August 20, 2013: Kenmore to Aberfeldy
Tower House
On our way to breakfast this morning Gavan and I stopped off at the post office and made our lunchtime purchases. Then we headed for last night’s impressive dining room and resumed our seats at our riverside table. The ducks were just getting up, the service was much improved and we were soon lugging our bags back to the desk – where they would wait for their transfer by Mickledore’s agents.
It was 9:15 when we made our departure under gray skies. Our route, which now relied on a third OS map (sheet 379, Dunkeld, Aberfeldy & Glen Almond) required us to march past the shoreline where, yesterday, we had been accosted by those thuggish ducks. “Whatever you do,” I warned Gavan, “don’t make eye contact.”
At a nearby junction we took to the Glen Quaich road and began a very steep, twisting ascent on tarmac – mostly in an easterly direction. It was hard work and it seemed to go on forever. At last we reached a point where the RRW itself, having bypassed Kenmore, joined us on the right and after this it wasn’t too much longer before we reached our first destination of the morning, Tombuie Cottage. Here we at last abandoned tarmac, though, truth to tell, there had been almost no traffic on this lonely stretch. (There had been plenty of bothersome flies but, now that I think about it, we were never swarmed by midges on this trip.)
We entered farming territory now (lots of dogs on lead signs) and my spirits sank with my body as we plunged downhill – I always hate it when hard won elevation gain is cancelled like this. It wasn’t cancelled for long because we were soon given a path that climbed back up toward the skyline, with a screen of pines on our left. Eventually a gap in the trees permitted a brief glimpse of the round Tower House, perched on the hillside high above the Tay Valley.
Sheep above the Tay Valley
We used tracks and forestry roads to maintain our easterly direction for several hours – with little to distinguish one stretch from the rest and trees often obscuring any views. Gavan’s skills as a map-reader enabled him to predict upcoming changes in elevation and there was a lot of up and down on this stretch. Up behind us at one point a couple came – walking a boisterous black Labrador. Since we had long ago passed sheep territory they let the dog (Mongo or Mungo) off-lead and he rushed back to greet us – colliding, unfortunately, with Gavan’s bare legs (Gavan often wore shorts). An hour later we came across this party as they paused for a snack and a drink from their thermos. We asked these people, who lived locally, if their dog was called Mongo or Mungo. “It’s Mungo – after the Scottish saint,” the man replied, “though we are still waiting for any sign of a halo.”
The route was often muddy and I had trouble following our progress on my own maps (I couldn’t tell you where we paused for lunch) but at last we returned to an outpost of civilization at Upper Farochil and dropped down its access road and continued on to Dunskaig. Here Gavan predicted another major ascent and for almost a mile we climbed along a rough track, heading in a southeasterly direction in open country. In this fashion we reached the Urlar Road where a brief stretch on macadam led us to an entirely new environment and one in which we were suddenly joined by dozens of tourists and their dogs.
The Birks of Aberfeldy
We had reached the top of the famous Birks o’ Aberfeldy, an extensive series of falls and cascades that had inspired Robert Burns to compose a poem of the same name in 1787. A footbridge took us over to the far side and we began a monumentally steep decent, often assisted by steps. My legs were in revolt and my right knee in particular protested every time there was another drop. We encountered many people, most on their way up and some of them clearly out of their depth. Many spent as much time as possible hanging over the railings and staring at the wooded gorge. Near the bottom there was a bronze statue of a seated Bobby Burns on a bench and Gavan and I traded turns at the camera as we sat with the poet and chatted.
I was much relieved to reach the parking lot and roadside. Gavan headed off to see something about an ancient artifact, a cupmarked rock, while I took to the highway, prepared to use it to make my entry into Aberfeldy itself. This is the correct route according to the green diamonds on my OS map but Gavan called me back because there seemed to be a major re-routing, one that kept us moving below road level until were well into town – I had trouble orienting myself because of this but Gavan knew where we were.
It was 3:40 and time to look for refreshment. Facing the town square we discovered The Fountain pub and entered its quiet interior for our well-deserved pints. Gavan pulled out his phone and, after obtaining the right signal, fell into a Facetime conversation with a friend in Hartford, Connecticut. I too joined in, discovering that Paco owned a Miniature Schnauzer named Toby – as, of course, I had done so many years ago when my Toby was so frequently a participant in these walks.
We now returned to a crossroads and continued on to our b&b, Fernbank House on Kenmore Street. From our room on the first floor we had a good view of the passing scene and there was no escaping the fact, as we headed out for our evening meal, that we were walking in a light rain. We wandered around the square a bit, checking out the possibilities, and decided on the Chechek restaurant. Described as “Mediterranean” this small place was really Middle Eastern and, indeed, Gavan was complimented on his pronunciation of an obscure Persian dish. We began with a delicious mezze mopped up by some lovely flat bread.
We were the only customers at the start but gradually others came in. We took against one demanding customer who denounced the California house wine and went out to buy her own bottle at an off-license. After a while our host (who had been doing all the waiting and the cooking) was joined by a manic assistant, a young chap who moved far too rapidly through such a crowded space, scattering cutlery in his wake. We washed down our kebabs with bottles of beer and when we departed we were happy to discover that the rain had stopped. The light was again fading from the sky as we returned to Fernbank House for another early night.
Later we agreed that, with its ups and downs and restricted views, this had been our least favorite day on the Rob Roy Way – and now we had just one more stage to complete.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: