Dundee did not fail to impress with its dedication to rain and cold in the middle of summer.
I bussed as far as I could go once I disembarked off the train from Edinburgh (amidst the stares of Dundeeins) then walked the two km in Dundee rain, with my pack weighing heavy on my shoulders to find the car rental agency I had pre-booked a vehicle with. Soaked to the skin, I was grateful for the warm room and offer to change in their toilets, when I turned up looking like something the dog dragged in from under the hedge, dripping into pools of water around my sodden footwear.
The rental guy directed me outside to the car in question and I looked everywhere straining my eyes for the rent-a-wreck I thought I was getting (and had planned to sleep in if required). I had ordered a wagon/hatchback style car but instead before me lay a black brand new (8km on the clock) latest model BMW two door sporty expensive looking thing.
I checked my credentials (no - I had not completed 787 Dreamliner training in my sleep, so how the heck was I going to drive this hi-tech beautiful beast of a thing let alone sleep in it?).
The rental man explained they had run out of wagons and this car would “have to do” (no extra charge). So - I arrived at Sam’s in a fancy black car looking like some rich farmers wife, having zipped seamlessly through the narrow roads of the Scottish countryside, terrified of damaging it just simply by breathing on it. I imagined myself as a black blur, smearing the landscape with my adventurous intentions. I loved the GPS and car wifi as I didn’t need to use my own data - win!
Sam was house-sitting near Newtyle with a sole bad-tempered cantankerous chicken named Margaret.
I loved the walls inside the glorious old character-filled farm house, which were papered with large maps pieced together, making a MASSIVE map of Scotland, and also of course providing daily fodder for the imagination in terms of planning adventures. Newtyle had some stellar small hikes near the town; one which went up to an old historic tower through a pretty valley dotted with waterfalls, gave way to generous views of the surrounding farmland and more further afield to the tantalising Cairngorms foothills.
Eager to explore, my first adventure took me to the charming village of Pitlochry, where not only did I purchase a new pair of hiking shoes, but I also bagged my first Munro, hiking to the peak of Beinn a'Ghlo - Braigh Coire Chruinn-bhalgain (1070m).
My first Munro in the bag looking out towards Pitlochry.
A Munro is a Scottish mountain with an elevation of more than 3,000 feet (914 metres), and you can ‘bag’ one by reaching the summit. These lofty peaks take their name from Sir Hugh Munro (1856–1919), whose groundbreaking list of the 283 highest mountains in Scotland was first published as Munro’s Tables in the Scottish Mountaineering Club’s journal in 1891.
The purple heather of summertime is prevalent in the Scottish highlands.
With a sore neck from rubber-necking at all the quaint countryside villages, I also decided to check out Braemar, on Sam’s suggestion. Braemar is famous for being near the Royal Family owned Balmoral Castle, which sits on the banks of the River Dee; a river I was intending to photograph at the picturesque Linn of Dee.
This alluring area has an old bridge which spans an impressive gash in the landscape through which the river has hewed a deep narrow gorge.
Hiking up to a view point on a windy day, I happened upon the archetypal Scottish wanderer;
a wisened looking gentleman walking alone, wrapped up in his knitted jersey and tweed pants, with a firm grip on a whittled walking pole.
How quaint!
We stopped for a chat until we both felt the chill eeking into our bones, said our goodbyes and carried on in opposite directions. He told me (as had Sam) about the right to wander rule - where you are allowed to cross farmland which is privately owned, in order to go for a jolly good stroll.
I was falling in love with Scotland by the minute,
but wondered briefly how many well-intentioned wanderers had been chased by running bulls or angry rams in their quest for peaceful trails.
Eager for more photography fodder, I ventured beyond the stunning Cairngorms (the largest national park in the United Kingdom) to the more rugged Glencoe area, known for its position in the highlands and proximity to the highest peak in the UK - Ben Nevis. It was not a long drive from Newtyle into Glencoe, and it was a journey that took one through the most stunning impactful landscape I had seen yet, which had me thinking that even New Zealand could be surpassed in its wild raw natural beauty. Scotland has an other-worldly type of beauty; aided by the ever-present moody Scottish weather. I felt as if the LoTR movie set would enter into my field of vision every time I stopped to capture what I felt, through my camera lens - because indeed it was a FEELING - no - an EMOTION rather than a need, to capture a scene, which was foremost in my mind.
Scotland is evocative - specifically the highlands - and for me it brought me to a sense of the familiar without really being able to pin-point why. For the first time in a long time, I was accepting that the weather was what it was and I just needed to make the most of it, hike when I could but mostly I enjoyed the unlimited photo ops that had me slamming on the brakes around every corner.
Rivers, waterfalls, quaint villages, lonely desolate houses, mountains, mist, mood - it was all there in spades.
