Angus Explore

The rain was lashing down as I set off for a day of urban exploring in the County of Angus. I had seen the dire weather forecast in advance but had decided just to bash on as I already had plans for the rest of the week and who knows when I would next have the opportunity. I had earmarked several abandoned sites to inspect and I prefer to have a little itinerary for these longer trips. This means if one place is inaccessible, you haven't put all your eggs in one basket and can try your luck elsewhere. This would indeed be the case today.

The rain barely let up all day but it was good to be out exploring again. I even managed to squeeze an extra stop into my schedule. I'll deal with this first as it wasn't an urbex expedition. I happened to be passing the village of Glamis and decided to nip in and see if I could catch a glimpse of the famous castle. The 17th century building - with its iconic towers and parapets - is of course most famous for being the childhood home of the Queen Mother. I'm a fiercely proud royalist and admire the way our Queen has represented the UK all over the world for almost 70 years (and still going strong). She may well surpass her mother's lifespan of 101 at this rate! The Duke of Edinburgh is still in the hunt as well. It must be all the royal jelly they eat! I appreciate not everybody supports the monarchy but I love the pageantry and tradition. Let's not forget the enormous number of visitors who come to our country to visit the sights and experience royal events. The Queen is the perfect ceremonial figure to head up this quirky island and - guess what - other countries also have heads of state with their retinue and security but they don't have half the drawing power of Her Maj. I'm also a supporter of Scottish independence. Her Grace, Elizabeth is the Queen of Scots and long may that continue! There is a massively mistaken belief among a significant proportion of nats that separating ourselves from the Union somehow cuts ties with royalty but that is a different concept entirely. Those of a republican bent might be surprised about the level of support our Queen commands. Besides, what we know as Scotland was always a kingdom. A Scottish Republic? Dream on! I turned into the castle entrance only to be met with huge iron gates and a pay booth. Advance online bookings only I was informed. I had no choice but to turn tail. I had a quick wander around the charming village before heading on my merry way.

My first mission was a little diversion into Perthshire. I'd visited the abandoned Newmiln House a couple of weeks previously and while I'd explored the grounds and part of the interior, I was slightly annoyed that I hadn't taken more time to probe deeper and find the grand sweeping staircase. There had been all sorts of rumours flying around online about the place being monitored by police and about to be sealed for good so I decided to have another crack early in the morning. I had checked out ways of approaching the building on foot but that would have involved tramping through (very) muddy fields and in the end I decided just to drive up to the entrance arch. I vaulted the front lawn gate (unfortunately not in one swift movement) and straight away I clocked something. A CCTV tower had been erected with the hardware pointing towards the back door where I had previously sneaked inside. I had no idea if the cameras were actually switched on but I instantly decided not to take any chances. I love a good explore but I ain't getting myself arrested. Besides, why was I beating myself up about not seeing every room inside? I had managed to get a feel for the place and had researched the history of the estate (often as interesting as actually seeing it). It was time to let this one lie. Onwards into Angus and I had no doubts about the accessibility of my next target. It was a virtual ruin and security would be non-existent. The rain continued to batter down as I pulled into the tiny village of Kincaldrum.

The mansion on my list was a mile distant but I hadn't been able to suss out any potential parking places on Google Maps. A single track road led to the old gatehouse (now in private hands) and I began trudging through the downpour. I always prefer to approach locations on foot as it's far less intrusive and you can plan your course of action as you go. I could see the old house straight across a cornfield but I obviously wasn't going to cut through crops. I stuck to the tarmac and slipped by the occupied lodge. In any case, a vehicle track led past the mansion to a farm so any vague notion of trespass didn't apply here. As expected, Kincaldrum house was partially engulfed by vegetation but it was simple enough to hop over a wire boundary fence and push my way through the branches. I even got some welcome respite from the rain! An old bath tub was lying around and it's amazing the random stuff you find even long after a property has been vacated. The roof and internal flooring were long gone but I clambered around inside and marvelled at a little stone spiral staircase still intact. It was solid enough to set foot on and for some reason stairwell shots always go down well on urbex sites. It seems the house was abandoned in the early 1950s and has been quietly decaying ever since. Lead was stripped from the roof and the rot - literally - set in. Home of the Bower family in the 18th century, the house bore witness to a significant Jacobite incident. Alexander Bower, the Laird of Kincaldrum and Meathie, returned from Spain in 1744 to Scotland. Partly to look after his estates but also to secretly watch for the landing of Prince Charles Edward. After the retreat of the Jacobite army from England, Mr Bower retired to his residence at Kincaldrum, where he lost his life in a most cruel manner.

