August 15, 2013: Aberfoyle to Callander
I make my way along the forestry road above Aberfoyle.
Gavan seemed to have a new habit; he now delighted in emptying the coffee sachets, found in each of our b&b bedrooms, directly into his mouth – and gulping the contents down for some sort some of instant high. This morning he made do with the brewed version of this drink as we had our breakfast at the outset of our second day on the trail. It was still somewhat misty when we made our departure at 9:00 and I was already wearing my rain jacket. Behind us we left our bags for the ferrying folks but, in an attempt to reduce the great weight of Gavan’s backpack, we had transferred a very heavy Polish cheese into my case.
Heading east, we returned to Aberfoyle’s crossroads and past a garden center as we walked through an extensive car park and past the Scottish Wool Centre – where specimen sheep were penned in the front yard. Then we had to return briefly to the A81 before making a left turn on a minor track that took us through the grounds of the Dounans Outdoor Centre. There was some puzzlement over the location of a Rob Roy Way sign (more of these were definitely needed) and Gavan and I ended up on parallel routes before coming together for a trek along a road above the local golf course. In spite of the gradual rise in altitude the going here, on forestry tracks, was good – and we were making good time.
Forestry rather than woodland is perhaps the best way to describe much of the territory crossed by the Rob Roy Way – for much of this vegetation might better be termed “cropland” and we often encountered patches that had already been harvested. Our views of the Menteith Hills were often obscured by the trees but this was not an oppressive stretch by any means and there were always plenty of wildflowers to provide visual interest. After climbing for almost two hours in a north-easterly direction we at last reached an open space at the end of our trackway; we had covered four miles rapidly, but our pace was about to slow considerably. Up behind us came a Spanish couple out for a day walk.
We pass through a fence at mile four.
Crossing through a fence we were admitted to an eerie open space – one which was quite beautiful in the misty morning light. For the first time on our trip we were actually using footpath, as opposed to road or trackway, and this was a mixed blessing – for the route made its way through very wet territory with muddy surfaces and a number of fords. I was glad I had my walking stick with me but I began to slip and slide and twice I fell. I could feel the dampness saturating my backside (I was not wearing my rain pants) and I needed Gavan’s assistance in regaining a standing position – this was accomplished only when I planted a foot on his shoe so that he could be pull me up without my sliding forward at the same time.
There was some ambiguity about a last section of ascent (a sign would have been useful) but we succeeded (as the Spaniards passed us going the other way now) in climbing up to the northern shore of a small lake, a lochan named Allt a Chip Dhuibh. The opposite side had been harvested but this was still a charming spot and my spirits, at least, were further inflated by the appearance of real roadway again. We could now pass a cottage at the end of the lake and begin a very lengthy descent on solid surfaces again.
Loch Venachar
Off to our left we soon began to experience views of the extensive waters of Loch Venachar – while cliffs on our right sported wildflowers and little waterfalls. It would have been a great place for a bit of lunch but, as so often happens on the great British footpath, there was nowhere where one could comfortably sit down. Not to worry, Gavan assured me, ahead of us we would find a memorial bench and this would certainly serve as an ideal spot for our midday meal. So down we trudged for almost two miles, enjoying distant views of the lochside scene. I kept asking Gavan about the memorial bench but we had almost reach waterside when, at a small parking lot, he insisted I needed to join him for a look at a poster pinned to its bulletin board. Here we read the dispiriting news, posted by a relative of the memorialized figure, that the bench in question had been stolen!
We found some places to sit down on a nearby boulder and had our lunch. Then, on mostly level macadam, the Invertrossachs road, we continued on for almost another three miles (a light rain falling), passing a number of farmsteads and the Gartchonzie Bridge. (Walkers who want to bypass Callander turn off here.) We continued forward, however, eventually reaching the A81 again and turning left to pass through Bridgend and across the River Tieth into Callander itself. It was 3:10.
I told Gavan that I wanted to make two stops before seeking our some afternoon refreshment. I needed to replenish my supply of Diet Coke and I wanted to buy a toothbrush – one with bristles hard enough to dislodge some of the dried mud on my cuffs and trouser bottoms. The last of these tasks was accomplished at the local chemists (where I resisted any reference to my being waited on by Callander Girls) and then we went across the street to the Waverly Hotel for our pints.
Our b&b was again half a mile or so from town center and we marched off in an easterly direction. On the way Gavan made some inquiries about the position of the local Catholic church since it was Assumption today and he wanted to attend an evening mass. While he did this reconnoitering I was quizzed by a gent who was waiting under some shelter for the return of his shopping wife. Our b&b instructions were slightly muddled but this only meant that we stumbled on Glengarry House sooner than we had anticipated. We were shown to a nice room on the ground floor and had a bit of a rest – I did mange to get a layer of muck off my trousers.
At 6:30, tearing Gavan away from more Moscow athletics, we headed back into town, lucky to find a table in the crowded interior of the Mhor Fish restaurant (“Eat Mhor Fish”). We each had a fish soup to start with, then Gavan had mussels and I had the scampi. He rushed off to church shortly before 7:30, leaving me to keep an eye on the takeout kitchen just next to our table and to enjoy a solitary brownie with ice cream. I was quite surprised, as I made my way back to Glengarry House, to be overtaken by Gavan – whose mass had lasted only half an hour. There was just a little more time for athletics and then, after a tiring ten and a half mile day, we went to bed.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: