Nowhere Left to Go but Up

It's all a past life now, and it's also time to talk about it. 

In October 2022, I made the decision to leave my relationship, which I realised put me at risk of being forced to leave Scotland, the only place that had ever truly felt like home.  My Spouse Visa was effectively cancelled when I left the croft (I'd been frequently reminded this would be the consequence, if things didn't work out between us, and that I would subsequently be required to vacate the UK within 60 days). In hindsight, it was a threat of the consequence of non-compliance. Staying on the croft until October 2024 was the alternative, and this was no longer an option I was willing or able to endure. Thankfully, the UK Home Office has a provision in place for such situations, and I was granted Indefinite Leave to Remain in the UK as a result.

The penny dropped in one single moment on a September morning that year, and has resulted in a slow epiphany ever since as to how I ended up in the situation I did in the first place, and how wrong it was for so long. After that moment, I sought advice from friends, as well as others educated in such matters with well-informed, professional advice, who were in a position to offer the perspective I wasn't able to glean while isolated. I look back on so much of it in utter disbelief that I wasn't savvy enough to see (let alone heed) the red flags and neon signs that were being waved and flashed in my face daily.  I eventually awoke to an important realization.

I have been here before.

And yet, here I was again. Throughout my life, I have found myself dealing with the same person, just in different forms. So, if you find familiarity in some of the following, it might be time to confront some uncomfortable truths, and make some important changes to your own situation. It may mean making one of the most difficult decisions of your life, but take it from me, it will be worth it.

If they intentionally and continuously diminish the things you take joy in, or discourage you from taking part in them, be it something as small as your birthday, or hobbies or work that bring meaning to your life, it could be that they can't handle not being the center of attention. If they dissuade you from pursuing your passions, it could be jealousy, inadequacy, control, or because that’s not the role they envision for you, the one to suit their own personal purposes.

If you find yourself walking on eggshells, when you don’t know what to attend to first, as you’ll surely be somehow punished for what is left until later, think about how that makes you feel, not only in the moment, but how it indeed overshadows every waking moment. It is the harbinger of worse to come.

If you are frequently subjected to the ‘silent treatment’ for a week at a time, then the cold shoulder for another, that is neither tough-love, or any other form of love.  Nor is the silent treatment a mechanism for their own self-preservation, as they might claim. It is a tool for control.

If you perpetually feel you’re limited to responding to them with only precisely what they want to hear, no more, no less, as you'll otherwise be slated and called names, that's not normal. Nor is them putting words in your mouth when you choose to keep quiet, rather than engage in the angry rant.

If you are required to prove yourself, or obtain permission, before being trusted with certain tasks, before making the full attempt in earnest, that is about control, and stems from their own inadequacies. It undermines your self-confidence and ambition, and slowly whittles away your sense of your own self worth and abilities.

If you’re the recipient of back-handed 'compliments', that seem to invalidate something positive about yourself that you know to be true, it is a manipulation tactic that allows them a facade of politeness and kindness, while actually belittling or undermining you. When you work hard, and are doing your best with what you have, but are inevitably met with ‘never-good-enough’ reactions to your efforts, this constant state of uncertainty can leave you doubting yourself, and eventually make you subconsciously dependant on approval that you'd normally never intentionally seek. The self-doubt will continue to snowball.

If it always feels like a no-win situation, and constant disappointment in yourself when you inescapably cannot live up to their expectations...

If respect is demanded, but never given; high morals are spoken of, but never enacted. If they expect (and get) the truth, but lie in exchange... 

If they preach about the importance of animal rights, then they themselves do wrong by them...

If they tell you you can leave, but just realize if you do, you’ll always be alone, and will never find another one like them, while attempting to reinforce a belief that you cannot possibly make it on your own without them...

If you find out they’ve been turning down social invites on your behalf, ones you didn’t know existed until possibly months later... 

If people show up at your home to visit, and are turned away at the end of the driveway, which you only, perhaps inadvertently, find out later, and God only knows what explanation they received at the gate...