George II was at the time pressed for soldiers and summoned assistance from Germany. The County of Angus was handed over to Hessian troops. During daylight hours, Bower lurked among the hills to avoid capture, returning at night to the house where his wife supplied supper and further provisions. After coming home earlier than usual one evening, he was detected by a patrol. The house was instantly attacked and soldiers invaded the dining room where Bower was sitting with his wife. He sprang from a window and disappeared into the countryside, where he remained for several days. Forced by hunger and fatigue, he revisited the house but fell asleep and found a sentinel posted on every exit when he awoke. Escape now impossible, he retreated to a secret room where he might have found safety had his valet not betrayed him. This man at first refused to give any information and was taken to a tree and a rope put around his neck. Still silent, he was suspended for a few seconds and when released the love of life prevailed over loyalty to his master. He led the soldiers to Bower’s place of concealment. Thence he was dragged, one of the dragoons wounding the defenceless man with his sabre. Bower was pinioned and tied by his hair to the tail of a horse and drawn as far as Findrik Farm, where the farmer rushed out and offered the commander all the money he possessed if his laird be saddled. This was done but the injuries proved fatal and Bower died in Perth Jail. The body was scarcely cold when his widow entered the cell. She had returned from Stirling Castle after hearing of her husband's capture and carried the necessary papers for leaving the country, expecting his immediate release. So great was the shock that the lady fell dead on her husband’s corpse and their bodies were placed in the same coffin and conveyed to Kincaldrum. Phew! Quite a gruesome tale. Today's skeletal house remains date mainly from the early 1880s and at one time the mansion featured five public rooms, a dining block, billiards and smoking areas as well as a whopping 16 bedrooms! And that's not counting the servant's quarters and office accommodation. Those old estates were like little communities. These days, the crumbling ruin is owned by a "friendly farmer" who doesn't possess the means to restore the property, nor has he attracted any outside bids. I took a stroll down to the walled garden which looked to be intact. As I peered through the gateway a giant bull stared straight back at me. He didn't look quite so amenable as his master and I tactfully withdrew.

It was still pouring down as I returned to the car and took the A90 towards Montrose, via Brechin. I was actually heading for a village slightly north of Montrose called Hillside. There I hoped to find the remains of a vast mental asylum. As I approached Montrose Basin, I pulled in for a look at the National Trust owned House of Dun - a stately home set within sprawling grounds. I had seen the mansion from a distance before but today I took the chance to have a closer look. The last Laird of Dun to occupy the big house moved out to a smaller estate property in 1948. The contents of the mansion were stuffed into the attic and the remainder of the premises let to a local farming family who ran the establishment as a high-class bed and breakfast. Presumably this saved the house's bacon and it could easily have gone the same way as Kincaldrum where I'd just been. Upon the Laird's death in 1980, the property was bequeathed to the National Trust who spent nine years restoring the interior. When the place was finally opened to the public, who better to perform the opening ceremony than good old Queen Mum from just along the road in Glamis! I took a quick photo and returned to the car. The building was of course closed due to Covid but I'll definitely return for a proper tour at some point in the future. I found the location of the mental hospital, rather optimistically titled Sunnyside. This was more politically correct than the original name - the Montrose Lunatic Asylum. Final closure came in 2011 and I'd read reports online of a housing development being sanctioned by the local authority. This of course doesn't mean that any work has yet been carried out but on this occasion I was out of luck. The hospital site was surrounded by high security fencing and cameras were everywhere. Peering through the gaps gave me the distinct impression a lot of demolition work had been already occurred. Time to move on. A reminder that viewing several locations over a day can pay dividends.

