Algy Apologises for the Interruption to his Adventures

Algy offers his sincere apologies to all his friends for this temporary interruption to his Adventures. The computer that Algy’s assistant uses for processing his adventures is failing without warning at increasingly frequent intervals and is no longer fit for purpose. Unfortunately it will have to be retired and replaced…

Algy would like to reassure you that the presentation of his Adventures will be resumed at normal frequency as soon as possible, and in the meantime Algy’s assistant will try to use an alternative machine whenever she can, so that Algy is not entirely absent from your screens.

Please don’t think that Algy has forgotten you – this is not the case at all :)) He is simply the innocent victim of a technical fault. He hopes that you will not forget him while his Adventures remain interrupted and sporadic.

By a strange twist of fate, this is Algy’s 500th post on Tumblr. It was supposed to be a celebratory post - but that will now have to wait until the 501st …

Algy sends you all extra fluffy hugs, just in case XOXOXO

So Algy crossed the great sea loch and headed into the west. He flew for several hours until at last he saw the sight he had been waiting for – the misty islands of the Hebrides, floating in their silvery sea. He was so happy to see his islands again that he stopped to rest and gaze at them. There was no need to hurry any more; he knew that he was more or less home.

So Algy crossed the great sea loch and headed into the west. He flew for several hours until at last he saw the sight he had been waiting for – the misty islands of the Hebrides, floating in their silvery sea. He was so happy to see his islands again that he stopped to rest and gaze at them. There was no need to hurry any more; he knew that he was more or less home.

Algy spent a peaceful night roosting in the beautiful beech tree, soothed by the soporific sound of the constant murmur of water over its rocky bed. When he woke the next morning, the burn was still flowing onwards past his perch, making its way steadfastlly down to the great sea loch. Although the woods were lovely in their summer greenery, Algy knew that it was time for him to do the same: it was time for him to return to his little grey home in the west…

Algy spent a peaceful night roosting in the beautiful beech tree, soothed by the soporific sound of the constant murmur of water over its rocky bed. When he woke the next morning, the burn was still flowing onwards past his perch, making its way steadfastlly down to the great sea loch. Although the woods were lovely in their summer greenery, Algy knew that it was time for him to do the same: it was time for him to return to his little grey home in the west…

It was so peaceful by the burn in the woodland that Algy was reluctant to move on. So he found himself a comfortable perch on a large, mossy branch overhanging the water, leaned his back firmly against the massive tree trunk, and started to sing to himself (and to anyone else who might be listening):
          Orpheus with his lute made trees,           And the mountain tops that freeze,           Bow themselves when he did sing:          To his music plants and flowers           Ever sprung; as sun and showers           There had made a lasting spring.
[Algy is singing the first part of a song by William Shakespeare from his play Henry VIII, Act III, Scene 1.]

It was so peaceful by the burn in the woodland that Algy was reluctant to move on. So he found himself a comfortable perch on a large, mossy branch overhanging the water, leaned his back firmly against the massive tree trunk, and started to sing to himself (and to anyone else who might be listening):

          Orpheus with his lute made trees,
          And the mountain tops that freeze,
          Bow themselves when he did sing:
          To his music plants and flowers
          Ever sprung; as sun and showers
          There had made a lasting spring.

[Algy is singing the first part of a song by William Shakespeare from his play Henry VIII, Act III, Scene 1.]

On the next morning, Algy intended to cross the great sea loch and continue his journey home, but as he was flying towards its shores he noticed a beautiful area of woodland which he hadn’t visited before, so he decided to investigate it while he had the chance. The woods contained an attractive mixture of deciduous trees and conifers, with many mosses and ferns beneath. A lively burn was tumbling down the hillside towards the loch, so Algy paused for a while to watch it twinkling over its rocky bed in the dappled light filtering through the summer canopy.

On the next morning, Algy intended to cross the great sea loch and continue his journey home, but as he was flying towards its shores he noticed a beautiful area of woodland which he hadn’t visited before, so he decided to investigate it while he had the chance. The woods contained an attractive mixture of deciduous trees and conifers, with many mosses and ferns beneath. A lively burn was tumbling down the hillside towards the loch, so Algy paused for a while to watch it twinkling over its rocky bed in the dappled light filtering through the summer canopy.

