Tag: Long Walks

The Full Scottish

No, not the breakfast, which is more enough to sustain a human for a week, but the Highlands.  The real heart of the Scotland.  The full Scottish. 

We had been in the Lowlands—Stirling, Glasgow, Edinburgh and hiked the Fife coast.  Lovely enough in an English sort of way—rolling hills, farmland, green fields. In parts, urban, suburban, and industrial.  Four lane motorways, large power plants, train stations with commuter lines, ports with gantry cranes.  Yes, it is Scotland, we know.  And we thoroughly enjoyed it.

But we had also come for the Highlands.  Our trip ten years ago around Skye, Oban and Glencoe had whetted our appetite for the wildness and scenery of the northwest of Scotland. 

We started in Inverness. While the town isn’t known for its charm, the River Ness does create some views.

The city is really a great base for a visit to the Culloden Battlefield, the last stand of Scottish resistance to English domination.  Definitely a must-do. Over a thousand clansmen killed in an hour with minimal losses by the government forces. The story of Bonnie Prince Charles who was defeated at Culloden is often romanticized but like most wars, the reality is something far different.

From there we chartered a course around Wester Ross, sticking close to the coastline, starting with Ullapool.  

Ullapool.  We struggled with the pronunciation of the town.  It looked simple enough and relatively straightforward compared to many Scottish names.  It was the first syllable that was hard. — uu-lapool?  O-lapool?  All-lapool? We were corrected several times by locals.  Never sure we got it right.

A relatively new town, Ullapool was created in 1788 by the British to capitalize on the local herrings runs. And we arrived in time for the biennial lugger festival, celebrating the traditional sailing boats (https://luggerfest.wordpress.com/) used in the area. The celebration centered around the harbor. Locals gathered to listen to music, get a bit to eat, and sign up for rides in the antique and reproduction boats proudly displayed in the marina.  A bit of music here and there and several of food trucks selling seafood.  We particularly enjoyed the fresh oysters a local oysterman was selling for £1.50 each.  Best we have had in ages at price we could afford.  A world apart from London’s £8 an oyster.  Why didn’t we eat more?

Lots of families, baby strollers and friends meeting up.  Fun, festive and very small townish.  Other than us, hardly a tourist in sight.  Of course, the ferry terminal dominates the town with its twice a day sailings to the islands of Lewis and Harris. Plenty of fish and chip joints, nicknamed “chippies” appropriately. And a very small protest in support of Palestinians.  Even the cloudy skies and bit of rain didn’t seem to tap down the fun. 

We booked the Clachan Garden B&B for our two days in the Ullapool area. (https://www.clachangardenbandb.co.uk/) It turned out to be the best decision we could have made.  The place was charming—the setting amazing.  It was in a valley of farmland at the end of Loch Broom—basically a long fjord— stretching out to the Atlantic Ocean miles west.  Sheep and tiny lambs were frolicking in the fields surrounding the B&B.  Too cute. Working dogs and farm equipment on both sides of the narrow one lane road.  Idyllic, yes.  But what made the B&B were the hosts, Stephen and Margaret Monroe.  They had moved out here many years ago from Newcastle for a simpler life.  He was a musician, a classical guitar teacher,  a lover of books and she had worked for the local government.  They bought a post office to run in Ullapool, then opened a cafe, and finally settled on a B&B. They were both so busy it was hard to see it as a simpler life.

We could have snuggled down in their library forever and Steven encouraged us to thumb through his vast collection.  In fact, books lined almost every wall of the cottage.  Our two bedrooms rooms felt curated and cozy — named Miss Rose and Mrs. Peacock. And the sunny breakfast room was where we seemed to settle before and after each day of touring. Then there were the six homemade jams for the breakfast toast (got the recipe for the caramelized pear jam from Margaret).   And for us the coup d’grace was the La Marzocco espresso machine—not just any old espresso machine but the Rolls-Royce of machines! Stephen had purchased it in — of all places our home town of Seattle! He handled it like a pro—best cafe we had on trip. Yep, Steven and Margaret spoiled us.  

