ABD Day 7: Coo Day
All too quickly, it was time for our last day of touring. (The ABD is advertised as 8 days, but all you do on day 8 is go home -- so day 7 was the true last day in my mind). Before having my son, I often spent the last day of vacation being sad that vacation was almost over, rather than actually vacationing. Small children pretty much force you to live in the moment. As far as DS is concerned, there is no time to think about tomorrow when today is hairy coo day. So although the idea that we would have to pack crossed my mind when I first woke up, I quickly suppressed that thought and went about my standard morning routine of coffee and book. I was on track to finish my highland mystery before we left the highlands, something that I knew would bring me a special kind of Type A personality satisfaction.
When DS woke up, we went down to breakfast. DH managed to join us before we had finished, so we stayed to watch him eat. Then we all went out to the bus together for our journey to Rothiemurchus Estate in the Cairngorms. Cairngorms National Park is one of two national parks in Scotland. It was interesting to me that it was only recently established (in 2003) given our long history of national parks here in the US. The ride to the park was about 45 minutes and took us through the town of Aviemore, which reminded me of a New England Ski Town. Claire told us that she had once lived in the area in a cabin with no electricity while working for one of the major hotel chains.
Upon arrival at Rothiemurchus, we were strongly encouraged to use the restroom since the only restroom was a ways from where we would be doing our morning activities. (It was walking distance, but a decent walk up a hill covered in horse "presents.") There was, of course, only one stall in the ladies' room. The men's room also had only one stall, which made me wonder why they didn't just mark both restrooms unisex. But the ladies all dutifully waited in a long line while every gentleman for whom nature called got priority access.
Those who were finished with the restroom gathered outside near the pony pen. It took us all a minute to realize that the electrified fence was not on and that our children were in no danger of being fried. Once that was confirmed, some of the kids were able to lure one of the ponies over for a pat. DS preferred to admire "sweatshirt pony." Throughout Scotland, we saw horses and ponies randomly wearing what looked like little pony hoodies. Now that we had a chance to admire a sweatshirt pony up close, we learned that the sweatshirts were to keep bugs away. Of the 3 ponies in the paddock, I think we can safely assume that this pony is the most delicious (to flies, at least).
Once we were all assembled, we were divided back into our groups from Floors Castle Day for the mornings activities. Our group was to begin with highland games. After a short journey down hill doing our best to avoid the horse presents (a hopeless cause), we wound up in a large field set up with 5 games. We were then divided into 2 teams and started the competition. Our team, the Bloodthirsty Unicorns, began with the traditional highland game of chicken throwing. That is, of course, where you hurl a rubber chicken at a target. DS managed to get the highest score on our team; I am sure that being able to stand 2 feet closer to the target than everyone else had little to do with it.
Then it was on to tossing the haggis. Apparently, this really is a highland game and it's more challenging than you would think. You basically stand on a bucket and throw the haggis like a discus. (Those with injuries and balance issues were able to modify the event or select a stand-in). Haggis throwing is apparently the province of burly men, so DH and another man of similar stature took top prize.
After hurling our haggis, it was time to toss a caber. There were 4 sizes to choose from, starting from what was basically a twig and moving up to a whole tree. I would have thought that strength would provide an advantage in caber tossing too, but it apparently comes down to technique. DH was the only one to master the end-over-end throw required to take the top score. But I came in second with a caber that landed pointing at 10 o'clock. DS threw his twig with gusto and got points for style, if not for accuracy.
After we tossed the caber, we flung something else. I cannot remember what it was called, but it was basically a stick with a weight on the end. Big dudes 1 and 2 once again took top honors. (But a couple of the women came pretty darn close to beating them). The games were getting very competitive, but I tried to remember to look around and enjoy the scenery because it was certainly not a bad place to be tossing various objects.
