A Highland Adventure -Part III

A HIGHLAND ADVENTURE

PART THREE

by Barry Van-Asten

III

THE RIVER SPEY

We followed the trail from Fochabers to Castle Hill and Ordiesque, stopping off at the Earth Pillars for a break. I did not see the famous Earth Pillars but I did see the river Spey from a view point and a man fly-fishing in the river. We continued our walk and I picked up some water at the ‘Burn of Altderg’ a little stream, and we climbed the very steep winding road up the hill and skirted the woods, to continue past ‘White Hillock’ and ‘Laird’s Hill’ which fascinated me, seeing it all those weeks ago on the map and wanting to see it. We saw a possible place to camp in an old disused cottage and I went to view it. The windows were broken and looking in I could see the remains of a shell where laughter and sadness were alive; the gloomy interiors held a few items of beauty including an old cooking range and a moulded fireplace and faded wallpaper. The garden was overgrown and not really suitable for pitching a tent; the out-buildings were almost hidden by weeds and seemed desolate. It was a beautiful place! We walked past the ‘Mains of Cairnty’ and ‘Tor Hill’ to cross the road bridge over the river Spey at the ‘Boat o’ Brig’ and we looked for a place to pitch camp. I wasn’t really satisfied by anywhere, but we had a water source (the river Spey) and it was getting late. We made a decision and walked on under the railway bridge along the river till we settled on pitching on the track itself, as it was reasonably flat. And so we pitched by 9 p.m. The moon was clear and bright but it was extremely cold next to the river and there were more problems with the camping gas. We walked about six miles today and Aimee’s legs are very sore. We saw lots of grouse with their disturbing and haunting wing flapping as they rose cumbersomely into the air. We were in bed by approximately 12.30 a.m.

GRAVE WATERING TIME

Day 15, Sunday 20th April; the night of the full moon… It was a very cold morning and the alarm set for 8 a.m. was ignored and silenced as we slept on until 10 a.m. when the sun had a small amount of decency to show itself and share its warmth. We managed to cook some porridge and have some tea, but one of the three camping gas bottles had a leak so we had to leave it to the side to run empty and dispose of it. We struck camp and began our walk at 1.55 p.m. We followed the trail to Bridgeton and entered the forest of Ben Aigan (a 1500 ft mountain) at 2.45 p.m. We met some youths doing their Duke of Edingburgh Award, going the other way. It was a difficult and steep trail – the most difficult of all the Speyside Way and we had to tackle it. We got to the top of the hill at 3.15 p.m. and Aimee became emotional and tearful at the achievement! At 4 p.m. we stopped at the viewpoint for lunch and to take on more water. Aimee received a few de ja vu’s upon the trail, as if she should be here doing this right now etc. Setting off we skirted ‘Tam Hill’ and ‘Arndilly Farm’ and reached the end of the forest of Ben Aigan at 6 p.m. We walked past Arndilly House, built c: 1750 and over the Macdowel Bridge where we rested. Then we continued along the road and came upon the Fiddichside Inn at the junction, crossing the river Fiddich. Aimee went in to ask where we could have a meal etc. Crossing the bridge we entered Fiddichside Park (the old Speyside Way Visitor Centre) and pitched camp on the grass reserved for tents near the river. There were no other campers in the park. We had been aiming to reach Craigellachie, but this had all the facilities we needed – flat ground, fresh water and toilets. Aimee said the Inn was lovely and warm inside with its log fire and that we should go over later just to keep warm. We pitched camp at 8 p.m. and cooked dinner; Aimee had a lamb hot pot and I had beans, sausage, bacon and egg. We had tea and had finished dinner by 9.30 p.m. We then went to the Inn at 10 p.m.
There was an old landlord behind the bar (a small room with a log fire and walls filled with memorabilia) and there were three German tourists at the bar tasting the many malt whiskeys that were available. I had a pint of beer and Aimee had a half pint of shandy. I bought some cigars which cheered me up and I had a ‘Longmore’ malt whiskey’ to keep the chill off! Time was declared at 11 p.m. and we left after the landlord (a strict teetotaller) obligingly filled our hot water bottles for us at the bar. We had walked another six miles today and we went to sleep about 11.50 with the warm glow of alcohol within us and spent a reasonably warm night on that little lawned campsite!
The next day, day 16 of the expedition to bring civility and gentility to the Highlands of Scotland; a day also known as Monday 21st April and famous for the occasion of my birth, in fact my thirty-ninth year to be precise, saw two happy campers rising at 8.45 a.m (the alarm was set for 7 a.m.). We breakfasted and had tea and struck camp! It was a sunny day with a few clouds in the sky. At midday we began the walk and Aimee had more de ja vu experiences along the trail as we followed the old line of the Speyside Railway which closed in 1868; through the old damp tunnels till we got to Abelour at 1.10 p.m. We rested here and wrote a postcard to Aimee’s mother; the postcard had a cartoon drawing of Nessie requesting more tourists with her tongue drooling from her mouth at the thought of it! Aimee went into the Co-op for some provisions and the sun shone beautifully as I waited across the road near some monument, on a bench. Aimee came back with a small cake each – it was my birthday cake! We had lunch at the old Abelour train station, on the platform. I thought we stayed too long for lunch, which we did and we set off again about 2.30 p.m. We went past a distillery, to Delmore and past ‘Tom of Brock’ hill, over a bridge, past Carron House to the village of Carron where we has a short rest. It was very hot and we walked on past the ‘Imperial Distillery’ built in 1897 and past the ‘Imperial ‘ cottages – it was a long slog to Knockando House, to Knockando Distillery and then on to Tamdhur Distillery – we stopped at the old Tamdhur Station and I took on some water at 4.35 p.m. We continued to the ‘Cally Burn’ bridge where we met a couple coming towards us; they lived nearby and the English man seemed rather ancient with watery eyes like old Poseidon with his wife, walking. He suggested we camp a little further on instead of at ‘Blacksboat’ which is ‘full of fishermen and not very pleasant’ he said. The woman mentioned that Bob Dylan had bought a property in the vicinity. I told them it was my birthday and that I was looking forward to my haggis dinner! We parted and we continued along the trail in search of a place to camp. We followed the River Spey, over bridges crossing streams until finally we stopped at another bridge which went over the ‘Burn of Ketack’ where we made camp at 8 p.m. not too far from the ‘Mains of Kirdell’s’ (short of where we wanted to be at ‘Ballindalloch’ but it’s been a hard and pleasant trail).We walked approximately nine miles today. I cooked dinner (still more problems with the gas) and we had haggis, mashed potatoes and green beans with a cup of tea each! It was a lovely birthday dinner and put much needed life into two tired travellers! But mistakenly, I neglected to wash up and when we retired to bed at 11 p.m. it wasn’t long before we heard the sound of tiny feet – yes, we had a little visitor in the porch of the tent: a mouse! I put the pots and pans together so that the little fellow could not get at them but he was a persistent blighter! And we slept to the gentle stirring of his little feet as they danced across the porch!

A GOOD KILLING DAY!

Day 17 – Tuesday 22nd April, began with the alarm at 6 a.m. but we stayed huddled in our sleeping bags until 7.15 p.m. We rose to the sound of shotguns being fired in the distance as the sun shone. I noticed our little visitor in the night had left several ‘calling cards’ in both of my boots, much to my annoyance and Aimee’s amusement! In fact, he never touched any of Aimee’s things at all and we both laughed about it when she suggested he probably held a grudge because I took his dinner (my birthday dinner) away from him! We had breakfast and struck camp and began the walk at 11.10 a.m. We walked to Blacksboat Station, arriving at 11.30 a.m. and the sun shone as we crossed the River Spey to continue on to Ballindaloch Station which we reached at 12.45 p.m. We had lunch there, amidst the noise of workmen building some new houses nearby and it was a beautiful old station. We walked the trail to the end of the old railway line – or as far as we could travel and we turned off to climb a steep hill where near to the top we saw and touched a toad that jumped in front of our path, on Sidhean na Faile Moire, after we crossed a bog on slippery and sunken stepping stones. We skirted a field of cows and some had broken loose through the wire barrier and were blocking the trail which we had to move on, to their annoyance. We crossed the A95 road and followed it to Ardbeg, where we rested on a style and ate an apple. We entered the Gervault Plantation, a steep hill at 4.09 p.m. just as an old vintage war plane from the forties roared overhead. Its engine was a delight to hear and conjured images of rural life during those years where to hear and see these magnificent machines would have been common place. It was hard going and soul destroying in that plantation – we crossed the Burn of Gervault with its stepping stones to contend with – it became extremely windy and cold. In fact, I had never known such a wind which almost penetrated to my inner being! It ripped flesh from bones and life was extinct, it seemed. We crossed another burn, the Burn of Coire Seileach and yet again more stepping stones and then into the cover of the ‘Woods of Knockfrink’ skirting Knockfrink hill at 380 metres. Another hard slog and we left those damned woods and I was glad to do so at 7.15 p.m. It was a very steep climb down out of the wood following the Alt Eoghainn – there were more stepping stones over a bog. We intended to push on to the Mains of Dalvey (and the Burn of Dalvey) through Meiklepark wood, but light was fading and we were tired at the prospect of yet another climb! We decided to camp, not too far from the stream (Alt Eoghainn) and not too far from a clump of trees. Cows could be heard beyond the woods and I was reluctant to settle on this place, but we pitched camp at almost 8 p.m. and cooked dinner and had tea as the wind began to catch up with us! It roared and the tent was put through a rigorous test of strength as its support beams bent. We got to bed at 11.15 p.m. and we calculated that we had walked approximately nine and a quarter miles today!

