Penrith, Stirling and Dumfries

A short trip to Scotland with a purpose is where I start my solo traveling life. 

I'll be visiting friends near Stirling and undertaking some family history research in Dumfries. But first, Penrith where I had hoped to see the legendary largest policeman uniform as the Cumbria constabulary's museum collection has largely fetched up at the Penrith museum. I sent them an email long before I left but their very prompt reply ruled out any specific Currie family connection. I thought I'd come anyway.

Day one

I get up at stupid o'clock. Stupid because it's over an hour before I need to, and even after a very relaxed breakfast I still have time for a full edition of Celebrity Antiques Roadtrip before I need to amble down to Fratton station. Even when I get there my train is still only the fourth one due. Sarah wouldn't have allowed this nonsense, but here we are.

An uneventful, if dozy, journey to Waterloo is followed by the Northern Line to Euston where I pick up some lunch (and for full disclosure, a pre-lunch Whopper Junior). There are, it turns out, absolutely no litter bins in Euston station. I'm booked on the 12.30 to Glasgow central which starts boarding at about ten past. My handful of rubbish is dumped in the train's bin as I get on. Without knowing, I've thankfully reserved a seat as the train looks to be very busy. Even better, the seat next to me remains empty despite it having been booked through Carlisle. The train is a pendolino and travels at a fair lick reaching our first stop at Warrington after only 100 minutes. Penrith, 290 miles from London is a mere 3½ hours of pretty comfortable travel. I have to wonder if HS2 is really worth it.

For once, arriving by train is super convenient for checking in to my accommodation as I arrive at the B&B minutes before regulation check-in time and am welcomed in. It's a very smart but homely place, very welcoming.

After a late afternoon's rest in front of the snooker, I head out for a quick wander around town, getting my bearings, before settling on the nearby Italian restaurant for dinner. This turns out to be a good choice as a very enjoyable dinner is served by exceptionally friendly (family?) duo. I have carpaccio and cartoccio, both excellent. After dinner which I pop in to the nearby pub for a whisky and then a beer and a watch of the football. Arsenal are playing and there's a Liverpool fan in desperate for them to lose.

Day two

Breakfast is early. It's good, but way too early really. As a result I'm up and out long before the museum opens. While I'm wandering about what is a very interesting and pretty town, I notice there are several references to "Dockray" which I must look in to later - the name appears in the family tree - and stumble across a newly opened and beautifully curated antiques shop where I buy a beautiful horn Quaich and have a lovely chat with the owners. Finally I'm able to visit the museum which is small and lovely but has nothing really police-related in it so I leave disappointed. Having pretty much exhausted Penrith  for entertainment I opt for an afternoon in "The Lakes" and after a fair wait at the bus station take a bus to Pooley Bridge at the head of Ullswater. The place is almost entirely geared up for getting the most out of tourists, the two main pubs serving expensive fairly ordinary food and drink for instance. The one bright spot is the local book and coffee shop where I pick up a couple of things to take home and am introduced to Westmoreland Pepper Cake with my coffee. It's a hot day, and a misleading bus timetable leads to an hour's wait for the next chance to return to Penrith and a quiet evening in front of the snooker.

Day three

After breakfast I leave for the station and a train to Edinburgh and on the Stirling where I am to stay with friends for the weekend. A very quick and efficient couple of hours later I'm met at Stirling station and taken to their new home near Plean. A quiet afternoon ensues. Whisky is imbibed in the evening.

Day four

Stirling Castle is our first destination. Booked in advance, we arrive early enough for a place in the car park and a wander around the churchyard which include the sentimental Victorian memorial to Margaret Wilson who was drowned for refusing to give up Protestantism during the Scottish reformation. 

Stirling Castle offers regular, free, guided tours and it is well worth taking one. Our guide was also very good and we had a great time. It's easy to see the importance of Stirling Castle in the history of Scotland as the position it occupies is clearly impossible to sneak an army past without being noticed.

After the castle we wandered down into the town itself for a poke about, finishing up at an art collective/shop where I added to my souvenirs.

Day five

Today is distillery day! But first a jaunt around a very nice antiques centre at Buchany nearby. It's a place one can spend hours and fortunes. I seriously toyed with the idea of a beautifully boxed decanter set but both the price tag and the logistics of getting it home forced me to see sense.

Deanston distillery is on the banks of the River Teith housed in an old cotton mill. The whisky it produces is beautiful too. We had a warehouse tasting and were very well served, leading to me spending a stupendous amount in the shop.

Another relaxed evening with a good amount of whisky followed.

Day six

My onward journey involved a couple of trains (three, as it turned out) and a change of station in Glasgow to get to Dumfries and the meat of my trip - ancestor hunting!

I was dropped at the station an hour ahead of my train so it was a relaxed time doing the games on my phone as I awaited the train to Glasgow Queen Street. This was very straightforward, arrived on time and I made my way to the station concourse for the next leg. The train to Dumfries left from Glasgow Central and my ticket included a bus transfer but the location of the bus stop was unclear and it was only a 10 minute walk, the weather was fine, so a stroll through the city centre it was. Glasgow Central is a large station made to look older and posher than perhaps it is. My train was probably leaving from platform 14 (iirc) so I made my way over that way and started staring at the small departure board there. It got perilously close to the scheduled departure time before the board finally confirmed that the train that had been there all the time, a good twenty minutes, was indeed the train to Dumfries. 

