Camp Day 4/5: Ossian & Dunkeld

The Hermitage

I leapt out of my sleeping bag like a man possessed this morning at 6:30am hell-bent on getting to the showers before anyone else. If I was to give this camp factory one more go I was going to do it right or not at all. I even remembered to bring a change of underwear, such was my laser-like focus and crystal clarity of mind. Woe betood anyone who got in my way.

I should say though for the record that the showers here are *not as good as* those at the Rings farm. These are push button ones like you get at swimming pools, do not detach from the wall, and kind of dribble rather than spray. Or at least that’s the case in the men’s toilets. Didn’t try the women’s ones.

But I didn’t care: they were warm, wet and did the job. Although they did kind of spray water into my shoes which I thought I’d placed out of harm’s way but obviously had not.

Feeling guilty about stealing the French family’s spot last night I asked them this morning if they used CampingGaz canisters and had they said yes I’d have given them my one, but alas they, like me, were of the threaded variety. 

I was in two minds this morning about whether to stay or go, as I usually go swimming on a Sunday morning and have a very productive work-coffee in Costa afterwards, but in the end decided I may as well make the most of it and maybe drive back first thing tomorrow. So after breakfast I packed all my stuff in my backpack and went off by foot in a bid to find a cafe with WiFi to upload some blog in the nearby village of Dunkeld. As it happened I turned left rather than right out the gates and ended up on a path to the Hermitage. But I was fine with that. That’s the adventure. Carrying a heavy backpack for no reason is good for your heart. It’s what the marines do to train. Being dumber was making me a better man.

Ossian's Pool

The hermitage, or to put it more accurately, the summer house love nest, was built by some guy called Ossian who wanted a place to get a way from the humdrum fickleness of life and instead enjoy the thrum of the nearby waterfall.

Footbridge across the Braan

View of the Falls from the Hermitage balcony

Ossian's Cave

Ossian's cinnamon donut and latte

I photo'd the heck out of the waterfall, the hermitage, the little bridge, the totem pole, and several varieties of birds that fluttered around the coffee and donuts stand looking for crumbs. Then I made my way back to the campsite for a well-deserved rest, and to reconsider my back-pack carryinig priorities.

After some lunch (no doubt consisting of a ham, cheese and mayo bagel) I set off with nothing but my camera, phone and wallet (and clothes of course) on a quest to photo the hell out of Dunkeld, a (what turned out to be) under-rated village in the middle of no-where.

I walked lightly along a road of trees and caravans, and for a while everywhere I pointed my camera to snap something interesting there was a hidden fisher-person somewhere in the picture.

You go under the A9 never sure you are going in the right direction of Dunkeld, but consistently reminded and reassured of where you’ve been, as arrows pointing back to the hermitage abound, in case you’d forgotten.

You pass a community orchard offering free fruit, cross a large bridge over what can only be the River Tay, and see a popular riverside restaurant bordered by twinkling lights, and lunch is decided. It’s all owned by the nearby Atholl Hotel, you are told, and the kitchen will be open shortly, please have a drink and sit anywhere while you peruse the menu.

You must be a bird watcher, bets the barman, here to catch a glimpse of the osprey. She should be back from her trip to Africa shortly. Actually, you reply, my lens is not good enough for such wildlife photography. But, thanks anyway, I’ll keep an eye out.

You order a ginger ale and take up a table that could seat six, right next to the river, and choose some lunch. A pepperoni pizza jumps out at you amid the fish and the burgers, and you settle down to wait, spotting a hen night in the cordoned off area. You think about snapping some secret pics of the hilarity but remember your lens is not good enough for capturing such wildlife…

The pizza arrives and goes down very well. One of the best pizzas ever, in fact. Keeping mayo handy for dipping the crusts in at the end is a strategic play in your favour. 

Almost as good as Yesbar's Four Seasons Pizza?

Fed and watered, you hit the town with your camera locked and loaded.