SHAKESPEARE DAY

What a terrible and disgusting shame it is that our national poet and the greatest dramatist this tiny planet has produced is not celebrated on the great event of his birth and death! It should be a national day of merriment with readings of the bard, not to mention a public bank holiday! After all, it is also recognised as Saint George’s Day, though not celebrated as any other nation would do! But being English, we hide our achievements and feel embarrassed to even suggest such a thing as celebrating anything British or English – Heaven forbid that we should offend anyone! It makes my blood boil and for that reason, today, day 18 – Wednesday 23rd April is known as ‘Shakespeare Day’ and every 23rd of April till the day I die will be known by this title too!
We woke to the alarm at 6 a.m. but slept till 8 a.m. It was cold and still a little windy. Camp was struck and we began to walk at 11.20 a.m. We climbed a steep hill and entered Meiklepark Wood – some boggy areas and stepping stones slowed us down quite considerably, but we followed the trail and crossed the Burn of Dalvey and walked in view of the cows that we heard last night at camp. We then entered Tom an Uird Wood skirting Tom an Uird Hill at 419 metres – a long and arduous slog – the sun faded and the clouds gathered, there was even some light rain. We left the woods at 3.50 p.m. and I was again glad to do so. At 4 p.m. we rested for half an hour and we then got back on the old Speyside Railway line track, after crossing the busy A95 road. It was a pleasant rest and there was even an old office chair on the trail as if placed there specifically for our use which Aimee took advantage of. We ate nuts and dried fruit and then followed the trail towards Cromdale. We came off at a road, (Aimee found an old ten pence coin here – I later found an old penny which made eleven pence – that great magick number!) we walked into Cromdale and rested at the Haugh Hotel (we had just missed a bus) from 5.45-6.35 p.m. in the lounge. The bus came at 6.54 p.m. (number 34 to Nethy Bridge £3.70) which we caught. It was sunny and the nice driver dropped us off as close to the Lazy Duck Hostel as he could – we walked to the Lazy Duck down a forest trail and we arrived at 7 p.m. (the Lazy Duck allows up to four tents to pitch on its site). The nice old English gentleman owner said we could use his outdoor stove which had two hobs and light the log fire stove if we chose to. We pitched camp and was done by 8 p.m. We cooked dinner on his outdoor stove (which the volunteer helpers normally use when they are there, staying in the caravan) and we had a duck egg each (50 pence each) and Aimee got the pot-bellied stove alight. Today we had walked four and a half miles (the bus took us a further eight miles) and so in total twelve and a half miles. It was a very cold night and Aimee was reluctant to leave the warmth of the log fire stove – I enjoyed a lovely cigar and was in bed by 1.20 a.m. Aimee stayed out a while to tend the fire etc.

RED SQUIRRELS

Day 19 – Thursday 24th April. We woke to the alarm at 7.30 a.m. but continued to sleep till way past 10 a.m. It was cloudy outside and we had breakfast. We had a shower later and it rained at 1 p.m. Aimee said she saw a red squirrel when I returned from the shower. When Aimee took her shower as I was packing, I saw three red squirrels nearby running up and down the bird feeder. It was a wonderful thing to see! This hostel is also a working farm of sorts and they have a white horse, chickens and ducks etc. We left at 3 p.m. and walked a mile or so in to Nethy Bridge village – we went to the village store which doubled as the Post Office and we sat opposite by the bus stop on the site of the old drill hall – on a bench made from the stone step of the Hall where men entered to enlist during the Great War. We walked on at 4.30 p.m. and realised that we had left Aimee’s walking poles behind at the Lazy Duck – those damn poles again! So I marched back and retrieved them returning at 5.15 p.m. (two miles walked in thirty minutes). It was still sunny and at 5.15 p.m. we began the walk again! We followed the trail into Loch Garten forest (Abernethy Nature Reserve), a lovely walk, then into Loch Mallachie forest. We followed the road to the Boat of Garten and came to a bridge across the Spey River where we came off to the side and searched for quite some time for a place to pitch camp. Again we were forced to pitch beside the trail not far from the River as it was the flattest piece of ground we could find, apart from the molehills near the back of the tent. The front of the tent faced towards the bridge and the rear pointed towards the Cairngorm mountain range. We are pitched in the Cairngorm National Park and the tent was up by 8 p.m. we cooked dinner and calculated we had walked approximately five miles today with six more to walk tomorrow into Aviemore. I had a cigar and the sky was alive with stars, beautiful stars… the air was cold and cows could be heard nearby in the next field at the top of the hill. We got into bed at 12.30 p.m.

AVIEMORE

Day 20 – Friday 25th April. We woke at 8 a.m. to the alarm and there was some sun to warm us. We struck camp after breakfast and were done by 11 a.m. Before we left we flew a kite together but the kite which had been like magic in Aimee’s hands seemed like a lifeless corpse in my own and would not stay up for me! The walk began at 11.10 a.m. and we went across the bridge to the Strathspey Steam Railway. We followed the forest trail to ‘the yard’ and there were lots of heather and boggy land stretching around us which seemed very desolate and much like the moors back in England. The Cairngorms, with their tops glistening with snow were to our left and the weather was gloomy as it showered with rain on and off. We came to a wood near a golf course and the wood was full of rooks and the haunting cries they make. I noticed a small stone cairn and there was a sombre mood to those woods like a small space holding an emotion which had last been felt centuries ago.
We reached Aviemore at 4 p.m. and went to see the Aviemore Ring Cairn (stone circle) which was very beautiful, though to my eyes spoilt by man’s hunger to ruin everything of natural beauty with his greedy and shallow heart by erecting houses around them – the stones nestled amongst houses in a small cul de sac – people are such pigs! Then we battled the rain into Aviemore itself – a terrible dead end of a place with no redeeming features except the mountains, the Ring Cairn and the steam railway! We kept warm and dry at the railway station for a couple of hours before we went for dinner at ‘Smiffy’s Fish and Chip Restaurant’. We waited back at the station from 8.30 p.m. and at 9.23 p.m. the Caledonian Sleeper train pulled in and we had cabin berth M11 and 12. I was glad to be leaving Aviemore with its state of limbo between worlds atmosphere – a sort of elephants graveyard for tourists… I took the top bunk and we had some tea. I worked out that we had walked six miles today and in total we have walked forty five and three quarter miles, perhaps a little more, certainly not less… The hours slipped by as we slept until we reached London, that foul Capital of crime and inhumanness. We arrived at Euston at 8 a.m. on Saturday 26th April 2008 and the adventure had ended!

A Highland Adventure - Part II

A HIGHLAND ADVENTURE

PART TWO

by Barry Van-Asten

II

THE GREAT GLEN

UNDER THE EYE OF THE BEN

Day 7 – Saturday 12th April. We woke at 10.30 a.m. and it was very cold but some sun did appear. We breakfasted and showered and I removed a tick from my right leg in the shower. At 1.30 p.m. it rained and we went to see the campsite owner to pay for our stay. The old lady told us that ‘somebody had been taken off the Ben with head injuries’, which was probably a daily occurrence in those parts. At 3 p.m. we walked along the Caledonian Canal and followed it to Corpach sea lock. There were two fishing boats going through the lock – the lock-keeper, a nice lady, gave us our canoeing licence and a British Waterways key which normally we would have to pay for but she trusted us to hand it back in, which we agreed to do. We then got the bus to Fort William High Street and had dinner in a fish and chip restaurant. At 9 p.m. we caught the bus back to camp and did the laundry and drying at 11.30 p.m. It was a very cold night again with Ben Nevis in the distance, masked by clouds. After the laundry we were back at the tent and in bed at 1.45 a.m.
Day 8 – Sunday 13th April. The alarm was set for 7.30 a.m. and we were up for 8 a.m. We struck camp and as we were doing so the canoe company who were supplying the canoe and all the gear turned up at 10 a.m. to take us to the canal. We were done by 10.30 a.m. We went to the top of ‘Neptune’s Staircase’ on the Caledonian Canal and the 17 foot canoe was lowered into the water. We had our helmets, barrels (for keeping things dry) and our life preserving vests and were ready for the off! We cast off at midday with Aimee steering in the back and after a little time adjusting to the boat we paddled along the canal to Banavie and then to Muirshearlich. We stopped at Loy for lunch on the bank side and then went on to Moy Swing Bridge. There was some rain along the way but generally the sun was shining and all was well!
At Gairlochy we decided to get out of the boat before going through the lock/swing bridge and as we were getting out of the boat we both ended up waste high in the water! We crawled out and tried to dry off a little. I had hurt my right leg and hip and also cut my right wrist, thankfully not deep enough to cause too much damage, and Aimee had also hurt her hip and leg. We tried to get into the boat but this time the boat (being heavy at the front) had taken on water and in we went a second time! But this time the boat overturned and the rucksacks were under water and the barrels floating. I untied the barrels and pulled out the rucksacks. Thoroughly miserable, we had to get the boat out of the water and empty it of water, which we did. We then decided that Aimee would paddle the boat through the loch while I walked round with the gear and waited at the waterside to haul the boat out at the other side using the British Waterway’s trolley. We did this with much effort and took the boat round the corner to a small bay or marina where we pitched tent. By 7 or 8 p.m. Aimee was suffering the effects of the cold and shivering quite severely and I was worried she may get hypothermia so I tried to keep her warm as best I could and huddled together. We used the laundry room to dry our boots and other items as best we could and Aimee was up till very late doing this, so we didn’t get to bed until 1.45 a.m. Today we had paddled about five miles and were doing very well until we came upon Gairlochy – something was indeed keeping us from reaching our destination!
The next day, the ninth day on Monday 14th April we woke at 7.45 a.m. and stayed in the tent till around 9 a.m. There was some sun but it was cold and we were both tired; we stayed in camp all day and tried to dry of still. The boots were still very wet. Aimee slept and I was very despondent (my two cigars were too wet to smoke even after attempting to dry them in what little sun there was). Outside the tent as Aimee slept I tried to dry the boots and some small items and my mind turned to spiritual matters – it is indeed a trial and a test and I must observe signs which may have a magical meaning! I had a bad headache for most of the day and I later cooked dinner and listened to a woodpecker – two ducks came around the tent and stayed around camp. But as the sun went down and the evening grew cold I became despondent again. My head torch failed to work and so did my small radio. In bed we listened to a comedy show on Aimee’s MP3 player that she downloaded as a podcast and we laughed a little. It was nice to forget for a while the cold and the wet! We slept rather well and it rained hard all night. My hands were very sore and bleeding; they were dry and cracked and so were Aimee’s to some extent. My right knee was painful and so was the calf to the right of the knee which had become very dry and red; not forgetting my cut wrist and bruised hip…