The weather was warming up nicely as the train dawdled out and across the Clyde. We hadn't gone very far; Stewarton I think, before it became clear that the engine was not in the best of working order. After really struggling to engage its gears to pull out of the station, the train manager (Guard for older readers) told us that the train was now incapable of going beyond Kilmarnock where we would either get a bus onwards or we could wait for the two o'clock train (it was now roughly 11.30am). We limped into Kilmarnock where the station manager assured us the bus was on its way. Several passengers were on time sensitive journeys and were increasingly anxious as the bus continued not to arrive. Refunds were sought and taxis investigated. It was by now well after noon and the chance of the bus significantly beating the two o'clock train to Dumfries was getting slimmer so I decided I'd wait for the train. By the way, Kilmarnock station is at the top of quite a steep looking hill and the thought of dragging myself back up it after investigating the dubious delights of the town for an hour made my mind up to wait on the platform for the now eighty minutes before the next train arrived. As I reached the platform a shout came from  the station building that the bus had finally arrived and did I want to catch it? I declined. All this palaver meant that I arrived at Dumfries station in the late afternoon rather than just after lunch as planned.

I was staying at a guest house just across from the station. They had sent me a text that morning detailing how I was to access my room - the code to the (back) door and the key to my room lodged in the door itself. It seemed odd not to be met, the place itself was lovely and very comfortable, and when I finally met my host at breakfast the next day, they were very nice and very welcoming.

The station, and therefore my guesthouse, is a good ten minute walk from the town centre and anywhere nice to eat. After settling in therefore, I went for a bit of a wander without any clear idea of where i was going. Fortuitously I found myself outside the Burns House museum a good twenty minutes before it closed. It's a very nice, very small museum of the later years of Burns' life and I had a nice chat with  the guardian before going on to St Michael's churchyard where Burns' mausoleum is situated.

The early evening was still warm as I wondered around the churchyard, taking note of any Currie graves I came across and pausing to look at Burns' mausoleum. After leaving the church I made my way down to the river where I encountered the man from the Burns House again who told me of the delights of the main museum including, which I did not know, its Camera Obscura! We parted as he crossed the river and I turned back towards the town centre again where I eventually settled on a curry at the India Palm which proved to be a wise choice. Back to my guesthouse, some world snooker on the telly and an early night, for tomorrow would be genealogy heavy.

Day seven

I have booked myself into the Dumfries and Galloway Family History Society reading room from opening at 10am and I'm quite prepared to spend the bulk of the day there. I'm early. At about 9.55 they notice I'm waiting and invite me in. They're lovely people and can't wait to help look for records while  I browse the many booklets of monumental inscriptions, making notes of locations and inscriptions for further future cemetery visits. We make some small but not insignificant progress before I decide I've exhausted what I can achieve there today and after offering profusive thanks, I set off for the museum at the top of the hill. Sadly for me I miss the pedestrian turn off and end up following the signs for cars in what turns out to be a long and winding route up the hill on what is turning into quite a hot day.

The museum is lovely and well curated and I spend some time there before booking my spot for the camera obscura. The operator is not very experienced but it's a good one despite the much taller trees now than when it was built, obstructing some of the views.

At the bottom of the hill, on the river, is the Burns Centre which has a café/bistro attached and my large breakfast is wearing off. Lunch is nice and then I make my biggish mistake. One of the books I read this morning was Monumental Inscriptions of St Michael's churchyard, towards the back of which is a record of one of the graves myself, Heather and other members of the Facebook group are looking for. The book says it is in the new part of the cemetery which I take to mean it's in the new cemetery a way up the hill. The day is now hot and the walk is a lot further than I thought so I arrive in what turns out to be a very large cemetery on a very hot day without any further refreshment. After a rest in the shade I start looking for that particular grave in the area the book says it is. I can't find it but there are other Curries and related families so I trawl the entire section walking up and down the rows of gravestones taking photos and getting increasingly exhausted. After over an hour I've also exhausted all possibilities and decide to leave. Footsore, I find a local shop and inhale a bottle of water and some chocolate (for energy of course!) and set off back down the hill, eventually arriving back at the guesthouse for a well-earned nap before contacting Heather about my day, having a shower and heading back out for dinner at the popular Italian restaurant in the town centre. A couple of pints at the Tam O'Shanter before bed, along with a nice chat with a worried Preston fan (the final matches of the season are at the weekend and Preston are in danger of relegation) I try to reassure him that Pompey are likely to get a result and Preston will be safe - which turns out to be true.

Day eight

Today I'm meeting up with Heather (and her friend) for a day of churchyard visits and other local landmarks associated with the Currie family. Rather than them driving into Dumfries and back out to Lochmaben, it's easier for me to catch the bus out to them. Sadly two scheduled buses don't turn up and I wait over an hour before another suitable service arrives and I finally get to Lochmaben where we meet a the townhall/library and go for a coffee to get acquainted and plan our day. Naturally the first stop is just round the corner in Lochmaben's cemetery which is a bit overgrown and lumpy, but we find a few possible family graves that we photograph for later research.