On their advice we drove the road to Lochinver on a gray, cloudy Sunday — an appropriate backdrop for the seascapes and scenery.  It is reputed to be one of the most beautiful drives in Scotland. We won’t argue with that! A narrow lane with plenty of pull-outs for cars to step aside for oncoming traffic.  A few working vans, and locals who knew the road’s dips and curves well enough to zip along.  We crawled along, oohing and ahhing at the sights.  Unfortunately, the highly recommended pie shop in Lochinver was closed on Sunday but we had lunch with the locals and their dogs in a six table sandwich shop.  

It was hard to leave Clachan Garden B&B, but we had a schedule to maintain!  We drove through Wester Ross, past both salt and fresh water lochs, waterfalls, through miles of wild rhododendron woodlands, past fields of sheep, a few ruins, but very few Highland cows, between 3000 foot mountains and across glens of rape seed and blue bells.  Most of the narrow two-lane roads posted for 60 miles per hour while we preferred 50 or even 40. 

We did stop at the amazing Inverewe Gardens—a Michelin 3 star site. And it was. A beautifully maintained botanical garden begun over a 150 years ago.

We ended up just outside of Fort William in the community of Onich.   Please, if you are ever there, don’t judge Fort William by the miserable traffic.  Park your car and walk down High Street — maybe a quarter mile of lovely old gray stone buildings, a beautiful small park in front of the church and local shops.  Delightful!

Church and park in Fort William

We planned the trip not only to see the scenery, it also to walk through it.  We’re not serious backpackers, but we love a good day hike and our quick visit to the area ten years ago had whetted our appetite. Not enough time back then to take a hike, but just enough for a quick stop to snap a selfie. We vowed to come back. And here we were.

Steall Falls is one of the famous hikes, and our host in our vacation rental highly recommended it.  As we expected over a school holiday, it was packed.  A steep, rocky climb eventually opened to a meadow and the falls.

Next we drove to the Glencoe National Park and stopped at the visitor center for a recommendation for a 2-3 hour hike that would not be overwhelmed with people, strollers and dogs.  Armed with that advice we headed out, past the trail head that led to the most famous path to the Three Sisters or the loch where dozens of cars and tour buses were parked.  When we got to our destination we realized it was exactly the spot where we had stopped ten years before.  And this time, almost alone, we walked the trail for an hour or two. 

Now on top with then below

We wrapped up our Wester Ross tour with a night in the Dornach Castle (more on Dornach in our next blog) complete with another whiskey tasting and then returned to Inverness to drop off our rental car. We hopped the Caledonian Sleeper night train back to London. An adventure in itself in dealing tiny, tiny spaces. Goodbye to driving on narrow lanes and hello London.

Yes, we’d done the full Scottish.

 

A Walk in the Wolds

Several years ago while in Scotland we met some folks who were hiking, pub to pub, through a section of Scotland. The idea intrigued us— slowing down the travel time, spending some time walking through the villages, meeting up with local walkers. But carrying a backpack with all our possessions? No way. Then a friend took a long walk through England and told about a local company that carried her bags from place to place and made lodging arrangements, leaving her just to lug a day pack. That we could manage!

We had never been to York and thought we wanted to walk for three or four days. We checked with one of many different companies that support this kind of independent walking trips and picked a 50 mile walk out of York — The Minster Way — a ramble from the Beverley Minster to the grand York Minster through the East Yorkshire Wolds. We signed up, booked our tickets and then Covid hit. Two and a half years later we boarded our flight.

The actual walk began in Beverley. We were loaded with information — two published narratives, describing the walk. Four actual topographical maps charting our walk plus all the others in the area. One electronic version of a topographical map and, of course, Google maps. All were insufficient to get us out of Beverley. We were finally guided out by a kind gentleman walking his dog in suburban Beverley. A small celebration when we finally found the first of the signs directing the way.