BY THE WILDS OF LOCH LOCHY

We woke at 9.30 a.m. on Tuesday 15th April, day ten of our journey. A wet but sunny day and we breakfasted to the sound of furiously busy woodpeckers. I managed to fix my head torch (it was a battery problem) and we had a lot of time to now make up in the boat! We struck camp! And took the boat and all the gear to a landing bay or slipway to cast off which we did at either 2.30 or 3 p.m. From here we would be leaving the Caledonian Canal for a while and entering our first loch – Loch Lochy! We started well but it suddenly became very windy and we could not handle the boat. We were blown from one side of the loch to the other, from right to left looking from Gairlochy. The boat was blown sideways and we could not recover as we were almost tipped by the force of the oncoming waves and the combination of the wind! We managed to steer the boat to a landing pontoon which was rotten and we carefully hauled the boat out of the water and onto the sandy bay. There was a path at the side of the loch through a gate which said ‘no access’ but through it I went and we got the boat through too and from there on in we planned to walk the boat around the edge of the loch until the weather got better and we could get back in the boat. This was the plan, but it didn’t work out as simple. Along the edge of the loch there were lots of trees and obstacles which made it difficult to pull the boat around, but I believe we, certainly I was possessed of ‘superhuman’ strength that day and that what I was doing was meant to happen as a magical test to prevent me from reaching my desired end, but reach it I would even if I had to carry the boat, which I very nearly ended up doing! The goal was all that mattered and the condition of the boat was of no consequence to me. We pulled the boat out of the water onto the path, fully loaded with all our gear (I would guess about 15 stone in weight or more). We skirted woods which had ‘no entry’ signs because the trees were being felled but we carried on; there was no signs of life around us but we carried on; Aimee fell more than once and hurt her hip but we carried on… we eventually got out of the ‘danger area’ at 8.30 p.m. and thought about finding a place to camp for the night. I saw there was a ram ahead of us on the path watching me as I searched for an appropriate camp site. We were near to a track road and we pitched camp on heather and a mossy dell near a tree. We cleared the ground and got the tent up. We were both thoroughly tired when we cooked dinner at 10.30 p.m. but there were still problems with the gas. The night was quiet and we could hear the water lapping at the loch-side – Aimee tended to agree that there was something strange in the way we were being ‘played with’ and I fully believe that Magick is behind the problems we are having!

I have divined the word of the equinox, and it is 'Toil!'

The word of the equinox (as I see it) seems to explain the difficulty we are having and I have divined its nature thus:

TOIL= by ordinary means of addition (9+70+10+30) 119 which could be divined as 1+1+9=11, but by using the numbers on the Tarot we get: XI+XV+IX+VIII=XLIII (43).
43 is a Prime Number, it is the number of orgasm, especially in the masculine sense. From this number we can find:

4 plus 3=7
4 minus 3=1 (Kether)
4 times 3=12 (He, Kether)
4 divided by 3=1.3
Of these 1.3 or 13 is better because we arrive at AHBA (love) and AChD (unity). I, Aleph, who is the Fool, who is naught (unconscious of Himself until His Oneness expresses itself as a duality).

Again using the Tarot we get:

XI Strength – 156+666 (The Beast). Horus.Leo, serpent. The Lingam, the manifested phallus.
XV the Devil – the penis, erect and glad (Pan). Set. Capricorn. The Yoni (nothing, Nuit) the Devil. [also the eye and an aspect of the phallus]
IX the Hermit – the secret seed. Hoor Par Kraath. Virgo. The secret creative energy (solitude and silence of the hermitage).
VIII Justice – the sexually joined. Maat. Libra. Equilibrium, balance, also doom.

Day 11, Wednesday 16th April. We woke at 10.45 a.m., much later than we expected. We still had problems with the gas so we couldn’t have tea or breakfast! It was sunny but the condition of the Loch had not changed (we both looked out the tent to the Loch around 6 a.m. and it was perfectly calm – now there was large waves against us). We had decided enough was enough and so Aimee called the canoe company to terminate the canoe trip and get them to pick us up. There was a lot of difficulty in establishing our exact location but as we were not far from a track it made sense to wait alongside it to be picked up. I hauled the boat up the wooded glade to the roadside with much effort, then the barrels and the rucksacks. We were waiting at the roadside at 3.30 p.m. and not long later a car came to collect the boat and drop us off near Inverness. We got the boat on the roof of the car and the gear in the back and we drove through Fort Augustus, Invermoriston and Drumnadrochit, (the well of the seven heads) and to Beauly. We then caught the bus to Inverness and had a delightful walk along the Ness Walk to Bught camp site where we stayed last year. We got the tent up by 8.30 p.m. and then walked to Inverness past Tomnahurich Cemetery to Tesco to get some provisions (cakes and cigars). We then went to the Wetherspoon Pub ‘The King’s Highway’ for dinner and had plaice, chips and peas with tea. We stayed till closing time and walked back along the Ness walk to camp as I enjoyed a delightful cigar. It was not cold, it never seems to be cold on the Ness Walk, and it was a dream… Back at the tent we slept quite well but it was a frosty night!
The next day, day 12 on Thursday 17th April began as we woke to the alarm at 8 a.m. we went to the reception and I paid for two night’s stay (£24) and then we walked along the Ness Walk to Inverness. The daffodils were gold in the sunlight and it was a beautiful warm day with a gentle breeze. We breakfasted at ‘The King’s Highway’ (I had the Scottish while Aimee had the English breakfast with tea and toast) at 11.40 a.m. We had intended going to Foyers today but the bus leaves at 12.15 and it would be a rush to get it so we decided to do it tomorrow. We did some shopping (I looked at the Tobacconist in Victoria market) and we later went back to ‘The King’s Highway’ where Aimee had a pot of tea and I had a pint of beer. After going to Tesco’s we were back at camp for 6 p.m. we cooked a stir-fry dinner and had a steamed treacle pudding. In bed I wrote a post card to my brother which I will post tomorrow. It was a cold night!

BOLESKINE

I have hungered through the forests

And I have come,

With flesh to flesh, and spirit, shaped

By animated soul, shook foul and dumb

In the energised reflection that is blest

By beauty and fascination, and love and sun!

Friday 18th April, day 13 of the journey. I awoke to the alarm at 7.45 a.m. and it was a sunny day with a gentle breeze as I removed yet another tick from my left leg with Aimee’s assistance. We struck camp and were away around 2 p.m. I walked to the swing bridge on the Caledonian Canal and waited for the bridge to return to the closed position after a boat had passed through; I then knocked on the bridge-keeper’s hut door and handed him the British Waterways key and then returned back to camp. Aimee and I then walked beside the playing field and it got quite warm as we got to the bridge which crosses to Ness Island. The rucksacks were heavy and on the Island we saw Jeremy Irons the actor walking his dog. We crossed Island Bank Road – Haugh Road and waited at the bus stop for the D & E coach to Foyers which turned up at 3.30 p.m. Two single tickets cost £7.20 and the bus was full of school children returning home. Later as we drove along General Wade’s Military Road on the Lochside of Loch Ness, a part of the bus came loose and the driver had to pull over and remove the large metal panel and bring it onto the bus. One by one, the school children were released from the bus like turds from a camel’s backside until we arrived at Upper Foyers at 4.10 p.m. and we walked up the road in search of a place to camp. There was nowhere suitable, and we could hear the rushing water from the Falls of Foyers below us as we peered over the fence at the roadside. I then suddenly recalled that near Boleskine House there was a stream which would be appropriate to camp beside and so after a short stop at the general store to look at the fly fishing equipment and I posted my post card to my brother in the box outside, we walked the mile and more towards Boleskine House. The House loomed in the distance like a colossal monster, asleep, yet aware of our presence. The stream heads down the hill in the field next to the burial ground that sits beside the Loch and it seemed a good place to camp, so we entered the open swing gate and searched for a reasonably flat area of ground to pitch camp. We carried on down the hill towards the corner of the field where there was an old gate leading to a track way beyond which the locals used; we cleared the ground of fallen twigs and debris and pitched camp at 5.30 p.m. Opening my rucksack I noticed that one of the school children who sat behind us on the bus had written ‘I suck c..k’* and drawn a tidy little penis complete with testicals – the drawing reminded me a little of the sigil of the Great Beast Himself so it was not too inappropriate that it happened there but still I was not happy that my rucksack had been ‘molested’ in fact I was downright angry!

