Culloden Moor Caravan Club Site, Morayshire

9 August 2017:-   The forecast had suggested a dry day; this we had although the sunshine did not show up until this evening; a bit late then. But this did not deter us from having a wonderful day of touring through the magnificent countryside in this part of Scotland. Although here I shall throw in a negative; both Chris and I decided today that while the Scottish landscapes seen to date are quite lovely, none to rock-your-sox-off, none are as impressive as those in New Zealand. The mountains are rounded, eroded with time, rather than ragged and imperious, and there seem to be few dramatic geological features. Of course New Zealand is geologically a much younger land, and the mountains are still being pushed up, the land a work in progress. And we should not lose sight of the fact we have still to see so much more of this northern part of Great Britain; I am jumping the gun.  

Today we intended to “knock off the Cairngorm National Park”, such a crass attitude toward touring, as if every destination is just a line on a “bucket-list”. I would like to think we have a better approach to our exploration but then only an outsider, such as you, the reader, can really make such a judgement.

It was a little after 8 am when we headed out the camp gate, turning right and toward the main highway that leads south to Perth and beyond. We avoided any glimpse of Inverness, joining the dual carriageway near Daviot, pulling into Tomatin, to investigate the notation on the map, the Findhorn Viaduct. The rail, the main highway and the minor road we travelled all pass over the River Findhorn, the first two on bridges so high above the river that one might suppose we were in a deep ravine. But it was the fine stone rail viaduct that caught our intention and we stopped to take the odd snap or two before returning to the main highway.

The road climbed up through pine forest crossing the Slochd Summit at 406 metres. The cloud was low and looked as if it would be sometime before any sun managed to burn it off. Just a few miles south we turned off the highway again and travelled for some distance on lesser roads running parallel with the A9. 

Arriving in the charming little village of Garrbridge, as we crossed over the lovely River Dulnain, we could not help but notice the spindly arch of the Bridge of Carr still spanning the river, albeit rather precariously. This old packhorse bridge was built in 1717, commissioned by Brigadier-General Alexander Grant of Grant, of Clan Chief. Its parapets and side walls were badly damaged in the 18^th century and again in the famous flood of August 1829, leaving it in the shape it is today.

Back on the road, we continued south to Aviemore, a must-do place according to my older son who did a mad dash trip one long weekend when he and his wife were working in the south of England; such is the craziness of youth.

Until the mid-1960s, Aviemore was a sleepy little village, and then came the profiteers, determined to develop it into a ski and tourist resort. Our guide book describes the little town in a most derogatory manner, deriding the “soulless hotch-potch of retail outlets”.  In one sense, this is true, but later when we returned to buy a few groceries before heading home, the crowds had added a busy and pleasing atmosphere to the place we had found before 10 am. We were glad we did not have to battle the crowds when we bought our bug protection nets at one of the outdoor equipment stores and our morning tea treats and newspaper at the Tesco superstore. We were also pleased to be given excellent service at the Information Centre, coming away with maps and information about places I had already read about and was keen to explore further.

We drove further south and then further into the National Park, soon entering the Glenmore Forest Park and parking beside Loch Morloch. This extensive park offers a variety of trails up into the mountains and the one around the lake we chose to do, camping facilities and kayak and dinghy hire. The crowds flowed into the park during the course of the day, busier as the day progressed, popular with tourists and holidaying families. 

The car parks are watched over by parking machines, which offer full day’s occupation for £2, and lesser fees for times up to two hours. Unfortunately they have yet to be updated to recognise the new coins, which could be a real problem for people who have a pocket full of only these.

We sat in the car looking out across the loch, sipping our coffee and eating the sugary fare purchased in Aviemore, before donning our sturdy walking shoes and setting out ourselves. This is an easy trail of 5.8 kilometres with a suggested time of two hours; we did it in just over one and a half. The trail notes advised that we would have fine views of the mountains above and a good chance of seeing goldeneye, red-throated divers and even otters; fat chance of seeing any of these with all the dog walkers, cyclists and runners, not to mention the noise of excited children. The track is as easy as suggested, but in most places is well away from the loch, so views are obscured through the trees that stretch from the shore, across the boggy margins and up into the mountains beyond. In fact down the western side of the loch, that easily accessed by vehicle, the track is on the high side of the road, and offers safety and exercise rather than picturesque vistas. 

For all that, we enjoyed our walk and again sat in the car to eat our lunch before heading back out of the Forest Park, and a little south to the Rothiemurchus Estate, a private estate that offers all the activities mentioned above, as well as clay target shooting, fishing, river tubing, paddle boarding, gorge swimming, float rafting, dining and so on and so on. This is certainly some operation and one can only hope their commercial efforts render a healthy profit.

Our choice was a modest one, to walk again, this time around the even lovelier Loch an Eilein. This is accessed up a narrow road not suitable for coaches, which serves to minimise the crowds, thank goodness. The car park at the end is manned by a charmingly professional chap, ready to take your money and give change if required, as well as guide you into a suitable space in the parking area. Here one pays £1.50 per adult and a lesser fee for children; the Grants of Rothiemurchus are raking it in!

I could see that Chris was not at all comfortable with this; however I insisted we stay and walk around the loch, the walk having been promoted in my guide book as a gentle circuit around the pretty loch with its ruined castle. Not too far through the pine forest we came upon a small group of walkers gazing up into the trees, who shared their excitement with us; there were three red squirrels up in the tops. I did see two of them, and was absolutely thrilled to have done so. They are so very timid and it was a small miracle that they should have been out and about so late in the day. I remarked to Chris that this alone was worth the NZ$6 we had paid for the privilege; he grumbled begrudging agreement.

The rest of the walk was a delight, views and access to the lake far better than at Loch Morloch. The route’s contour was not quite as gentle as promised, sometimes rising away from the loch then descending to small bridges across streams. The castle seems to grow out of the small island, offering security and isolation but little charm; it offered refuge to ospreys until the early 1900s, but these days is home to flocks of jackdaws.

I was fascinated to learn that the Estate is home to the endangered capercaille, of which I had learned just in recent weeks on the television and subsequently in local museums. In 1970s, there were 20,000 capercaille in Scotland, and today there are less than 1,000, one third of which live in and around Rothiemurchus. 

By way of a glossary, male capercaille are turkey sized birds with a long fan-shaped tails, the female a little smaller. They were hunted to extinction in Scotland by the 1770s, and then were reintroduced in 1837, thriving for a while, but more recently declining toward a second extinction.

Goldeneye are a species of duck first bred in Scotland in 1970, and existing only in Badenoch and here at Strathspey. Apart from the hundred or so pairs hereabouts, they are also a fairly common winter visitor from Northern Europe.

We returned to Aviemore to find the streets busy with tourists, and the Tesco car park almost full. After picking up a few essentials we started for home, although not on the morning’s route. Instead we travelled north east down the wide valley of the River Spey, then at Grantown, about fifteen miles north east of Aviemore,  turned north and travelled up and over Dava Moor toward the coast. 

Near Redburn we turned onto a narrow access road, directed by a sign to the Arddich Bell Tower, marked on our map as being a National Trust of Scotland historical treasure. We drove on, and on, and arrived back where we started, a wild goose chase to find something we will never know any more about. 

We continued on, soon arriving back at camp having driven through the village of Cawdor, reputedly worth a visit and home to a privately owned castle with a hefty entry fee. This remains on our overflow list of things to see, should we happen to run out of other preferences, a highly unlikely situation.