If they consistently discourage your pursuit of employment, aside from specific jobs they've approved, namely ones that keep you under their supervision, and others that they possibly tried to arrange for you themselves, unbeknownst to you...

If they put on a show while in public, often charming complete strangers, then completely change their demeaner as soon as you walk through the front door of your house...

If they undermine your relationships with family and friends, making little remarks that leave you wondering who is really on your side, implying you're only in your friends lives because you're somehow 'of use' to them...  

Or if they make subtle threats like "revenge is a dish best served cold," to attempt to intimidate, if you should ever consider defending yourself...

If, while in your company in public, they loudly demean certain members of society (expecting them to hear), notice the longer-term implications of such behaviour, and how likely you are to leave the house next time there's an errand to be run.

If they constantly remind you how ungrateful you are for everything they’ve done for you, and how ‘everybody else thinks so, too’, it's a way of shifting the focus away from their own behaviour. By continuously creating an impression that everyone has taken their side, they're effectively reminding you how alone you are, and it's a systematic approach in isolating you, leaving you hesitant and uncertain about who you might be able to reach out to for the help you actually probably need at this point, but not for the reasons they're trying to have you believe. They might even take it so far to feel entitled, as a non-professional, to encourage, nay, implore you, on their knees in prayer position, insisting you need professional intervention with very specific prescription medication, to "be normal again".

I must say, there were few red flags I've encountered over the years that were as blatant as that one.

If it gets to this point, they're probably, in all actuality, pretty close to owning you.

These people create alternative narratives early on, to later justify what they know will be the inevitable. These false narratives will likely only become apparent to you much, much later. They lay the groundwork as soon as you begin dating, because part of them knows themselves well enough (even though you don't) that it will never last. It’s so obvious in hindsight, and you may never fully understand their motives when they come out with a complete falsehood, trying to convince you it’s true when you know full well it’s not. It’s a new story they’re creating, for what you don’t even realize is coming yet. You’ll be in the dark for much of it, until you’re suddenly not, and then, you cannot unsee the light.

It may not be obvious while you're in the thick of it, but take a step back, and ask yourself one question: Do their words align with their behaviour? If you're noticing inconsistencies between the two, trust your own judgement on this.  They have learned throughout their life that acting will actually get them pretty far, but actors eventually stumble if they forget which character they're meant to be playing. Their true selves will frequently show; don't let their incongruent words fool you.

Where they spare no effort in turning friends into enemies, let those who go along with their version, determined to misinterpret your situation, continue to do such.  Try to give those folks your understanding.  After all, it can take years to see through the manipulation. Perhaps that same veil will be lifted for them someday, too. Trying to defend yourself from the myriad of accusations contained within the inevitable smear campaign is an exercise in futility, and waste of precious energy, as what you might say will already have been anticipated by them, and will be readily countered by their carefully (or not so carefully) prepared narrative, which will have just enough of a dusting of truth to make it believable.  They will play the victim, and will add that 'it's not a sob story', when that's exactly what it is. One of their own making.

The things you've done to them, how you took advantage, how you cheated (all their past partners left them for someone else, that's a tale they will always choose to tell). The abuse they suffered at your hands, and how miserable you made them.

The next victim, if they don't know any better, might look at them and think, gosh, they're such a lovely person; life just hasn't been fair to them. What a fool their partner must have been to have treated them that way, and to let them go. 

How lucky the next one will be.

Textbook, as they say; which I gradually suspected, and was eventually told. 

The funny thing is, these things you’re accused of, at length, are the very behaviours they themselves are displaying, and have in the past. They project them on to you, as a means of disowning what they know deep-down to be the worst of themselves. These accusations ultimately amount to an unconscious admission of their own character. 

They are confessions. Pay attention to them.

If any of this sounds familiar, you may have fallen in love with someone who never existed. You might be seeing something in them that was never there. Don’t assume because you feel deeply, that all others in your orbit have the capacity for the same. 

I've experienced all of these situations at some point in my adult life, and much more that only those closest to me will ever know. Yes, I have indeed been there before, and now that I finally see it, it's somewhere I will never go again.