The sun was gently going down and the birds were singing. We made some tea and had oat cakes with tuna. Aimee mentioned that she felt she should come here today (rather than yesterday); things have pointed towards us being here today yet at the same time attempted to deter us from doing so! I felt alive and joyous to be here and that I had achieved my aim! After tea at 8.15 p.m. we walked back to Foyers and we climbed along the trail to visit the Falls of Foyers (which Aimee had promised herself she would see as we missed them last time). The Falls were very impressive and Aimee took some photos as the spray jetted up in the air and covered everything in a fine moist mist. I recalled Crowley’s poem from his ‘Confessions’

I sate upon the mossy promontory

Where the cascade cleft not his mother rock,

But swept in whirlwind lightning foam and glory,

Vast circling with unwearying luminous shock

To lure and lock

Marvellous eddies in its wild caress…

The Falls roared below us and seemed magical in the dusk twilight. It was like one long intake of air that did not end and a strange tension was alive in the atmosphere! We then trudged back to Boleskine House and I enjoyed a cigar. The burial ground was soon upon us and I noticed a beautiful moon behind Boleskine House, which was all in darkness [the full moon occurred on 20th April at 10.26 a.m.] In the field, there were movements not far from the tent and I could see glowing eyes staring towards me – I shone my head torch in that direction and the eyes stared back like fire! They were dear, possibly three in total and they sped off down the hill. We entered the gate and carefully went down the hill towards the tent. Owls were screeching and Boleskine House seemed luminous beneath the pale orb of the moon. We had returned at 9.45 p.m. and got down to cooking dinner – there was more trouble with the camping gas which worked intermittently! Also during cooking and after there was a lot of noise outside near the burial ground of people shouting and screaming. We felt quite safe and out of the way down the hill – nevertheless, we turned of the head torches and small tent lantern and remained silent a while. This was approximately at midnight. By 12.30 a.m. we were in our sleeping bags and the alarm was set for 6 a.m. to get the D & E bus back to Inverness!

..................................

It is exactly 371 days since I was last here on Friday 13th April 2007 e.v.
Magickally 371= 3+7+1=11 and 3X7+1=22

11 is the number of Magick and 22 is the number of letters in the Hebrew alphabet and the paths on the Tree of Life; also 22 are the number of Trumps in the Tarot.
22 is also 2X11 – The Dyad.

* Because I have chosen to interpret all manifestations as a personal correspondence between the Gods and my own Higher Genius, then I am compelled to investigate the above phrase. Rendering the words thus I get: I SVCh KOCh – this gives us: 10+60+6+8+20+70+8= 182. [1+8+2= 11] In the Tarot we find IX the Hermit, XIV Temperance, V the Hierophant, VII the Chariot, X the Wheel of Fortune, XV the Devil and VII the Chariot. [9+14+5+7+10+15+7= 57] From 57 we can find: 5 minus 7= minus 2; 5 divided by 7 =0.7142857 but the best equation is certainly 5 multiplied by 7 =35. 35= AGLA, a name of God, a notariqon of Ateh Gibor le-Olahm Adonai – ‘To Thee be the Power unto the Ages, O my Lord’. 35 is also ‘boundary’ or ‘limit’ and ‘He will go’. 5 is the Power and 7 is the Divinity.
Using the AIBTh system of the Qabalah we find: 10+9+6+8+11+8+8+ 60. [60= Samekh – Temperance. This could mean ‘restriction’]
In a simpler form we find: Pe & Yod [Pe= 80 and XVI the Blasted Tower; Yod= 10 and IX the Hermit] 80+10= 90. 90= Tzaddi – a fish hook – Tanha, the clinging of man to life (9), the trap in which man is caught as a fish by a hook. The most material aspect of animal life; its final doom decreed by its own lust. 90 is also MIM= water.
As a magical formula I have interpreted the act thus: I PAN I which is 10+80+50+10= 151. Taking Aleph as the Pentagram I choose to give it a double value, that of its usual ‘one’ and that of the pentagram which is ‘five’. Adding this ‘five’ to 151 we get 156 – The number of Babalon! The Tarot gives us IX, XVI, O, XIII, IX.
I PAN I is the God PAN defended on both side by hermits or Phallic Yods and crowned by the hidden Pentagram within its central Aleph. PAN = 131 [as does Samael, the Hebrew destroying angel] Pan is the bisexual energy and there is also the figure of Baphomet.
A Ritual could be written on this basis as an ‘act of consecration’. Babalon is the word of seven letters (Malkuth conceals Binah) 156 – 2X78. Babalon also conceals the Holy word which is the key to the abyss and that word is N.O.X. She conceals this word because she is the Lady of the City of the Pyramids beneath the Night of Pan. Aleph as the Fool of the Tarot is also an aspect of Pan. N in Hebrew is ‘fish’ which is also the phallus, the redeemer. Yod represents the father and wisdom; He is Mercury, the secret fire, the phallus, spermatozoan, the hand, the logos, the virgin…
Babalon is 2+1+2+1+30+70+50= (7+7) divided by 7 +77+77=156 (seven sevens). 156 is 26X6, 26 letters in the alphabet multiplied by the number of the sun – 6.
Pe= Mars – the Eye of Horus (eleventh degree of OTO – see The Paris Working and work concerning Hermes and KPATOS [kratos – Greek for strength and force] also, Yod is Thoth/Hermes, Mercury and Ma – Ma seduced the phallus from the yoni – the feminine side of Ma is Pan – ‘Pamphage, Pangenetor’ all-devourer, all-begetter)



Strangely, I had the timetable for the D & E Coaches from last year in my rucksack which Aimee noticed. I also had two ‘magick squares’ from ‘Abramelin the Mage’ in my spectacle case which got soaked in the canal. I dried them out with the intention of leaving them at Boleskine which I forgot to do on Saturday 19th April. I was unaware that they were in my possession until the canoe incident!

THE VISION OF NUIT

Stooping down, dipping my wings, I came

Unto the darkly-splendid abodes.

There in that formless abyss was

I made a partaker of the Mysteries

Averse.

[Liber LXV]

Lying there in the tent with the feeling of some ‘lurking presence’ beyond its small confines, I lay motionless and fell into my mantra:

‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law,

Love is the law, love under will’

when shortly, my mind’s eye turned towards a familiar image of Crowley with His shaven head and He was grinning at me in a very sinister way as if to say: ‘well, you got here then!’ Just then, another image took my mind and I was within the void of darkness but there was a spark which became the beautiful blue of the sky and there before the sky, was a beautiful figure of a woman and as she stood there like a priestess of Hecate, Her skin seemed to glisten like silvery-gold moonlight; she was slender and lithe and I got the image of a panther, sleek and graceful yet also deadly. She wore a pleated dress which fell to Her thighs and hung from a gold neck band; the dress was blue, a shade darker than the sky behind Her. She turned Her large almond shaped eyes on me and opened Her arms as if to embrace me, and as She did so, Her pleated dress opened like a peacock’s tail (it was also attached to Her wrists by golden bands) to reveal the wondrous Eye of Horus and the rays of the sun around it. The vision was of a very strong clarity and intensity and I was drawn to the Book of the Law:

‘I am the blue-lidded daughter of Sunset;

I am the naked brilliance of the

Voluptuous night-sky’.

[A.L. I.64]

It was the sign of acceptance and the Veil of Paroketh had been rent asunder!

……………………….……

A word on the meaning of my magickal name AUDRAREP from the Book of Preliminary Results in Magick: AUDRAREP is the Athlash Temurah of PERARDUA [Temurah is a Qabalistic permutation and Athlash is a form of Temurah where the word is reversed].

Using the ALBTh system of the Qabalah we see AUDRAREP as 1+6+4+4+1=4+5+7=32

32= 3+2=5 (the microcosm – the Pentagram)
32= 3X2=6 (the macrocosm – the Hexagram)
32= 3-2=1 (Aleph etc)

32= the number of Sephiroth and paths (10+22) on the Tree of Life. It is also the completion of perfection – finality.
We also find AHIH and IHVH. 32=2, divine will extended through motion. Mercurial number, external change…
Perfection from 1-10 and Aleph to Tau connects with 6, through AHIHVH.

AUD=11, the great magical number, uniting 5 and 6 etc. AUD the magic force itself – Light (see Liber A.L. I.60).

A= the Baccus Diphues; the Babe in the Egg.
V= the Man of Earth of Solar Nature.
D= the Principle of Love.

RA=20 [AR=Light (Chaldee]. Note 201= 3X67, Binah, as if it were said ‘Light is concealed as a child in the womb of its mother’. The occult retort of the Chaldean Magi to the Hebrew Sorcerers who affirmed AVR, light 207, a multiple of 9.

R=200=sun (illumination again!)

EP=85 or 8005 (HP) PH in reverse ‘mouth’. The letter Pe 85= 5X17 even the highest unity if it moves or energise, means war. EP, the reverse of Pe, mouth, gives us ‘silence’ from the Powers of the Sphynx’.
17= swastika (squares) shape = Aleph. Here 17 recalls 1, also IAV, IAO, the triune Father.

Another form of writing AUDRAREP is 5 – 111 – 6 which equals 122 (111 protected by the Pentagram and the Hexagram).
122= 70+52
70= the Devil in the Tarot [XV] and the letter Ain, also the Sanhedrim – the body of seventy men. An ‘eye’ in Hebrew is Oin – 70.
52= AIMA – the fertilised Mother (Yod in AMA= AIMA). BN – the Son (52=13X4, 4 being Mercy and the influence of the Father… Osiris-Apis, the Redeemer.

AIMEE is written thus 25 – 11 – 25 which equals 61. [61=Ain ‘nothing’ in Hebrew, a ‘negative’; also Ani – ‘ego’.
61=25+36, the Pentagram and the Hexagram in Action. 25 is five squared= the Pentagram perfected (5X5) – the Pentagram in Action. The Star Ruby. 36 is six squared= the Hexagram perfected (6X6) – the Hexagram in Action. The Star Sapphire.