I drove down the coast to Arbroath. My target here was a derelict A-Listed property known as The Elms. It had recently been put up for auction with bidding starting at a token one pound. The final offer weighed in at a hefty £124000 - obviously someone has grand plans for this place. The old house was surrounded by a lawn that was well cared for and stood in close proximity to a modern residential street. No chance of approaching this building unobserved but all I had in mind was a wander around the perimeter and the chance to reel off a few pics. In any case, the doors and windows were well sealed and while it may have been possible to find a way in round the back, I didn't attempt such a move. Probably a wise decision as one of Scotland's top urban explorers - Scott Brown - said online that the interior of the building was a death trap. Ah, rotten flooring? I enquired. No ground floor at all came the swift reply. Just a 6-foot drop into the gloom. The two-storey property was originally constructed by a prominent family of flax merchants and fitted out with spectacular internal features to match the imposing nature of the external architecture. During the Second World War, the government requisitioned the property for hotel accommodation, before it was returned to private hands and later became a children’s home. Closure led to a deterioration in the fabric of the building after water ingress problems. This sounds like a very familiar tale. It was then stripped of many valuable assets, including mahogany panels, marble fireplaces and - tragically - virtually irreplaceable stained-glass windows. Apparently permission had been granted in 2004 for conversion into flats but the scheme fell through. As I said earlier, you should never read too much into stories of proposed redevelopment.

It's very easy for potential "investors" to talk about spending money on fancy projects but actually placing the hard cash on the table seems to be a different matter entirely. I discovered the title deeds for The Elms had long been held by a succession of companies registered overseas. You have to wonder what that's all about. Do they just leave a grand property to rot, hoping a white knight will one day come along? Is it all part of an elaborate tax write-off? Do such assets sit unnoticed on company books, evading the beady eyes of bean counters? Is it merely a case of these houses being forgotten or the technical owners simply not caring? Anyway, it's good to learn that someone has stumped up the cash to try and restore former glories. After all, you wouldn't shell out a six-figure sum at a public auction then retreat into the shadows. Mind you, anything's possible in this game. I continued down the A92 and cut across the northern edge of Dundee in search of the ruined Strathmartine Hospital. Another Victorian behemoth that had fallen out of favour and was progressively shut down from the mid-80s, finally locking the doors forever in 2003. Being situated within a major city boundary, the building has suffered countless attacks of vandalism and arson. It sounded as if there wouldn't be much left worth looking at. I found a parking spot on a glorified farm road right on the edge of a housing scheme and noticed a hole in the mesh fencing. Someone had obviously been expecting me.

I crawled through and sought a suitable vantage point. I could see mounds of rubble and the remaining buildings looked to be in dangerous condition. With the rain still falling and the ground extremely slippery, I decided not to proceed further. I still had an ace up my sleeve for the itinerary and didn't fancy climbing over piles of bricks and concrete to get closer to the ruins which would most likely be resoundingly trashed. There was also a fair chance that some unsavoury characters might be hanging around. Time to make tracks to my final destination. As I drove off, the road signs informed me that this little corner of Dundee was administered by Angus Council. Yet the streets and housing had been continuous and green fields lay beyond. I realise the line has to fall somewhere but it seemed illogical to have one tiny part of the city not controlled by Dundee Council. It's all traditionally Angus of course but Council Areas were created to provide efficient local government services, a concept that isn't always suited by the historic shire borders. Anyway, I was off to Liff, a quiet village situated a couple of miles past the western edge of Dundee. By this time I'd stopped caring which local government body happened to empty the bins - it's all Angus to me! My final port of call was House of Gray which had an interesting background, to say the least. A large neoclassical mansion with parts dating from 1716, the Gray family lived on the estate until 1918 when the property was sold to a Dundee mill owner. He died in 1936 and his son made the house available during WW2 to shelter children displaced from the city orphanage. Thereafter it was bought by a canned food company who used part of it as a storage barn for soft fruit farming and the servant quarters as accommodation for workers. By the mid-70s the house had become dilapidated and and two attempts at restoration came to nothing. While planning today's trip, I had read that another proposal to breathe new life into the building was currently on the cards and had the backing of the local authority. As ever, approach these tales with caution and until I see a squad of workmen on site, I refuse to take anything at face value.

