Aberdeenshire, Scotland

Aboyne Highland Games

The sound of massed bagpipes and drums echoes through ones soul. Warlike and heathen, the noise makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise and shakes the very ground. Ancient and dangerous it tells of bloody fields where armies smashed together, of men belonging to a older, simpler world of principles so often trivialized these days. Standing in ones kilt as the pipe major walks past followed by the pipers and drummers it is hard not to be proud of being Scottish.

The Gordon standard flying above the field

The Cock of the North, head of the Gordon clan, inspecting the pipers as they march past.

Braving the drizzle, many come to see the marches and games

The Pipe Majors trading salutes

Lord Chuck, my self, Jamie,  the brothers Maitland

The tug-of-war, the best (in my opinion) event at the games for the shear simple, almost polite brutality and Sumo-esq simplicity. 

Pipers

The march-past

More Pipers

Lord Gordon and Mr. Remp, Standing Tall
The Field
Piper at Rest

 Tessa and I

Going Home