If you plant your green cap antlers now they'll be sprouting by autumn

It's all in the framing

Spot the fisher-person 1 (beginner)

Spot the fisher-person 2 (advanced)

Bridge over not so troubled water - the Tay

Exceptional benches

The clock tower of Dunkeld Cathedral

The breathtaking stained glass and altar of Dunkeld Church

Camp Day 5: The Journey Home

Camp Day 2/5: All day at The Rings

Woke up a lot, tossing and turning throughout the night, thinking the ground was a lot more comfortable in my younger years, yoga mat notwithstanding. Full bladder at 3:30am, but I persevered with sleep and eventually gave in at 6am when my alarm went off. I trotted off to the toilet block at reception and released a torrent of fluid into the toilet bowl the likes of which Niagara Falls would have been envious, just before my bladder exploded. While there I decided I might as well have a shower. 

Great showers! Just a bit leaky on the floor under the shower curtain. Feeling like a new man, I strutted back to my tent, still wearing my old clothes as I had neglected to take a clean set to the loo, the urgency of my nether-regions negating such forward thinking.

Fire!

It’s funny how crows squawk and then move on. You hear a squawk, look up in the direction of the sound, and find the crow has already travelled several feet before the sound has reached you, making it seem it was emitted from an empty space a large gap behind the bird. Or do crows squawk out their asses? Maybe some of the less intelligent ones are accused of such by their smarter peers. 

Alpaca or llama?

Set up the volcano kettle on three monoblocks but was too quick to pick up the camera and snap some pics rather than carefully tending the fire to make sure it was properly going, so it went out and I had to relight it. Second time lucky though and managed to brew myself the best coffee in the world, or so it felt. After a half hearted breakfast of rice crispies and choco flakes still in their packs (a trick my son had taught me as I’d not brought a bowl), a few pancakes and banana, and removing a tiny splinter from my left thumb with the tweezers in long-lost Swiss army knife (that I’d eventually and joyously found down the side of my black recliner armchair a few weeks ago while searching for my iphone) I was ready to think about the day. 

It being my first morning and still feeling tender, I didn’t feel the need to rush off to a new campsite just yet. I decided instead to explore the area on foot for myself, rather than take Moira’s advice and check the brand new website. So I set off with my camera and decided to either turn left at every junction until I was back where I started, or failing that, turn round and come back after half an hour, or failing that, when I was tired. 

The short walk along the single lane road yielded another of Ring Farm’s cottages with lawn on the rooves, pleasing views of cows, ponies, a view or two across the valley, some bees on flowers, a handful (what’s the group noun? Bacon butty?) of chirpy builders (also on rooves), a waving van driver and a holistic massage centre. And only one piece of rubbish: an empty one litre plastic milk bottle, which after thinking twice about it, I picked up and brought back for recycling.

After that I think I had a nice lie down in my tent, a tasty cup of tea, an early lunch of my Stephen’s Chicken mayo sarnie of the day prior, more photos and lots of looking out over the grounded blue boat and stranded, nettle-covered farm machinery to the rolling, bushel-filled hedgerows and green and yellow fields to the horizon. 

A few campers packed up and left since then; a few have stayed. My imagination is still running amok with Apex flashbacks and visions of Det. Chief Sup. Int Foyle of Foyle’s War, both on which I obviously over-indulged on Tuesday night while waiting sleepily to pick up my son from his friend’s party. Realised I could charge my Iphone off my macbook off my Ctechi battery which I’d charged from the car lighter battery on my way here. For some reason the Iphone did not like charging directly off the Ctechi battery, but there you are, problem solved.

The main building at Ring’s Farm has a massive play room with pool, air hockey, scooters, a piano, books, DVDs and even a guitar amp or two (but no guitar). There is a communal fridge with tea and coffee galore, which made me happy as Larry as I could dig into their brown tea bags. It prides itself on a very accessible camping and glamping venue as everything is easy to get to and on one floor. And that bring us up to the present moment. It’s now 12:19pm and I’m considering more lunch.

The Rings boasts a very tidy well stocked kitchen

I hadn’t booked in for two nights at the Rings. To be honest, I was just taking each day at a time, and Moira seemed happy with that. The field was massive and the grass:guest ratio must have been 20:1. 