………............................

The next day we awoke to the alarm at 6 a.m. and rose at 6.45. We struck camp and were ready to leave by 8.50 a.m. It was a calm and beautiful morning and all the time I felt the immense pull towards Boleskine House. Walking up the hill towards the road I noticed the remains of a blackbird, its feathers scattered a short distance, and I wondered if perhaps it had been used in some dark ritual; some demonic ceremony to evoke some terrible entity upon the shores of Loch Ness! We left the field through the swing gate and we walked along the road in the direction of Dores. I could not take my eyes from the House and was held as if spellbound by it! I did not want to leave! We stopped and waited for the D&E coach which arrived about 9.20 a.m. Aimee sat at the front of the bus and talked to the driver and I sat at the back. My gaze was fixed upon the Loch and fantastic thoughts of the monster filled my mind; as I sat there I was stirred into verse and I heard the final stanza of a poem sang to me across the Loch:

TO FOYERS

By the Loch, the dead lie easy,

Masked by the veil of world’s clay;

Eternally thrown to strange spaces

In the mists of hearts gushing away;

Away into a stone enclosure

For all time to stand and declare –

In the madness of the moon that outshines me,

An ogre of enchantment lies there.

And the great pagan gods of old

Shall tremble at the dark storms force

That shakes through the woods and the hills,

To pulse with the waters course.

Yet, what menace of years still haunts?

What elements of ritual press near?

The pilgrim journeys far, and stays

For something evoked and eternal lies here.

And those eyes peer from the shore

To thunder through ruins, and roll

Onwards, into after-realms, and fall

Like a great beast at the brute of the soul.

And I will build you a garden

Out of ivory and stone,

By the meandering shores of Loch Ness,

For love and legend and time gone!

We arrived at Inverness and headed to the King’s Highway Public House for breakfast. At the bus station we caught the coach to Fochabers which left at 11.30 a.m. and arrived at 1.30 p.m. dropping us off at ‘Baxter’s’ where we looked around and I tried some malt whiskeys. We had lunch and then began The Speyside Walk at 2.55 p.m.

A Highland Adventure - Part I

A HIGHLAND ADVENTURE

PART ONE

by Barry Van-Asten

 

 



 

Sunday 6th April – Saturday 26th April 2008 e.v.

Hail unto thee, Ness of old –

What dwells within thy waters, bold?

I

THE ISLE OF BUTE

GLASGOW

Having only had two and a half hours sleep, Aimee and I awoke at 7.45 a.m. on Sunday 6th April 2008 e.v.; a day which celebrated Aimee’s thirty-third birthday and a day which greeted us with snow! I had been recovering from a cold and was feeling a little reluctant to leave for Scotland, but leave we did at 9.10 a.m. and we took the tube to King’s Cross, arriving at 9.55 a.m. The train left at 10 a.m. bound for Glasgow and we arrived in that city at 4.10 p.m.
We walked to Paisley Road and checked into the Travelodge Hotel at 5.10 p.m. and stayed in room 204. Later we walked into Glasgow central for dinner at the Wetherspoon Pub where we had ‘haggis, neeps and taties’. We went back to the Hotel at 10 p.m. and celebrated Aimee’s birthday with cake; and after a relaxing bath we were in bed at 1.30 a.m.

WEMYSS BAY

We awoke the next day at 7.45 a.m. intending to go to the Cathedral and the Necropolis, but time was against us as we prepared and purchased accessories for camping etc. We left the Hotel at 11.30 a.m. hoping to catch breakfast at the Wetherspoon Pub but we missed it by minutes and serving finished at noon. At 1.50 p.m. we caught the train to Wemyss Bay hoping to get the ferry to Rothesay on the Isle of Bute – but we decided to wild camp and get the ferry the following day. We went into the woods where there was a stream; some trees had fallen and blocked the route and an old camp fire rang alarm bells that the site was probably used by youths so we walked the steep hill road and entered the woods, finding a site to pitch camp. It rained at 6 p.m. so we got the tent up and by 7.45 p.m. we were able to shelter. It began to get dark just after 8 p.m. so we cooked our dinner and had tea. It became quite cold so we got into our sleeping bags about 11.30 or 12 p.m. There was a lot of noise in the distance coming from the other side of the stream, probably from where we saw the camp fire earlier so we were glad we didn’t pitch camp in that area! We listened to the owls and later woke about 2 or 3 a.m. feeling extremely cold but we managed to sleep on. I had a problem with a tube deflating on my mattress ground sheet. Before Aimee slept she was busy sowing her sleeping bag liner.

AND SO BEGIN THE HOLY DAYS

I observed the Holy Days of Thelema on April 8th, 9th and 10th with time spent in contemplation. I was without my copy of the Book of the Law but my mind naturally turned towards the spiritual. On day three – Tuesday 8th April, I awoke to the alarm at 5.30 a.m. but it was so cold I slept until 9 a.m. The sun appeared and managed to warm the tent a little or at least enough to motivate the soul into action! We had tea and porridge and struck camp; we left those woods at 1.45 p.m. and walked back down the hill to the station to get the ferry, which left at 2.30 p.m. (we actually bought tickets to take us as far as Rhubodach-Colintraive – which is another ferry crossing to get to the Isle of Bute).
We arrived at the Port of Rothesay at 3.15 p.m. and got the bus at 3.55 p.m. to Port Bannatyne – Kames Bay, near Kames Castle. It was a wet day and it rained as we sat by the bay watching the tide going out; we wore our wet weather gear and ate oat cake biscuits with tuna spread. I did not like the cold and being wet – I wanted the sun to pour down on us and animate me back to life. Aimee decided upon a place to camp about two miles up the road near an old abandoned church and I agreed to its suitability. And so we began walking in that direction. The rucksacks weighed us down (I was carrying between three and a half to four stones in weight) and the rain made me feel miserable, but on we went, past the roofless disused church surrounded by gravestones which looked quite beautiful and desolate to me. A little further on past the church we approached a wooded strip of land that followed a stream, opposite the houses on the roadside; we went into the wood and walked a path towards the end where it looked onto fields and to where we wouldn’t be disturbed. It was a pleasant enough place to pitch camp and I became quite fond of that little ‘haunted grove’ that echoed with the sound of owls. We were approximately four miles from Rothesay and in the next field stood a standing stone which fascinated me. It began to rain as we pitched camp at 6 p.m. and we cooked dinner, taking water from the stream, being careful to avoid the larvae in the water and it grew dark around 8.30 p.m. suddenly we realised Aimee’s inflatable cushion seat was missing and at 9.30 p.m. we went in search of it, retracing our steps back towards the Bay; in fact we had to walk two miles back towards the Bay using our head torches to find it, which we did on the track about ten minutes away from where we were sitting earlier that day on the bench by the Bay, and we were surprised to find it! This is just the first of many ‘strange’ happenings which attempted to ‘hinder’ our adventure and my own personal pilgrimage to Inverness! And so back to the tent we went, getting there at 10.30 p.m. where we had soup and I had some whiskey. By 11.15 p.m. we were in bed; it was a cold night and sleep seemed difficult.

ETTRICK BAY STONE CIRCLE

We awoke at 11.30 a.m. on day four (Wednesday 9th April) and it was extremely windy in those woods which surprised us both! In fact, we are situated close to ‘Windy Hill’ which is the highest point on Bute. We breakfasted and was all done by 2 p.m. The wind remained and howled around camp like a mad banshee. We tried to keep our spirits up and keep warm in the tent having some soup and oat cakes with tuna to eat. At 6.40 p.m. we went for a walk along the road to the stone circle. The circle was a grassy mound of earth in a field with a few trees within it; it was fenced off and around the great stone circle was a small stone ring which is probably for protection from farming and of a later date. The circle is approached through a little gate and once inside I travelled clockwise touching all the stones – I felt compelled to do this; I then traversed the inner part of the circle and finally stood at its centre. Aimee was also impressed by the circle and there were two or three trees growing from this clump of ancient earth. Aimee took some photographs and I took a small stone from the base of the larger standing stone as a memento. Walking back to camp we leapt into the field next to the woods we had camped in to view the single standing stone. It was greatly worn and almost like marble and to my mind it presented itself as masculine as opposed to the feminine circle beyond. It had a definite presence, as did the circle and a strong energy seemed to penetrate the stones. I touched the single standing stone and held it with great respect. Its height was approximately six feet.
Instead of going back to camp we continued down the road past the houses to the ‘earthworks’ shown on the map, opposite the church. There were some brick foundations and the remains of iron railings but little else. We then went through the church gate and looked at some of the grave stones. It was an eerie sight as the darkness began to slowly fall over the ruined church like a blanket. I peered into the glassless windows of the church and could see it was all overgrown where the aisle and altar would be. It was sad to see it in such decline.
It was almost dark when we got back to camp and we cooked dinner and ate it outside, sitting on a fallen tree, with the standing stone in view on our right side, beyond the fence in the next field. We finished dinner and were back in the tent by 10.30 p.m. as it began to rain…
From the tent, through the trees, beyond the road, one can see Muirton Hill at 256 metres and beyond that is Windy Hill at 278 metres. Sitting beside Muirton Hill is Edinbeg Hill at 248 metres.
Today, Aimee experienced the joys of ‘outdoor toileting’, whereby she dug a little hole. I remarked on the similarity to a grave and gave it a similar reverence. In fact, the whole of the adventure was littered with ‘the graves of children’, for each grave was marked by some head stone and deemed ‘sacred’! It rained hard all night and Aimee had to get up at 4.30 a.m. to ‘water the grave’. I slept to the hoot of an owl, imagining ‘dark figures’ shuffling among the stones and chanting in the moonlight to some awful and terrible god!