Not far away is the Cruck Cottage museum which is an excellent preservation of a cottage like those some of our ancestors would have lived in or at least have been familiar with. We find it open and wander in before the guardian comes across and points out the newly repaired patches of floor we've walked on. He's very helpful though and we have a good chat with  him about the cottage and the area and our research before we move on.

Next stop is the graveyard at Torthorwald church where we know there are family graves to be found, one of which people are keen to have re-photographed and then on to Collin (tiny) before a refreshment stop where they have some lovely ice cream and I have a very disappointing sandwich.

Heather has been in contact with the farmer who lives at a place our ancestors were married, Rockhallhead nearby, and we are able to visit the farm at least. He gives us thankfully detailed directions and after trying and failing to convince the woman who now owns the old farmhouse to let us take pictures, we meet the farmer for a quick chat about the history of the farm etc., and he also gives us a tip about the best place to photograph the house from the road.

The day is wearing on and they decide they need to go to Dumfries for something so are happy to drive me 'home'. We arrange to meet for dinner the next evening.

Day nine

The DGFHS is open again today and I need to check what I thought I read in the book on St Michael's on Tuesday. I find the book again and read the section more carefully and of course, the "new" section of the cemetery predates the New Cemetery and is a walled section secreted behind the Burns mausoleum and when I get there it is a matter of moments before I find the grave exactly where it should be. I check the rest of the section for other potential family graves before taking it easy for the rest of the day, exploring the town a bit more, watching some more snooker before dinner as arranged at the tapas restaurant near the river. It's not any tapas a Spaniard would recognise, but it's tasty and we have a lovely evening before saying our goodbyes.

Day ten

Home today. A light breakfast - I don't want to be uncomfortable - and then quite a wait for my train. I'm sitting patiently on one platform when the driver of the train on the other platform calls across; am I going to Carlisle? then I should go with his train. It's an hour earlier than my booked train but it seems fine and so I'm off. In reality I'm just moving my hour's wait from Dumfries to Carlisle but there's probably a better chance of a more comfortable wait and coffee in Carlisle. I do indeed get some coffee, encounter a stag party changing into drag in the loo (ironic) and have an altogether more interesting wait before my train arrives. This train is going to London but I'm getting off at Crewe to catch a later train that will get me there earlier by not going via Birmingham. They're both Pendolinos so fast and comfortable so even with the tube across London and the usual SWT to Fratton, I'm home by 6.30pm which I think is pretty good given the stick handed out to the trains in this country.

The Western Highlands

 Or, Scotland by rail part 3

January 2023

Having had our return journey (in Whisky Galore) disrupted, we were offered a complementary single journey as compensation. Lovely. Then Covid happened and things were obviously delayed but ScotRail were true to their word and we arranged a trip in November 2021. Two weeks before we were due to leave, word came of a rail strike for part of our time and our journey was completely cancelled under us. The hotel and other things were booked however so we decided to drive up - adding an extra two days and two overnight stops to the journey, but we had a great time in Inverness, Speyside and even visited John O'Groats for the craic.

This latest problem added another discount to our tickets that we have now used without further incident, and this is that tale:

Wednesday night  / Thursday:

No fancy restaurant or visit to Milroy's this time, Steve's knee was not up to long walks or stairs and none of us fancied aimlessly trolling about north London anyway, so we packed a picnic; including haggis stuffed potato scones to help celebrate Burns Night; and we left Fratton late in the afternoon on a more comfortable than usual SWT train aiming to get to Euston without rushing.  We grabbed a taxi from Waterloo and arrived at Euston's taxi rank in plenty of time, even allowing for the longish walk to the station concourse. The Caledonian Sleeper was not on the departure board yet so we found a seat and waited. During which time Steve got an email saying that the water in the cabins was not working but that everything else was fine and they were looking forward to welcoming us on board. The news was greeted with a shrug and a tot of whisky from my hipflask. Restless, I determined to find out where our train would be. The ticket  office chap didn't know for sure but that it was always either platform 1 or platform 15. I checked both and there it was at Platform 1. Just as I established this fact the announcement was made that we could board, which we duly did to the accompaniment of a lone piper (Burns Night, again). The new cabins are pretty much just an update on the old ones with a very similar design and layout, slightly bigger window and more mod cons but still a little more cramped (it seems) than its European counterparts. But they also retain the adjoining compartment door so were we able to properly share our splendid picnic, quality wine and more whisky before allowing the clack of the rails to rock us to sleep. Before turning in finally, I checked that our breakfast order had been taken and the lovely Fiona, our coach's attendant, assured us that she had it and furthermore that it would be complementary owing to the lack of running water in the cabin although they had supplied ample bottled. 

We woke to snow-capped peaks and coffee and bacon rolls to enjoy them with, rolling into Fort William a few minutes ahead of schedule.