Ascending into the Devils Realm:
It is all very well wandering the rolling hills with wafts of purpled heather and glittering green moss lighting the way, but I was also seeking something more challenging for both legs and heart, more of a feast for eyes also. My hardy Scottish friend in New Zealand suggested I tackle The Devils Staircase (Aonach Eagach). I called into the National Trust for Scotland information centre on the outskirts of Glencoe and talked to the wardens there who discussed the hike being reasonably challenging, and that there was some inclement weather coming in. They figure if I was a non- dilly-dallying walker, I could complete the ridge before the weather hit. I knew the end point descended into near Glencoe and as yet I had not determined how I would get back to my car, parked some 8km out of Glencoe!
The stretch of highway which wends its way through the mountains and down to Glencoe is incredibly scenic, therefore also incredibly popular with both the Scots and tourists alike. The sides of the roads were thick with cars and buses, parking was a premium here. I was lucky to find a spot directly at the start of the track up to the ridge where the Devils Staircase shared its spiny back with the heavens.
The walk from the road to the ridge gains over 1000m in elevation over a short sharp distance. Therefore its quite the heave on the legs and before long I found myself marinating in that familiar feeling of both pleasure and pain as my legs slowly carried me up the steep trail. The view around me opened up and before long I could see over to Ben Nevis (swimming in cloud) where I WAS initially intending to walk that day, but now glad I didn’t as it would have been a walk in the clouds - literally.
The sides of the trail narrowed onto a skinny ridge and very steep drop offs gave way to the highway below and across the valley with views into their lofty peaks. An air of menace hung heavily, further enhanced by the menacing triple faces of the Three Sisters, peering through the mist from across the valley. I spied a steep trail disappearing into a u-shaped valley, directly across the expanse from me, and I thought I might tackle that track too another day. (Photo).
People stand atop a peak in the distance as the weather starts to fold in
Standing on the ridge I could see along its spine and saw people in the distance standing on a peak. I felt some sense of comfort knowing there were others around, especially as the trail became more technical including some decent grade 2-3 scrambling on exposed, slippery, well polished rock, an area on the trail I later learnt, had killed several people in recent years.
As I stood contemplating the time it would take to reach the high point where the people had now moved on from, I noticed the weather darkening, and a figure in a red jacket walking in my direction.
I ventured further on the trail, wondering if it was wise, as I felt the first few drops of light drizzle and a breeze that was picking up. The red jacketed man, and myself stopped for a chat. He asked if I was planning on continuing and suggested that I turn back as the weather changed quickly, and it was doing just that. He said I could follow him up the now wet rock face I had recently climbed down, and that he could show me an alternative way to the car below.
As we chatted he disclosed that he knew the track well as he wrote the guide books for the region! He explained briefly the significance of the area - the notorious 1692 Massacre of Glencoe, when dozens of members of the local MacDonald clan were murdered by soldiers billeted in their houses or died of exposure as they fled through a snowstorm to hide in the mountains. He also disclosed his daughter was either currently or had been in New Zealand working. Leading me to another Munro, he pointed me in the direction of a gully, casually stating that it would (sooner or later) pop out onto the main road 1000m below. We parted ways and he disappeared into the mist like some sort of red cloaked ethereal ghost.
I even wondered if this was imagined corporeality.
I clambered my way down the gully, with no trail to follow except for common sense, and soon found myself fighting a burgeoning stream, colossal boulders, walloping waterfalls, and points where I was left wondering if I was ever going to be able to blunder my way out of this cavernous culvert.
At some point a small trail magicked itself out of nothing on the left side of the gully, and I followed through thick prickly hedged thicket, until I sprung out like toast from a toaster, onto the main road, feeling like an intrepid explorer scratched, bleeding and somewhat waterlogged.
I picked the twigs out of my hair and decided to cross the road and climb the track to a U-shaped valley I had seen from above. The trail followed steeply uphill beside a narrow but replete stream, dotted with charming waterfalls until it spilled into a wide open valley above which I had expected to see a lake - but this was the lake of my imaginings as it was simply a wide open mossed expanse.
A trail wrapped around this inner sanctum and then exited down the other side of the valley.
As my legs were already thrashed, I decided to descend the way I had come, as I could see this would involve possibly a further one to two hours of hiking and I was not so sure I had that left in my legs. Plus it had started to rain.
I fell into my car after that long adventure-filled day, bouyant and with a sense of fulfilment.
When I returned to Newtyle, Sam spoke sternly to me for attempting the Devils Staircase in dodgy weather and informed me about recent deaths on the ridge.
Sobering.
I am glad she told me after I had been up there - but I am sure the red-jacketed guy was her substitute up on those breezy heights, because without him to deter me, I am sure I would have kept going.
Ah well - I will just have to go back. I hate an unfinished journey!
The A82 road weaving its way through the valley near Glencoe with a view across to the first of the Three Sisters..