pal SBW

Join us in part two, where the Viking and your chronicler make their way north, by route most circuitous, endure weather most precipitatious and arrive in Hibernia, the land of perpetual winter, single mums, wild goats, and roundabouts.