Even though it was yesterday it’s already become a blur. I know I’ve already written about the morning, apart from my fixing one of the handles on my other cloth Morrisons shopping bag which Cocoa chewed through in her younger years. I sewed it with white thread using back stitch which my mate John assured me (and he’s done a fair bit of sewing in his time) that it was stronger and better and looked nicer than the kind of (I don’t know the terminology) Nessie monster stitch that I usually favour. I made one of those criss cross boxes you sometimes see when things are attached to other things with thread. So far so good, except I ran out before I could properly tie it off, as the last bit of thread was only a millimetre longer than the length of the needle. So I sort of tied it to the start of the thread and hoped for the best. But now this handle’s shorter than the other one. So should I cut and resew the other one? Or get my dog to chew through it for me. We’ll see.

What else happened? Well, I did some writing, I looked at the fields (a lot), I took a nap, almost getting boiled alive when the sun suddenly came out for five minutes right above me and cooked my tent. I gasped awake and had to open the vent ASAP as I was fully clothed. It’s been cold, overcast and windy the whole time I’ve been here apart from that moment. Fortunately I could use my car with the hatchback open to shelter me from the wind and drizzle as I sat ruminating the horizon. But the sun was a surprise.

Maybe I began uploading to the blog. I had lunch which consisted of (pre-sliced bagels- genius!) with slices of pre-sliced ham and pre sliced cheese, topped off with a squirt each of pre-sliced mayonnaise, some more yoghurt, an apple and banana followed by copious amounts of tea courtesy of the kettle in the very well-stocked communal kitchen.

I plucked halfheartedly at my guitar. I looked at the fields stretching off to the horizon (which wasn’t that far away). I locked gaze with the alpacas/llamas, trying and failing to determine the difference, in the end deciding, if someone put a gun to my head, that they were young llama-alpaca hybrids, not yet fully grown, but with banana ears and a horse-like nose, but also patch of hair atop head. They seemed chilled and didn’t spit at me once. Although one of them looked at me sideways. 

What would you call a cappuccino made from Alpaca milk?

This casual visitor set off my pony proximity alert warning system

I then turned my attention to the pony that was now approaching my tent and chewing the grass around my car.

Did you know that most pilots who sit the test to become a Red Arrow pass with flying colours?*

Anyway, I do recall slipping into my shorts and going for a run, which due to a sore knee grew into a 5k walk-run, which Strava congratulated me for by saying it was my fastest 5k ever. I tell you, the best way to find out about the environs of a campsite is to go out the main gate one day and walk left, then the next day go out the main gate and turn right.

When I got back I had some microwoven soup and a bagel in the communal kitchen next to a quiet old salt of the earth guy who seemed like he'd spent his whole life outdoors and only came in for sleep. I thought maybe he was Lord of The Rings, but he turned out to be another guest  - the owner of the pony. I'd attempted to heat up my soup at my tent, but it turned out the push and click CampingGaz cannister I'd purchased was not compatible with my screw on mini-stove.

I then began to wind down for the night. I was tempted to have my second bottle of beer but resisted, having some more green tea instead. The pony kept me company on the other side of the fence, hiding slightly behind the abandoned farming machinery. It looked like it was also preparing to spend the night sleeping standing up.

Can you find the pony in this photo?

Sober, I couldn't sleep, nor get comfortable. There was a bug in my tent which wasn't threatening or annoying enough to merit me getting up and ejecting it and I figured I'd swallowed bigger insects, so I just ignored it. But I was cold, and the floor, despite my mat, was hard and bumpy. All I could do was wait. There weren't even any soporific rain drops to help carry me off or inspire me to alliterate.

Camping Day 3

The 2022 Scottish Short Film Festival

On the weekend of 24/25 September 2022 the 10th anniversary Scottish Short Film Festival (SSFF) was held at the Scottish Storytelling Centre in John Knox House on the Royal Mile. The red carpet was out, the banners were up and the stage was glittering with awards from Judges’ 1st Prize to Golden Raptor.

One of the growing list of independent film festivals that has sprung up in the past decade to showcase and encourage film in and about Scotland, the SSFF has continued to shine a light on home-grown talent, providing a stage for those interested in pursuing careers, dreams and passion in the film industry.

This year the festival received a record-breaking 122 entries, or around 22 hours’ run-time, all with a relation to Scotland. These films were then carefully scrutinized by seven experienced and qualified judges, and reviewed and rated across many criteria, from editing to sound. Those film-makers whose films were unable to be shown were given advice and feedback on their craft for perhaps getting their films shown at festivals in the future.