A long straight farm track stretched ahead of me downhill - almost certainly at one time the carriage drive - but I was unable to see the mansion. It was most likely screened by the clump of trees in the distance. A woman was walking towards me and confirmed my theory. Once in the target area, I found the going tougher than anticipated. A huge mound of earth had been piled on what must have been the access road into the grounds. No problem to get around, but the vegetation was dense and the ground decidedly boggy. The white-painted walls began to reveal themselves through the trees and I emerged on a well-mown grassy strip that circled the entire property. Probably the handiwork of the local farmer as I could see a farmhouse a few hundred yards distant. It seemed I had picked the right way in as I surely hadn't been spotted. This was exactly my type of explore. A completely abandoned mansion invisible to passers-by (not that there would be many here) and the freedom to poke around quietly on my own. The Buildings at Risk Register had listed the house as being reasonably wind and watertight. I certainly couldn't see any signs of major damage. The ground floor doors and windows were bricked up with upper levels boarded. As I worked my way around, I noticed a gaping hole where an exposed window had been opened. Only blackness beckoned from beyond. I swiftly realised that even if I could climb up and wriggle through, the interior would be pitch black and I only had my smartphone torch to hand.

As my brother informed me later on Facebook, all the tools for entry were in place. Someone had propped a chunk of wood against the wall and had no doubt managed to haul himself inside. Agreed, but in all likelihood a person both younger and skinnier than I. And what surface meets you when you plunge into the gloom? No, I was happy just to have located the place and have the chance to absorb the sense of abandonment. It had also been noted on the register that the building was no longer totally secure. Obviously there are people who feed back updates after returning home from their travels. It would indeed be an ideal site for a set of luxury apartments. Just a long single-track road led to the house but it would surely be simple enough to install a couple of passing bays. From the opposing angle, why not draft a law saying abandoned buildings should be given to housing charities free of charge? A bit like squatters rights in reverse. Or is that way too radical? I continued my wander around this hidden gem before trudging back to the car, still thoroughly damp. A mixed bag of a day for sure but some undisputed highlights. Glad to be out on the road again.

Inversnaid

Another day, another trip to an RSPB reserve. Inversnaid lies on the shores of Loch Lomond in a remote neck of Stirlingshire. The road from the small Perthshire town of Aberfoyle continues past Loch Ard - reckoned to be the starting point of the River Forth. We had been as far as this point before but I'd always wondered where you'd end up if you kept driving. The map revealed the answer as Inversnaid, around 15 miles in total from Aberfoyle. The famed West Highland Way passes through here and facilities include a bunkhouse and hotel, while ferries ply their trade during the summer months. Clearly a place visited by many walkers but things were eerily subdued today for obvious reasons.