This time I had booked a hire car for us from a local company, which turned up a little late as they were dealing with another hire from the train and it really is a small local operation. Our ride for the week was a rather swish Audi sports model, low-profile tyres and automatic gearbox an' all. Lovely, but not, as we discovered, ideal for some of the more remote Scottish roads we were to travel. Knowing that we were not able to check in to our apartment before 4pm, I had arranged a visit to a gin distillery where we were to have the full experience, coming away with our own bottle of ultra-small batch craft gin made to our own recipe (with much guidance of course).

Pixel Spirits turned out to be a side project of the Loch Leven Hotel, or was the hotel the side project? It's hard to say but it was a splendid afternoon in glorious surroundings. Welcomed with coffee and biscuits, then a chat about the company over a gin and tonic before a tour of the distillery.

We were then shown to our mini stills and a table with over 100 botanicals to choose from and following some very clear guidance we came up with our recipes and set to weighing our ingredients before firing up the stills and watching the process unfold, intervening at the appropriate times, turning a litre of grain alcohol into, in our case, English Breakfast Gin, while Steve and Alison came up with something more floral and herby in their bottle of "Three Score Years and Ten" celebrating, as we were, Steve's 70th birthday. 

It was a really great afternoon, we learned a lot and came away with a good understanding of the process and a unique gin, which if we think worthwhile, they will make further bottles to order from our recipe.

As we were staying in an apartment this time rather than a hotel, a quick visit to Morrison's was in order to source breakfast items etc. before we checked in, unpacked and showered. The apartment block is in an old garrison building up the hill a bit from the main road but very comfortable, if a little under-lit. There turns out to be steps down the side of the building to the main road, fetching up barely 50 metres from the curry house we enjoyed on our last visit and do so again on a surprisingly busy Thursday night.

Friday

Today is Ardnamurchan day and is the first real test of our flashy sports Audi as the roads on the peninsula are narrow, winding and less than smooth. First stop however, is the Corran Ferry across the narrowest point of Loch Linnhe. It's a flatbed roro, and the crossing is about a third of a mile but it costs a tenner each way for cars although pedestrians go free. It's a beautiful drive down the coast from the ferry and the road then cuts inland between Garbh Bheinn and Creach Bheinn and then down the side of Loch Sunart to Salen. The road forks there and the way to the distillery continues down the side of the Loch for a few miles. Driving it is a tense affair but we get there and pull into the rather smart distillery overlooking the loch where we are greeted with confusion as Caren had forgotten to book our tour into the new electronic system. All is well though, it's January and there's no other visitors. It's a marvellous distillery, determinedly carbon-neutral and sustainable and produces a jolly fine dram. Caren is a delightful host and we have a lovely time. It's well into lunchtime by now and it's January. Nothing nearby is open so we forego any idea of driving to the point of the peninsula - the westernmost point of the British mainland - and turn back towards Salen and take the turn north. At Acharacle there's a community café that serves food all day including the most delicious Full Scottish Breakfast in which I indulge wholeheartedly before we continue on our way. The plan is to make a circuit via Glenfinnan back to Fort William but not far out of Acharacle I screech to a halt as a roadside venison stand appears as we round a corner. The sign directs us to the red house next door and eventually the occupant shuffles out to help us. It's his son's shop he tells us but he is out shooting some more stock. We buy what turn out to be some excellent sausages and a particularly fine haunch to roast for Steve's birthday on Monday. 

The road winds on, heading towards the coast before it will join the main "Road to the Isles" and we turn back towards Fort William. On one of the more isolated stretches, we are forced to a stop while a gang of workmen close the road to take what looks like an outsized lawnmower to some overhanging trees. After a wait of some twenty minutes, I edge our car with its low-profile tyres gingerly over the debris and off we go again.

We stop briefly at Glenfinnan to take pictures of the viaduct and buy some Harry Potter related toy or other for Osian, but as time is getting on, we don't stop long and are back in FW in good time to rest up and change before dinner at the winter premises of the fish restaurant we enjoyed so much last time. It once again serves up an excellent repast and our day draws to its close climbing the steps back to the apartment and enjoying a few drams, mine being those of the Ardnamurchan tasting, helpfully decanted into little bottles for the driver.

Saturday

Oban is today's destination and it's Sarah's turn to drive, not something she's looking forward to as she's not a big fan of automatics. The direct road is a winding but very scenic affair and it takes a little over half an hour to get there. We park up and explore, it's a beautiful town with much to recommend it; a lovely harbour, two very fine whisky shops and "The Gem Box", a childhood memory of Sarah's whose family loved Oban and Mull and whose late cousin loved shopping at this jeweller. There's nothing that takes our fancy there today however so we seek out the distillery. We knew in advance that they weren't doing tours and the only tasting they will offer is the official one at 2pm which is verging on a bit too late for our other plans for the day. Neither do they produce miniatures and their whole attitude comes across as being a bit snotty. Never mind, there's a charmingly ordinary local pub, Aulay's Bar, near our car park which not only serves delicious haggis rolls alongside some pretty decent beer, but also sells the local dram which we try and like well enough. Resolving that the distillery had lost the opportunity of a direct sale, we spend some time, and far too much money, in the independent whisky shops instead.

