Culloden Moor Caravan Club Site, Morayshire

10 August 2017:-   Another day with a favourable forecast to be spent out and about the vast countryside of Morayshire. We were off again early this morning, at first relying on our Tomtom which guided us north on the bridge that sits high above the Firth. 

Inverness sits at the south west corner of the Moray Firth, apparently one of Britain’s best locations for spotting dolphins, but we are from New Zealand and dolphins don’t impress us much. Closer to the city, where the Firth merges with the River Ness, is the start of the Beauly Firth, which I had initially thought to be the Beauty Firth, the i and l not clear as I peered at the map. The Beauly Firth is a sheltered sea loch bounded by the Black Isle in the north and the wooded hills of the Aird to the south. Given that it is not surrounded in water, I would argue that it is not an isle at all, but then this is Scotland and things are different; maybe their dolphins are too and I should not be so dismissive?

On reaching the Black Isle, we soon left the A9 and headed westward to Muir of Ord, then south to Beauly, a charming little town, then inland via the A831 which hugs the river toward its source, past Struy and then on up the Strath Glass as far as the tiny settlement of Cannich.

By now I had taken over navigational duties from Tomtom, so much so I take full responsibility for what happened next. We turned west and drove on a narrow road over a hill and down to the River Crannich, the road sealed but the edges soft and boggy; we continued on through the beautiful valley for over four miles until we crossed the river on a Bailey Bridge and were confronted with a sign regarding deer culling between July and November and the fact that it could be very dangerous to proceed further. But if we continued on for a few hundred yards to the keeper’s cottage, we could check whether today was a good day to pass on through. Chris asked, “Show me where we are?”

I put my finger on the map and realised I had screwed up. We were in Glen Crannich, not Glen Affric, our destination for the day. To his credit, Chris simply remained silent as he reversed and turned around with difficulty, heading back along the way we had come. Fortunately we met no-one on the way in or out, and I managed to keep our spirits up by drawing his attention to the stunning landscape unfolding before us.

And yes, it was stunning, so I retract my comments of yesterday. In fact as the day went on, we found much of the landscape to “knock-our-socks-off”. We had at last found the Scotland we were looking for.

Back at Crannich, we turned south west and travelled up into the Glen Affric Forest Park on roads that were an improvement on those up Glen Crannich, with the bonus of frequent passing bays.

The picturesque forests, stunning lochs, pretty rivers and grand mountains that make up Glen Affric are about a dozen miles from the western shore of Loch Ness, as the osprey might fly if they were of a mind to fly in a straight line. It is possible to tramp the twenty five miles from Glen Affric all the way through to all Shiel Bridge on the west coast near Kyle of Lochash, a spot currently on our planned camping schedule. 

We drove to the end of the road and parked beside the River Affric in a car park with a functional parking machine, demanding £2 per day per car as at the Glenmore Forest Park. This is presumably the standard charge throughout the country’s Forest Parks. We set off on the half mile River Walk,  along the banks of the raging river which flows from the Loch Affric down to Loch Beinn a’Mheadhain (this pronounced “loch ben-a-vey-an”, but of course that was obvious, wasn’t it?) This rocky path lined with vibrant purple heather, a variety of lichens and other low growing heath and bog plants was so very beautiful. Old pines, reminding me of bonsai, although often of giant proportions, dot the landscape adding to the atmosphere. We were charmed, delighted and repentant of yesterday’s negative criticism. Before heading off, we headed up to the Am Mealan viewpoint through bracken and birch trees, from where we had a magnificent view looking across Loch Affric to the mountains beyond, eleven of which are over 1,000 metres ASL, Mam Sodhail the highest at 1,181 metres ASL.

The expanse of land encompassed in the Forest Park has not always been the reserve it is today. In the 1700s the Chisholm clan sold rights to cut the glen’s trees to feed the demand for timber in the growing cities of Scotland and England. The Chisholms allowed up to 1,500 trees to be cut each year for over sixty years, but the forest grew back so strongly that it survived. Now the glen serves the cities in other ways. Loch Beinn a’Mheadhain is part of an ambitious hydro-electric scheme; we noted at least three power stations as we had come west.