RSPB Inversnaid is situated on the slopes above the loch and we marked out a circular trail to follow, which would include a short portion of the West Highland Way. The 30-mile Great Trossachs Path terminates at Inversnaid and this is another route to be added to the list, particularly as it's not far from home and could be broken into three or four manageable sections. Once past Loch Ard, the drive required intense concentration as the road had frequent dips and bends and could barely accommodate two vehicles abreast. Mind you, I'm an old hand at this game after after all these holidays in the Highlands and rural Ireland. That said, after reading the Inversnaid Hotel was now a popular coach destination, I was glad there would be an absence of bulky tour buses (and camper vans) today. Probably the most intimidating vehicles to encounter are local men in white vans as they have a tendency to simply batter on. Anyway, we approached Inversnaid without trouble and stopped to photograph Loch Arklet (pictured) along the way. We intended to stop at the small RSPB visitors centre - a glorified hut by the looks of the photo on the website. This was kaiboshed by the Forestry Commission who had closed the access road due to a landslip. We drove down the steep hill to the shores of Loch Lomond and into a large and almost-empty car park. The hotel was completely closed and we checked the map board to get our bearings. It soon became apparent the West Highland Way basically skirted the water's edge and the nature trail took a right-hand turn up the slope. A handful of walkers were out and about.

And thus we set foot on the world renowned West Highland Way. Technically I had been on the trail before as it starts in the Dunbartonshire town of Milngavie and I had passed the official marker outside the railway station. This was however the first instance of treading a true rural section. We passed a tent pitched close to the shoreline and you would struggle to find a more picturesque spot in the Trossachs. Unfortunately this part of Scotland has suffered badly at the hands of irresponsible "wild campers" who leave their mess behind and/or cause damage to the surrounding landscape. The suspicion that some of these people would loudly proclaim themselves "proud to be Scottish" only makes my blood boil more furiously. How can you live in such a beautiful country and roundly trash it? We reached the junction for the RSPB track and it wound steeply up the tree-covered hillside. Nicole's achilles tendon had been playing up and she decided the route was a little too uneven for her. She was happy to sit by the shore while I did the short circuit. The path led straight into thick bracken but the vegetation never fully closed around me as I made my way up the sharp gradient, pausing to regain puff on more than one occasion. The pinnacle of the loop was a clearing with a wooden bench and a fabulous view down the loch and across to the hills beyond the opposite bank. I had a seat and breathed in the vista. And then I heard it! "The clickety clack of a train on a track" as Neil Diamond once sang. A beautiful noise and music to my ears.

The railway runs along part of the western bonnie banks and the rhythmic pulse of steel wheels traversing old-style jointed track echoed all around. Moreover, a bridge carrying the rails over a loch outflow was clearly in my line of sight and all I had to do was wait. This scenario in the days of steam would have been a picture postcard moment. I had to settle for a three-carriage diesel unit but the spectacle of a train emerging in a distant valley is always a pleasure to behold. Pleasures are like poppies spread...it was soon time to head back down. A staircase with wooden risers had been carved into the hillside and I descended without difficulty to complete the loop at ground level. As the local amenities were all closed, we drove back to Aberfoyle for an ice cream and then took a drive up to the visitors centre at the Queen Elizabeth Forest Park. Unfortunately it hadn't yet reopened after lockdown and we continued up the switchback road, following signs for the Three Lochs forest drive. This 7-mile circuit incorporates Lochan Reoidhte, Loch Drunkie and Loch Achray. We failed to make it past the first car-park as the rest of the route was blocked by a barrier. Oh well, no other option than to go back down. We decided we'd seen enough for the day and set off homeward. A nice little jaunt to a remote location is always a worthy cause.

Stonehaven

Today's outing was a drive up to Stonehaven on the northeast coast, approximately halfway between Montrose and Aberdeen. I hadn't visited this place before but must have passed by in the past as it's the point where the A90 and A92 converge. We decided to take the former route for the outward journey and return by the latter. A nearby seabird sanctuary was one point of interest while I also wanted to view the famous Dunnottar Castle just south of the town. I figured on a couple of hours driving each way which made it a viable day trip.