So Algy turned to the north, and flew slowly back up towards the head of the great sea loch. The mist was coming down and the light was failing, so he felt that it would be prudent to stop for the night. Turning inland very slightly, he soon found himself at the foot of the most famous glen in all of Scotland, the great Glen of Weeping. There was no weeping now, of course, but somehow it still had a mournful air about it, and Algy always felt slightly ill at ease when he passed through this place. In the true spirit of the glen, he found himself a perch in a dark, prickly hawthorn bush which overlooked the isles of the dead. He took particular care to conceal himself from the well-worn path which ran behind the bush, just in case there were any stray landscape photographers about who might resent the presence of a fluffy bird among the grandeur of such scenery. As Algy gazed up the glen towards the higher peaks, which were currently shrouded in summer mists rather than winter snow, he remembered a poem by Sheena Blackhalll. Massacres are fortunately out of fashion in Scotland nowadays, but these mountains still care “not a whit” for the fate of mortals, and each year there are some who climb these slopes, never to return to the land of the living:
          Mountains, snow-swept mountains of Arctic grandeur          Where no sweet bird finds rest in Winter’s thrall          Your streams should run with blood for a thousand aeons          You watched and did not hinder Clan Donald’s fall          Glenlyon’s Argyll men, to the glen came trekking          Like red-backed hounds to seek MacIain’s lair          Where were your blizzards then, that could have saved him?           Your corries turned a hiding place to a bier          Buachaille Etive Mor of the Glen of Weeping          Were you deaf to your dying children’s cries?           Why could you not have blocked the Devil’s staircase          Or opened the Sgur-mam-Fiann where Fingal lies?           Mountains, snow swept mountains of Arctic grandeur          Where ghostly wraiths of the murdered families flit          The wail of the caoineag still keens out a warning          You care for the fate of mortals not a whit.
[Algy is quoting the poem Glencoe Ghosts by the contemporary Scottish poet Sheena Blackhall.]

So Algy turned to the north, and flew slowly back up towards the head of the great sea loch. The mist was coming down and the light was failing, so he felt that it would be prudent to stop for the night. Turning inland very slightly, he soon found himself at the foot of the most famous glen in all of Scotland, the great Glen of Weeping. There was no weeping now, of course, but somehow it still had a mournful air about it, and Algy always felt slightly ill at ease when he passed through this place. In the true spirit of the glen, he found himself a perch in a dark, prickly hawthorn bush which overlooked the isles of the dead. He took particular care to conceal himself from the well-worn path which ran behind the bush, just in case there were any stray landscape photographers about who might resent the presence of a fluffy bird among the grandeur of such scenery. As Algy gazed up the glen towards the higher peaks, which were currently shrouded in summer mists rather than winter snow, he remembered a poem by Sheena Blackhalll. Massacres are fortunately out of fashion in Scotland nowadays, but these mountains still care “not a whit” for the fate of mortals, and each year there are some who climb these slopes, never to return to the land of the living:

          Mountains, snow-swept mountains of Arctic grandeur
          Where no sweet bird finds rest in Winter’s thrall
          Your streams should run with blood for a thousand aeons
          You watched and did not hinder Clan Donald’s fall

          Glenlyon’s Argyll men, to the glen came trekking
          Like red-backed hounds to seek MacIain’s lair
          Where were your blizzards then, that could have saved him?
          Your corries turned a hiding place to a bier

          Buachaille Etive Mor of the Glen of Weeping
          Were you deaf to your dying children’s cries?
          Why could you not have blocked the Devil’s staircase
          Or opened the Sgur-mam-Fiann where Fingal lies?

          Mountains, snow swept mountains of Arctic grandeur
          Where ghostly wraiths of the murdered families flit
          The wail of the caoineag still keens out a warning
          You care for the fate of mortals not a whit.

[Algy is quoting the poem Glencoe Ghosts by the contemporary Scottish poet Sheena Blackhall.]

So Algy took one more look down the loch to the south, where the green island floated on the silvery water, and prepared to set off on his journey home…
Algy is thinking of all his friends who are travelling at this time of year, and wishes each of you a safe and pleasant journey, and a joyful arrival at your destination. Turas math dhuibh! xoxo

So Algy took one more look down the loch to the south, where the green island floated on the silvery water, and prepared to set off on his journey home…

Algy is thinking of all his friends who are travelling at this time of year, and wishes each of you a safe and pleasant journey, and a joyful arrival at your destination. Turas math dhuibh! xoxo

When the tide came in, Algy moved back from the water’s edge, onto an area of soft green grass. He gazed out across the great sea loch towards the other shore, with its hills shrouded in low-lying clouds. Some distance beyond those hills lay his home in the far west, and the irises would be flowering there too now. It was surely time to set off homewards… As Algy reclined among the wildflowers in the low light of the long summer evening, he remembered a poem by Rabindranath Tagore:

The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long. I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet. It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune. The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end. My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said “Here art thou!”The question and the cry “Oh, where?” melt into tears of a thousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance “I am!”