Tonight's meal is something of a blow-out as we've opted to throw caution to the wind and dine at Inverlochy Castle where Michel Roux Jr oversees the menu. It's a wonderful evening with great food and a fabulous accompanying flight of wines in an exceptional setting including, at the top of the stairs leading to the lavatories, a snooker room straight out of an inter-war novel with the most enormous elk head on the wall. 

Sunday

Today is the longest trip of the tour as we're booked into Talisker on Skye. And it's stormy. Knowing we could potentially be a bit jaded after the night before, our visit isn't until after 2pm but it's still a relatively early start as it's over two and a half hours away. And it's stormy. We turn off the main Inverness road at Invergarry and head towards Kyle of Lochalsh as the worst of the storm hits. The drive over the pass into Invershiel is particularly challenging and we're barely halfway. Eventually we get to the bridge over to Skye and, despite the lack of water-borne transport, a chorus of The Skye Boat Song breaks out in the back seat. Skye is the largest of the Inner Hebrides so there's still a way to go to Carbost and the Talisker distillery but at least the weather is easing. 

Water is cascading off the mountains, and the road gets smaller the further we go but we arrive in the area in good time, as planned, and we start to think about lunch. Despite what the internet had to say about our options, nothing we had researched was actually open, so we rocked up at our destination some 90 minutes early and despite signs to an on-site café there was nothing to eat there either. We leave Steve perusing the shop and dash back up to the local community store just as it's closing but the

proprietor's  a good soul and lets us buy our provisions which we then consume in the rather smart waiting area of the visitor centre. Finally working out that we were the only people booked in on the 2:30pm presentation, and the likelihood of 'passing trade' was virtually nil, they suggest we take the experience now so we waste no more time and head to the tasting room. The 'experience' is billed as a multimedia extravaganza but in reality is a series of promotional films and a guided tasting but it's ok, and Sarah's driver's drams come in a neat hessian bag with a free funnel, so that's good. The shop is well stocked and we end up buying a bottle of 9 year old wine cask finish that you can bottle yourself, which is a lovely detail, so I have a bottle of Talisker with my name on it and an entry in the customs book.

The drive home is much less hairy as the weather has eased considerably. We stop at the Collie and MacKenzie statue at Sligochan for a wander and photos before turning towards home pausing only to fill up at the Co-op in Broadford whose petrol is noticeably cheaper than anywhere else we've seen. It's dark by the time we get back to FW, and we hunker down to a meal of venison sausages and plenty of whisky.

Monday

When originally planning this trip, we had thought we'd leave on Monday but for some arcane reason we couldn't get the train until Tuesday evening so we decided to go to Mull on Monday as a sort of bonus trip. The usual way to get there I believe is to go to Oban and catch the ferry to Tobermory but that's far too easy for us intrepid travellers. 

We cross Linnhe by the Corran ferry as per, then at Loch Sunart we fork left and cross the mountains to Lochaline and the short ferry across the straits to Fishnish on Mull. From there it's a very scenic half hour drive to Tobermory and the most delightful distillery experience of our trip - even though it was my turn to drive! I had emailed the distillery ahead of our trip saying we were hoping to get there this day but certainly couldn't guarantee what time, so would they be able to accommodate us on something of an ad hoc basis? When we arrived they were more than welcoming and offered us what would normally be a warehouse tasting of their finer whiskies at 2pm, but with the warehouse closed for refurbishment we could have a short tour instead. That suited us admirably so we decamped to the pub next door for a pint and a burger before a wander around the harbourside of Ballymory, I mean Tobermory - which I still associate with the Wombles as our kids were grown up long before Ballymory was a thing. It's a delightful place even with half of it closed and we manage to get a few things we needed including a postcard for Michael.

The distillery tour is great; no matter how many of these we do, there's always something new or different. The tasting is long and relaxed and from my tiny sips I manage to guess the finish of a couple of the drams and am thoroughly chuffed with myself. Time is pressing however, there's a long way and two ferries to get home in time to roast the venison for Steve's actual birthday dinner so, reluctantly we return to the car and head back. I don't get much company on the way home aside from a few snores and a drunken rendition of 'Sailing' as we're crammed onto the Corran ferry for the last time. The road back from Lochaline is twisty and the fog has descended so I'm quite grateful for the relative silence as I try to keep up with the tail lights of the car in front, but I'm no match for his local knowledge and lose sight just before the summit and crawl down the other side before the fog clears and the altitude lowers. Aiming to get back by 6pm, I pull up at 6:15 which I think is pretty good considering the three-quarter hour wait at Fishnish. There's a rush to get the meat in the oven and we're back on schedule for what is an excellent repast followed by more whisky.

Tuesday

We've arranged to have the car for the rest of the day and we think that a trip to Spean Bridge would be worthwhile as it's advertised as a woollen mill and whisky centre but it's nothing but a tourist trap for unwary Americans so we have to make other plans. Despite my misgivings it's decided that a drive out to Mallaig would suit. I think this is largely swayed by memories of the crab sandwiches we had there last time because there's bugger all else to do there. It is a good drive though, especially in the Audi and we rock up at a very windy Mallaig where nothing at all is open save the local Co-op. Still, it's a nice drive. The way home passes Glenfinnan again and their visitor centre has a café that was open last time we passed so that's our new destination. There's also a very good little exhibition about the Jacobite Rebellion which started here in 1745. After coffee and cake, and in between showers, Sarah and I wander over to the impressive memorial to the rebellion.