AT SKEOCH WOOD

On the fifth day we awoke to the alarm at 8.30 a.m. but slept until 10.30 a.m. and we got up at 11 a.m. We breakfasted and began to strike camp! There was some sun and a slight wind . We were sad to leave that little wood but leave we had to and so we walked back along the road in the sunshine towards the Bay; with Kames Castle on our left the bus suddenly pulled up and we hailed it and got on at 1.30 p.m. We got off the bus near Ardbeg and looked at some woodland where we could camp overnight and then in the morning be able to get the ferry back to the mainland. We climbed a very steep and slippery path from the roadside to enter a wood which was extremely boggy and not appropriate to camp in. We walked on, over fields and through gates until we reached Skeoch Wood. We entered the wood over a collapsed stone wall and we sat on a fallen tree and had lunch, deciding to camp here. Aimee looked for a suitable place to pitch camp near to a water source which we eventually did, having to get across boggy ground. The woods were well used by dog walkers and so we had to go quite a way from the main path not to be seen. It was extremely boggy and difficult to get to and there were fallen trees everywhere; it was like a forest of the dead; it was a dead place with things either dying or dead, nothing less! And so we pitched the tent as late as we could after we collected various sizes of dry wood with the intention of making a fire to cook on as the camping gas was starting to have problems. And so the tent was up as it began to rain! It showered with rain all night in that place of the dead and at 8 p.m. we got a fire going after several attempts, thanks to Aimee’s perseverance! But I managed to light it with a flint striker against a piece of cotton wool and some ‘old man’s beard’ I gathered earlier. We cooked a curry with rice and had tea. We kept lovely and warm with the fire but at 11.15 p.m. it began to shower hailstones quite severely (hail was still around the tent the next morning) then it rained most of the night, but the fire did not go out as Aimee tended to it after our final cup of tea and I prepared her sleeping bag in the tent. It had been quite a good day with moments of sunshine and lots of walking; a camp fire and I was in the tent and in bed by midnight; Aimee came in a little later. Skeoch Wood overlooks Rothesay Bay. It rained all night and was very cold and Aimee had to get up at 3 a.m. to toilet.
The next day, which was Friday 11th April, day six of our expedition, we woke at 8.30 a.m. (the alarm was set for 7 a.m.) and I had to remove a tick from Aimee’s back using surgical spirits and a pair of tweezers. We struck camp and as we were making our way towards the pathway Aimee put her foot on what appeared to be leaves, but she sank to her knees in muddy water! She also fell in the mud on another occasion too as we were leaving. We met a lady walking her dog on the path and we walked with her into Rothesay. At 11.45 a.m. we got the ferry to Wemyss Bay. The ferry gave Aimee the opportunity to dry her feet! On arrival at Wemyss Bay we had battered haggis and chips and I bought some cigars. We then got the train back to Glasgow at 12.50 p.m. and at Glasgow we caught the 3 p.m. coach to Fort William. I had the inspiration to write a poem titled ‘Lines upon a portrait of Mr Edward Alexander Crowley’:

Lion, you fix your stare upon your prey

And sit, as some oyster-gorged demi-god;

With eyes like Death's nostrils, smoking hate,

And your fingers manicured like vampire stakes.

Dreamer of dischord and demons and darkness -

Confuser of hearts and sex: you sit

Like a bow-tied Osiris, adrift in the tomb,

With a brain full of chess nonsense...

And the menace of Choronzon's distant star

Penetrates beyond the confines of mind,

Bent with hunger, the soul assumes

A persistence of darkness that remains

As you stagger shaven-headed into the unknown -

Nosferatu bringing pestilence from afar...

And in old age - a portly Pan

Sipping Cognac at the Cafe Royal,

Manipulating forces around you

With simple gestures and words of power.

And his eyes through winding pipe smoke glare

As death flowers, amidst the stones,

Dark with pagan poetry... Flames

Toast his solemn heart... He comes

Like a huge bulk of Godhood, summoned

To the enchanted scent of flesh and song!

And in your defence, Monsieur Beast,

A sigh of surety and relief,

Handed down and placed in hearts -

A kiss from Kingdoms great and far:

A law unto our lovely star

And a dream of love for who we are!

Sat like Satan in your Trinity room -

Great Beast of your mother - Leamington man!

Lilith-scented, you huffed and you puffed

Through the galaxies of faith and waste;

Through the gardens of the damned

And every haunted place... But

What was said? What bombs of wit

Were delivered before the camera click?

With your sails full, you were unstoppable,

Crossing continents... a cocained collosus

Who had outgrown the human, and known

The habitation of the Gods, and what they are.

But the human lingered still, and sat

Heavy with its failures on your brow -

And now, what man of iron will shall come

To watch over the aeon, and sing

A lament for the World Ash, wonder sap?

A song of all time, to bring

A light from afar, to worship still -

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.

Love is the law, love under will.

The coach went via Loch Lomond and the Trossachs and arrived at Fort William at 6 p.m. We then took a taxi to the campsite. The wind and the cold were murderous and did not let up for one minute; I could not get warm the whole time there! We pitched camp and there was some rain, but we managed to cook dinner and have tea! We later went for a walk to explore the campsite and were back at the tent at 11.40 p.m. expecting a very cold night. I had a bad headache earlier that would not shift and the night met our drear expectations as we tried to keep warm and sleep!

A Boleskine Adventure - by Barry Van-Asten

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law

‘In the East, that is, in the direction of
Boleskine, which is situated on the south-
eastern shores of Loch Ness in Scotland,

two miles east of Foyers, is a shrine or
High Altar.’
Liber XV.
The day was one of great importance, but to mere mortals of a superstitious nature it was simply Friday 13th April in the year of the old God two-thousand-and-seven E.V. The sun shone bright over Inverness as Aimee the Seer and I took the D&E coach to Upper Foyers at quarter past midday. We travelled upon the B852 road which skirts Loch Ness and was once known as General Wade’s military road. As the sunlight caught the ripples on the Loch I recalled seeing the sub-station on the Loch side and I knew Boleskine House would soon be visible on the left of the road, and suddenly the Gate House came into view with its drive up to the main House, and then the Burial ground appeared on the right, next to the Loch. The coach drove past the Foyers Hotel and reached the Upper Foyers Falls monument, dated 1896-1996 at one P.M. After the Seer stopped off at a local shop to purchase a walking map, we both set off on our trail.
We walked past the white building, Loch side which is the Police station and noticed that children were playing outside, in its garden. Then we came to the Forest Trail which divides away from the military road and climbs up towards the Parish Church and the Primary School, both on the left of the track. We walked the ‘red’ Forestry walk route which leads from Foyers to Inverfarigaig, a hill route the distance of two miles. It was a delightful walk and we soon passed the green still water of the dam on the left of the track (1).
The track became steeper and steeper as we climbed the Creag a’ Griubhais hill, which reaches 244 metres in height. The woodland was carpeted with primroses, blue bells, wood anemones, wood sorrel and violets; on the open ground and over the rocks there was bell heather clinging to the rock faces and blaeberry. On the wet boggy ground there were orchids and bog asphodel. A lizard crossed my path and we came upon a little stream. If one is lucky one can see roe deer in the woodland and red deer on the higher ground. There are also red squirrels, pine marten, fox and wild cat. And not forgetting the grouse and capercaillies.
We skirted the hill Tom an Eig and passed the disused shaft on the right (2). We then climbed to the top of Toman Tarsuinn hill and had some excellent views over Loch Ness and all around. We then came upon a clearing in the woods where the track diverges; we turned left, off the ‘red’ route and pushed on towards Easter Boleskine House. Entering the gates and walking up the driveway track we passed the out-buildings which the owners were renovating. Coming upon the main House we heard a lady’s voice greet us from behind a hedge in the front garden, where she was weeding and tending to flowers. The Seer and I stopped and talked with her. We learnt that she and her husband had lived in Paddington, near the canal and had fallen in love with Loch Ness and the House and she said she would never go back to London. She told us that she is originally from Essex and she invited the Seer and I to tea and scones next time we passed that way. Just then her husband came out and he also welcomed the Seer and I. But I was eager to be moving on to see Boleskine House which I knew to be a little way down the track and soon visible, but the friendly welcome from the owners of Easter Boleskine House was a happy interval.

‘But your holy place shall be untouched
throughout the centuries: though with
fire and sword it be burnt down &
shattered, yet an invisible house there
standeth, and shall stand until the fall
of the Great Equinox; when Hrumachis
shall arise and the double-wanded one
assume my throne and place.’
A.L. III.34.

Further along the track, I caught sight of Boleskine House with its out-buildings. Aleister Crowley owned Boleskin House from 1899-1913 and it was built by Archibald Fraser in the late eighteenth century.