[Algy is quoting the poem Journey Home by the late 19th/early 20th century Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore.]

When the tide came in, Algy moved back from the water’s edge, onto an area of soft green grass. He gazed out across the great sea loch towards the other shore, with its hills shrouded in low-lying clouds. Some distance beyond those hills lay his home in the far west, and the irises would be flowering there too now. It was surely time to set off homewards… As Algy reclined among the wildflowers in the low light of the long summer evening, he remembered a poem by Rabindranath Tagore:

The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.

I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my
voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.

It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself,
and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.

The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own,
and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.

My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said “Here art thou!”

The question and the cry “Oh, where?” melt into tears of a thousand
streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance “I am!”

[Algy is quoting the poem Journey Home by the late 19th/early 20th century Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore.]

Algy returned to the edge of the great sea loch, and perched on a barnacle-covered rock. The tide was sweeping in, carrying the water swiftly up towards the head of the loch, and Algy thought that maybe it was about time for him to follow it. He was beginning to feel a wee bit homesick for his own special patch of moorland and the beautiful western shore that was his home. For the moment, though, he was fascinated by the geometric patterns of light on the water, so he tarried a while longer, watching the ripples flowing, flowing, flowing…

Algy returned to the edge of the great sea loch, and perched on a barnacle-covered rock. The tide was sweeping in, carrying the water swiftly up towards the head of the loch, and Algy thought that maybe it was about time for him to follow it. He was beginning to feel a wee bit homesick for his own special patch of moorland and the beautiful western shore that was his home. For the moment, though, he was fascinated by the geometric patterns of light on the water, so he tarried a while longer, watching the ripples flowing, flowing, flowing…

Anonymous said: Is this for real do you just walk around in a bird costume. I love you. Life goals.

It’s for real, and it all happens in the West Highlands of Scotland – but it’s not a costume :))

Algy sends you fluffy hugs, whoever and wherever you are…

In celebration of Father’s Day, Algy dedicates this field of Scottish Highland wildflowers to the many men among his followers. Algy is truly delighted that you follow his adventures, and thanks you all very much indeed for your kind attention to a fluffy bird :) He hopes that you will all have a very happy day today.
If you are also a father, as he knows many of you are, Algy wishes you a very Happy Father’s Day!
Lots of fluffy hugs for you all :)))

In celebration of Father’s Day, Algy dedicates this field of Scottish Highland wildflowers to the many men among his followers. Algy is truly delighted that you follow his adventures, and thanks you all very much indeed for your kind attention to a fluffy bird :) He hopes that you will all have a very happy day today.

If you are also a father, as he knows many of you are, Algy wishes you a very Happy Father’s Day!

Lots of fluffy hugs for you all :)))

Algy hopped out of the rhododendron bush, and into the middle of the forest clearing. There he lay back, wings outstretched, and floated happily upon the peaceful sea of green grasses and young bracken, surrounded by hundreds of bluebells and other flowers. It was a much safer sea than the one he was used to, and fortunately the thousands of midges and ticks which also love this environment were not really interested in such a fluffy bird…
Algy hopes that you will all have a happy, peaceful weekend, and not be troubled by insects and other summery pests!

Algy hopped out of the rhododendron bush, and into the middle of the forest clearing. There he lay back, wings outstretched, and floated happily upon the peaceful sea of green grasses and young bracken, surrounded by hundreds of bluebells and other flowers. It was a much safer sea than the one he was used to, and fortunately the thousands of midges and ticks which also love this environment were not really interested in such a fluffy bird…

Algy hopes that you will all have a happy, peaceful weekend, and not be troubled by insects and other summery pests!

