In which the dark side calls...

'm not sure how I ended up here. I attended the highland games this weekend, because what is the point of living here if you don't?

     It's been forty years since I attended a highland games. Some things remain constant, and comfortingly familiar: the heat is amazing, the breezes are few, dust is everywhere, and the UV index is at a level that will sear steak.There have, however been changes, which I must classify as good, or the notion of human progress is put into question, and all society's done for.

     Tiny girls danced, often with grim determination, but sometimes with every appearance of enjoying it. The dancing is much more balletic than I remember, and not just in the movements. ALL the girls have their hair in chignons, ALL the girls are in stage makeup, which is dramatic on a nineteen year old, but just silly on a six year old.

     All the competitors, including the one boy I saw, were in Serious Highland Dancing Costume. Apparently the days when a piper would walk over from the band tent, change shoes and compete in a band uniform, no makeup, and hair loose,  then walk back over to play in the band competition have been banished to the memories of old guys.

     The first step of the sword dance seems to have a two-footed landing where there used to be a right-footed landing into a pas de bas. In the opinion of one observer, the new style looks like hell; everything just suddenly stops for half a beat. The elevation in the jumps is much more than I remember, too, which is progress in the heavy events, and I suppose must be progress in dancing, too.

     In the heavy events, little has changed. Large men threw heavy things with determination and some success. The occasional competitor is far less beefy than was formerly common, but even they can still throw a light (16 lb!) hammer halfway down a football field.

     There were nervous moments; who knew that a caber had a significant sail area? The field looked comfortably large, until some of the longer runups in the caber toss. In the end, there were three successful (turned) throws, and much rejoicing. There were no casualties, although spectators around the perimeter of the field moved in a sprightly fashion from time to time.

     In piping, all the snare drummers wear a two-shoulder harness now, as seen in drum and bugle corps, instead of the diagonal shoulder belt. It's supposed to be easier on their backs, but it looks about the same weight as a small Hyundai, so I have to take that on faith. There was not a single drum major sighted over the full weekend. This may be a regional variation, or simple statistical clustering. The standard of playing seems quite variable, but on average, high.


     Now, some of you know that I played bagpipes forty years ago, and may have made some surmises about my current proximity to them. Unfortunately, bagpipes are a woodwind instrument, and make the same impossible demands on my hands as other woodwinds, so there is no return to piping in my old age. But... there was a conversation with a couple of bandsmen.

      Maybe my willingness to double on any percussion instrument I could reach was where the rot got in. Maybe it was my destiny all along to go where I seem to be going. Maybe the irresistible call of  the dark side marked me as its own in my innocent youth, and has been, all these years, not defeated but waiting. Maybe we will never know why such dreadful and frightening changes occur. Whatever the reason, early this week, I will venture out and acquire a pair of drumsticks.