July 31, 2010: Dalraddy Holiday Park to Kingussie (The Badenoch Way)
Gavan on Dalraddy Moor
We took our places in one of the two rooms in which breakfast was being served at exactly 8:00 on this, the second day of our Scottish adventure. I usually had a little fruit with yogurt and some orange juice and toast with my scrambled eggs – a diet that never varied except here, where we were offered some smoked salmon and crème fraiche on our eggs. Gavan occasionally added a sausage or two and we always asked for coffee. The waitress seemed to be from some northern land, but not Scotland.
I took a picture of the war memorial across the street; we saw many of these on our journey and it was always a revelation to see how many more losses there were in the First World War than in the Second. Our lady taxi driver pulled up at exactly 8:45 and we were soon speeding south. Gavan used the ten-minute ride to ask questions about where we might eat tonight. I don’t remember any of the advice except, “Don’t try Papa Rock’s Pizza Parlour.” We knew we were heading for the Dalraddy Holiday Park but our driver was surprised to discover, after all her years in the area, that our walking route’s origins were marked right on the B970. We made our arrangements for another pickup the next day and at 8:55 we were ready to begin.
We were not walking the Speyside Way today, but a cousin, The Badenoch Way, an eleven-mile route that finished at Ruthven, only a mile or so from the mainline train station at Kingussie. Since the Speyside Way itself is only 66 miles long, that is a route than can be completed in only five and a half days, we had considered several options in deciding which of its many spurs and alternatives we might walk to bring our totals closer to those achieved in Ireland the previous year. The Badenoch Way seemed a likely candidate since it was easily reachable from Aviemore, close to a useful railway station at the end, and because it was very likely that it would be added to the Speyside Way at some time in the future. Like its larger cousin it too headed in a southwesterly direction, following the Spey towards its headwaters.
Gavan, as usual on our walks, lead the way, using both the Megarry and Strachan book and the map with the mile figures embossed (for once I did not have to add these useful progress markers myself). Gavan himself was clearly enjoying this outing tremendously, though he was often preoccupied with his work schedule back in Hartford and with the illness of his Polish partner – who was suffering from bladder cancer.
We reached a gate that beckoned us onto Dalraddy Moor and we followed well-maintained field paths under grey skies, anxious to see how well waymarked this route was. A tall post invited us to turn half right and head for woodland. We actually neared the Spey itself on this stretch but it was soon far below us and hard to see. Our path crossed an undulating countryside, quite lovely, as we walked along an embankment not far from the mainline rail line on our right. Our first real sighting of the river was misleading for this was not the Spey on our left, but a descending tributary, the Feshie. Eventually signs of civilization reappeared and we reached the road into the village of Kincraig, where we turned left.
Almost immediately we arrived at the town post office and store. Here the headline read “Highland Rhubarb Vodka Fit For Prince” – but whether this was Charles himself being referred to or the “Purple Rain” man instead, we could not tell. A bridge (the first of so many encountered on this trip) brought us over the Spey and around the corner we entered the precincts of Loch Insh Watersports Centre. The place was a hive of activity and there was a good deal of instruction in windsurfing taking place on the lake itself. Over a little hill we encountered the Insh Church and its extensive cemetery. Between the two there was a padlocked portaloo, with two flowering planters at either side of its door. There was also a brief shower and we paused under the protection of some trees to don raingear.
We now entered RSPB woodlands for more up and down above the lakeshore on our right. I was keeping a close eye on our progress here because I was soon able to call Gavan to a halt in order to congratulate him on reaching his 700th miles on (for want of a better term) we now referred to as Anglo-Celtic footpaths. Pictures were taken and we returned to the precincts of the B970 and headed south.
After a while we found a turnoff on our left and began some real uphill as Gavan searched for a likely looking right-hand turn. A track did head in this direction and we followed it for a while; it was heading south, as we expected, but there were no waymark posts and I argued that a turnoff like this would certainly have been signaled by some form of sign. (I might have had additional advice had I been carrying any of our maps.) So we backtracked to our original lane and continued on it for another ten minutes. It seemed to bend to the south as well, but there were no waymarks and we marched up to the foot of Farleiter Hill without spotting any way to cross beneath its crags. We were lost.
