Clackmannan and coal mines

As a resident of West Fife, my wanderings often take me into the neighbouring county of Clackmannanshire. Known affectionately as the Wee County, the administrative centre has since 1822 been Alloa, now the biggest town within the boundaries. Industry developed around Alloa's proximity to the River Forth and the area was a brewing powerhouse until well into the 20th century. The smaller settlement of Clackmannan is just a couple of miles along the shore and contains some worthy historical monuments. I had visited the site of Kennet House (pictured below) two weeks previously and had viewed the extant walled garden. This expedition prompted me to piece together a Clackmannan Heritage walk and today I planned to complete the proposed circuit in order to finalise a report for the website.

Clackmannan initially grew as a settlement on the the tidal stretch of the River Black Devon which empties into the Firth of Forth. There are now no visible signs of the old port and the modern town sits over a mile inland. The locals tried to keep their harbour viable by digging out the silt but to no avail. Today the town is bypassed on the way to Alloa but it's certainly worth having a look at the main drag and hiking up to the the tower. I have visited this 14th-century building a few times and it sits atop a small hill overlooking the water. The similar tower house in Alloa can easily be spotted further upstream. The interior of Clackmannan Tower is normally closed to the public due to structural concerns. Official guided tours are organised once a year as part of the Doors Open scheme and I had the good fortune to attend one of those events a few years ago. Today I was merely walking by before heading down the other side of the slope and doubling back towards the town. I've written about the tower and included photographs on other blog posts. The tolbooth stands proudly at the end of Main Street. It is flanked by the Mannan Stone which – for want of a better expression – resembles a giant penis. The experts agree it dates from pre-Christian times but not all is as Pagan as it may seem. The county of Clackmannan takes its name from this stone - but not the entire monolith on display today, merely the rounded, smaller element on top. This is the real Stone of Mannan. The tall upright pillar was only attached in the early part of the 19th century. But it certainly looks more impressive now!

At the turn of the 21st century, the stone was caged by the local council as it was beginning to crumble and in danger of collapse. It was repaired at the staggering cost of £160,000. Qualified masons insist the job could have been done for a fraction of that cost with equal efficiency. Always keep an eye on where your Council Tax is going! Only the belfry tower of the tolbooth remains and it dates from the late 1500s. The Mercat Cross completes the heritage trio and is adorned with the crest of the Bruce family. My next destination was the cycle track which once formed the route of the Dunfermline to Stirling railway, now reopened for passengers at the Stirling end but only as far as Alloa. Tracks do pass through Clackmannan but this line is a mothballed freight connection to the former Longannet power station at Kincardine. There was originally a passenger halt but this closed as far back as 1930 and the station grounds are now built upon. There have been repeated calls to open this link up and offer a service between Alloa and Dunfermline, with possible extensions to Edinburgh and Glasgow. These words continue to fall on deaf ears and I don't see any realistic prospect of the proposal being greenlit any time soon. One stumbling block is the expense required to re-signal the route for passenger traffic and replace the entire track. These are the counter arguments to the cries of "the line is already there". As far as Fife is concerned, a westward railway to Glasgow would be slower (and almost certainly more expensive and infrequent) than the existing express bus route and you have to wonder what the actual take-up would be. I'm a lifelong rail nerd but - beyond initial curiosity - would I really shell out extra cash for a mode of transport that offered me less flexibility and efficiency?

I walked for a quarter mile along the old railway to the viaduct over the Black Devon. The chimney for the old Cherryton Brickworks is a local landmark. This plant closed in 1976 and the remains are engulfed by dense vegetation. I did fight my way through while walking the cycleway a few years ago but decided against such a move today. I planned to mention the chimney in the walk report but couldn't seriously expect participants to stray into semi-jungle. Does anyone actually follow my walking routes? Surprisingly, yes! I received an email from a chap called Royston Goodman who had used my instructions to find his way to Maggie Duncan's Stone - actually just along the road from where I stood right at this moment. Curiously, I would randomly encounter Royston in a few hours time and he will appear in this write-up. I also received feedback from a lady on Instagram who went by the handle of Hiking Bairn. She had posted pics on her own page from some of my suggested walks around the Falkirk and Stirling area. Good to know that my ramblings are read now and again. Back on the trail - I followed a woodland path alongside the water then emerged in open arable farmland. I had a lovely view of the Clackmannan skyline with the tower and church offsetting the image nicely. Sometimes the most memorable panoramas are those which open up unexpectedly. I also noticed a sign pointing to a mill one mile distant. As this would have prevented me from neatly closing the circle, I opted to leave it for another day. My heritage loop was now mapped and personally checked via boots on the ground. I was home before lunchtime and the sun was streaming down. On a whim I jumped back in the car and decided to check out the site of Solsgirth Mine, closed in the early 90s.