P.S.  This post can be considered the Prequel to my previous published Sequel (read here) from last summer.  Since October 2022, things have done nothing other than continue to look up! 😊

The Sequel

Four years without writing. That's a new record for me, by far. How little I realised in February 2020 how things would change in the coming few years; things I previously accepted as certainties.

As my last contract with the aerial survey company was coming to an end in America, they asked me if I'd extend. But, as this thing called covid-19 begun hitting the news, I felt it necessary to get home before the previously unthinkable came to pass. I arrived back on Lewis on March 8th, shortly before the first lockdown commenced.  Looking back on those days, I've often felt like I dodged the actual Covid lockdown unwittingly in exchange for what could have been a life of permanent lockdown.  Crofting life in a remote village can be isolating enough, but circumstances were to take it even further.

I had to learn the hard way what love is NOT, but the silver lining to that four-year cloud has been learning to recognize what love actually IS.

Suffice to say, there are some talented actors outside the theatre. Even though love wasn’t where I thought it was, it was still there somewhere; it was just in unexpected forms and places.

The first summer, that of 2020, I'll forever remember as the Summer of Nomster. Born early on the sunny, crisp morning of May 4th, Nomster the lamb was a twin to sister Dolly. This was the first year I was present for lambing, and I had a lot to learn.  One important lesson, that could have prevented so much heartache, was to recognize that nature knows best. Shortly after Nomster and Dolly were born, as soon as Dolly found her legs, mum Scarlett toddled away with Dolly, leaving Nomster curled up in a tight ball on the cold concrete at the back door of the new house. Scarlett knew then what would sadly take me 3 months (to the day) to figure out. He was never going to make it.

That never stopped me from trying. He loved his bottle ('Want bitty?', and he'd let out an abbreviated "Meh!" and would come running).  For the first couple of weeks, he slept in a box downstairs on the loom shed floor. He eventually graduated to sleeping in my ‘she-shed’, but when I'd wake up cold in my own bed in the early hours, and feel guilty about him out there alone, I'd get bundled up, bring him inside, feed him a warm bottle of Lam-lac, then we'd curl up under a demoted duvet on the couch downstairs for another couple of hours of sleep, him on my chest, attempting to suckle my hair, of all things.

When the time came to try to re-introduce him to the rest of the flock, Nomster and I both struggled with the separation, I have to admit.  The first night I put him in the field on the lower part of the croft, I left him in a covered and fenced-in shelter, as I was worried (probably unnecessarily) of flying predators (crows, eagles) picking on him, as he was alone. When I went to check on him in the morning, who had pushed their way in there but Friendly (probably my favourite ewe of the lot) and her lamb, Findlay. The three of them were quite cosy and settled, as the rest of the flock were far in the distance, grazing at the bottom of the croft. It was quite unexpected, and it warmed my heart.

I don't think I'll ever fully forgive myself for how things ended with Nomster, but I have to tell myself that he at least had a couple of good months of summer life on the croft, and that I only did the best I could, with the knowledge I was equipped with at the time. To make a long, painful story short, he was born with a malformed jaw, which meant while he could happily drink from the bottle I fed to him, he would never be able to properly eat grass. And for a sheep, that's just a non-starter. It was difficult in the weeks that followed August 4th, to wake up, and for just a few moments to have forgotten he was gone, only for reality to sink in, and remember he would never again come running to me for bitty . I had to fight back a lot of tears, for a very long time, some of which are still coming out now.  It's difficult to explain how much I took to heart the loss of this tiny being, but I couldn't help it.  Love will do that.

'Gotcha' Day

But sure as the tide, the ebb and flow of life was to bring love again the following spring, not only in the form of 15 healthy lambs, but also when I went to the mainland to collect another addition to the croft, a red-and-white border collie. 

