Silverbank Caravan Club Site, Banchory, Kincardineshire

A relatively fine Saturday seemed to be a good day to set off on yet another tikki tour up through the Cairngorm National Park and beyond. We set off westward along the A93, the road we had taken through to Braemar a few days ago, passing through Aboyne where the crowds and traffic were growing to frantic and absurd levels before the kick-off of the annual Highland Games. 

While a part of me was devastated that we were missing a wonderful opportunity to visit real Highland Games, as opposed to the Antipodean version held annually in New Zealand’s Waipu, I recoiled from the mounting crowds and wondered how in reality I would cope with the pressing in of the kilts, kids and curious. We were better to have made alternate plans, albeit in ignorance of local happenings.

We turned north near Ballater on to the A939, a yellow road marked dot,dot,dot  and better travelled by car alone, heading up through the heights of the mountains, up through peaks of over 740 metres ASL until we arrived at the little track up to the Heritage Scotland’s Corgarff Castle.

A modest tower was built here at Corgarff around the middle of the 16^th century, probably by a member of the Forbes Clan of whom I will revisit later. All the facets of a small house suitable for the gentry were incorporated into the tower, but it was to have a very un-residential history, which began in the mainstream of Scottish affairs in 1571. In that year the cause of the deposed Mary, Queen of Scots was being upheld, amongst others by Adam Gordon of Auchindoun, brother of the earl of Huntly. 

The Forbes of Corgarff were allied with the opposing party which supported her son James VI. In November, Adam Gordon’s men came to Corgarff intent on taking the castle for Queen Mary. Margaret Forbes, the wife of the laird, refused the entry, and so the assailants savagely set fire to the castle and Margaret, her family and servants were burnt to death. In all twenty four people died. This is the stuff of century long feuds! 

The scuffles and feuds continued on, as they did all through this part of Scotland. Later during the years of unrest through the 18^th century, Redcoats remained at Corgarff long after the Highlands had ceased to pose a military threat to the established government. In 1802 the castle was returned to private hands. A local man, James McHardy, rented it as a farmhouse and in 1826 even held a licence permitting him to distil whisky on the premises.

The following year, he was removed when the army again took possession, this time in support of the excise men bent on stamping out the production and smuggling of the “mountain dew”. James was canny enough to twist his fortune by supplying direct to the personal needs of the garrison, so was not unduly affected.

For more than a century after the garrison pulled out in 1831, the castle slowly fell into decay. At first it was occupied by farm labourers, but it was derelict after World War I. With its roofs fast falling into ruin, Corgarff was given into State care in 1961 by Sir Edmund and Lady Stockdale, who subsequently assisted in the first phase of preservation work. In 1961, the wooden partitions and stair survived only in decaying fragments. The timberwork has been reproduced, incorporating any sound original fragments, as part of a comprehensive programme of consolidation and reinstatement.

Today as we climbed the footpath to access the Castle, we could not but feel disappointed at finding the structure again under repair; scaffolding structures and great swathes of “protective” netting surround the base of the castle, and it did not resemble the pictures used in the promotional brochures. So often this happens; we seem to visit so many grand buildings in camouflage.

But for all this, we did find our visit interesting, even with the noise of young children calling out to their parents, from one floor to the other, in German and English. While we heard their comments about it all being quite boring, that criticism ceased when they reached the top floor and found the 7,000 piece Lego model of the Castle, circa 1746, and questions about the (plastic) wildlife that might be found. If this did not hold their interest, there was an extensive wardrobe of costume for them to reimagine themselves through ages past.

We managed to return to the car before the rain set in properly, and set off westwards again, now on past Lecht, the most remote of Scotland’s ski areas. Here in the summer months, there was only evidence of the one large building which offers tearoom facities, but apart from that we could see the structured set up of the marked out pistes, a stationery chair lift and little else. Apparently the ski season lasts through January and February, and can be extended beyond with snow-making equipment. Here, as all the mountainous landscape we were travelling through, the contours were well rounded, eroded by time, and because of this, very unlike the South Island of New Zealand which Scotland is frequently likened to.

We descended down steep roads, having crossed many bridges and one in particular where a caravan rig would have ended up stuck on the apex, looking rather ridiculous if nothing else. Soon we arrived at Tomintoul, pronouced Tom-in-towel, apparently Scotland’s highest village, at 345 metres ASL and with a population of 380. This was one of the highlighted destinations for our day, having been recommended several times by Chris’s sister. Interestingly Queen Victoria was far less enthusuastic when she passed through in the 1800s, writing that it was “the most tumble down, poor looking place I ever saw”. All I can say to that is that she obviously did not get around too much.

While it cannot be considered a vibrant exciting village to visit, especially on such a cold showery summer day, we did nothing but wander about the streets. Had we entered one of the hotels or tea rooms and partaken of their advertised fare, we might have been able to speak more warmy about the village.

Instead we headed north up the B9008, through the expansive Glen Livet Estate, and found a pleasant rural spot right on the north edge of the National Park  to park up and eat our picnic lunch. Then we continued on through varied countryside, some fine fertile farmland supporting healthy herds of dairy cattle, and some bare heather covered moorland where sheep grazed in sparse flocks.

We came on down into Dufftown, a small attractive  town founded by James Duff, 4^th earl of Fife in 1817 which today proclaims itself as the “Malt Whisky Capital of the World”. While we had no intention of visiting either of the two distillaries open to the public, the Glenfiddich or the Glen Livet further south, owing to the practicalities of driving on demanding roads after consumption of the dew of life, we had intended to park up and wander about. There are seven active distilleries about Dufftown which justifies the claim of raising more capital for the exchequer per head of population than anywhere else around the country. But it was still raining and our dislike for getting wet was greater than our desire to sniff the air and catch the aroma of fermenting barley.

And so we continued on, now turning south west down the A941 to Rhynie, where on arrival at this tiny settlement, we learned the road was to be closed for a fortnight from the 7^th August. We had been checking out the suitability of the road for our exit from Banchory and  on to our next camp near Inverness. We would have to review our plans.

From here we carried on down the A944, now in wide lush valleys of farmland, turning southwards at the Bridge of Alford and soon arriving at the entrance to Craigievar Castle, which had been on our list of Sunday to-dos. It was about 2 pm, time allowed and we were so glad we took the detour. As we drove up the long drive toward the high turrets of the pink Disneyesque castle rising above the long established trees, we were full of expectation and not disappointed. Signs in the car park explained that this was a viewing by guided tour only, so we hastened directly to the castle entrance and were fortunate enough to join a tour immediately.

And so we were lead up through the seven floors, wonderful stories of former occupants and current ghostly ones, accompanied by eleven other tourists including a whinging whining moaning two year old who should have been taken out within the first five minutes of the tour. The guide did his best to jolly her out of her ill humour but was too polite to expel them completely.

The castle was built in 1626 by a Baltic trader, Willy the Merchant, or more correctly, William Forbes, as both a home and defendable fortress, although it was the surrounding external walls that provided any defence had it ever been required. It is considered one of the most elegant examples of tower-house architecture from the 17^th century. Craigievar remained in the Forbes family for over 350 years and has over the intervening years, welcomed many notable visitors including American novelist Henry James to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.

The road from here to Banchory was a direct drive south east along the A980. We swung by the local Tesco and bought ourselves fish for dinner, a treat these days on a limited budget. The Chef served up a lovely Saturday feast of new potatoes, peas, salad and fish, all followed by the far too regular apple pie and yoghurt; an excellent end to a long journey, one of one hunderd and seven miles.

The brief spell of sunshine we enjoyed on emerging from Craigievar Castle has long ended and rain is falling yet again.