Aside from the industrial significance, another reason for visiting this location was to check out my first county tripoint - in this case the place where the counties of Fife, Clackmannan and Kinross converge. The fact the tripoint was formed by the joining of two streams meant it should be easy enough to pinpoint. I've always been fascinated by borders and boundaries and enjoy crossing from one country to another on foot. I've heard about a picnic table in eastern Europe which straddles the corners of Austria, Hungary and Slovakia. I'd love to dine there. There is also a library on the US-Canadian border which has its entrance on the American side but the floorspace extends into Canada. Closer to home, the English town of Todmorden is cut in two by the traditional Yorkshire Lancashire boundary. The town hall was purposely erected across the divide (although nowadays for administrative purposes, the whole town is within the territory of West Yorkshire Council). Today's mission was a little more obscure - although I'm certain Andy Strangeway would heartily approve. A Yorkshireman, Andy details his British geographical quests on his blog. One project was to spend a night at each country tripoint across the UK. Depending on the terrain, Andy's lodgings could be a tent, bivy bag or his car. A selection of his other achievements is visiting all 162 Scottish islands of 40 hectares or above, sleeping at the six extreme points of Great Britain on six consecutive nights, repeating the previous idea for Yorkshire and Lancashire and sleeping at the summits of all English counties. Andy - quite rightfully - describes himself as an adventurer and claims that - to the best of his knowledge - nobody has emulated his feats. No chance of him being wrong there! In fact, I must send him an email and get hold of his book. His website goes on to state he had to put his travels on hold for a few years as he went and got himself elected as a councillor!

I had driven past the Solsgirth Colliery entrance on many occasions without really knowing the history of the site. It was now an area of waste ground after a proposed housing development fell through. I used Google Maps to determine a couple of points where I could squeeze my car off the main road. I had actually started planning this expedition on the first official night of lockdown. Who said staying at home stifled creativity?! Another car was parked across the old gateway into the pit complex and I pulled into a tiny lay-by 100 yards further on. Figuring the tripoint would be hidden away in the woods, I opted to explore the colliery site first. I passed a couple of ransacked huts and portacabins which I reckoned were part of the doomed development. There were no obvious signs (to my eyes) of old mining operations. Anything of any value would have been sold for scrap long ago. But the overgrown roads and piles of rubble provided a heavy post-industrial feel. Old chains and steel ropes were lying around, along with assorted smaller pieces of debris. The site hadn't been completely cleared. At this point I spotted an older chap poking around in the distance. Another urban explorer no doubt. Despite the dereliction, nature was positively thriving here and I startled a deer while climbing one of the green-covered mounds to survey the entire area. Birds were singing and it was as if a wildlife reserve was slowly forming before me. I scrambled back down, turned a corner and bumped into - you've guessed it - Royston Goodman. We hadn't met in person before and initially we chatted generally about the mining industry and exploring the remains. Then he let his name slip and immediately I placed him as the guy who had contacted me about the route to Maggie Duncan's Stone. Royston explained he was piecing together a couple of heritage mining trails in conjunction with Stirling University - a man cut from the same cloth as me, although one far more knowledgeable about coal. He had himself worked at Solsgirth and surrounding pits for many years and had also enjoyed a stint down an African copper mine!

The collieries in my hometown of Lochgelly (and neighbouring Cowdenbeath) had all vanished by the end of the 60s but the area retained an opencast industry and - as a schoolboy - I saw buses picking up local miners bound for the handful of surviving deep mines in the wider region. They all seemed to disappear in the years following the bitter nationwide strike of 84-85. Almost as if the government hunted them down with a vengeance, which they probably did. By the mid-90s only Longannet was still in operation, supplying the adjacent power station with coal. A disastrous underground flood in 2002 put paid to this arrangement and King Coal beat a final retreat. Solsgirth had been one of a few mines linked to Longannet by a sophisticated underground transport belt. Some five miles in length, coal was placed on to the belt at intermediate points and Royston had walked along and worked on the entire system. No wonder he had been headhunted for the heritage project. Our conversation included some technical talk that I just about grasped and we parted ways, vowing to keep in touch. I've since had a few emails from Royston and have also spotted him contributing to the West Fife Woodlands Group. Finding old stones is another of his passions. He suggested I take a look at the remains of Casterbridge Colliery a couple of miles up the road and tipped me off about a handy hole in the fence. Sounded like a great idea, but first I had to track down the tripoint. The obvious method to employ was to find one stream and follow it. The vegetation wasn't too dense and I stood at the meeting of three historic counties. Enough sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees to take a decent picture. I included it in a post on the Woodlands Group about my day's exploring and the tripoint attracted quite a few likes. People find this sort of thing intriguing. Oh - and did I do the one foot in each county stance? What do you think?