‘The first essential is a house in a more or less secluded
situation. There should be a door opening to the north from
the room of which you make your oratory. Outside this
door, you construct a terrace covered with fine river sand.
This ends in a ‘lodge’ where the spirits may congregate.’
Confessions. Chapter 22.
The building was quite hidden by trees and at a distance from its perimeter fence. The Seer and I left the track to join General Wade’s military road and turning left we walked towards Boleskine Gate House. There was washing drying outside and the Gates seemed impressive. It was three P.M. when we arrived at Boleskine House and Aimee the Seer pointed me towards a good piece of fallen tree inside the grounds which would be perfect to make a Magick wand. A length was taken that acted as a walking stick and I gathered some magical ‘samples’ from within the perimeter wall: soil, grass, twigs etc to construct a magical link. [It should be pointed out here that Boleskine House is a residential property and one should be discreet and respect the owner's wishes at all times].
From the front the bay windows are just visible through the trees and one can see a wooden viewing platform facing the Loch. A stream trickles down from the hills and goes under the military road. We had walked a complete circle around the House as a subconscious magical act. Then we walked on to Boleskine old burial ground, on the right across the road which rolls down to the Loch. We sat on the far boundary wall and ate lunch. I trimmed my walking stick to ‘wand size’ and explored the grave yard. All the time I was aware of the bay windows of Boleskine House which seemed to obsess me and ‘watch’ my movements. The window on the right was of the most significance where it is said Crowley constructed his ‘oratory’ for the ritual of the ‘Sacred magic of Abramelin the Mage’.
I looked at the grave-watchers hut, expecting a doorway which I knew to be there, but it had been bricked-up. There was an open window and I sensed something dark about this building in the grave yard (it was originally used as a look out to prevent bodies being stolen from the graves, and over the years it has been the place for ‘ceremonies’ and other activities). I then turned to face Boleskine House and made the Hailing Sign of the Magician. I proclaimed the Law of Thelema and formerly accepted my grade [of which I remain silent]. Throughout the rite, I sensed a dark presence behind me, observing me from the grave-watchers hut.
Back at the boundary wall, Aimee the Seer went off to look around the graves and she too felt quite disturbed by the grave-watchers hut. My wife Aimee (the seer) has certain psychic abilities and although sometimes reluctant to do so can communicate with the 'other side'. By a strange coincidence Aimee is also a distant relative of the Irish film star Niall MacGinnis 1913-1977 who played the Crowley inspired character of Dr Julian Karswell in the classic 1957 film 'Night of the Demon'.

I made my Magical Link by burying my Ankh pendant at the foot of the boundary wall, directly reflecting the forces of Boleskine House and the aeon of Horus.
As a prelude to the Pilgrimage to Boleskine House I received many quabbalistic symbols in both Edinburgh and Inverness specifically pertaining to the number 93 and my own secret number 122 (3).

NOTES

The dam was used to regulate the amount of water which flowed in the river Foyers, through a tunnel to the Aluminium smelter generators. The original dam wall was raised by four feet to increase water volume available in Loch Mhore.
This surge shaft rises almost 700 feet from the tunnel and emerges at the top of the hill above the generating station. Work began in 1969 and carried on until 1974 when the Pump Storage Scheme was commissioned. The tunnel is two and a half miles long; from Loch Mhore it travels south to Loch Ness. It is lined with steel and its diameter is 15 feet.
Examples of quabbalistic incidences: The walking guide used was ‘100 Walks in Scotland’ (AA Publishing, 2003). Walk 93, Farigaig Forest and Loch Ness.
The return tickets on the D&E coach for both the Seer and I were £9.30.
122 appeared on a shop front viewed from the coach on the journey out of Inverness towards Boleskine House.
The Inverness bus used was the number one. In Edinburgh, number eleven. These have great significances.
There was also a specific reference to Jermyn Street, once the home of Aleister Crowley.
The Seer and I met a descendant of the original Lord Lovatt in Inverness on Thursday 12th April.
A bearded English man was seen on three occasions: The Kings Highway Public House, Inverness, with his female companion. At Foyers, near the Falls of Foyers and later outside Boleskine House as the Seer and I journeyed back in the coach. He was with a Scottish female companion on all three occasions.
In Edinburgh the Holy Days were observed and on Tuesday 10th April at the Standing Order Public House, my eyes fell upon a copy of Israel Regardie’s ‘Garden of Pomegranates’ from amongst the hundred of books which lined the wall. This was at 9.30 P.M. and the Seer and I handled the book and I recognised it as an important sign.
Returning along the military road from Boleskine House I noticed a dead bird at the side of the road, Loch side, with colourful vibrant plumage. The bird had not been dead long as it was still warm and no sign of rigormortis. I took the bird in my hand and placed it away from the road.

Barrie…418 (also 122)
Aimee…61 (61x2=122)


AT BOLESKINE

Oh wizard, tend my body, do,

And plant kisses in the garden of time;
Conjure spells that thunder through
My soul’s sweet sleep sublime.
And if in haste, this world should be
Torn from our hearts, and thrown
From century to idle century
In the garden, overgrown…

Wand of desire, this love shall be
A rose-lipped hell of our own making.

In the dull roar of his monster voice – the sea!
A rough sea over the rocks was breaking!
And time will twist as our hearts fade
To the ceaseless echo, and remain
Nameless, deciphering the horror that’s made

As we dance between the Devil and the Divine, again!

Hail to thee, great rapture of my heart;
I have sought the glory of thy name.
Let Love crown our souls in this Royal Art;
Let Love linger long in the hour of our fame!
And dark is the water that we know,
And steep the hill that we climb.
Oh passion, oh prophet, I fearless, grow
Towards a new dawn, touched by your time!

Inverness

‘They shall worship thy name, foursquare, mystic,
wonderful, the number of the man; and the name
of thy house 418’.*
A.L. II.78.
Boleskine, translated into Hebrew, is BVLShKIN, which enumerates as 418 in the quabbalistic system.

Love is the law, love under will.

The Pike - A Pilgrimage

 

THE PIKE: A PILGRIMAGE

by

Barry Van-Asten

Of all the fish that inhabit the British Isles, it is undoubtedly the pike that stirs the unbridled passion of the waterside onlooker. It is indeed a fish of fine proportions and symbolism; its phallic beauty and potency recognised throughout the developed world and through all ages. It is plain to see why in medieval England the 'pike's intestines were dried beneath the sun before being ground into a fine powder and mixed with mead as an aphrodisiac'. [Herb-lore. Anna Morrison]
The pike has a long history of associations to the male member which can be seen in depictions and comic tales of 'husbandry' to the offensive terms of abuse used by everyone from the poor to the gentry. In 1876, the notorious murderer, John Graham, was 'deprived of his skin for the love of a fish'. In fact, a pike named Herbert whom John secretly married in a ceremony held at Chichester. The marriage remained unconsummated, due no doubt to the pike's lack of enthusiasm! At his trial for pikeslaughter, Graham, in a state of great unease, broke down with fits of sobbing, feverishly repeating 'that damned and devastating pike!' [Pike and Sexual Revolution. Janet Steadman. p.104]

Pike And Poetry

In Pope's poem, The Midnight Pike, a young maiden is ravished by a young and energetic pike:

Maiden, let me sit a while

And pluck thy fruit, for see,

The moon doth descry

Thine self to mine eye,

And thy rapturous smile

Shows thy promises to me!

Pope referred to the pike in his diaries as 'that most sweet, most humble of fish: the pike', and he was later 'named and shamed' as a 'profiteer in pike porn'. [The Pike on Trial. John Livery.]

In Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, there is a reference to pykinge, a colloquial term for the sexual act. Modern readers will be familiar with the term to 'poke', from the old English pokynge which is a corruption of the word pykynge. In his book The Lost Art of Piking, Phillip Weston gives an excellent critical study and history of many such words derived from the ancient vocabulary of old English.

In 1753 Izaak Walton published his The Complete Angler to great acclaim. The chapter on the origins of pike and pykinge is of most interest to the modern day enthusiast and those wishing to discover the long lost art for themselves. It is by no means forbidden to study 'the art' from the educational aspect but I am not in a position to promote its practice and therefore I can be but a guide upon the safe waters and it is for each of you, pike lovers everywhere, that the waters run deepest where there is danger!

Pikecraft And Priesthood

During the year 1803, a misses Mary O'Hanlahan of County Galway, gave birth to a twelve pound pike! The Roman Catholic Church hailed it as a 'miracle birth' and the pike was duly ordained Bishop of Galway. The Bishop was later discovered to be an ingenious hoax and after a public outcry, the fish was defrocked and excommunicated. His last wish was to serve the poor, and so, on a November's morning in 1807, he was served to the poor, along with a generous helping of potatoes, peas and bread, and a glass of wine! Nowadays, the Roman Catholic Church seems loth to talk about the 'miracle birth of Galway'. [see A Fine Kettle of Fish: of Priest and Pikecraft. Stanley Martin.]

Pike And Royalty

George III once crowned a pike King of England and it was said to have been a happy and long lived monarch until it met its end in a sad incident concerning the King's physician and a lowly wench by the name of Matilda Carhume, who, in her sexual abandonment, mistook the 'Royal Fish' for a 'wooden John', a carved male sexual organ used for pleasuring women. The fish was said to have died of exhaustion in a particularly excruciating manner and George resumed his rightful role as King of England once again. But it would not be the last time that a fish took the throne of England!

Queen Victoria had nothing but praise for the pike and she found it a 'most charming and agreeable fish, and had it not been for Albert, I would have surely accepted its fin in marriage'. [The Pike Under Victoria. Gerald Thorpe-Pierce. p.92]

Questions are still unanswered concerning the scandal of George IV and his infamous 'liaison' with a pike in a seedy quarter of Paris. [see Pike and Pomposity. Helen Saunders.]

In fact, the pike has been associated with royalty right up until our present Queen Elizabeth II, but there is a wealth of information available on this subject from many outstanding authors (see Further Reading list).

Pike And Pornography

On a cold grey winter's day in 1974 a new law was passed which stated that anyone in the possession of images and references to the pike in its natural state of arousal would lead to confiscation of said material under the pornography act of 1880 and to the prosecution and conviction of those involved. It was a sad day for pike lovers everywhere! Despite constant appeals to the House of Lords, the law stands as it is and an organisation was set up to help 'police' the harmful material in circulation known as the OTFL (Offensive To Fish League). It is thanks to such people as those authors mentioned above and myself that the lost art of piking hasn't vanished from our shores into obscurity altogether. We ask only that future generations may discover and enjoy this art, and may the law see sense after all!

