It’s not just arriving is it? It’s the getting there. The path up from Callander to Bracklinn Falls is clear and well maintained – but steep. Which is good – steep makes you press on, and then stop. You notice the ways the streams cut through the earth, and today they’re moving fast, the recent weather working with the gradient, so the water seems to leapfrog itself in a tumult downwards. 

 Then there’s the trees gnarled in their winter undress or clasping tightly to their evergreen coats. Undulations of earth and rock are dusted with moss, bracken and grass. Finally, I reach a plateau and exhale. Making my way across to the Falls the first thing I notice is the sound – a cacophony breaking, still muted by the nooks and crannies of the landscape, the volume growing with each step.

 The rain makes the rocks around the falls glisten – giving the stone a metallic sheen. The force of the water justifies the sonic warnings – pounding against the sides, swirling and seething over the jutting rocks, which remain stoic against the rage.

 I make my way to the bridge – focused on my line of sight and I begin to draw. Enthralled by the energy before me I begin with brush pen and realise quickly this will be a struggle between brush and rain [fig.2]. My lines at first are bold and decisive, but soon they are blotched and diluted by the droplets and puddles sprawling across the paper. I can see the accuracy dissipating, but instead there is movement and deception – the water shrieks ‘na-na-nah-na-na’ as it swirls and burst over the page.

 I finish, pack away and dither – though satisfied, I know I’d like a record for later, so backtrack and take my position under the roof of the bridge. This time in pencil I block out the surroundings – the geometry and weight of rock [fig.1]. But the wind has changed – and the rain still wants to play, seizing the graphite and intensifying the line. Caught up in the game my pencil moves faster, looser – trying to catch the water as it jumps and darts over the Falls and over my page, the wet and dry strokes contrast vividly, adding shade, texture and perspective.

 When I finish I reflect for a moment. Pleased with the sketches – despite the deviation from my intentions, I consider following the path onwards, but I suspect the way will grow steeper, and note that the path there is more uneven, and that the rain is falling harder. All in all, I’ve had my fair share of mud for the day (more of which in Tales to come), so I put away my book and head back with thoughts of streams and whiskey.