Castlebridge - not to be confused with nearby Castlehill - is now mostly empty ground but apparently the outbuildings were left in a state of decay for many years until final demolition. Looks like I missed trick there. You can wander freely around the vast site, which has rail tracks embedded in the ground. A few lampposts still stand and chunks of equipment are dotted here and there. Signage points to nowhere and flights of stairs end abruptly. Traffic rushes by on the busy A985 but you are well screened from view as you explore the apocalyptic-style landscape. Longannet power station is now closed as is the major opencast operation at Kelty. There can't be many people at all who handle coal as part of their working lives nowadays. Protecting our environment is now paramount and cleaner forms of energy are required. That said, you have to wonder if progress is best accomplished by completely abandoning one source of fuel. Nuclear power makes a lot of sense from a generational standpoint but is obviously a political no-go area. Both my grandfathers and their fathers before them were miners, as were the fathers of my grandmothers. Black diamonds stud my very soul and thank heavens future generations will not have to endure the horrendous underground working conditions.

Highland Holiday

The Covid crisis had put paid to our planned German trip and a short "staycation" was to be the sum total of this summer's holidaymaking. Not to worry, there is never a shortage of places in your own country to explore and we decided to take a trip up north. Premier Inn were offering good deals on their hotel rooms and we duly booked four nights in Inverness. The hotel bar and restaurant would be closed for the duration of our stay and there would be no cleaning or any other type of room service due to the pandemic. That was neither here nor there to me. As long as I had a comfy room with wi-fi and a TV, I'd be perfectly happy. We left after Nicole finished her home office shift and were up in Inverness around 8pm. Early to bed in preparation for the next day's activities.

First on the list was a trip to Cawdor Castle in Nairnshire. The journey was just 15 miles and we soon pulled up in the car park. It was pre-booking only and a limited number of people were being admitted at at time for social distancing purposes. We were immediately struck by the beauty of the building and the grounds were very pleasant. With two large gardens to explore, there would clearly be a lot to see, even though the castle interior was off-limits due to the virus. The wee corner of the courtyard containing the gift shop had been kept open and access was via an ancient wooden drawbridge. Certainly and impressive piece of engineering. The name Cawdor reminded me of studying Higher English in 87/88. We read Macbeth and one of the characters in the Scottish Play is the Thane of Cawdor. The castle however is never referred to in the text. Unsurprising, as it was built hundreds of years after the 11th-century setting of Shakespeare's romp. A 15-century tower house forms the core of the castle and many additions have been bolted on over the years. A Category-A listed building, the grounds are included in the culturally significant Scottish Inventory of Gardens and Designed Landscapes. It was impossible to argue against this as we strolled into the flower garden. Beautifully tended and manicured, the displays were breath taking and composed of every conceivable colour. The sort of place where you could sit on a bench on a warm day and just let the surroundings soothe your soul. It wasn't really lounging weather today and we kept on the move. A doorway from the garden led into the woodland where an extensive network of trails awaited discovery. We contented ourselves with one of the shorter circuits as the uneven ground didn't agree with Nicole's achilles tendon injury. Ancient trees abounded and I'm sure a botanist could have had a field day studying the array of plant life and fungi. Apparently the woods contain over 130 species of lichen.

The area near the castle is styled as the Wild Garden which extends into Big Wood. This contains more tree varieties than you can shake an, er, stick at, including birch, aspen, rowan, wych elm, holly and juniper. Also present are Scots pine, oak and beech. That's a serious amount of arboreal action! For those who lose their way under the thick canopy, the castle website has a stunningly simple - but no doubt extremely effective - piece of advice. Walk until you come to a burn or brook and follow it downstream – all water leads to the Castle. The Flower Garden dates from 1725 and the Walled Garden goes back even further. Following the petal extravaganza I'd just witnessed, I didn't expect to be blown away as I strode into the next compound. Developed over the years and with the addition of a host of exotic seeds in the late 17th century, the Walled Garden morphed into one of the finest Victorian spaces of its kind. Due to increasing number of visitors to the Castle, with some of them helping themselves to the garden's treasures, it was eventually closed to the public. The top half of the Walled Garden was later transformed into a maze, taking inspiration from the mosaic floor of the ruined Roman villa of Conimbriga in Portugal. As recently as 2015, American-born sculptor Gregory Ryan created the Minotaur that stands visibly and proudly in the middle of the Cawdor labyrinth. There were many surprising pockets to discover. A nice change from the usual open layout of a traditional walled enclosure. Fully satisfied with our Cawdor Castle experience, we drove the few miles to the town of Nairn. Passing the football stadium with the club's name - Nairn County - emblazoned along the boundary wall was a reminder that this area is a historic shire of Scotland. Other than passing through on the A96, I'd never been in Nairn before. It was time to go and have a look around.