Further Reading:

Pike: myth and legend. Stanwell Fothergill.

Pike and pikability. Trever Cobbworthy.

The complete nonsense pike. Elizabeth Silhurst.

Pike: a revolutionary history. James Madmanham.

Beyond consciousness: the new pike. Sally Keane.

The peculiar pike. Steven Rosenberg.

Pike and promiscuity. Gerry Dullweather.

Pikecraft: touched by madness. Mark Adams.

New Light On Old Trout

NEW LIGHT ON OLD TROUT
by
Barry Van-Asten


In days of old when knights were bold

Such things were talked about

As Kings and Queens and swords and beans

And gentlemen and trout!

Due to the popularity of my recent exposition on fish facts: The Salmon - A Retrospective, I have been asked to continue my journey beneath the streams of England and beyond, upon a fascinating topic close to my heart. And so, I place before you, dear reader a feast of fish facts, served in my own sauce of humility and peppered with my gratitude. Ladies and gentlemen: the trout!

The complexity of the trout is one that has fascinated mankind since the dawn of time. Through the centuries the mystique of the trout has flourished to almost god-like proportions. Yet it was the Victorians who truly established the cult of the trout in their pursuit of pleasure and aesthetics, driving the poor old trout to near extinction! Under Victoria's reign, the trout became highly sought after in society. In fact, the noble fish was used in everything from cosmetics to jewellery, household ornaments, children's toys, and even furniture! But amidst all this extravagance there was one voice that struck a chord with the nation, that of John Ruskin: 'are we to let a fish dictate our destiny and decorum? Has the great bard taught us nothing?' He was of course referring to Shakespeare who secretly suspected the trout of harbouring malignant thoughts against humanity!

'Before Shakespeare the trout did not exist. He imposed upon it a tortured anguish that is truly beautiful!' [John Wharton. The Stage]

In 1901 Parliament passed a legislation outlawing any 'unnatural' use of the trout, and with the development of trout farming, the noble fish survived its first real threat of extinction. Poaching became rife and trout were passed from hand to hand at twice the price of gold, despite the severe death penalty for those caught mistreating the fish.

The notorious black magician, Aleister Crowley, is said to have ;sodomised a tender trout at the Cafe Royal to the astonishment of the assembled dining dignitaries'. (see The Trout In Witchcraft by Sylvia K. Adams)

At the outbreak of the First World War, the trout became currency as all coinage was melted down for the war effort. This had a lasting effect on the psychology of the trout, incurring its distrust of man, due to its new occupation as 'legal tender'. The trout once again skirmished with extinction due to an ever increasing inflation rate. As an example: during the year 1915-1916 the price of half a pound of butter reached an astonishing seventy-eight and a quarter trout! Things had to change, and after a public outcry the trout was scrapped as currency and the ration book was introduced.

The Trout In Literature

Lord Byron owned several 'sexual implements' made of trout skin which were said to induce 'sexual frenzy' (and haemorrhoids) on those who delighted in its practical effects. Keats found the trout a 'devilish concoction that gives the utmost pleasure to the utmost cad!' [The Secret Trout. Thomas Hardy]

Wilde, of course, was on more than familiar terms with that love the Greeks named troutaphilia and how much the man suffered for his trout passions is well recorded.

Housman, the poet and scholar, on the other hand, never manifested the desire he held for a handsome young trout during his college days at Cambridge and the mournful tones of unrequited love are ever present in his verse.

At Winchester there is a tradition known as 'tupping the trout' whereby each new boy files past the mounted trout (said to be the second cousin to the ninth earl of Bedford) and kiss its lips, singing:

Bless me with wings and I shall fly;

Bless me with feet and I shall walk.

Bless me with tears and I shall cry;

Bless me with lips and I shall talk!

[Trout, Sovereign And Empire. Manley Arbuthnot]

A Royal Stink

Warwick Castle is reputedly haunted by the 'undigested remains of a great trout feast given in honour of Sir Thomas Trufflehook of Salisbury' [Nowt So Queer As Trout. Duncan Harrington]

The famous Balmoral trout known as 'Uncle Bertie' is said to 'sing at the death of a King' [Of Trout And Monarchy. Sir Robert Dunn-Ellis]

Mystery still surrounds the 'phantom trout of Evesham', reputed to be the fourth earl of Doncaster!

In more recent times, the Queen Mother stipulated in her last will and testament that several hundred trout be placed in her coffin, much to the annoyance of the Archbishop of Canterbury. His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales was later heard to comment that 'with the passing of the old queen, a breath of fresh air runs through royalty once again!'

The largest trout ever recorded weighed in at an astonishing 5.8 kilos and was caught by James Snapper of Shrewsbury. Sadly its remains were mysteriously 'dispersed' on the way to Lichfield! But I come to the end of my journey and I shall leave you with the immortal words of John Lennon: 'Methinks a bad trip has occurred, for I am trout!'

Further Reading:

Something fish this way comes. James Minton.

The trout: poet or fiend. Edward Steine.

The sentimental trout. Mary hardwick.

The trout bathers handbook. Brian Evans.

The trout in medieval England. Claire Davies.

Troutomania: origins and psychosis. Matthew Adams.

The Salmon - A Retrospective

There exists in the world today an 'obscure collective' who pursue the pleasures of the little known art of 'fish love'. I was contacted by 'persons unknown' to write a series of articles about the secretive world of these 'misunderstood' individuals for a small press publication called The Satanic Salmon. The first article: The Salmon - A Retrospective, appeared in June 2002; New Light On Old Trout in September 2002 and The Pike - A Pilgrimage in December 2002. Unfortunately the publications no longer exist and there is little hope of any copies still being in circulation, thanks to the 'fish protection act, section twelve'. The articles are reproduced here:

The Salmon - A Retrospective
by
Barry Van-Asten

I invite you into a world in which water holds no fear for mortal man. A world where the notorious salmon reigns above all; where the rare and beautiful wonder of fin and gill still holds us spellbound!

It was the ancient Babylonians who first encountered the splendour of the salmon in the form of the great salmon god Ururus. Little is known about the manner in which the god was worshipped but it is assumed from archaeological findings that the tribal elders draped themselves in salmon entrails and devoured their offspring. Strange as it seems, the custom seems to have died out after a short period, along with the Babylonians!

On our own shores, one could see druids copulating by moonlight, their long white robes richly decorated with intricate salmon designs. But the salmon also played its own part in the sacred rites of the druids. After sunset, the salmon would be ritually gutted and placed upon the erect members of the chief druid and his assistants. There would be a great salmon dance, culminating in a nightmarish fish duel, often to the death! But the salmon was much more than a primitive form of contraception and ancient ritual weapon.

The River Widens

During the seventeenth century, the notorious salmon molester known as 'old Moll' published her unabridged diaries under the title 'Romancing the Salmon'. The book gives us a fascinating account of old Moll's aquatic activities and it was to be a significant leap forward in bringing the delicate art of 'fish wooing' to the attention of the public. In fact, its initial appeal escalated beyond comprehension and the 'sport' soon became a major recreational pursuit. But it wasn't until 1854, when the groundbreaking 'Erotica Aquatica' by John Percival Belcher was published that the subject was approached in a scholastic manner. The book promoted 'safe' freshwater intercourse and offences such as 'chub-worrying', 'pike harassment' and 'salmon-stretching' became a thing of the past!

In Scotland, the ancient custom known as the 'salmon's knock' is still practiced to this day! During the 'game' the salmon is thrown high into the air and hit with a bat. It was the reverend William Macalister who had the imagination and foresight to replace the bat with a length of wood and the salmon with a leather ball, thus giving us the game we know today as cricket! His ingenious invention sadly gave the salmon an air of authority which would be its downfall, but the new rules did help to preserve the British bat population, sadly in decline!

The Tide Changes

Queen Elizabeth I brought salmon to the populace by wearing them at state occasions;but it was not until the publication of 'The Sartorial Salmon' by Mary O'Gibbon in 1890, that the wearing of salmon became a ubiquitous fashion accessory and to be seen without one's salmon was surely a faux pas in fish etiquette!
Alarmingly, in more recent times, a public house in Kent named The Frog Frigger's Arms, regularly organises events in which salmon are ritually abused. 'The Satanical Salmon' by Joss Newmann (1968) gives a complete guide to this obscure and dangerous practice which has depleted the salmon reserve for England and Wales! Let us keep our ponds and streams free from this menace!
During his incarceration, the Marquis de Sade found the lips of the salmon a delicacy and when not digesting them he could be seen proudly wearing them upon his manhood. Some say it was to enhance his performance, others argue that they were purely decorative. The adorning of 'fish bits' became a popular pastime after the publication of his 'Labia Solomonica Salmonalica', known colloquially as the 'malleus bellius' which translates as 'stomach of discontent' or the 'hammered intestine' which begs the question: salmon - fish or dish?
As you can see the salmon is a remarkable creature and part of our national identity. For centuries we have adored its magnificence and we shall go on adoring it, for we stand on the brink of a brave new world, a world in which fish are our equal! We are greatly misunderstood and the story of the salmon is never-ending, but unlike the salmon, I reach

the end.

Further reading
:

The great salmon plague of 1874. Samuel Quillp.

The salmon debate: a question of ethics v morality. Jonathon Gilby.

In love with the river. Jane Williams-Hart.

Of church and salmon. Rev. Peter Asquith.

Sexuality and the salmon. Ian Heinriche.

The salmon: a study. Louise Davidson.