The final event of the games was a tug-of-war. This was to be the key event because the 2 teams were allegedly tied. (We were told that no matter what, they assign enough points to the tug-of-war to make it the deciding event). Now DS is very competitive and he was starting to fret that we might not win, so I decided to comfort him. I explained that our team was almost certainly going to win because we were the heaviest. I then gestured behind me to where I thought DH was standing. Except that DH was not standing there. He had wandered off and been replaced by a lovely couple from the West Coast. (Really, they were the nicest people). "Holy crap," I thought to myself. "These people are going to think I was calling them fat. Maybe I should apologize. But if I apologize, then that will only confirm that I really was calling them fat. Maybe I should ignore it. But what if they think I was calling them fat." This repeated on loop in my brain throughout the tug-of-war (which we easily won). By that time, it was too late to do anything other than continue to feel awkward, so that is what I did.
DS was very happy that we had won the highland games and chattered away giving us a play-by-play as we headed to our next activity, archery. We have been trying to teach him that gloating is not sportsmanlike, but he has thus far not absorbed the lesson. Perhaps being the child of a woman who randomly insults highland game teammates is a factor.
Anyway, on to archery. When I told DS that we would be doing archery in Scotland, he told me that was a terrible idea because he was only 5 and would probably shoot someone. I am happy to report that did not happen. DS was given his own child-size bow and a target much closer than any of the others and no one was foolish enough to ignore the safety advice about staying behind the shooting line until everyone had spent all their arrows. He got a little frustrated when his early attempts at shooting did not succeed, but the Rothiemurchus estate staff helped him until he was able to actually shoot the target.
The rest of us were given a few practice rounds before the big archery contest. For the contest, we each got three arrows and the combined score from all 3 was our contest score. (Highest score wins). After everyone had shot their arrows for the contest, I looked around and saw that one of the targets had 3 bulls-eyes. Surely, I thought, that person in the winner. But when everyone announced their scores, no one claimed the bulls-eyes-only target and I somehow wound up the winner. DS was disappointed that he did not win, but I told him that the important thing was that we had both done better than Daddy. That seemed to calm him down.
After archery, we went back up the hill to find that a tent had been set up with a picnic lunch inside. There was soup and sandwiches and salads and various quiches. (The quiches were helpfully marked, "Assorted quiches. Some vegetarian.") Since there was nothing to identify the vegetarian quiches, I took a slice of plain egg quiche on the assumption that meat cannot be invisible. While this was a successful strategy for avoiding meat, it also meant that my lunch was bland. I decided that the best course of action would be to save room for dessert. This turned out to be a great call because the brownies at Rothiemurchus estate are outrageous. I also took a cute little Mickey cupcake, but wound up eating only one bite so as not to fill up valuable tummy space that would be better devoted to brownie.
Once lunch was finished, we were loaded back on the bus for our hairy coo safari. We were joined by a ranger who informed us that the safaris are normally done in a 4x4. I think that definitely would have added to the experience. Driving around the great outdoors in a big bus is to actually being in the great outdoors as watching the great outdoors on tv is to being in the great outdoors. (This analogy falls apart when motion sickness is taken into account because I have never experienced motion sickness sitting on my couch). Before too long, we pulled up to the area where the red deer are kept and we piled out to feed them.
We were not actually permitted to go in the enclosure. We fed the deer through the mesh fence. I was worried that DS would be disappointed, but he was too busy trying to feed every deer to notice. Watching DS feed animals is always amusing because he narrates the experience. In this case, every time a deer ate from his hand, DS went "num num num" until the deer was finished. For their part, the deer hummed while they ate, so our soundtrack was "num hmmm num hmmm" until the food was gone.
After a very short visit with the deer, it was time to visit the highland cows (or "heelan coo," as they say in Scotland). We were not permitted to touch the coo because they are apparently bloodthirsty killers. (In all seriousness, cows are the most dangerous animal in Britain. They regularly trample those out for a nice walk in the country). Despite their bloodthirsty nature, heelan coo are incredibly photogenic, resembling bovine Justine Biebers circa 2009.
We spent a few minutes admiring the Biebers and then got back in the bus to head for our next stop. On the way back to the bus, DS noticed that Michael had his camera out and:
(Scottish beef with American ham).