The town was bustling and we had a quick wander around the central streets, popping into a couple of shops. It transpired the harbour was around a mile distant and offered the prospect of some decent birdwatching. We hopped back into the car and drove down to the quayside, parking close to the beach and grabbing an ice cream. There is a useful phone app called Where to Watch Birds in Scotland. A simple set-up, the map of the country is covered in pins marking potential viewing spots and you can zoom in and click for more detailed information and directions. The pier apparently provided a good vantage point to see wading birds going about their business. We weren't disappointed and saw a slew of redshanks scuttling around the rock pools and also several curlew. I love the way the latter bird pokes about the stones with its long curved beak. It's one of the first species I photographed in earnest and I do occasionally style myself as the Curlew King! A great shame that numbers are declining on a national basis. Don't be fooled into thinking the population is secure because you often see them wandering about on the coast. The real problem is the destruction of inland breeding habitat. The mass grazing of sheep causes curlew eggs to be trampled upon, as does the sheer number of people stomping about off-path. When will we ever learn? The remainder of the day was spent on the Black Isle - a peninsula just north of Inverness. A spit of land extending into the Moray Firth is known as Chanonry Point and is often visited by a pod of dolphins. Many people go - with all manner of photography equipment - to try and catch sight of the elegant marine mammals. We had previously been lucky on a couple of occasions and hopes were high for today. The car-parking facilities at Chanonry are now inadequate for the volume of vehicles making their way down the single track road through the golf course. A couple of cars ahead of us turned back after failing to find a space. We hung around more in hope than expectation and fortunately a couple of families departed. We gleefully filled the gap.

The most common time to see dolphins is on a rising tide. They follow the fish brought by the incoming currents and the sloping shingle beach at Chanonry offers a good view of the surrounding deep water channels. There are however no guarantees and we are no strangers to hanging around by the water's edge, only for nothing to appear. When the dolphins do arrive, the results can be spectacular and they can be observed leaping out of the sea. Lady Luck was with us and it wasn't long until we saw the tell-tale fins protruding above the surface. Not an amazing show but a solid 7 out of 10 and well worth the journey. Trying to capture a dolphin in flight is a haphazard process at the best of times but I think I achieved pass marks for this shot. Once the excitement had subsided, we decided to drive across the Black Isle to the town of Cromarty on the northern shore. Nicole's friend had recommended an artisan pizzeria and we booked a takeaway slot. Many restaurants were still not ready to begin admitting seated customers. I'm more than happy to munch away in the car however and it's certainly a cheaper option. By this time the rain was battering down and there was no serious prospect of finding a spot by the shore for an alfresco dinner. A pity, as the view of the oilrigs in for repair is surely unmissable! Nicole even brought me a bottle of Cromarty ale which was quietly secreted on the back seat for consumption back at the hotel. I later read on the restaurant's website about the attached off-licence purveying a healthy range of craft beers. I guess that means we're coming back at some point! A good range of activities for the first full day away and tomorrow we planned to head up to an old stomping ground and take advantage of the most promising weather forecast.

Dornoch is the county town of Sutherland and it's a place we used to visit while on holiday at the caravan park in the village of Embo a couple of miles up the coast. My parents had a static van there for many years until it became too old for the site policy. They subsequently had it moved to Monifieth, near Dundee. Despite the more lenient rules here, the caravan eventually reached the age limit and my folks sold it to a local farmer. It probably now houses berry pickers who come to Scotland every summer from Eastern Europe in their thousands. Who will pick the fruit if the impending Brexit makes it difficult for migrant workers to travel to the UK? Dornoch has a population of just a couple of thousand but - rather like Kinross nearer home - has a disproportionate amount of services and businesses due to its administrative status. Thankfully the place has not yet been invaded by Tesco or any other supermarket chain (they can be found across the Dornoch Firth in Ross-Shire). It's a delight to visit the traditional butchers and bakers along with other independent retail outlets. Special mention must go to the charming bookshop which continues to trade defiantly in face of fierce competition from Amazon. I can't visit the place without making a purchase. I wonder how many others adopt this attitude? Does the "well you've got to buy something to support them" argument help keep these places open? It must surely have some effect. The only thing missing from the bookshop nowadays is the presence of Gilbert the cat. He used to sleep in a basket on the counter before passing away a few years back. As we left Inverness and crossed the Kessock Bridge, I turned off the A9 and pulled into the Black Isle Brewery. My last visit had been almost 15 years ago and we had taken the short tour. I remember seeing the bottles being capped by hand and thinking that working in beer production isn't always glamorous.