Me and my Wallace & Grommit tie

The festival has been held in many venues over the years, including the Grosvenor Cinema in Glasgow when their inaugural festival was hosted by celebrated actor David Anderson in 2012, Howden Park Centre in Livingston, The Bathgate Regal, The Glasgow Art School and even the Crowne Plaza Hotel on the banks of the River Clyde.

Returning festival director Chris Young said, “Every year we are consistently surprised and delighted by the creativity, ingenuity, style, talent, skill and humour that exist in the film-making community in Scotland, and those around the world with an interest in Scotland.

“It was wonderful to host the event right in the centre of the capital this year,” says Chris. “surrounded by so much historic Scottish culture, and in the Scottish Storytelling Centre no less, because isn’t that really what film is all about?”

The SSFF not only awarded 19 prizes this year, but most came with nominations, giving even more accolades for people in the industry to add to their résumés.

Asked if there are ever any challenges to be overcome, Chris said, “There are always hiccups and surprises along the way. One year I was prevented from getting into Glasgow for a radio interview because it was so hot the rails were melting and signal boxes malfunctioning. Sometimes technical equipment that was working fine one moment just refuses to the next.”

The red carpet

But the last straw for Chris was getting his I-phone stolen halfway through an event in Glasgow in 2019. “I’d either stupidly or naively left it on the sound desk during the intermission. It was a sell out crowd thanks to the amazing efforts of Gina Vereker, and things were going great. I was using the phone to message host William Samson notes about each film backstage. But when I came back from the bar it was gone.” Panic ensued. The technician went away to check CCTV footage, leaving Chris in the booth with a sea of incomprehensible buttons and lights before him, and the mics didn’t come on for a Q&A, rendering the host and film guests on stage speechless, literally. “But we got through it. The worst part was trying to learn how to read train timetables again in order to get home.”

From that night Chris vowed it was his last film festival. But fortunately Gina Vereker was there to carry the torch over the next two years, expertly navigating the pandemic and lockdowns, taking everything smoothly online and into the 21st century.

Awards!

“This way were able to go worldwide and reach a much bigger, international audience with the films. We hosted the 2020 awards ceremony live-streaming while adhering to social distancing guidelines, windows open and cats everywhere, using a green screen in Gina’s kitchen. On camera it actually looked great.”

The 2021 awards ceremony was live-streamed from the Glasgow studio of one of their long-standing sponsors Acting Coach Scotland, hosted by Olivia Millar-Ross. “Olivia and the Acting Coach Scotland team were a real pleasure to work with. Professional, experienced and charming.”

The 1815 team

With Gina at the helm and Chris as advisor and technical assistant, running the festival online presented its own challenges. “It was like building a plane in the air,” says Chris. “We had no idea what to do – we just had to do it using what we knew and what we had available.”

After the success of two online events, Gina was ready to move on, and asked Chris if he would take the annually recurring event back on again. “Gina and I both love film events, but making films and organising events are two separate skillsets, one more stressful while the other more creative,” says Chris. “And I’m getting to an age where my body doesn’t always agree enthusiastically with what my mind tells it to do.”

But despite all the niggling worries and concerns, Chris agreed to take the festival back on again. “If I can keep a work-life balance and be more zen-like about the whole thing, maybe it’ll be okay.” And this year, with plenty of exercise, pre-planning, healthy eating and drinking, and a smaller, more inclusive venue, it worked.

A key pressure-reducer was the kind provision of accommodation in the centre of Edinburgh by another sponsor: Private House Stays. “One of the worst parts of the situation is trying to get home after a screening when you’re buzzing and exhausted and have mind-fog. So I called up Private House Stays hoping to get a discount and share some mutual publicity and they offered me a free stay, not just for one night, for two!”

