Sadly I will not be able to make the funeral today in Inverness but my thoughts are with the family and friends of this lovely man Bill Amos. Bill I had known for many years in Mountain Rescue in the far North Of Scotland, never seeking the headlines he was a true mountain man who did so much for so many. I am sure there will be some great tales today in Inverness. Condolences to the family and friends of Bill a true Highland character that did so much for others.
This was posted by a good friend Angus Jack
” The old boys are leaving, leaving one by one.
Where young birds go flying, spread your wings and run.
But over the fields, by the drystone walls,
an eagle will come no more.”
Tribute from a Runrig song
My your spirit soar above the mountains Bill.
From Dundonnel Facebook page “It is with sadness that we write of the passing of Bill Amos after a period of illness. Bill was a member of Dundonnell MRT for almost thirty years, holding a variety of posts including that of team leader. His funeral will be held on Friday 13th at 1.30pm in inverness Crematorium. Our love and thoughts go to Janet, Rona, Sheena and the wider family at this time.”
The journey to Sheneval
Cars fly by as you cross the road, to another world,
Then silence, the traitor’s gate.
The track wynds through the trees, the river breaks the silence,
The glaciated slabs hide the cliffs, then:
Views of An Teallach open at every turn.
Midges and clegs abound here but not today, too cold, its winter.
Cross the river, is that bridge in the wrong place? Muddy and wet, back on track,
Steep hill, upwards towards the top, the wee cairn, stop, no rush, drink it all in.
An Teallach. Snow plastered, familiar, foreboding.
Open moor, contour round and round, special views,
Every corrie on that great hill has a particular thought.Memories
Fisherfield, these great hills, the light changing, to the West
Youthful memories of companions, some now gone.
Epic days, trying to impress? Pushing it and nearly, losing it?
Descent to Shenevall, steep, slippy and wet,
Eroded now by so many feet.
Collect some wood. The bothy, the deer, they are still there;
Sheneval. It never changes, only the seasons.
Fire on, primeval. Tea in hand, alone with thoughts.
the Deer rattle the door, time for sleep.