The afternoon plans centre around the Ben Nevis pub, once we've garnered enough supplies for our train picnic later. Having parked the car at the station, left the keys with the ticket office and  the bags in left luggage, it's a fifteen minute walk through town to the pub. On the way I notice that the wool shop that had been closed every other time we passed, was open so Sarah and I went in while the others went to secure a table for a late lunch. It's a charming shop, up a flight or two of stairs and turned out only to be open because the owner's friend from Eigg was stuck on the mainland after a late-night helicopter trip to the hospital for her, thankfully well, young baby. Two bags of fleece, some wool and a couple of books later (one signed by the woman from Eigg who turned out to be its author), we bid a fond farewell and find the others at the pub. Pie and chips all round, and more than a couple of pints of the local brew pass the afternoon swimmingly, but eventually it's time to go. 

Having retrieved our many, heavy, bags we're waiting in the fairly cold foyer when we're invited into the First Class lounge - there's far too few passengers at this time of year we're told, to keep it too exclusive. We're checked in, fed coffee and biscuits and wait in comfort for the call to board. The paucity of passengers also means we can get a seat in the dining car for the first part of our journey where we enjoy a conversation with the steward and a miniature of Glen Garrioch just to be sociable. There's also a repeat of the cabin water problems so our breakfast is again free. We return to our cabins, consume our picnic (and a dram or two) before turning in, oblivious until we are served breakfast somewhere in the midlands before rolling into an empty Euston (there's a train strike) just ahead of schedule.

Wednesday

We've booked a taxi home at great expense and he's late. We eventually get hold of him and he's stuck in traffic not having realised there'd be trouble on a rail strike day. He finally shows up and we load our bags into the boot and ourselves into the car. It's comfortable but this guy is not a good driver and, being in the front seat, my journey home is fraught with worry but we get there in one piece and fall into the house.

Whisky Galore

June 2019

It was to be the trip of dreams (and drams) and, if we ignore the journey home, it was pretty wonderful.

A couple of years ago four friends went to Champagne (by car, so no report here) for a tasting and gastronomic journey into the world of bubbles. It was brilliant. We had a great guide for our tour and a happy day of chance discoveries when left to our own devices. The resolve to do it all again was strong from the start and after wondering whether to return to France and perhaps Bordeaux or Burgundy, we decided to indulge on of our other shared passions; Scotch Whisky.

I was left to research options, come up with an itinerary and then make the necessary arrangements. The advantage Champagne has over Scotland, on this instance at least, is that it is much more compact - we could not, in any reasonable amount of time, be expected to cover the whole gamut of whisky production in the same way as we could méthode champenoise in France so we would have to be much more selective. The other problem would be getting about; three of us could drive but none of us wanted to. The answer was to avail ourselves of a driver/guide for a couple of days to drive us around adding 'local colour' where appropriate. After many hours pouring over maps of Scotland, maps of distilleries and researching those whiskies we might prefer to visit, we settled on establishing a base in Fort William because it was convenient both for several Highland Distilleries and Speyside, and because it would enable us to take advantage of the opportunity to enjoy two of the world's "must do" rail journeys - the Caledonian Sleeper and the Jacobite Express.

And so it is, in late June, the four of us board a noon train at Fratton (of course).

Day One 

We cross town from Waterloo to Euston, leave our luggage at, appropriately, Left Luggage and tube it down to Soho because when one embarks on such a trip, it's best to start as you mean to go on. In that spirit I thought the best thing to do to really get us 'in the mood' was a private tasting at Milroy's whisky bar in Greek Street, and what an inspired idea that turned out to be. We booked a 3pm tasting of premium examples from each of Scotland's five whisky regions. We got a thorough outline of the basics of whisky production from our very knowledgeable host and a dram of some very fine malts, finishing with an astonishing Octomore, just the thing to set us up nicely for our journey.

With further astonishing foresight I had booked a table for dinner a few doors down at 10 Greek Street but after the tasting we had a little time to kill so a restorative coffee at Tintico across the street was very welcome. Only I noticed Burn Gorman at the next table reading a script and because I'm not one to disturb people just because they're a bit famous, it was quite funny to point out his presence to the others once he'd left. After coffee we had just enough time to buy a ridiculous/beautiful shirt at Zegerman's before our dinner at a very hipster but equally high quality restaurant at Number 10. That left plenty of time after dinner to take the Underground back to Euston, retrieve our luggage and wait in the crowded hall for the board to confirm the platform for the sleeper north.

When we booked, the website was all about the new rolling stock and how wonderful it would be compared with the tired old stock. As we approached the barrier it was clear that the new stock was not yet in operation on the Fort William route at least. A woman with a clipboard stood in place of the not-yet-operational electronic ticket barrier, who was keen to underline the fact that they were 'very short staffed' on the train tonight and could we get our breakfast orders done within 30 minutes of departure. Hmm. Anyway, we found our cabins and even though they seemed a little more cramped than those on European night trains we had used before, we settled in. The lounge was full, and restricted to first class passengers, while the kiosk/bar was very late opening due to the aforementioned staff shortages. By this time we had tired of the idea of a night cap and settled on sleep.