So was it a success this year? “I think it was. My job at the end of the day was to turn up, make sure the films played, and hand out a few awards. As long as those things went smoothly, I was happy, and they did. We had a great team. The staff at the SSC were fantastic, our volunteers Ben McBain and Ryan Vallo were invaluable, the film-makers seemed happy with the way their films were played, and the audience were satisfied with the amazing selection of films this year. We also couldn’t have achieved what we did without our sponsors, including Wexpresif in Livingston, who helped fund a live captioner to transcribe anything said on stage into captions on the big screen, and Solar Bear who provided a sign language interpreter for any members in the audience who were deaf, making the Saturday screening much more inclusive.”

Eric Romero & Rachel Flynn (Terminal Happiness)

The winners:

1815, written & directed by Neil Boyle, won : Best Actor (Iain MacRae), Best Sound (Scott Walker), Best Cinematography (Kasparas Vidūnas), Best Script, Acting Coach Rising Star Award (Kayla Caldwell), Saturday Audience Choice and Judges’ 1st Prize.

Terminal Happiness, directed by Eric Romero, won : Best Costume / Make Up (Kerttu Reinmaa & Elise Sepp), Best Music (Margaryta Kulichova), Best Director and Sunday Audience Choice. 

Whale Heart, written and directed by Phillip Edge, won : Judges’ 2nd Prize and Private House Stays Most Creative/Original.

Snapshot, written by Steve Johnson and Carrie Dodds, directed by Steve Johnson, won Best Actress (Kirsty Strain).

Shooting Animals, written and directed by Libby Penman, won Best Documentary.

Professor Henry Bowfax’s Fantastic Journey Through Time! written and directed by Robert Howat, won The Golden Raptor Award.

Neolith, written and directed by Garry & Ross Ferrier, won Best Editing.

The Longest Line, directed by Ellie & Matt Green, won the Thomas Haywood Best Use Of Scottish Landscape Award.

Love Letter To Glasgow, by Myria Chrystophini won Best Animation.

So will you run it again next year? Chris says, “Don’t know yet. It was a great weekend with so many outstanding films and heart-warming to see so many smiles and meet new people, but I need a rest. Ask me again in a month or so.”

Find out more about the film festival by visiting www.scottishshortfilmfestival.com
Facebook - www.facebook.com/ScottishShortFilmFestival
Twitter - @ScottishShorts
Instagram - Scottishshortfilmfestival

Heart Of Scotland 4 : Aberfeldy & Dun Coillich

Woke up at around 6:30am and decided to try my hand with the volcano kettle. Unfortunately we were only allowed to make a fire in the fire pit at the corner of the campsite near the river, which made lighting with the zippo problematic. Also, the sticks we'd harvested from the bush near our house turned out to be not very flammable. Experimented with building a small fire with kettle on it first, which didn't work, then starting the fire first and putting the kettle on top, which burnt my hands, before trying to light a fire outside the fire pit, which someone else had done on the sand, which didn't work either. Luckily, however, between the three ways the water had, although not boiled, gotten hot enough to make coffee.

We had a nice breakfast and I began to feel better after my volcanic failure. Used the gas stove to heat more water for tea. Ahh, technology!

At some point we realised our son had left his walking boots outside the car in the car park back in Callander 50 miles away. Wonderful. No doubt because he'd been so absorbed by the crappy blue cap gun and its crappy silencer. I'd toyed with the idea of driving  back to see if they were still there (50% chance of that, I reckoned) but in the end decided the two hour round-trip, cost of fuel, wear and tear on the car etc. all probably accumulated to about the same cost of a new pair of boots. So we decided to drive in to Aberfeldy for some new ones instead.

Castle Menzies

Stopped at Castle Menzies for coffee and carrot cake. If my second name had been Menzies we may have even forked out the twenty odd quid to go round the museum. (Actually on second thoughts I'd probably have felt we should have gotten in for free!) Saw a stallion urinating in a field round the back. That was a first. No idea if he was Italian so don't ask.

Aberfeldy Cinema Cafe Bar

Aberfeldy, described (perhaps a little unfairly) in the Lonely Planet Guide To Scotland as "a shabby town and rough after dark", seemed fine to me. We parked behind Tesco and walked up to the centre where we saw a nice cinema/cafe/bar and had lunch in the Fountain. (There I killed a wasp with said Lonely Planet and put another outside by trapping it within two coke glasses, elevating myself to undisputed wasp-exiting legend in the eyes of staff and customers both). I had lasagne, my wife had a baked potato, and our son had an enormous cheese burger and chips which I helped him finish (Delicious. The clever lad had even had the forethought to put a few chips in the burger). 