After a while, Algy flew out of the dim interior of the forest, into the bright clearing he had seen through the tree trunks. There were many wild rhoododendron bushes growing on the sunny side of the tall forest trees, and although technically an invasive weed, they were a beautiful sight to see, especially when combined with the masses of bluebells flowering among the long grasses. The colours of the flowers were lovely, but Algy was also fascinated by the amazing range of spring greens that surrounded him. He thought that there were more different green colours just in that one forest clearing than he could possibly count…
Algy dedicates this rhododendron bush especially to his friend tiernanogphoto :)

After a while, Algy flew out of the dim interior of the forest, into the bright clearing he had seen through the tree trunks. There were many wild rhoododendron bushes growing on the sunny side of the tall forest trees, and although technically an invasive weed, they were a beautiful sight to see, especially when combined with the masses of bluebells flowering among the long grasses. The colours of the flowers were lovely, but Algy was also fascinated by the amazing range of spring greens that surrounded him. He thought that there were more different green colours just in that one forest clearing than he could possibly count…

Algy dedicates this rhododendron bush especially to his friend tiernanogphoto :)

Algy decided to investigate the forest behind his back, so he turned away from the great loch for a while and flew in under the trees. Here the tree trunks grew straight and tall, and very close together in places. The forest floor was mossy and soft, but surprisingly dark. Just a wee bit further on, Algy could see a bright, sunlit clearing, full of flowers and light, but in the permanent twilight beneath the trees everything was hushed and calm. He perched for a while on an old log, listening attentively to the quiet rustling of the tree tops high above him and the tiny sounds of unseen insects scuttling about among the old leaves which covered the ground. It was certainly pleasant to rest quietly in the dimmed stillness of the forest before venturing out into the dazzling light beyond.

Algy decided to investigate the forest behind his back, so he turned away from the great loch for a while and flew in under the trees. Here the tree trunks grew straight and tall, and very close together in places. The forest floor was mossy and soft, but surprisingly dark. Just a wee bit further on, Algy could see a bright, sunlit clearing, full of flowers and light, but in the permanent twilight beneath the trees everything was hushed and calm. He perched for a while on an old log, listening attentively to the quiet rustling of the tree tops high above him and the tiny sounds of unseen insects scuttling about among the old leaves which covered the ground. It was certainly pleasant to rest quietly in the dimmed stillness of the forest before venturing out into the dazzling light beyond.

As the day progressed, the mist gradually slid back up the mountains and merged with the clouds once again. And then, little by little, the great mass of cloud began to break up, and the sun shone through. Suddenly the world was full of beautiful colours. Algy felt happy and lighthearted; he took to the wing, and flew for a few miles down the shores of the great loch, looking at all the scenery in its early summer finery. After a while he spotted the first foxgloves of the year, and paused to rest beside them in the afternoon sunshine. The woods behind him were bordered with rhododendrons in full flower – a beautiful sight, although a threat to the native woodland. It had turned into a lovely afternoon, and as he reclined beneath the foxgloves, looking out across the loch, he was reminded of a poem:
          The dawn laughs out on orient hills           And dances with the diamond rills;           The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs           The silken, beaded gossamers;           In the wide valleys, lone and fair,           Lyrics are piped from limpid air,           And, far above, the pine trees free           Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.           Come, let us fill our hearts straightway           With hope and courage of the day.           Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,           Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,           Where bees hold honeyed fellowship           With the ripe blossom of her lip;           All silent are her poppied vales           And all her long Arcadian dales,           Where idleness is gathered up           A magic draught in summer’s cup.           Come, let us give ourselves to dreams           By lisping margins of her streams.
Algy hopes that you are all enjoying “a magic draught in summer’s cup” too :))
[Algy is quoting the first two verses of the poem A Summer Day by the early 20th century Canadian poet and author, Lucy Maud Montgomery.]

As the day progressed, the mist gradually slid back up the mountains and merged with the clouds once again. And then, little by little, the great mass of cloud began to break up, and the sun shone through. Suddenly the world was full of beautiful colours. Algy felt happy and lighthearted; he took to the wing, and flew for a few miles down the shores of the great loch, looking at all the scenery in its early summer finery. After a while he spotted the first foxgloves of the year, and paused to rest beside them in the afternoon sunshine. The woods behind him were bordered with rhododendrons in full flower – a beautiful sight, although a threat to the native woodland. It had turned into a lovely afternoon, and as he reclined beneath the foxgloves, looking out across the loch, he was reminded of a poem:

          The dawn laughs out on orient hills
          And dances with the diamond rills;
          The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
          The silken, beaded gossamers;
          In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
          Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
          And, far above, the pine trees free
          Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
          Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
          With hope and courage of the day.

          Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
          Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
          Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
          With the ripe blossom of her lip;
          All silent are her poppied vales
          And all her long Arcadian dales,
          Where idleness is gathered up
          A magic draught in summer’s cup.
          Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
          By lisping margins of her streams.

Algy hopes that you are all enjoying “a magic draught in summer’s cup” too :))

[Algy is quoting the first two verses of the poem A Summer Day by the early 20th century Canadian poet and author, Lucy Maud Montgomery.]