There was nothing to do but turn around and retrace our steps, this time almost all the way back to the highway. Just before we reached this junction we spotted the missing waymark – buried in overgrown bracken. Gavan stomped around at the foot of the post but whether he was just making it easier of other walkers to see it – or working out his frustrations (or both) I could not tell. I noted that here we had experienced one of the problems of not having a written text to advise the walker on what to look for, and when to do it – one is promised for the Speyside Way but we never spotted it.
On the B970, looking west
Our misadventure put us well behind schedule (we were trying to make a 4:14 train) and I now proposed a remedy. Instead of fighting our way uphill again we would take to the B970 itself for some rapid southerly progress. I know Gavan (like Tosh) does not like road walking but there was very little traffic and so he agreed on this strategy. I lead the way, adopting a quick pace as we moved along – with wonderful views of the flat bottom of the Spey valley on our right. A girl on a bicycle passed us but she had to get off to push her vehicle uphill. Within an hour we had reconnected with the Badenoch Way, descending from our left, and on a bench we sat down for our lunch. Gavan objected to the egg and spam sandwich but enjoyed the ham and tomato better.
Our route now continued forward on a path that paralleled the highway, easy walking in woodland and meadow, with an extensive section over heather-clad heathland. When next we neared civilization we encountered an interesting scene on our left. Some ancient chaps were attempting to pull down a tall tree with a hand-powered winch. Every now and then the one in the hard hat rushed forward to apply his chainsaw to the bottom of the tree – which at last gave way with a loud snap, striking the ground with a tremendous thud. We hadn’t wanted to pass by in case the tree twisted into our path (and Gavan was busy filming the event on his camera) but now we gave the workers a thumbs-up and continued with our journey.
Soon we reached a trackway that lead back to the highway as the wild River Tromie thundered beneath its bridge. Here was paused for a number of photos, attracting the attention of some German tourists (lots of these about) who stopped their car to see what we were looking at. We then left the highway, Tromie Mills over on our right, to enter Insh Marshes Nature Reserve. Back at the bridge it had been lovely and sunny but almost immediately it began to rain again. Concerned for the safety of my new camera, I now buried this precious purchase in Gavan’s backpack. Curiously, it was not this object that suffered misadventure but Gavan’s camera – for only a few hundred yards from the parking lot at the end of the route I found it lying all by itself next to a puddle in the grass. Gavan was mightily relieved to have it back (having lost it when he tried to put it into a pocket) and he used it almost immediately in an attempt to get some shots of a mother grouse and her chicks. We had been playing our old game of gates versus stiles, but it was no contest today, with gates beating the opposition 22-2.
Ruthven Barracks
We now had over a mile of road walking, even more hazardous for walkers today because the steady rain had created many a roadside puddle for cars to splash through. Ahead of us there soon appeared the dramatic sight of the hilltop ruins of Ruthven Barracks, set alight when 300 Jacobins departed the premises the day after Culloden. I was glad that Gavan was still shooting away in spite of the rain (as I was on many another occasion on this trip) for I knew we could download his shots into my computer as well as his own.
After thirteen miles we at last approached Kingussie, rain over for the day, and its rail line. There was a pub on our right but there wasn’t time for a drink for it was now 3:59 and we had only fifteen minutes before our train arrived. I asked a guard if we were on the right platform (we were) and finished the second sandwich from my lunch. The train was on time… we had already purchased our tickets from Kingussie (pronounced King Oosie, evidently) back to Aviemore in Edinburgh, and so we had nothing to do but relax. Within fifteen minutes we were walking out of the Aviemore train station again.
Gavan went into Roo’s Leap, one of the recommended eating spots at the station itself, and made a reservation for 6:30. Then we walked back to the Spar and then back across the street to our cottage at Ravenscraig. I took my shower, discovering a sore spot on top of my left big toe and covering it with a bandage as well. Gavan needed to charge his camera battery and, fortunately, I had brought my charger – which also accommodated his battery. Then, extracting him from the athletics championships for a while, we trudged back to town and took our places in a booth at the Australian eatery – where the fish and chips tasted just like the UK version would have. Gavan ate a garish burger with egg and pineapple. Behind us a dinner service was to take place in the dining car of the steam railway and lots of people were on the platform.
At home we ate some of the candy éclairs and Gavan read a bit while I plugged in the earphone of my Ipod. His battery had been successfully charged while we were out. It had been another very successful day.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: