August 12, 2012 – Pitlochry to Forres

With some regret, Janet and I departed the hotel in Pitlochry and headed north, not really knowing where we might end up.  En route, Janet decided she would like to see the Caledonian Canal – the shipping canal that connects Fort William to the North Sea by way of Loch Lochy, Loch Oich and Loch Ness, providing North Sea fishermen a safe inland route avoiding the stormy seas to the east and west of Scotland.

Dalwhinnie Distillery

While driving towards the canal, we passed through the village of Dalwhinnie – home of the Dalwhinnie Distillery.  Guess what we did next.  After the distillery tour, we continued to head west to the Caledonian Canal, passing through the hamlet of Gairlochy.

There, I recognized the Dalcomera B&B, run by Heather and Nick Shore, where I stayed last year.  Wow, a chance for another reunion!!   You may remember the day from last year as being rainy, and my cold running full force.  Heather wasn’t expecting anybody to ring her doorbell at noon today, but she immediately remembered me.  After all, I probably came close to consuming all of Heather’s and Nick’s supply of Kleenex last year.  In any event, Heather was as gracious as always, and quickly brewed some tea, served in the garden.

Heather, Nick and Lost-a-lot

Heather and Nick are very knowledgeable about northern Scotland, and when I asked for a recommendation, they quickly responded that we should head for the Moray Firth east of Inverness – and not only because it was far from Gairlochy.  Specifically, they suggested Findhorn as a little fishing village with wonderful seafood.  There were no accommodations available in Findhorn, so Janet and I ended up at a lovely hotel in Forres, five miles from Findhorn.

In the hotel’s car park, I noticed an elegantly restored Chrysler 75.  Nobody was around, so I couldn’t get any information on her.  She had the largest, shiniest, most attractive headlights I’ve ever seen.  I couldn’t tell if they were original, but if not, they were marvelous reproductions.  In any event, it's not something that you can actually ask a girl about. The wooden spokes on the wheels were absolutely superb – just imagine air swirling through the spokes as the wheels spin.  The leather trunk on the rear was just crying out to be stroked.  Oh, my goodness; I think I’m falling in love again.

 

 

(c) 2012 Ken Klug

August 10 & 11, 2012 – Moffat to Pitlochry

Enjoying Kateryna's Seat Again

Janet and I each had a place we wanted to visit before heading much farther north.  For me, it was Kateryna’s Seat – the serendipitous memorial bench I happened upon in Walkerburn just when I needed to sit down and massage my feet last year.  I am still convinced that if I hadn’t come across the bench when I did, my walk would have ended.  Owing my walk to that bench, I wanted to see it again, sit on it, and pay my respects to Kateryna, for whom the bench is named. 

The Falkirk Wheel

Janet wanted to see The Falkirk Wheel – that magnificent engineering boondoggle linking the Union Canal to the Forth and Clyde Canal.  After fulfilling our wishes, and giving Janet the chance to walk parts of both canals, we drove to the town of Pitlochry.   We both recalled visiting Pitlochry some years ago, but disagreed about whether we actually stayed there.

As luck would have it, we stumbled upon a luxury accommodation in a Victorian house with the unpronounceable name Tigh-Na-Cloich Hotel.  OK, the last word is pronounceable, but it doesn’t really fit.  The accommodation has none of the unpleasant trappings that we have come to expect from hotels.  It has the cozy feel of a guest house; but it also has a restaurant, so it’s really more than a guest house – a very upscale restaurant at that, with a menu that changes every day.  We had intended to stay one night, but upon actually seeing the property, we quickly changed to two nights. Now that we’ve had two dinners in the elegant restaurant, I wish we had more time to stay longer.   This is one of those serendipitous discoveries, at a bargain price – sort of like Kateryna’s Seat.

Since most of Friday had been spent driving, we needed to walk on Saturday.  For several weeks now Janet has been telling me that, having walked parts of the Southwest Coast Path, Offa’s Dyke Path, the Pennine Way, the Southern Upland Way and all of the West Highland Way (and now two canals), she thinks she could actually walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats.  Provided it doesn’t rain.  And provided she didn’t have to carry a heavy pack.  Or get any blisters.  There may have been a few other immaterial provisos, but she said she could do it.