Scotia and Joe

I eventually named her Scotia, as an homage to my home province. The original hope was that she would help herd the sheep, but making no earnest attempt, nor having any idea how to train her as such, she quickly became a full-time pet, who enjoyed chasing cars and chickens, and would frolic with the lambs, rather than herd them. We had to resort to putting her inside the loom shed if the sheep needed gathering, where she could be heard howling forlornly, no doubt suffering from a case of FOMO.

When life on the croft took a definitive and irreversible turn south, I took my first job since leaving the aerial survey company in February 2020. On January 1st 2023, I started part-time work as a cleaner at the Search and Rescue helicopter hangar in Stornoway. I took it in the hopes of angling my way into a certain cadet program, but fate had other plans in store; things I couldn't have dreamt of just a few months earlier.

I spent 6 weeks cleaning toilets and making beds in the hangar, which I rather enjoyed given the outstanding bunch of folk who work there as pilots, engineers, paramedics, winch operators, as well as the office manager.  When someone from the head office in Aberdeen was paying a visit to the base, and I spoke about my credentials, I was asked if I'd like to apply for a position as a drone pilot. My initial reaction was actually, Um, no thanks. But when I had a closer look at the drone, and what the job actually entailed, I realised it would be an offer I couldn't easily refuse. A couple of weeks later, after dropping Scotia off with friends for an extended stay, I was on a flight to Vienna, to begin 2 months of training for the position.

It was my first time in Austria, and I was able to do some exploring, both alone, and with the other guys who were on the training course. From a solemn visit to Mauthausen concentration camp, to the typical tourist visit to Vienna city center, to the thermal baths at Bad Voslau. The use of the City Bikes rental was fantastic, and I often covered 50km on the weekends, through the nearby vineyards, and following the network of well-maintained cycle paths.

As I was a short bus-ride from Budapest, I was able to steal away for a weekend to catch up with a

Hungarian friend, who had the best plans laid-out for our weekend together; a visit to a nearby airfield (now I have a renewed desire to fly a biplane!), a bicycle tour of both sides of the beautiful, blue (?) Danube, a train ride to the lovely village of Santander, and a good part of the day at the incredible thermal baths of Szechenyl. It was really hard to leave.

The post-Austria Reunion

It was little more than a quick touch-and-go in Stornoway between completing the course, to gather a few things (and most importantly, pick up Scotia!) and setting out for my new life in the south of England, where the position is based. 

With a pretty much to-die-for schedule (night shifts aside...) there's plenty of time to explore the opposite end of the UK. And what better to explore the countryside than an old pop-top Volkswagen camper! We've had some adventures in Cornwall, Devon, Dorset, and a few trips to Wales.  Here's Esmerelda, and some of the places we've been.... (more to read after the photos, if you're interested in an update on Effie!) 

And now, for what I've been asked about most, by far, in the last few years... What ever happened to Effie!?

I cannot recall now if I ever let on, but Effie went on to live with the captain of the sailing ship that began my sailing career, Scott of Highlander Sea.  My lifestyle was too erratic after the sale of Annie Laurie, after which I went from campgrounds to couches to bunks aboard yachts, all in an attempt to fulfil my latest endeavour of becoming a commercial pilot. It broke my heart to let her go, after all we'd been through together; raising her from just weeks old aboard the boat, and sailing far and wide together. But I knew at least that she was going to a good forever-home, with friends I'd known for years. It seemed like the best I could do for her, under the circumstance, and after all, she'd be secure, and loved, and even a doggy pal, Buffer, to keep her company.

Effie was with them over a year before I realised something was up.  While hiking the West Highland Way in June 2018, I had a short message from Scott's wife, asking how old Effie was. She was just coming up on 11 years, I replied.  I was so consumed with my own adventure, and deprived from steady internet, the inquiry was quickly forgotten, and I didn't think to even question why it was asked in the first place.  It wasn't until late August, when I happened upon a Facebook post, suggesting Scott and his wife were no longer together, that I suddenly had this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Yes, it was as I had feared... the animal shelter had wanted to know her approximate age. 