Any grumbles about the train the previous night disappeared upon waking. We spent the next three hours trundling through the most wonderful scenery, stopping at romantic sounding highland stations before this wonderful journey ended somewhat prosaically alongside Morrison's in Fort William.

Day Two

I would stake ready money on the fact that a significant proportion of visitors to Fort William arrive by sleeper train. This makes it all the more bizarre that our hotel was so intransigent when it came to checking in. This was not possible they assured us, under any circumstances before 3pm. Any circumstances. The train had berthed at 10am so there we were, less than twenty minutes later in the lobby of the Clan MacDuff Hotel failing to check in. They could look after our cases but that was it. Even in normal circumstances having over four hours to kill would be annoying, but because the hotel was a mile or so out of town it was necessary to take a taxi there and back it felt like a wasted journey. This is even before you factor in the rest of our day's itinerary.

We're booked on the Jacobite "Hogwarts" Express, which leaves Fort William for Mallaig at 2pm. We can't check in until 3pm. Okay we say, we'll check in when we get back from dinner. That's fine, they say, as long as that's before 10pm. However, the Jacobite doesn't get back to Fort William until after 8pm so we end up making a special trip back to the hotel just to check in before going out again to eat. We did, briefly, consider the option of eating at the hotel, but the restaurant only opens between six and eight. Really.

After a moment's staring at the loch across the road we resolve to spend the intervening hours in town and reception calls us a taxi. Just as we're beginning to wonder about Scottish hospitality, a Very Helpful taxi driver takes us to the heart of Fort William's main drag and points out several options for lunch and after a bit of a wander round, we end up at the Ben Nevis bar for perfectly tasty meal and some pretty good beer too.
The weather, I should say at this point is Hot, heatwave hot.

The Jacobite express to Mallaig is on many a "top ten" rail journeys list, and rightly so. The landscape of the "Road to the Isles" is beyond spectacular and travelling through it on a steam train is just perfect. Crossing the Glenfinnan Viaduct we can see crowds of people on the opposite hill aiming, it transpires, for the perfect shot of said Hogwarts Express as it passes by, ignoring in large part the monument to the Jacobite rebellion in the valley below. There's a few minutes to take a breather at Glenfinnan station and a quick look around the small museum before we head off again for Mallaig.

This west coast port turns out to be somewhere you go to get somewhere else - there's not much to do on such a visit as ours, although we later see an advert for a short sea safari that guaranteed to be back in time for the return train. Our wait is eased by some fat crab sandwiches and a cream tea of epic proportions. It is spoilt by an awful busker operating from the boot of his car opposite the café.
The return journey is naturally just as beautiful but the heat is now exacerbated by regular hot smuts from the engine being blown in through the necessarily open windows. We're starting to flag a bit now and we have yet to make the trip back to check in. We take the chance to change and freshen up before another taxi to the curry house we had booked earlier. I had a very decent chicken dansak but my companions were left raving about the quality of their various lamb dishes. One of the best curries we've had was supremely enhanced by the view over the loch. By the time we had finished eating it was approaching 11pm and it was still not dark. Just time for a nightcap before turning in. Thankfully we'd had the foresight to buy a bottle of Bunnahabhain from Morrisons for the purpose. It was still light when we turned in.

Day Three

Day three is Distillery Day One. The driver I had booked for the two days arrived as promised at 8.30am and we set off for the furthest distillery of the day, aiming to work our way back via Blair Athol and Dalwhinnie. After a pleasant drive through the stunningly beautiful landscape skirting the Cairngorms, we arrive at Edradour near Pitlochry.
Edradour is charming. Set in the small valley of the burn that feeds it, it looks like the sort of thing Disney would build if asked for a typical, Scottish, Olde Worlde distillery, all white walls and red paintwork, everyone in kilts and some of the finest whisky around. By now we were becoming very clear on the "how" of whisky production so when it came to our second stop of the day we headed straight to the bar. The Blair Athol distillery bar is a fine thing. Made from an old copper still and staffed by a very knowledgeable young woman who guided us expertly through a six dram tasting. (By the by, the Blair Athol distillery is in Pitlochry, not Blair Atholl a few miles away).

We had had a mild panic as a booking misunderstanding had become apparent - I had assumed that Stephen, our driver, was going to make any necessary arrangements but he had believed I was making them. A quick bout of googling reassures all that appointments were not always necessary and there are plenty of places to visit anyway. We lunch in Pitlochry. When we return to the car Stephen is redeemed as he has made arrangements for us to join the last tour of the day at the otherwise booked up Dalwhinnie distillery, the highest in Scotland. A fairly uneventful tour was enlivened by a tour leader approaching the nether end of her tether and an assistant of the less than helpful variety. It had clearly been a long day. Interestingly, Dalwhinnie had chosen to match their various expressions with handmade chocolates and not entirely unsuccessfully either.

