If I ever received a sudden and unexpected windfall and went to L.A, my first port of call would most likely be Turnbull Canon, at night, in the Puente Hills Reserve so I could to get wonderful, twinkly shots of L.A. As it turns out, the city I live in has it's own version which is a 10 minute walk from my flat. Yep, you guessed it. Those good old Salisbury Crags, which have been there long before any humble settlers arrived. It's so easy to take them for granted, as they are right on my doorstep. During the day, they are...alright. I try and avoid going up during the day as it is heaving with runners, cyclists, dog walkers, hikers, screaming kids. Especially during the summer months. It is crawling with tourists. I realise I am painting the most resplendent picture of one of Edinburgh's most historic sites.
Picture this. One time I was up there, taking a break and reading my book as it was a gorgeous day, so I thought it would be a good idea to catch up on my daily dose of Vitamin D3, like any other normal person would. So, sitting up the Crags, minding my own business, I suddenly heard some weird wailing that caught my attention on the small breeze that was tickling my cheek. I had no idea what it was. I then saw four male tourists, no older than twenty years old trudging up over the crest next to me. The wailing belonged to a mobile phone that the lead guy was holding up as high as he could, in some powerful gesture, encouraging his mates onwards, like good, Christian soldiers. It was wailing what I can only assume was bagpipe music. I looked on, intrigued by this party of four, bolstered by the most cheesy, uninspiring Scottish music, torn to shreds by the pitiful and tinny speakers of the mobile device. Then they all formed a line once they reached their destination, resting their hands on their knees, huffing and puffing from their exertion. Then the main man, holding the phone up high, straightened up, shoved his phone towards the sky, encompassed in a tight fist of triumph and shouted (In a thick Italian accent) 'WOOOOO! I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!!!' over and over again until the entirety of Edinburgh got the fact that he was the king of the world.
I burst out laughing. He certainly gave Dicaprio a run for his money.
This is normal behaviour up the Crags, during the day.
Now, I ask you, have you ever been up at night? If not, and you like your peace and quiet, like me, then the Crags at night is for you. It is emptier than a shopping mall with a bomb scare and quieter than a Quaker. If you don't mind getting startled by the odd tree tricking you into thinking it is a human in the dark ahead of you, standing still and staring directly at you. then by all means, trudge on up.
I went up with my friend Holly and we ended up scaring each other silly (over active imaginations, you see. It's a blessing and curse) with scary tales of Slender man. Holly had to reassure me we were too old for his preference to get taken by him. I had to reassure her that bandits were not going to come and get us, and The Highway Man would find us utterly boring, and that was, in fact, just a tree. Not depraved zombie out to get us. It was quite fun!
Here are some shots of the night. The scenery is really quite stunning.
Picture this. One time I was up there, taking a break and reading my book as it was a gorgeous day, so I thought it would be a good idea to catch up on my daily dose of Vitamin D3, like any other normal person would. So, sitting up the Crags, minding my own business, I suddenly heard some weird wailing that caught my attention on the small breeze that was tickling my cheek. I had no idea what it was. I then saw four male tourists, no older than twenty years old trudging up over the crest next to me. The wailing belonged to a mobile phone that the lead guy was holding up as high as he could, in some powerful gesture, encouraging his mates onwards, like good, Christian soldiers. It was wailing what I can only assume was bagpipe music. I looked on, intrigued by this party of four, bolstered by the most cheesy, uninspiring Scottish music, torn to shreds by the pitiful and tinny speakers of the mobile device. Then they all formed a line once they reached their destination, resting their hands on their knees, huffing and puffing from their exertion. Then the main man, holding the phone up high, straightened up, shoved his phone towards the sky, encompassed in a tight fist of triumph and shouted (In a thick Italian accent) 'WOOOOO! I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!!!' over and over again until the entirety of Edinburgh got the fact that he was the king of the world.
I burst out laughing. He certainly gave Dicaprio a run for his money.
This is normal behaviour up the Crags, during the day.
Now, I ask you, have you ever been up at night? If not, and you like your peace and quiet, like me, then the Crags at night is for you. It is emptier than a shopping mall with a bomb scare and quieter than a Quaker. If you don't mind getting startled by the odd tree tricking you into thinking it is a human in the dark ahead of you, standing still and staring directly at you. then by all means, trudge on up.
I went up with my friend Holly and we ended up scaring each other silly (over active imaginations, you see. It's a blessing and curse) with scary tales of Slender man. Holly had to reassure me we were too old for his preference to get taken by him. I had to reassure her that bandits were not going to come and get us, and The Highway Man would find us utterly boring, and that was, in fact, just a tree. Not depraved zombie out to get us. It was quite fun!
Here are some shots of the night. The scenery is really quite stunning.