After over 2 months 'in custody', and just a few weeks before I realised she was no longer with Scott, she was adopted by a wonderful young woman named Bella. Effie is now known as Coco, and here's a picture of her and her canine-pal, Elton. She'll be 17 years young this August. Thank-you, Bella, for loving her when I couldn't, and keeping the wind in her sails. And Scott, you have my forgiveness. You'll have to speak directly to Coco for hers.

Foundations

Sanibel Island, FL

I never know where to begin after not writing for so long, so how about I begin with today, and I’ll work my way back to where I left off.

It is February, and I am in Fort Myers, Florida, after recently relocating after close to two months in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I am back in America for another (much shorter) contract, doing aerial survey in a little Cessna 172.

While in Albuquerque, in my free time, I decided to upgrade my skills to broaden future job prospects. I passed my commercial multi-engine check-ride in late November. Now I can legally work as a commercial pilot flying planes with more than one engine. Whether I ever will is another story.

With just a little over 2 weeks left in my contract, I’m more than a little excited to be going home. Yes, home to Scotland. 

Multi-engine checkride successfully completed.
Farmington, New Mexico

Let me take you back to when I last went home following my other contract, after 9 solid months away.

When my contract ended June 30^th in Syracuse, New York, I was on a commercial flight within 5 hours, Scotland-bound.

Luckily, there were fewer than a half dozen folk on the final Glasgow-to-Stornoway leg of my flight, so I didn’t have to trample too many people as I eagerly made my way to the Arrivals lounge, where a handsome Scotsman was waiting to usher me back to the croft in Achmore. It’s the greatest feeling, coming home to the one you love, who’s waiting for you at the end of the line, where you know you belong. Home sweet home.

Building the foundations (background and foreground)

It was quite exciting to see the progress on the house, after being away for 9 months. B had the plans in the works well before we met, and he had just laid the foundation a couple of months after we met. Now the walls were up, roof installed and much of the stonework and Scottish larch siding was complete, as well as the hurricane-proof giant picture windows framing the spectacular view of the Harris hills.

We have a small flock of Hebridean sheep, and all the ewes had lambs in the spring, who were over a month old by the time I got back.

Within hours of being back on the croft, I was out in the fields helping to herd them for various necessities, including hoof-clipping, shearing, and medicines.

One lamb decided she wasn’t too keen on any of that, and when cornered, launched herself over the fence onto the neighbours croft. A sheep dog might have been helpful, but as we don’t yet have one, B and I got a weeks worth of exercise running up and down the croft, trying to encourage her through an opening in the fence we made. At one point the lamb seemed to think she found one of her own when faced with one of the cows belonging to our neighbours. She toddled up with a hopeful gait, but when the bull turned around and made a motion to charge, she realized her mistake, and was once again top-speed for the bottom of the croft. It was well after dark when B finally managed to reunite the lamb with her mom.  There’s nothing quite as heart wrenching as laying in bed on a quiet night, listening to a lamb crying for it’s mother. 

When I arrived back, the coming months still carried a certain amount of uncertainty, so we were determined to make the most of the summer.  The weather gods did not make this easy on anyone during the Hebridean summer of 2019. As B said, it will be remembered as the Summer That Never Was. The running joke was that it only rained twice, once for 47 days, and once again for 43 days. Despite this, we managed a few overnight trips in the camper van, sadly only one dip in the ocean at Tolsta Beach, to try out my new wetsuit (the waters may appear tropical, but don’t be fooled), though B was able to get in a few dives in nearby lochs where he enjoys snorkelling for Viking gold (seeking, not yet finding).

My main project I had assigned myself was to build a chicken coop. I’ve been wanting to keep chickens for quite a few years now, but life aboard Annie Laurie was hardly conducive. Now with the time, and the perfect setting for free-range chickens, and some leftover lumber from the on-going house build, as well as pallets collected from around Stornoway, construction began. I cannot hide how pleased I am with the finished product (in Scotland, you might say chuffed).  I didn’t have plans per se, I just made it up as I went along, and took some inspiration from our architect-designed house as well. On October 1^st, our first five tenants, pullets (teenage hens) from the Isle of Skye, moved in.