That night we dressed up for dinner at the Lime Tree restaurant and art gallery and very good it was too.

Day Four

Today is to be spent on Speyside. After the previous day's non-booking misunderstanding, I had spent some of the evening checking and revising our proposed itinerary. It meant two things - one, we would not be able to visit the Speyside Cooperage, principally because it was shut, and that a visit to Aberlour was unlikely to be possible as tours were restricted owing to some remodelling work. A quick conversation with Katie, a friend and part time distillery guide, confirmed this. Despite this last minute chopping and changing, a suitable programme was worked out and a great day was had.

First stop is still Cragganmore, a bit more than a mile from the main road despite what the sign says. Again we opt not to take a tour, even though we had thought about their interesting food matching tour, it was still early and none of us were hungry enough. We settled on a full tasting in the shop and are suitably impressed. Impressed enough to spend a substantial amount on one bottle and a staggering amount on another. Our enthusiasm gets us a view of their stills anyway as they have very unusual flat tops and we ought to see them.

The next destination is Dufftown, putative capital of Speyside with a specialist shop, seven distilleries and a museum. On the way we pass the cooperage and stop for pictures anyway before rolling up Dufftown's main street to our first stop, the museum. Quaint doesn't even begin to describe it. Occupying a single shop front, it barely qualifies as a museum but does have a good number of antique whisky-making accoutrements and ephemera all presented by a delightfully enthusiastic and friendly woman who also points us to the local Costcutter as the best place to buy our whisky. She is right, it has almost as many whiskies on sale as the specialist shop and many at lower prices.

We decide to take lunch just outside Dufftown at Glenfiddich which is all super corporate polish but has a very decent café with whisky pairings for their menu. We all order the burger with its suggested dram of Glenfiddich IPA (for a separate, brief review see Will it Mac?). We're not too bothered about the rest of their products but look round the shop anyway before heading off again.
Final stop of the day is The Glenlivet, deep in the countryside, where after a wander around their very smart museum cum display and a quick tasting we are officially "Whiskied out". At least for now. We are all a bit jaded as we are driven back to the hotel where we wave a cheery farewell to Stephen and get ready for dinner at "The Geographer's".

Day Five

We awake to a change in the weather. No longer hot and sunny, it has turned quite dramatically and is now wet and windy, grey and misty. Which is a shame, because today's plan includes a boat trip on Loch Linnhe. After breakfast, something the hotel is pretty good at, we check out and get a taxi to the station to leave our bags in one of their very large lockers. While there my phone rings; it's the boat operator - 'were we still coming?' they ask. We confirm that we are and will be there before too much longer. The weather appears to be easing a bit but it's still not ideal by a long chalk.

"Souter's Lass" is an old Royal Naval tender that worked on the South Coast as "Bournemouth Belle" before operating as a ferry between John o’Groats and Orkney from 1980 to 1987. She now runs cruises on Loch Linnhe and thankfully has a sheltered, downstairs bar offering many things, but today the hot chocolate is most welcome. The mist clears quite well as we set off and we can see everything our guide talks about, with the added bonus of a sea eagle seen flying down the loch. Just before Corran, we turn back towards a rocky island where a colony of seals basks, as best it could. The skipper expertly approaches the isle and we get fantastic views of the creatures.

Handily, the boat is operated by the same people who run the very popular seafood restaurant on the pier and our lunch booking meshes neatly with the end of the trip. The restaurant doesn't disappoint with some excellent seafood nicely washed down with a bottle of Picpoul.

After lunch we head for our last distillery of the trip, the Ben Nevis distillery on the outskirts of Fort William under the shadow of its namesake. It's a much more industrial affair than the others we'd seen and, although the weather is not helping, it has an air of disappointment about it. Almost all its output is snapped up by its Japanese owners, leaving too little to market anywhere but at the distillery itself. It's nice enough, and its rarity is tempting but we resist adding to our seven bottle haul.

A last visit to the Ben Nevis pub is absolutely called for before picking up some picnic items for the journey home.

We get to an unnervingly deserted station but we're early so don't panic until Sarah notices the screen says our train is "cancelled", not 'late' or 'delayed' but "cancelled", and there's no-one there to explain themselves. Eventually someone is coaxed out of the back of the ticket office to tell us that the train broke down on Friday and they haven't managed to sort a repair or replacement in the intervening two days. We were to be ferried to Edinburgh by coach where we would wait for the Inverness section of the train to join. A three hour coach journey, a three hour wait at Edinburgh Waverley before we could board (and sleep), but we would get to Euston on time. Hooray. Grrr. The coach journey is horrendous and only briefly lit up by passing through the always stunning Glen Coe. The journey through the Trossachs is beautiful but coaches make me queasy at the best of times and this road is very twisty-turny. Eventually arriving at, or rather near, Waverley station to endure the further long wait until we finally board the train at nearly 1am. We do indeed arrive at Euston on time but its a fairly rag-tag bunch who fetch up at Waterloo for the SW Train back to Fratton.

We have since agreed a compensation package for our homeward journey troubles.

Carbon saved: 112.5kg