Even though some time has passed, I instantly realised the brewery was now located in larger premises. The old site had been a glorified wooden barn but the business was now housed in a gleaming modern building. I strode into the shop and this would be the limit of my exploration as brewery tours were on ice due to Corona. Straight away I noticed the output was almost exclusively canned, with a few token bottles cowering in the corner. I must admit it took me a while to embrace the new style tinnies as this container was historically associated with mass produced industrial beers. Serious ale drinkers always consumed their passion from a bottle was my line of thinking. As the so-called craft beer revolution went global, it became clear there was artisan product to be sampled, however there was an economic factor at play. A can typically holds a third of a litre while a bottle usually offers 500ml. The chic factor of craft often pushed the price of a can higher than glassware and you were paying more money for less ale. A mug's game, I concluded. I did eventually dip a toe into this new market (at a quid a pop from Aldi) and there's no doubt the trendy brews are refreshing and tasty. A million miles removed from the ocean of fizz poured upon us by mainstream brewers in previous decades. I remember dropping into the new craft-beer shop in Dunfermline and the proprietor mentioning that brewers would eventually all go down the can route. Well Hipster Joe would say that, I thought. But having spoken to a friend in the industry (who actually used to work at Black Isle) - I have revised my opinion somewhat. For transportation purposes, the bottles alone account for a significant amount of weight, leading to increased shipping costs. On the production side of things, cans create a completely airtight seal and block all light from ageing the beer. Okay, maybe there's something in this. Plus you don't need to hunt for a bottle opener! Converted to canning - for the day at least - I loaded up and was happy to pay £1.80 a tin.

After a stroll around Dornoch (where the bookshop was unfortunately closed), we drove the short distance to Grannie's Heilan' Hame campsite. I had written a letter of support to the bookshop during lockdown and had received a rather nice email in return. Doing my bit and showing that customers were still out there. Embo sits right on the coast and some of the caravans overlook the expansive beach. We had spent many happy holidays here and it was good to visit on a glorious day. As a child, my parents had brought us to Embo in their touring van and I used to love throwing myself off the sand dunes (charge-a-boom-ba was the battle cry) and exploring the rock pools. As an older teenager I saw the legendary folk duo Gaberlunzie perform up here while having a few pints with my dad. Happy days indeed. As expected, the beach thronged with people but the crowds quickly thinned out as we left the caravans behind. We walked a good mile and a half to the point where Loch Fleet meets the open sea. We witnessed plover chicks scuttling about in the sand and that was the birdy check-box well and truly ticked. On the way back, we cut through the site and had a look at the pier, now sadly fenced off due to erosion. I remember catching a couple of coalies here with a fishing line as a young lad (fried and eaten naturally). The static vans are obviously there all year round but the tent field and touring pitches were eerily vacant. It did seem rather harsh when my folks were "evicted" but I guess part of the business model is sustained by the continuing sale of new (and refurbished) vans. I don't know if I would ever take the plunge and buy a static. They depreciate at a frightening rate and you really have to be sure you're in it for the long term and have a base in mind that you'll happily visit time and time again. It's like having a holiday apartment and having ample space and mod-cons is certainly welcome when it rains heavily which - funnily enough - it does quite often up here.

We drove down to the viewpoint on the banks of Loch Fleet. When the tide is out you can nearly always see groups of seals lounging on the sandbanks. I always get the impression they have a great life, mainly consisting of eating and sleeping. Not too many predators either unless you swim out to shark-infested waters. I think I'll come back as a blubber boy after reincarnation! Having seen all our favourite sights, we headed back down the A9 to Inverness and settled in for the night. A longer expedition was scheduled for the following day. We'd be west-coast bound for the ferry port of Ullapool. I remember doing this drive way back in 2005 and being astonished that petrol was priced at over £1 a litre in these remote parts. I also recalled a fish and chips shop right on the seafront. Well that was lunch sorted! Before setting out on these long Highland drives, I tend to check the map for interesting stops along the way. I noticed a car park for Rogie Falls and investigated further. A short walk would take us down to the tumbling rapids where salmon could be seen leaping against the current during August and September. Might as well check it out! We duly arrived around 10am and already the car park was filling up, despite the obvious reduction in tourist numbers this year. Must be hoaching here during normal times. Several forest walks were signposted but we only had time for the quarter mile stroll down to the Black Water. We could hear the roaring torrent before we reached the river and the sight was spectacular. The churning waterfalls threw up a white spray and a suspension footbridge across the narrow valley offered a ringside view of the action. I checked the calendar and today was the 1st of August. Would the salmon stick to the timetable and respect the fact I'd travelled many miles to see them jump? Amazingly, they did! Even better - I managed to capture an iconic image of which the great David Attenborough would have been proud. You'll see my work on Blue Planet soon enough!

It is one of nature's great wonders that salmon make an arduous journey from the sea back to their spawning ground. Constantly battling the adverse currents and having to scale waterfalls where man has selfishly declined to build a helpful ladder. The amount of energy expended must be enormous. I think I'd be tempted to stay in saltwater and not worry too much about passing on my genes. Particularly when you consider that those who actually make it back to their birthplace usually die after spawning. With odds like these, I'd give fatherhood a miss. Seems to have served me well enough in the human world. Existential musings aside, I caught sight of a black flash against the foaming waters and yes indeed the salmon had arrived bang on cue. I was close enough to take a worthy photograph but actually capturing the subject would be a tough challenge. I resorted to the tried and tested method of point, click and hope. The stroke of genius was to press the shutter button as soon as I detected any hint of a fish about to spring. The theory and practice melded together well and I wowed social media with this stunning shot of a scaly one launching itself vertically. I don't think it made its target and was sent tumbling back down. How many attempts to they normally need? Do they sometimes meet an insurmountable obstacle? Do they ever say bugger this, I'm going back to sea? The questions a naturalist must pose! A great result and one that certainly set me up for the day. The winding road continued towards Ullapool and we stopped at a café and craft shop for a nose around. Upon arrival at our destination, we availed ourselves of the parking and toilet facilities provided by Tesco and ambled down to the shore. The ferry terminal is right in front of you and not the prettiest of backdrops but it provides jobs and vital transport links to the islands. The town is located on the sheltered banks of Loch Broom and if you look past the shipping activity there are lovely views of the surrounding hills.