To say they moved in would be to stretch the truth a bit, at least for the first couple of weeks. I still don’t know why, but despite a warm, clean, cozy, inviting coop awaiting them as darkness fell each evening, the five of them would just huddle outside the door, at the top of the ramp, but would not go inside. Bitter north wind, sleet, driving rain.... it mattered little. They were not going in the box.

After picking them up one by one, and locking them inside for 24 hours, as advised by other experienced chicken keepers, they realized that was their sleeping quarters, and they now happily put themselves to bed each evening at sundown, marching in a row up the ramp, and popping through the door one at a time.

At this point you might be wondering if a chicken coop was my biggest news since my last update. It might have been, if it wasn’t for B taking me for a Saturday spin out the road to the nearby Callanish Stones on October 5^th, when, with a beautiful antique diamond ring kindly gifted from his dear friend Nan in America, amidst the 5000 year old standing stones, B got down on one knee.

Proposal at the Callanish Stones,
Outlander-style

It would be a short engagement indeed, as we were married two weeks later in a simple ceremony on the balcony of the town hall in Stornoway on October 18^th. It was simply perfect, and perfectly simple, surrounded by his family and friends, as well as my good friend Louise and her family who came up from Stirling, which meant so much to me. We were incredibly lucky with the weather, after such a miserable summer, as the sun shone through, and the temperature was mild. After a quick trip to Tesco’s in our wedding dresses (so funny, right?) for supplies for the evening pizza party (B’s favourite), we stopped by the Lews Castle grounds as well as back to the Callanish Stones, for some photos. A small and casual party in the loom shed back on the croft ensued.  Chrissy also surprised us with a beautifully detailed wedding cake, having made it herself after our late-morning ceremony, complete with a Hebridean sheep, chicken, the Scottish and Canadian flags, along with B and I, including the details of our attire that day.  We were touched.

 
The work of the talented 

Chrissy MacDonald

Priceless expression, after his new bride

dropped appetizers all over the floor

Louise and Family, Cuddy Point, Stornoway

It’s official! Leaving Town Hall

I’ve never been much of a planner, as anyone who knows me at all can attest, but despite the minimal planning involved, I’m pretty sure a good time was had by all, and the day as a whole was virtually stress-free. I think we should get married every year. 

Best Man, the man who introduced
B and I, the right Calum MacDonald

As one of my brothers pointed out, and rightly so, many newlyweds might take a week and honeymoon, together, in Rome, Italy. Instead, a week after our wedding, I would be back at work, alone, in Rome, New York.

It’s all a part of a bigger picture, though. We do what we need to do in the short term, and one of these days, when I go home, I’ll be there to stay.

Fill in the Blanks

Picking up where I left off, I did indeed spend much of the summer in Scotland. I changed my return flight once again, and cancelled my checkride for my commercial pilot license (CPL), vowing I would reschedule when the time was right, and that this would be just a temporary deferment. Looking back, it's hard to believe how many memories to last a lifetime I made in those few weeks.

Part of the accommodations at HebHostel

On Calum's suggestion, and in exchange for cleaning and changing of beds, I spent my first couple of weeks in Stornoway based at the family-owned HebHostel in the center of town. It proved to be an excellent starting point, as Christine and her family are enthusiastic hosts who love to help any hostel guest or volunteer get involved in local activities.

Evening row aboard Manisiadar, Lews Castle

It was in this way that I became involved with Falmadair, a local group involved in preserving traditional boats and sailing on the island.  I was introduced to a few local sailors and rowers, and shortly after found myself out rowing on an almost daily basis, and eventually partaking on a coastal trip aboard the last traditional working Sgoth, Jubilee, built for the silver jubilee of King George V in 1935, and is the last surviving sgoth Niseach, a Ness-type skiff, that participated in the once prosperous Hebridean line fishing industry.

