In Scotland Again - Galloway to Ayr: Episode 2

In 1933 Henry Vollam Morton was in no rush to reach the Scottish Highlands, and of twelve chapters of 'In Scotland Again' the first four tell of his travels in the border counties of Dumfries and Galloway. And so it was with our first four nights, camped out at in the peninsula at New England Bay.

It is here that we walk the dunes, lying back in the long drying grass to watch seals surfacing and fishing, creating small black pools with watchful eyes. Guillemots and Razorbills track the coast. In the early autumn evenings we hear the gentle sound of breakers riding the rocks at high tide.
Inland walks take us through overhung tracks and deep-sided lanes giving panoramic views as they slope to the bay, and beyond to Port William. From the Mull on a good day you see the twinkle of car windscreens on the Northern Irish Ballywalter coast.

On leaving Galloway, Henry Morton headed for Arran. We, on the other hand, are diverting, drawn by chapter 12 section 5 of 'In Search of Scotland', to the coastal town of Ayr. Our's is a 'haste for the Highlands', and we need to stock up one final time before crossing Erskine bridge and heading up by Loch Lomond to the Killin Falls of Dochart.

Ayr is always a surprise. The town sits comfortably on the river as it enters the Firth of Clyde. It retains the feel of the old seaside town - ageing splendour of Scottish architecture meets modern market town, and neither seem to be winning. We pitch on the outskirts and walk the riverside to town, the Ayr smooth as a boating lake and overhung with willows. The sun has brought out the walkers, joggers and lovers. A series of three bridges, two for pedestrians, invite entry to the town on the south bank.

Now is the moment to relish  Ayr's highlight. We stroll to 3 Sandgate, the home of Robbies Drams. Established in 1983, this is a whisky paradise. The bell tinkles as we enter. Ahead, an old assistant, presumably here since the shop first opened, smiles. It is the smile of a man who has something to sell, but all the time and patience in the world to sell it. This may indeed be the founder, Robbie Russell.

H V Morton in chapter 10 section 5 of 'In Search of Scotland' introduced me to both 'the Highlander Campbell' and the Skye whisky 'Talisker'. My untested tastes of whisky do not extend to the old and expensive vintage single malts, but the Talisker Port Ruighe whetted my appetite for another dram. We walk by the shelves of Scotch seeking something different - maybe Compton Mackenzie's 'Stalker's Joy', rescued from the S.S. Cabinet Minister at Little Todday; but settling eventually on a double matured Cardhu single malt.

With the sensation of a fisherman with a great catch, we return to the Tracker. Stephanie repeats Morton's words teasingly "Ye don't mean to open the bottle? It's a shame to waste it; but man, its a grand whisky!"  She is right, now is not the time and place to crack open the Cardhu. Like Morton's Talisker, a 'Tumbler or twa o'  Toddy' will wait for thunder in Glencoe.

In the morning, the Tracker heads for the Trossachs, Loch Lomond and Crianlarich. Our destination is Maragowan at Killin, right at the head of Loch Tay.

To reach Crianlarich, the A82 skirts the west side of Loch Lomond. The first 15 miles to Tarbet, where the A83 turns west to Loch Long, the road is fine, with 'bonnie banks'. From Tarbet to the head of the loch, what can I say? For car drivers, the route is negotiable with care. For motorhomes it is a nightmare - sandwiched between the loch shoreline and the mountains. 7.2 metres width of horror with rocks and walls to one side and water to the other is not condusive to gentle motoring. In chapter 10 section 7 Morton's gaze along 'twenty four miles in exquisite beauty' was presumable to the lake side with an empty road ahead. On his return in 1933, chapter 5 section 8 of 'In Scotland Again' reveals that he took the wise alternative and branched off west on the A83 to Glenroe, Inveraray and on to Oban. This was the one occasion when I envied his choice of road.

Leaving the A82 at Crianlarich, we turned east on the A85 to Ardchyle, and beyond the A827 to Killin.

The road lies just to the south of the river Dochart, slim and fast, then widening suddenly to the falls. At Killin, the road crosses the falls, giving a spectacular view.

The river cascades towards the loch in torrents between large flat slabs of rock, accessible from the road, giving a spectacular natural show. Nearby, Breadabane Folklore Centre (run by village volunteers), is a working mill on two floors, providing local information, crafts, cards, maps and donated items of furniture and clothing.

Eating out in Killin should not be missed, with 'hunger and anticipation' taking us to  The Courie Inn. Here is served locally produced and wholesome food cooked to perfection. This, our second visit rivaled the first. Stephanie and I skipped the Haggis Bon Bons (described as 'fabulous') simply because we knew the portion sizes of the main dishes, and ordered Solway mussels as a first course. Delicious, served without shells in a parsley, cream and garlic sauce with warm, crisp bread. For main dishes we ordered lamb and beef, both subtle and cooked with devotion. The lamb in particular was impressive, crisp on the outside and melting within, served on a bed of potato with roasted vegetables. We liked the vernacular 'feel and flavour' of the food - prepared without pretension but with style and finesse. It was quintessentially Scottish in character.

And so to another night, this time with the sound of the river Lochay making its way to Loch Tay and the wind in the trees. Time for Cardhu.