First things first - hit that chippy! There was plenty bench seating around the harbour and we relaxed and replenished energy reserves while taking in the mixed atmosphere of industry and countryside. A wander along the seafront took us to a candle workshop staffed by vulnerable adults within the community. A worthy enterprise and again the type of place where you feel obliged to make a contribution. There but for the grace of God go I, and all that. We then found ourselves in a bookshop contained within a large entertainments venue known as the Ceilidh Place. In order to browse the books, plastic disposable gloves had to be worn which was an unusual experience. Great to see the place trading though. I picked up an award-winning account of race relations in the UK, by Afua Hirsch. An eye-opening read for sure and one that forces you to re-evaluate the way you think about supposed equal rights in the 21st century. The lady behind the counter turned out to be German and we chatted for a while in her native tongue. A really friendly place and I must send a Christmas card to wish them well. We strolled around the town and I noticed the little museum was open but a visit would have been rushed and I decided to leave it for another day. Perhaps it's desirable to have a reason for returning. The woman in the bookshop had recommend a lighthouse to visit, a few miles long the shore of the sea loch. We found the relevant single track road but turned tail at a farm half a mile in. It clearly wasn't going to be a leisurely driving experience and sheep were wandering free across the tarmac. We've seen many lighthouses and decided this one wasn't worth the hairy drive. We had earlier witnessed a car across the water slowly descending the steep face of a hill on a series of switchbacks. The Evel Knievel stuff is for the locals. I was here for a chilled-out potter around.

Time to hit the long winding road! We had one more stop planned on the way home. A gander at Corrieshalloch Gorge - a mile-long deep narrow canyon now designated as a national nature reserve. Carved by glacial meltwater, the natural feature is managed by the National Trust and a rather bouncy suspension bridge allows you to cross the gorge and gaze into the depths below. Only ten people are permitted on the bridge at any one time. A restriction you don't argue against! As expected, the roar of the waterfall echoes all around but what you maybe don't anticipate is the blast of cool air created by the micro climate in this truly spectacular place. No doubt Corrieshalloch attracts geologists and entomologists from across the globe (it's home to a rare species of crane fly, which benefits from the wet dead wood in the shaded areas) but as a layman it's wonderful to simply marvel at this force of nature. A path on the opposite side leads to another viewpoint which lets you look along the gorge and see the footbridge strung precariously above. On the return route we walked downstream after re-crossing rather than head straight up the staircase to the car-park. This path looped around in a mile-long circuit and climbed steeply to offer fine views of Loch Broom and the enveloping hills. Another action-packed day and a welcome rest back at the hotel. The next morning we were homeward bound but couldn't resist another trip to Chanonry Point to see if the dolphins would bid us farewell. Alas, we were all out of luck and nothing emerged from the waves. No guarantees in this game. We hit the A9 and stopped for a snack at the House of Bruar which was unbelievably busy. Those pesky staycationers no doubt!

Stirlingshire Urbex

After the Angus washout the previous day, the weather prospects were far better for a trip to the historic County of Stirling. I had a couple of urbex adventures planned and also decided to squeeze in a circular rural walk. My fist port of call would be the town of Drymen which is pronounced Drimmen. I didn't actually know this until speaking to my mother on the phone and informing her of my plans for the day. You live and learn.

The sky was bright as I skirted the ancient Scottish royal capital and headed along the A811 - surely one of the straightest roads in the country? At least until you reach Buchlyvie. The route now bypasses Drymen with a crescent serving the town. My first mission was to drive just beyond this and enter the Buchanan Estate which nowadays contains a golf course, various local businesses and upmarket housing. But I was aiming for the jewel in the crown, or the fly in the ointment, depending on your point of view. The decaying Buchanan Castles sits right in the middle, surrounded by a screen of trees. It is indeed an strange juxtaposition to be greeted by the crumbling battlements poking above the vegetation as you walk by manicured lawns. The only barrier to entry was a low wire fence and some thick foliage - no problem to yours truly. Why is this vast ruin part of such a tranquil setting? Let's have a look at the history. Buchanan Auld House was destroyed by fire in 1852 and part of the remains now stand alongside the golf course clubhouse. The Duke of Montrose commissioned the much larger Buchanan Castle as a replacement and it was completed by 1858. Located half a mile from the old house, Buchanan Castle was an extravagant manor in the Scottish baronial style, enclosing an L-plan tower in a clutch of turrets, bartizans and stepped gables. It ceased to function as s residential property in 1925 and became a hotel in the 1930s, serving the top-class golf course designed by the legendary James Braid. Plans for residential development on the estate were delayed by the outbreak of the WW2, during which the house was requisitioned. It was used as a hospital and Hitler's former henchman Rudolf Hess was brought here after his bizarre flight to Scotland in 1941. Following the war, the building served briefly as the Army School of Education. The roof was removed in 1954 to avoid paying tax on the property and outlying parts were demolished. A number of residential buildings were subsequently built in the castle gardens and grounds. Meanwhile the castle continued to decay and no saviour was ever found.