There was a guy outside at a table who was the spitting image of Eric Clapton and I was tempted to go out and ask for his autograph (even if it was "To Chris, all the best, Dave").

Made our way up the road apiece to a shop called Munros which had some good walking boots and a face scarf for our boy, 4 replacement Maglight bulbs (which I'd been searching for for about twenty years), and a bunch of other great stuff. Very helpful staff too. 

Made sure to get the hell out before sunset.

Climbing Dun Coillich

After stocking up on supplies we drove back to the campsite, and I decided I was going to climb the hill at the back called Dun Coillich (572m - known as a Marilyn on Walkhighlands.co.uk). Our son said he'd join me.

We drove up the 500 yards to the car park (as per the campsite owner's advice) only to find a message on my phone from wifey asking us to bring the cool box back to the campsite to put the recently purchased perishables into. So we drove back to the campsite, off-loaded said cool box, and returned to the car park (I got the turning right this time) and at last set off.

Our route up Dun Coillich.
Note Geographical Centre Of Scotland nearby

The way was marked with green and white markers which helped greatly. (If only life was thus signposted. "Fame and Stardom 50yds on left") They were painted stakes stuck in the ground every 20 yards or so. We were to follow green & white until roughly between the two hills, and there was to be another path branching off to the right that would hopefully take us up to the peak. I was wearing my blue shorts, waterproof jacket and JCB work boots. Son was in new boots, black trousers and black jacket. I thought to take the umbrella just in case. Turned out good we did as it f*&^ing p*^&(*ed down.

I was a little concerned about ticks and checked and rubbed my legs continuously. My son and I took turns taking point and pushing on through the ferns, nettles and showers as best we could. It wasn't long before our feet were thoroughly soaked, and the hill didn't seem to be getting any closer, although the views of the campsite below were definitely getting better and further away. My son kept voicing his concerns and I did my best to encourage him and press onwards and upwards. It helped to focus on our feet and not fret about the immensity of the task ahead.

Whose idea was this again?

At last we came to the turn off - white dots on green. We turned right at a red marker and followed the new ones up between two more peaks, unsure which one we'd be scaling. It got pretty steep and we decided to just keep our heads down and rest at every marker. After the steep bit it levelled out again and a little later we came to a solitary, final marker in the mist, but no cairn. And it didn't feel like we'd reached the top. Felt more like we were in a saddle. But no more markers. On a hunch we headed up the right hand slope, doubling back southwards, just tramping over the shallow heather/gorse/bracken, slightly ascending and looking back now and then to keep the final marker in our sights.

The cairn! Damn, forgot to bring a rock. Back to the bottom!

We made it! After about a hundred yards we reached the top, and simultaneously found the cairn, saw a cloudy, mist-laden panoramic view, and were blasted in the face by quasi-sleet being blown hard at a 30º angle. We only paused at the top to take a couple of out-of-focus selfies, partake in one or two well-earned high fives and catch our breath before withdrawing to the lee-side of our approach and back to the relative safety of the final marker.

Click to expand

Coming down we were rewarded every few yards with what seemed like a different photo opportunity, and there was a lot of fishing in the pouch for the camera to snap a great view. It had taken us about an hour to get to the top and we took our way down slowly and carefully.

This, however, did not prevent me from twisting my left ankle badly and taking a tumble, ending up with a few spikes from some thistle or other in my palm, but otherwise unscathed. Fortunately this happened near the foot of the hill. Turns out my JCB steel-toe capped workbooks were not suitable for hillwalking after all.

These boots were not made for walking

Glad also it was me and not my son, because that would have put him off hill-walking for life and completely negated the whole point of the character-building exercise.

We got back to the car and my ankle felt fine. Very glad of the walking stick I'd bought on instinct in Callander. Poured water out of our boots. Dried off as best we could. Note to self: Have dry shoes, socks and a towel in the car next time you go hiking in Scotland.

The descent also took about an hour, meaning a round trip of two hours up and down. Would have been 1:45 without tumble and selfies.