View from Footpath

So today I decided to put her to the test.  I found a walk along the Rob Roy Way – 5 miles from Pitlochry to Strath Tay, with 800 feet of elevation gain – passing along a good trail, then a forest track, then through bogs and pastures – all to provide a sample of what a LEJOG walk would entail.  To my surprise, Janet’s confidence in being able to do walk LEJOG hasn’t wavered, although a few more provisos have been added: no uphills, no bogs, and no wet feet.  Oh, there’s one more thing:  the route must be obvious – she gets very uncomfortable if I have to check the map to be sure we’re headed in the right direction.  Otherwise, LEJOG is a piece of cake.

By the way, we returned to Pitlochry by bus. 

River Tay at Grandtully

(c) 2012 Ken Klug

August 3 – 9, 2012 – Somewhere near Newcastle, England to Moffat, Scotland.

When you read this posting, you might think that the reason we’ve been off the air the past few days is that we’ve been partying too much.  Actually, the real reason is that we’ve been without a WiFi connection for a few days.  Honest.  We have been partying, but only in the interests of sustaining Anglo-American relations.   As you may know, we aren’t really the partying type, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices to leave a good impression. 



St. Mary's Lighthouse
near Newcastle

We spent four delightful days with Lady Ann & Dr. George – including a reunion with Iain and Alex; a reunion with Tony and Sally; meeting new friends Harry and Ann; and enough touring in Northeastern England to make your head swim.  But the sea was far too cold for us to actually swim in it, so we learned that in England if the water is too cold, you just go “paddling” (immersing yourself in the water up to your knees).  When I was a teenager, we called it petting – you know, when you kind of start, but you just don’t go all the way.  But whatever you call it, we didn’t even get our feet wet.

Then, Janet and I headed north to Scotland.  Last year, when George & Ann kicked me out of their home, they sent me into the northern moors at Hadrian’s Wall, from which I passed through Bellingham, Byrness, Jedburgh and Melrose.  This year, we’ll be visiting Jedburgh and Melrose later when we walk the St. Cuthbert’s Way, so there was no reason for Janet and me to see them now; Bellingham and Byrness are primarily points along the Pennine Way, so there wasn't any compelling reason for us to visit them. 

Therefore, we diverted from last year’s route to go to Moffat, Scotland, for a reunion with Kenny and Joyce, Becky and Elliot, and Ann.  You may remember them from last year as persons I met on the West Highland Way.  Kenny was the driver while the others walked.  More specifically, you may remember Kenny as the one who kept buying me beers, and the others as the dancers outside the Rowardennan B&B while host Neil played his accordion.

Becky, Lost-a-lot, Janet, Peter,
Ann, Joyce, Kenny and Elliot

And what a reunion it was!  We all met at Becky’s and Elliot’s home, where I showed my world-famous slide show of My 1200 Mile Summer.  Then we all went to a wonderful Italian restaurant for dinner.  Unbeknownst to us, Becky had arranged for a local newspaper to run a story about our reunion, and after dinner, the photographer took a group picture to accompany the article.  Apparently there isn’t a lot of crime in small-town Scotland, so two Americans visiting with locals is quite a scoop.  That’s what makes Scotland so charming.  The article will be published a week from today, and Becky promised to send me a copy.  Stay tuned, because I’ll post a copy here.

Peter (center) with the other
 Moffat singers

The following day, Janet and I went walking along the Southern Upland Way, at least until we realized that we were getting too far from the pub, so we turned around.  That evening, we were invited by the Moffat group to join them at a local pub, where Peter (Ann’s friend who we met the previous evening) and several other locals were singing Scottish, Irish, and American folk tunes until 2:00 AM.  Everybody who’s anybody in Moffat was there – and since we were soon to have our picture and story in the local paper, we are now among Moffat’s movers and shakers.  We had a great time meeting everybody and singing along with the music.  And we hardly even slurred our words – but with our accents, nobody could tell.

 (c) 2012 Ken Klug

Friday, August 3, 2012 – Thwaite

Keith had shown us on the map a lovely 8-mile loop walk from Thwaite to Keld, then to Muker and back to Thwaite.  The route gave Janet the opportunity to walk 3 miles of the Pennine Way and 4 miles of the Coast to Coast path – thus adding two more paths to her portfolio.

On Pennine Way towards Keld

With dark skies overhead, but little threat of rain, we set off for Keld.  We quickly ascended the hills outside of Thwaite, providing lovely views of Swaledale.  The footpath was muddy and rocky – a good introduction to the Pennine Way, which always seems to be one or the other. 

Cows on the Path

We passed dozens of sheep along the way, but when cows appeared on the trail, Janet had to confront her worst fears – at least until we get up to Scotland and encounter the Highland cattle.  You remember – the fuzzy ones with the big horns.  But these cows were docile, and Janet walked right through them as if she had been a dairy maid all her life.

