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Position: 57°28’39″N 4°06’01″W
Criss-crossing Scotland on our way up to and back from the Orkneys gave us a good feel for my ancestorial homeland. My last major trip to the UK’s north was back in 1977 during a year that turned into one of life’s segues. Things haven’t changed all that much. The roads are a bit busier and prices higher, but the scenery still stuns and history runs deep beneath your feet.
My younger daughter Emma and her partner Jarno had generously loaned us their car, Mitsy (a Mitsubishi Outlander, appropriately), and their camping gear. Thus, we were fully prepared to bed down with the midges on yon heathery moors. Prepared, in the sense of being geared up. Much less prepared mentally to commit to cold, windswept nights with savage biting insects on the blasted heath.
Having a car gave us flexibility I lacked 45 years ago. It allowed us to nose our way down country lanes and explore areas not normally accessible to a hitchhiker’s thumb. It also meant we could explore alternative (read less expensive) forms of accommodation. Accommodations a step or two up from nylon canvas. In modern parlance that means ‘glamping’ in an ‘eco-pod’. Glamping is very popular. It combines the privacy of your own space with the convenience of WiFi and Netflix on demand for a cost about two thirds that of a hotel room. Securing a reservation in August at the last minute is a matter of pure luck. After all, you’re filling in for someone else’s cancellation.
Carry On Glamping
Taking various forms, an eco-pod might be anything from a kit-bashed shed resembling a gypsy’s caravan to a renovated 20’ steel shipping container. Most sport running water and electricity. Cooking is performed in either a small microwave oven, or on a propane grill just outside the front door. For veteran sailors used to cramped spaces, anything larger than 100 square feet with unlimited hot water is always attractive.
Our eco-pod was literally in the heart of Scotland. Smack dab in the middle with a big stone and brass plaque to prove it. Overlooking the River Spey, itself the source of the world’s finest whiskies, the Glentruim Lodge hosts guests in a bed and breakfast. Next door a large country home opens for events like weddings. We slept way out by the duck shed under a big tree. With excellent hiking and the Highland Folk Museum in nearby Newtonmore, we had no shortage of fresh air distractions.
Highland Folk Museum
Water of Life
Following the Spey northwards, past the Dewar’s, Glenmorangie, and Bowmore whisky distilleries to the coast brought us to Whitehills, a tiny fishing village looking out over the North Sea, just to the west of Banff. Here the tides run out a good three metres, leaving a mere two metres for boats in the well-fortified harbour. Picturesque with good RV facilities, the village survives on tourism and a bit of fishing these days. Cullen Skink is the local delicacy. Cullen is a nearby town and Skink a word for soup. This creamy chowder with smoked haddock, plenty of fresh parsley and new potatoes makes for a fab local dish that deserves exporting around the world.
Be Mindful
Turning left along the coast towards Inverness brought us through 500 years of history in just a few miles. Cawdor Castle, made famous by the play that shall not be named, began as a snug 15th century tower house. Modestly extended over the centuries, today it boasts some fine gardens and lots of antique furniture and portraits. Originally belonging to the Calder family, the castle is now owned by the Campbells of Cawdor. Their motto, ‘Be Mindful’, remains ambiguously hip.
Culloden
A few miles further on we paid our respects to Drummossie Moor, the site of the Battle of Culloden. Like many colossally important battles, Culloden lasted for less time than you imagine, in this case about an hour. By then over a thousand Jacobites had perished on the battlefield and another thousand lay wounded. The British soldiers counted only 50 dead and another 259 wounded.
The key innovation used in fighting the acolytes of Bonnie Prince Charlie was a change in bayonet practise. The highlanders at full charge with a broadsword in their right hand and a targe in their left exposed their chests as soon as their sword was raised. Rather than stabbing the man in front of them, orders were given to the British infantry to stab the man to their right. The numbers speak for themselves. It was the last pitched battle fought on British soil and the end of the Highland Charge as a military tactic (but not as a cinematic cliché – ed.). It was also the beginning of the depopulation of the highlands. More on that later…
V & I took a multi-castle tour in about 2003, and in Cawdor found a number of information cards written by the resident noble himself (must be a Campbell?). One read “Dining Hall. Notice how it is so far from the kitchen that the food always arrives cold.”
Later, on the bus, the tour guide told us about a Jacobite waverer who sounded like a Hanoverian whenever discretion so dictated. I couldn’t resist replying (aloud) “So his Jacobark was worse than his Jacobite, was it?”
As good a groan as a man could ask for! Speaking of past Germans, I hope V is handling the sad news of E2R okay.
Stunning photos- the colours and light are amazing!
Thanks Louise! When the sun shines in Scotland it’s always a rare photo opportunity 😁