Really glad of the automatic Toyota as we drove down the hill back to the campsite (no need to use left foot on clutch).

Anyway, it was a great experience and I hope my son will carry it on in the future.

We treated ourselves to a hot chocolate as a reward

Heart Of Scotland 3 : Glengoulandie

We packed up, checked out and assured the nice Chinese man at reception that everything had been perfect even though it would have been more beneficial for him to know that it wasn't perfect for the simple reasons that:

1) I had no bedside table until we bought the camping one

2) there were no biscuits with the tea and coffee

3) breakfast had not been included (even though I hadn't paid for or ordered any)

Map of Callander (click to enlarge) 

   My wife wanted to stroll around town again so we did that and stopped at our usual place for coffee and danish. The young woman who was assisting the boss quipped some very funny one-liners in a kind of laid-back, stoner style which made me want to sign her up immediately for a podcast. Instead, we ordered our brunch, including among other things a gluten-free muffin for my intolerant wife. She opened the wrapping and then decided to read the ingredients. Turned out the muffin had gluten coming out of its ears. It had gluten up the wazoo. It had more gluten than you could shake a stick at. It was basically a wheat muffin. She was not impressed. I was charged with returning the product and informing the owner of the extent of its glutenness maximus. The owner was mortified, very apologetic and grateful we had pointed it out as her child was also gluten intolerant and appreciated how bad a situation it could have become. They gave us a refund and our son a free apple & cinnamon bun that was so delicious he ended up eating half the wrapper. Luckily it had no nuts in it because that would have been ... ironic.

   After getting a new fishing reel and a cheap, crappy, blue cap gun with no caps included (I had not been privy to this transaction) for our son, I wanted to at least do one of the walks in the booklets I'd procured from the tourist info. So we set off, with our car and roof-box all fully packed and ready to go, in search of Bracklinn Falls. We drove up to the woods, changed into our walking boots, and set off.

Bracklinn Falls

   It was a pleasant stroll and a good choice for a small family training for the Munros I thought. We were to go along, over a bridge, up the other side, over another bridge and back down to the car park. Sadly though, our walk was cut short as the first bridge near the falls was shut for maintenance, so we had no choice but to retrace our steps (deja vu, I know). 

A nice bridge, but alas currently not functional

   We got into the car, changed our shoes (while my son complained about the crappiness of the crappy silencer on his crappy blue cap gun that had no caps) and headed to Tesco's for supplies before setting off on the next leg of our four-legged journey, along the top of Loch Tay to Glengoulandie campsite.

   On the way I tried to progress our son's musical education with a listen to 'Hour Of The Bewilderbeast' by Badly Drawn Boy, but to my dismay he fell asleep almost instantly. At least he didn't throw up.

Map to Glen Goulandie Campsite

   I had hoped to stop somewhere on the north bank of Loch Tay to spark up the volcano kettle but unfortunately the road was too high for access, so we had no choice to drive on. I took a turn prematurely (Ooh, Matron) and we had a moment of disorientation (at one point there were three cars pausing at an intersection probably all thinking the same thing - where the fuck are we?) before realising we could just continue parallel to the road we'd been on towards Coshieville, hang a left, and push on through the driving rain up the 1.5 track road to the campsite. Our son was no help, snoring as he was in the passenger seat, blissfully unaware of either Badly Drawn Boy or our moment of being lost.

No idea what this is

   Our son came to just as we pulled into the campsite, we checked in (very nice couple) and succeeded in getting the big green tent up in between showers. What hassle that was! All the doors and windows had been left open and the guy ropes were all loose and tying the thing up. The beast was half inside-out. We'd put in the groundsheet too early and the straps which were now over the groundsheet should have been under it. It was like trying to put a lime-green, screaming toddler octopus into a car seat.

Warning: Both male and female chickens check these toilets

   The shop only sold coffee, snacks and other essentials, so we had to depend on what we'd purchased from Tesco for the night and breakfast tomorrow. We dined in the tent at the table, played some cards and D & D and went to bed when the light failed badly enough for us to not be able to read the monster character cards. I didn't sleep that great, but if I'd known how bad it was going to be the next night I would have appreciated it more.