Jubilee and a few of the skiffs in Crosbost

It was while walking back to the hostel from one of these evening rows that I noticed a guy on a motorcycle trying to get my attention. He drove past, and a minute later intercepted me at another street corner.  After removing his helmet, I finally realized it was my new friend B the weaver. We talked a short while, and he mentioned a local music festival known as Stromash was taking place the following weekend, and that I should maybe check it out. You know, only if I wanted. Wasn't a big deal. Whatever.

Volunteering at HebCelt 2018

I had in fact arrived in the Hebrides at a great time, as summer festivities were just getting into full-swing.  I attended the Stromash, not surprisingly bumping into B once again. And the following weekend was HebCelt, a Celtic music festival held each July on the castle grounds for the past 23 years.  I volunteered in exchange for a free weekend pass, and somehow managed to convince B to join me there too.

Calum, Donnie, B and I, HebCelt

It wouldnt be long before I found myself, more often than not, making myself at home in B's loom shed. Joey and Luna, siblings from the local cat rescue, didn't seem to mind sharing the sunny spot on their couch. (Which reminds me, I'll have an Effie update for everyone soon, but I'll leave that for the next blog.)

captivated audience

By late July, after B had initially wooed me with a date to a cemetery, followed by the music festivals, camping trips, walks on the moor, and charity shop scrounges, I knew why I had come to Lewis.  I had to experience it for myself to believe it could be true, and now I know how it feels to know forever could never be long enough. So much from my past all seems a bit silly now, though it all had a place in the process to bring me to where I am now. It's a life I certainly didn't see coming when I boarded the plane in West Palm in early June. In the near future, entries in this blog may not be focused so much on sailing, or flying, but they will at least be sticking with the uncharted theme.

Catching the last bus home

Camping in Glen Etive, en route to Runrig

I knew full well the time was drawing near when I would have to return to America and re-schedule my checkride to complete my CPL. I was pretty determined and single-minded that my first aviation job would be as an aerial survey pilot, and with many of the primary hiring deadlines being October, I decided I should be on my way back to Florida by mid-August. But not before one final hurrah... 

Runrig's Last Dance at Stirling Castle

I became one of the lucky ones to be in the crowd of 25,000 for what would be Runrig's final performance, after 45 years together.  Though I only knew a handful of their songs, and had not been a life-long follower of the band, it was an emotional evening all the same. I was sad I'd allowed them to drop off my radar since living in Scotland back in 2004. I had actually only realized in the final hours that fellow Nova Scotian Bruce Guthro was the current leadsinger of the band, and had been since the late 1990s. After the concert, I felt sorry for all I had missed out on over the years, and that it was really over.

Typical windy day in the Outer Hebrides

The following day, it was time for B and I to say bye for now. Nothing was yet etched in stone, but I did know two things: soon I was going to be a commercial pilot, and someday soon I would be coming back home.


Upon arriving in Florida, I did a few refresher flights with one of my favorite instructors, Nancy. With various roadblocks still standing between me and a checkride being conducted in Florida, it seemed much easier to drive 1500 miles to Maine (where life is the way it should be) and try to schedule with the lone FAA-designated Examiner in the State.

And on September 19th, in Sanford, Maine, 19 months after my first solo flight, I became a Commercial Pilot. 😃

With an abundance of applications for relatively few positions in the world of aerial survey, I knew a certain amount of luck might be involved in landing one of these gigs, no matter how qualified I may have felt.  I agreed with B that I could apply for these various companies just as easily from the loom shed in Scotland as I could from North America.  Within a few days of arriving back in Stornoway, I had an invitation for an interview with a company in New York.  I was now not only a commercial pilot, I was an employed commercial pilot.

Accepting the job would mean close to 9 months apart, which was far from ideal, but I knew what I had to do. With a nice visit last month in Maryland to help break up the time apart, I have just 2 months left before I go home. And I'll go with hundreds of additional flight hours in my logbook, which has opened many doors to future job possibilities, along with months of invaluable experience that has taken me from New York to Ohio, Tennessee, North Carolina, Florida, Alabama, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Iowa.

The future is full of possibilities, and I have so many plans when I return to Scotland.

Oops, my mistake. From now on, I'll have to make that WE.

💙