About four miles back along the road we pulled into a car park beside Loch Beinn a’Mheadhain, a charming picnic spot adjacent to one of the islands that sit out in the loch. However the midges were a little annoying and while we could have donned our brand new fly veils, we decided the interior of the car was a better option. The weather had remained dry, sunshine sometimes kissing the heights of the horizon, but there was a cold breeze and we, like all our fellow tourists today, remained wrapped up in our windbreakers or raincoats. 

It is my practice during in-the-car picnics to set the cups on the eski lid, balanced on the centre console to make the instant coffee. Today as I picked up Chris’s cup to pass to him, the glass cup collapsed in my hand, the scolding coffee and broken glass onto the upturned lid and the rest all over my trousered leg. Fortunately I had a spare tea-towel to mop up the excess liquid and an old newspaper to wrap the broken glass, and I can report that there seems to be no undue damage to the leg. I made Chris another coffee in the thermos cup-lid and we lamented the loss of our relatively new glassware. In all fairness this was a case of getting what you pay for; we had paid  £2 at Poundland or a similar shop in Dunfermline for a pair of these mugs, but then, they should be fit for purpose no matter how little one pays.

Another four or so miles back down the road, now busier than before with the carloads of tourists who had all read the same tour guides as me, we pulled into the car park at Dog Falls. Here we set off on foot up through the forest on a forestry service road to a viewpoint overlooking the Loch we had just left behind and the mountains beyond. On the ascent we stopped to identify a creaking noise up in the pines, deciding it was either a red squirrel, a woodpecker or an Ent (a Tolkensian talking tree), and were soon joined by another couple wondering why we were gazing up into the trees. Their antipodean accent gave them away and soon we were chatting about travelling in Scotland, around Australia and about the social problems of the Australian aborigines. After twenty fascinating minutes, I steered the conversation back to the immediate surroundings; we were in danger of settling in for the day. We wished each other safe journeys and set off again, us on uphill and them down.

We took about an hour and a half to complete this walk, but then much of it had been spent otherwise. The falls were impressive, although it was the stretch of turbulent water that we found more picturesque, and personally I had enjoyed the walk further upriver more.

The last of the walks in the Park we planned to do was accessed by crossing the river near the Fasnakyle Power Station, then driving up past Tomich, and up even narrower roads to a car park above the Plodda Falls, one of Scotland’s hidden treasures, according to one of the pamphlets I have. Lord Tweedmouth, a rich brewer and Liberal Member of Parliament bought this area from Lord Fraser in 1856. He planted magnificent Douglas Fir, larch, grand fir and redwoods, and built the now long gone Guisachan House here.   

The falls are a single vertical drop of about forty six metres, which plunge into the Abhainn Deabhag far below, the rocky basin surrounded in pines. There is a viewing platform over the top of the fall, and when one peers over the edge into the abyss, the view is so very splendid and no manner of amateur photography can capture its beauty. We took the path down the steep hill beside the falls, from where we could appreciate the height of the waterfall, but really it was the view down from the top that was the star of the show.

The trail that led back around to the car park took us back through a fine stand of pines, and we searched in vain for red squirrels whose discarded pine nuts offered evidence of their recent presence.

It was time to head home, and this time by another route, east toward Drumnadrochit, but turning north at Milton, climbing high on the A833 then slowly descending through lovely rural countryside toward the southern coast of the Beauly Firth. We continued on up to Inverness in search of the Asda superstore, because it their own wheat breakfast biscuits that best suit The Chauffeur. Tomtom took us through the centre of the city, a bustling colourful attractive centre, which begged our attention but must wait a couple of days yet.

This evening as we relax after an excellent day’s touring, the weather has changed yet again and we are in for a little rain and much wind by morning. Tomorrow’s plans will have to be made to suit the inclement weather.