Kisdon Force

From Keld, the Pennine Way passed Kisdon Force, a pretty little waterfall, and then crossed the Coast to Coast path, on which we turned towards Muker.  Outside of Muker we met two walkers, Ian and Keith (not the gamekeeper in Thwaite).  We had passed them earlier, as they were following the same route we were walking, only in the reverse direction.

Ian and Keith

We arrived back in Thwaite about 20 minutes before the rain arrived, and enjoyed cappuccinos under the umbrella of the tea room’s patio.

(c) 2012 Ken Klug

Thursday, August 2, 2012 – Thorpe to Thwaite

“Thank you for calling Hertz Customer Service.  My name is Nigel Smythe, how may I help you?”

“Good morning, Nigel.  My name is Ken Klug.  You may remember me as…”

“How could I forget you, Mr. Klug?  What can I do for you?”

Expired Road Tax Sticker

“Well, Nigel, there may be a little problem.  It seems that the road tax sticker affixed to the vehicle’s windscreen expired two days ago.”

“No problem at all, Mr. Klug.  Just return the vehicle and we’ll put the new sticker on it.  Where did you pick up the car?”

“Heathrow Airport.“

“Just return the car there, and they will take care of the problem.”

“I’m nowhere near Heathrow, Nigel.  I’m presently headed to Thwaite.  Just FedEx the new sticker to me there, and I’ll put it on.”

“Uhhh… we don’t actually have a sticker for that car because we are not going to re-register it.  So you must return it or the authorities may tow it.  Where are you now?  You can return it to another location.”

“We are in Huddersfield, heading north, through Keighley, Skipton, and then into the Yorkshire Dales, spending tonight in Thwaite.”

“I don’t know where those places are, Mr. Klug.  What are the postal codes?”

“How should I know what the postal codes are?  I’m not a postman.  I can give you the postal code for the hotel in Thwaite at which we are staying.  It’s DL11 6DR.”

“Ah, yes.  I see it.  The closest Hertz location is Middlesbrough.  Just return the car to Middlesbrough, Mr. Klug.  I’ll give you the address.”

“Middlesbrough??!!.  That’s at least 40 miles in the wrong direction.  I’m headed to Thwaite.  Just have somebody deliver another car to me there and take back this one.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anyone in Middlesbrough who can deliver a car to you.  You need to return the car, Mr. Klug, or it will be impounded by the authorities.”

“You mean I’m driving a fugitive car?  Oh no.  That makes me an outlaw – another Dick Turpin.  Maybe if I turn myself in they’ll go easy on me.  I’m just going to the nearest police station right now.”

“No! NO!  Don’t do that, Mr. Klug.  I’ll try to find a closer location.”

“Nigel, the way I see it is that this really isn’t my problem.  This is Hertz’s problem.  Why don’t you come up with a solution and call me back.  In the meantime, I’m heading north.”

Nigel called me back 15 minutes later.  “OK, Mr. Klug.  We’ve solved the problem.  We will have someone from a nearby location deliver a replacement car to you.  But the only car available has a manual transmission.”

“A manual transmission?  Nigel, I’m having enough trouble keeping this car in the left lane.  Now you are expecting me to shift with my left hand?  I think I better turn myself in to the police.”

“NO!  NO!  Wait, we’ll find another solution.”

Lost-A-Lot and Keith

Two hours later, Janet, I and our fugitive car arrived in Thwaite.  While in the pub enjoying refreshments, guess who walked in.  No, not Nigel.  It was Keith, the gamekeeper from the Miller estate who last year drove me from Thwaite to Keld so I wouldn’t have to repeat the three-mile walk I had done the previous day.  We had a nice reunion over a few beers, and he showed me on the map a good walk for Janet and me to do tomorrow.

Later, during dinner, Nigel arrived with a new car.  He had driven all the way from Manchester, approximately 2½ hours away.  He handed me the keys to the replacement car, retrieved the fugitive, and drove off, heading away from the police station.

(c) 2012 Ken Klug

Wednesday, August 1, 2012 – Thorpe and Dovedale

Fire Safety

The plate affixed to the hallway door outside our room reads “Fire Door.  Keep Shut.”  Presumably that doesn’t include times when people are passing through it.  Perhaps an exception also applies when the door is propped open by a fire extinguisher.   I don’t have a lot of experience with hotel fires, so I wasn’t sure if I should close the door.  So I didn’t.