A path led through the undergrowth to the roofless ruin and there were many old rooms to explore. For some reason, an old toilet was lying around but most of the debris consisted of rotting wood and chunks of masonry. The conditions underfoot were favourable but you had to watch out for a few unguarded drops and a couple of circular wells. Not a place to stagger around drunk. I saw a couple of other explorers nosing about. This is after all a well-known location in urbex circles. Nothing unusual at all about seeing a figure in the distance fiddling with a camera. What I didn't really expect was to stumble across my first model photoshoot. I've seen this a lot online. Young women - often in high heels and skimpy dresses - posing provocatively among the ruins. The photographer was kneeling down, carefully lining up angles and I nodded an acknowledgement as I passed. There is obviously a market for this sort of stuff. Short skirts and stilettos can be pleasing to the eye and who doesn't like a picture of a forgotten castle? But I'm not sure how all this fits together. I haven't yet walked into a couple shagging but no doubt that happens too - and that I do get! I'm a sucker for an old stone staircase and I found a cracking example. When the steps are almost smoothed over by accumulated earth I think it only adds to the sense of abandonment. After half an hour of mooching around, I made my way out of the overgrown compound happy that one explore was successfully in the bag. I made the short journey into the centre of Drymen and found a car park. I had a wander around the town centre, noting a real-ale pub that was only accessible to those making online advance bookings for meals. No sneaky pint to fortify me for the walk then. I had mapped out a three-mile circular route high above the town that included part of the West Highland Way. While studying an information board on the main street, I noticed that the Rob Roy Way begins in Drymen. An 80-mile path running to Pitlochry in Perthshire. It's great that Scotland now features so many walking trails.

I paralleled the A811 for a quarter mile before taking a grassy track signed as the West Highland Way. Finally I would be walking a couple of miles along this fabled footpath. I had actually done a short portion at Inversnaid the previous week but today's outing was a proper walk. Height was gradually gained and the rolling green valleys of Stirlingshire began to open up behind me. I met a forest road and this was part of the main way. The loop through Drymen seems to be an optional detour but I'm not sure how this works for completists who want to tread every yard. Do they perform the village circuit then go back and fill in the gap in the woods? I would certainly be tempted to do that! Truth be told, the woodland section was rather boring but as I approached a junction with a minor road, the corner of Loch Lomond revealed itself in the distance. I left the West Highland Way and took the Rob Roy Way downhill to Drymen. Two walking routes for the price of one! After a quick bite to eat it was time to motor on to my next destination. Mugdock Castle is situated in a country park of the same name. The place was thronging with visitors. The sense of being let off the leash after lockdown had obviously gripped the nation. The castle was for 400 years the seat of Clan Graham until Buchanan Auld House took over the reins. A mansion was constructed within the old castle walls but this property was demolished in 1874 and a baronial style replacement emerged over the next decade. Amazing what you could do with a bottomless bank account and no Listed Buildings Register to hold you back. Somewhat predictably, the house fell into military possession during WW2 but rather than falling into disrepair afterwards like many similar properties, it was purchased by Hugh Fraser - the famous retail kingpin. A disastrous fire in 1966 prevented the new house from reaching its 100th anniversary and again the wrecking ball moved in. The remaining castle boundaries and tower had been spared, along with some of the house walls to first-floor level. The entire estate was gifted to the local authority by Sir Hugh Fraser, son of the original department store chief. Hugh junior established the well-known House of Fraser retail chain.

The castle remains now sit behind a safety fence but I was able to find a vantage point and point my camera over the steelwork. I had a stroll around the park and made my way to the walled garden which had been constructed a few hundred yards from the castle. A garden centre now trades within the walls and some of the interior terraces and ponds have been retained. The sun was shining brightly and I decided to push on to my final urbex assault of the day. I had a feeling this visit might yield some spectacular photos and I wanted to take full advantage of the bright clear skies. I drove to Lennoxtown. The road signs said I was in East Dunbartonshire but the territory lying in the shadow of the Campsie Fells is firmly within the historic county of Stirling. Lennoxtown is best known today for hosting the training headquarters of Celtic Football Club. The Bhoys moved to the purpose-built facility in 2005 and the complex is situated within the former grounds of Lennox Castle. Facilities include three grass training pitches (one with undersoil heating) and an additional AstroTurf field. The indoor sports centre boasts a training hall, fitness suite, medical facilities, sauna & steam room, pool, changing rooms, classrooms, administration offices, media facilities, kit room and laundry. Phew! Things have moved on from the days of running round a muddy field. I wasn't on a footballing expedition though. I wanted to seek out the remains of Lennox Castle itself. Once the headquarters of one of Scotland's biggest - and most infamous - asylums.