A view of Glengoulandie Campsite. Deer abound

   The soporific sounds of raindrops on tent carried us off on a one-way ticket to airbed unconsciousness. 

   Next - Part 4 : Aberfeldy & Dun Coillich

Heart Of Scotland 2 : Beinn Dearg

Woke up still a bit painful behind the eyes and almost threw up attempting to look at myself in the mirror. Now I know how other people feel. (Having to look at my face, I mean, not their own). 

After nursing a gentle breakfast of croissants, fruit and coffee, though, I began to come around while watching Nightmare Kitchens USA with Gordon Ramsay, which was a lot of fun (I mean he was on TV, not we were sharing a room). I used to work as a waiter and kitchen porter so I can totally understand where he's coming from a lot of the time. It's very satisfying seeing him butt heads with people who think they're king of the castle.

A beautiful big church dominates Callander square

After breakfast, it being a much cooler, cloudier, breezier day, we strolled down the north side of the street and popped in and out of occasional stores that piqued our interest. In the hope of musically educating our son during car journeys I bought a couple of CDs (Finley Quaye ("It's great when we're together..." A Scottish musician!) and Badly Drawn Boy). A cup of coffee and apricot danish which we (I) enjoyed while sitting outside near the church went down well and put paid to my headache. The Main Street was so busy with caravans and motorhomes it seemed that Callander was just a place to pause in transit - or just drive through - on the way to and from other spots for most people.

Some nice architecture in town

We continued our stroll and bought the last camping table in Regatta for £25 (which would turn out to be invaluable), an ornate walking stick for £30 in the fishing/camping shop (to fight off wolves and bears while climbing Munros), and a Dungeons and Dragons starter pack for £25 in the games shop. "I haven't tried this one yet," said the shop assistant, "but I want to." "Something to play with the kids," I said, and then worried it sounded like I thought role playing games were not a dignified way for adults to spend their time, "And myself of course!"

Don't forget to hashtag Hashtag

We came home, had a very nice lunch, and my son and I played the first half of D & D and killed a few monsters using too many dice with too many sides, before going out to attempt to climb a nearby hill called Beinn Dearg (427m). 

I was beginning to realise that a Munro was out of the question for my family to do together, so a touch of training was in order. I scanned the walkhighlands website for nearby hills under 2000 feet, and Beinn Dearg came up.

The path to Beinn Dearg never did run smooth

 Only trouble was, there was no route to the top according to Walkhighlands. There was a path halfway up and then Google just drew a rather optimistic 'as the crow flies' blue dotted curve to the summit. On closer inspection there seemed to be a line through the trees I thought we could follow. So we set off in the car around 3pm. There must be a way, I thought, if there's a will.

A mountain to the north, viewed from Beinn Dearg, capped with cloud

The drive southwest from Callander was pleasant enough, and it was easy to find the car park next to the loch (we could have used the volcano kettle on the shore but alas no coffee, milk, tea or sugar! (note to self : keep stuff together!))

The views along Loch Venachar from Beinn Dearg were well worth it

We walked up a zigzag forestry commission road which allowed for some great views up and down the loch, but after 45 minutes' climb it just stopped at a viewpoint, and the trees uphill seemed impenetrable. Insects were also beginning to devour my wife. Turned out there was neither a will nor a way, so we retraced our steps. Failed to reach top but good starter hike for us all. Total walk round trip: 90 mins. Then back to town.

Who could forget that shop where we bought the fudge?
What was it called again?

Went back to the hotel after waiting 50 mins for our order to be made up at the Chinese Village restaurant (I was about to walk out before ordering (as I'm sure Gordon Ramsay would have done) but we were assured it was worth the wait by a couple who left, and it was. To be fair, everywhere in Callander seemed to be short-staffed, probably due to the change in lockdown restrictions. We got prawn fried rice, sweet & sour chicken and I had a kind of sweet garlic and honey chicken strips thing with boiled rice and a side order of prawn crackers. It was delicious and we stuffed our faces with plenty to spare. They'd even given us an extra order of fried rice, either by mistake or by way of apology. Very kind!

This could be Rotterdam.

After finishing our game of D & D, our son was out like a light and we all followed suit.

Next - Part 3 : Glengoulandie