Firing Safety

I also don’t have a lot of experience with being fired at, but I took this sign and the adjacent flag seriously. 

Red Flag Warning

Any doubts I had about the flag were removed upon hearing gunfire from the top of the hill we had planned to climb.  Going around the hill seemed like a better idea.  So did going back to our room and hiding under the bed covers, but we soldiered on, circumnavigating the hill, with the sound of gunfire resonating around us.

 

The Hills are Alive with ...

These are the sorts of hills better suited for the sound of music than the sound of gunfire. 

Janet Being Stile-ish

Leaving the gunfire behind, we entered the valley of the River Dove – or as known locally, Dovedale.  A good trail follows the river for approximately 3 miles in a park-like setting.  I walked the trail last year with Mick and Gayle, and knew Janet would enjoy it – especially if we didn’t get shot.

Log with coins

Along the trail we came across several logs into which literally hundreds of coins had been hammered.  I wonder what motivates people to hammer coins into a log – but then I also wonder what motivates people to toss coins into a wishing well.  Maybe the people who passed by the log were wishing they wouldn’t get shot, too.

(c) 2012 Ken Klug

Tuesday, July 31, 2012 – Much Wenlock to Thorpe

The day dawned with heavy cloud cover and light rain.  Today’s destination was Thorpe, in Dovedale, but there was no hurry because at least one of us wouldn’t be walking in the rain.  With no need to arrive at Thorpe early, we detoured to Kenilworth to visit its famous castle.

Kenilworth Castle

From its origins in the 12^th century under the reign of King Henry I, Kenilworth Castle has undergone a number of additions and architectural changes, and over the ensuing five centuries became a center of political intrigue and scandal.  In 1210, King John greatly reinforced the castle by flooding the surrounding lands and turning the castle into an island.  So reinforced, it withstood a six-month siege in 1266 by the troops of Henry III as he suppressed an uprising of rebellious barons housed in the castle, until they were ultimately starved out.  Although the rebels lost some weight during the siege, it was nothing compared to their weight loss when the King had them beheaded.

Private Garden Made for a Queen

Three centuries later, Robert Dudley took possession of the castle and spent buckets of money remodeling it, all to impress Queen Elizabeth I, whom he apparently sought to marry.  Although he was much older than the Queen, he was still “a favorite” of hers.  Unfortunately the Queen was deterred from marrying him, partly because he was a commoner, and partly because he was already married – at least until his wife was one day found dead with a broken neck at the bottom of a staircase.  Nobody charged the wealthy Dudley with a crime, of course.  Still, there were enough doubts about the cause of death that any thoughts the Queen may have had of marriage were set aside by the scandal.

Castle Interior

Henry V is said to have received a gift of tennis balls from the French King at Kenilworth Castle – an event recounted by Shakespeare.  The gift so insulted Henry that he declared war on the French.  Perhaps the balls were the wrong color.

Having heard more history of Kenilworth Castle than I can keep straight or than you care to have me relate, Janet and I returned to our car and drove to Thorpe, where we were staying at the Peveril of the Peak Hotel.  You may remember the Peveril from last year as the very upscale (and expensive) property frequented by the well-heeled beautiful people. 

Dirty Floor Grout

This year, things were a little different.  The room rates were reduced dramatically – as was the quality.  We found mold around the bathtub, dirty grout between the floor tiles, a missing handle cover on the water faucet.   From the prix fixe menu, I ordered lamb shank, which was dry and over-cooked; the pan-fried vegetables were mushy and unpalatable, as if they had been left in a steamer too long.  Four large tables were occupied by several dozen clients of a large walking-tour company, but Janet and I were the only independent diners.   I was saddened to see what had become of a very lovely hotel in such a short time.

Later in the evening, I called my good friend King Arthur to relate my disappointment.  “Yes, ‘tis a pity,” said the King, “all a result of an errant staff.  It seems that last year, an inattentive staff allowed a man to enter the dining room without shoes.  Imagine that – dining in his stocking feet!!  Well, decorum was maintained at the time, but word soon spread that mere commoners were taking over the Peveril, and society’s elite just stopped coming.  The hotel has recently been taken over by a walking and hiking company which brings its large groups into the hotel.  They are trying to put things right, and may do so, as long as their clients wear shoes in the dining room.”

“Allowing a guest to dine in socks?  Absolutely appalling,” I replied.  “What could the staff have been thinking?”

(c) 2012 Ken Klug