Somewhere near Brechin on the A90, we stopped at a little service station for breakfast and then continued northward, entering the historic County of Kincardine. Nowadays administered by Aberdeenshire Council (which doesn't include the city of Aberdeen), Kincardineshire's main towns are Stonehaven, Laurencekirk and Inverbervie. This part of Scotland is also known as the Mearns. The county is a triangular shaped piece of territory between Angus and Aberdeenshire. It was nice to see brown road signs commemorating the traditional boundaries. One rather distressing sight was an overturned car on the opposite carriageway. The south-bound section had been closed and I instantly thought the occupant of the vehicle would have been lucky to escape with his life. I checked the news later and discovered he sadly didn't. Apparently no other party was involved. Perhaps the driver fell asleep? Who knows how these things happen. We reached Stonehaven without further incident but it was difficult to find a parking place. The on-street bays in the town centre had been blocked off for social distancing reasons and this had put pressure on the car-park by the main square. I cruised around until I was able to nab a spot not far from the harbour area. We were all set for a nice coastal stroll, when the heavens opened. Fortunately we were still close enough to the car to avoid a serious soaking but that was the extent of our town exploration! We headed for Dunnottar Castle, hoping the downpour would ease. As we approached the edge of town, I noticed a signed walk along the clifftops to the castle which would have been a great option on a dry day.

Dunnottar is a ruined fortress atop a rocky headland. Believed to have been fortified in the early Middle Ages, the present buildings date from the 15th and 16th centuries. The castle is best known for being the place where the Honours of Scotland (the crown jewels) were hidden from Oliver Cromwell's invading army in the mid-1600s. A narrow strip joins the promontory to the mainland and a steep path leads up to the gatehouse. Access was barred in any case due to Covid but I doubt I would have paid to enter the castle compound because the view from the coastal path was - in my opinion - the superior attraction. Truly a wondrous sight and one beheld by people of myriad nationalities. The northeast of Scotland doesn't quite have the pulling power of the Highlands but there are undoubtedly areas of world-class beauty. By this time the rain had gone off and we were able to take our time and view the isolated castle from multiple angles. The next destination was just a few miles down the coast - Fowlsheugh Nature Reserve, owned by the RSPB. The towering cliffs are packed with more than 130,000 breeding seabirds during the spring and summer months. These include guillemots, razorbills and kittiwakes, along with occasional visits from puffins and fulmars. Seals and dolphins are also known to pop their heads above the churning waters. Access was via a single-track road with space for half a dozen cars to park at the end. There were a couple of private houses perched on the clifftops. What a view to wake up to every morning!

The reserve was unmanned and there was most probably a donation box in the car park. We do however pay our membership fee on a monthly basis, along with a subscription to the Scottish Wildlife Trust. I'm more than happy to channel a few pounds from my wages into helping our indigenous animals. A path led down to a viewpoint which enabled us to look right into a sea-battered cove. Hundreds of kittiwake were clustered on the ledges and I managed to get a nice shot of a mother with her two chicks. Care had to be taken as there were no barriers to prevent a sheer drop but I'm naturally reticent in these situations anyway - usually standing a good yard further back than I absolutely have to. Often leaning slightly back with my front foot wedged against something solid. I'm ok with heights so long as I maintain a sturdy position. There were a number of locals fishing down by the shore. My brother is a keen angler and I did join him on a couple of occasions many years ago but it simply wasn't for me. I found the whole concept of hanging around the water's edge waiting on a bite boring beyond belief. Now if we're talking about the arrival of a steam train on the edge of a field then that's a different matter entirely! But no, I'm not cut out to be a fisherman at all. Satisfied with our wander around Fowlsheugh, we bolted back down the A92, driving through Inverbervie, home of the famous chipper. We pulled in at Monifieth, just north of Dundee. My folks had their static caravan here for a few years and we wanted to visit the diner on the edge of the site. Many a fry-up was enjoyed there in the past but we missed the boat today as full opening hours hadn't yet been restored. Nevertheless, it had been a nice day trip to a new part of Scotland.