At first it was a bit disconcerting to weave through a gate, reading the signs warning of bulls in the pastures, but they seemed pretty accustomed to the occasional walker to be even be bored by our appearance. That is, except for one group of young bulls, that began to run as we got close. Then they stopped about 20 yards ahead on the path, turned to look if we were still coming and would set off again. Eventually they turned and at a safe distance thundered past us. Soon walking among the animals didn’t cause us a second’s pause. Often despite the warnings, the pastures were empty.

The first two days took us through fairly flat, agricultural land — huge fields of wheat, rye and other grains plus pasture of caws and pens of sheep. Interspersed among the fields were small patches of trees and an occasional road or track for farm equipment.

Most of the path went right through the planted fields and up close and personal with the animals and around outbuildings for farms.

At one point the path led us into a field of wheat and appeared to stop. A couple in the distance waved us forward and with some trepidation for stomping on valuable wheat we proceeded. Turns out the couple was out weeding their field by hand, removing a noxious weed that is impervious to herbicides, or at least those that could be used in a wheat field.

We also ran into the estate manager for a large operation. He explained that much of the rye in the area could be sold at about $100 more a ton if used in energy conversion plants which operated in the area. And while potatoes were also grown in the region, the chalky soil spoiled their looks so they were only used for seed.

But these two encounters were the exception in the first 25 miles. Mostly we walked alone, not seeing a business, a cafe, a pub or any commercial business in any of the tiny hamlets we walked through until the end of the second day. We did pass through small villages, usually a collection of homes, farm buildings and a church.

That changed on the third day as we entered the most hilly and scenic part of the trail. Suddenly we started meeting groups of walkers. We all praised the weather (cool and mostly dry), agreed the sights were spectacular and lightly complained about the rigor of going up and down the hills. The complaints were warranted. Apparently, no one here believes in switchbacks so trails go pretty much straight up and straight down. A challenge for the knees, for sure.

It wasn’t all bucolic, however. While the trail was generally well marked, we did manage to get lost — twice. The first time was sheer stupidity. We had a visual image of our B&B for the night and manage to walk right past the place because the building closest to the road did not match our picture, despite the signage. Once again it was the kindness of strangers that got us back on track — this time a man out to get his day’s exercise on his bike. He pointed us in the correct direction with clear landmarks to watch for.

The second time we got lost was really not out fault. Our host at the previous night’s B&B dropped us off at the trailhead. Unfortunately she left us at the wrong trailhead and it took two hours and four miles of map checking, walking, head scratching and googling to find out where we were. At which point we abandoned the trail we had planned to walk and simply took the trail in front of us. The two trails intersected a few miles down the way, according to the maps. Crisis managed!

What were the highs and lows? The biggest problem was our own fault. We did not do enough research on the walk itself. Not until after we had booked the walk and been given the list of our lodgings did we realize how remote the Minster Way route was. We were booked into four places — a glamping site (turned out to be delightful) a Farm B&B (better suited for country house party than sweaty walkers carrying a bit of animal dung on their boots) a quintessential pub and a suburban home with a spare room. When we asked for some modifications in the accommodations, we were told that was all there was along the trail. After walking it, we believe it! One or two other pubs that might have been options went under during the pandemic.

Secondly, we had forgotten how tiresome it is to unpack each evening and repack each day. It is really a drag to live out of a suitcase, even if someone else delivers your bag to you. There’s a reason why we aren’t backpackers at home,

What did we love? The flip side of the remoteness was also a plus. When we paused in our walking, often the only sound to be heard were the birds in the hedgerows. A Northern Lapwing flew overhead and we could hear the wing beats. As casual birders we added nearly a dozen birds to our life list. The quiet, the peacefulness, time alone.

The landscapes seemed so vivid, often picturesque and sometime just plain stunning. As a fans of the new version of All Creatures Great and Small, we could easily envision James Herriot driving around there hills.

Would we do it again? Yep, but differently. Maybe pick a single place to do multiple day hikes out of over several days. Maybe rely upon buses or trains to move us through the less visually rich sections. (In East Yorkshire, taxis have become an endangered species since the pandemic and too scarce to rely upon). But our first taste of long walks in the British Isles definitely left us wanting more.