The castle dates from 1837 and the hospital complex opened a century later - the biggest such facility in the UK. Commissioned by Glasgow Corporation but tucked away in this rural corner of Stirlingshire, over 1000 patients could be accommodated. An overspill maternity ward operated until 1964, which is why many people around today can say they were born there. A rather dubious distinction if you don't read the small print! Changing attitudes saw most of these massive institutions close around the end of the 20th century and Lennox Castle shut its doors forever in 2002. The surrounding buildings were demolished but the castle - only ever used as an office and staff accommodation block - was left standing, presumably due to listed status. A huge fire broke out in 2008, leaving just a charred shell behind. I made my way along a woodland path before hitting a road lined with rusting lampposts and blocked by chunks of solid concrete. This must have been the way into Lennox Castle and no doubt the barricades were put in place to deter unwanted vehicles following closure. Did the barrier hasten the building's decline by hindering fire engines when the blaze was in full swing? An interesting question. I could see green grass at the top of the slope. Obviously part of the training grounds. I was certainly in the right place. I took a gravel track through the trees, passing a group of youths who were only around 12 years old. They seemed to be heading in the same direction as me. I guessed the old castle would be an adventure playground for kids - but maybe things would take a more sinister turn later on. Which is why I tend to visit these places during the hours of broad daylight.

As the tree cover broke, the castle remains towered impressively above me. The building was ringed by steel palisade fencing but the youths promptly overtook me and disappeared through a gap. These guys were in the know! I decided first of all to take some shots from behind the fence before venturing inside. A few kids were milling around but nobody paid me any attention. The main doors were heavily bolted but a large breach in a side wall was filled by a pile of broken stone. I climbed up this mound and had a view of the interior. The fire had destroyed everything but the bare masonry, although a few twisted metal beams jutted out here and there. One was suspended at a weird angle with what looked like part of a fire escape ladder dangling off the end. Cue the obligatory avant-garde photo. Hey, it's not just Yoko Ono who can conjure up this stuff! I could now look down upon the foyer and there was a spectacular stone carving on the roof of the entrance porch. Everywhere else was filled by piles of rubble and what was the point of clambering down there when I could survey the whole site from my vantage point. Likewise, I didn't see any value in trying to work my way around the outer perimeter as I'd already arrived at the grand entrance and it wouldn't be any better than this. I had a bird's eye view of a grand building reduced to ruin. I'm glad I visited and I did read some harrowing tales about the hospital's past. There wasn't actually any sense of foreboding while standing on site as the castle had been blown wide open and the sun streamed in. The outbuildings - where the real murky events would have occurred - were long gone and covered in lush grass. One has to wonder whether Celtic's millionaire players have any idea about what went on here as they perform their training routines. I reflected on this as I drove home via Kilsyth - this part of Stirlingshire now annoyingly rebranded as North Lanarkshire - and vowed to read up on the hospital history. At the outset it all seemed rosy. A huge country estate purchased with the intention of allowing patients to recuperate in pleasant surroundings while state of the art medical facilities were installed.

I think the original aims of these institutions were sound. They may have been officially named "lunatic asylums" but that was the terminology of the day. Living conditions back then were cramped and unsanitary for many people and the concepts of fresh air, open space and relief from the urban clatter probably did benefit many of the afflicted. Work duties would involve tending the garden and keeping the grounds ship-shape. Not that far removed from the life of an ordinary country estate worker. I should imagine the problems began when the asylums became overcrowded and psychiatric drugs entered the equation along with questionable treatments such as shock therapy. A culture did seem to develop where people were tossed into these institutions on the flimsiest premise and once you were in, I guess it wasn't a simple procedure to get back out. Shutting people away was the order of the day and I also read that some of the practices among the warders at Lennox Castle were unkind if not downright sadistic. The scale of the place must have been incredible. The two dining halls accommodated 600 people each. Very easy to become lost in the system I assume. Here are a few snippets of the darker side of life in Lennox Castle. The hospital was vastly overcrowded, understaffed and underfunded. Vulnerable patients were left to fend for themselves in the large wards. A 1989 study by the British Medical Journal found that a quarter of patients at Lennox Castle Hospital were dangerously underweight and malnourished. Former patients recall being given unnecessarily cruel punishments for petty offences. Incidents included being struck with a baseball bat and being made to run laps barefoot around the castle, just for forgetting to address a staff member as Sir. Mental, eh?