20 | INVITING INVERNESS
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INVITING INVERNESS AND THE BEAUTY OF THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS...
BY TOM ADAIR
HITCH a ride on a passing cloud in a northbound wind from above Cave Hill, and in under an hour you’ll be cresting the beautiful Scottish Highlands. Aim for Scotland’s vast Great Glen, a gash in the landscape linking the islands of the Hebrides in the west to the flat east coast of the far North Sea and Moray Firth. Crowned by Ben Nevis’s 4000ft of mountain
glory, the Glen stretches
northwards to Inverness. Far below, you might catch a glimpse of mythical Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster, so famously shy she’ll disappear at your moment of splash down. Or, take the easy route. Fly from Belfast to Inverness - or, going at leisure - do as I did and cross with Stena Line from Belfast to Cairnryan, then drive north.
Perth,
With Glasgow behind me, I bypassed cutting through Perthshire’s
gentle hillscapes, passing Pitlochry, the Highland gateway town, reaching peaks where, even in summer slicks of snow cling fast to corries and wild deer roam high through heather. Turning off at House of Bruar, a retail oasis of (mostly high end) Scottish produce shops, I enjoyed thirty minutes free parking, a needed caffeine hit and the A9’s classiest toilets, before passing Aviemore - the daddy of Scotland’s ski resorts - and close by, secluded Loch Morlich, a centre for water sports touching Osprey terrain, (try spying them through binoculars from a dedicated hide), or catch the puff of a distant steam train carrying tourists to Boat of Garten. I was tired, and needed a bed and reached Inverness by 7pm in softening sunlight. Topping the brae above the city, one of the fastest growing in Europe, the magnificence of the vista - the Moray Firth backed by rippling mountains west across Ross-shire - resembled a shot from a Hollywood movie. Not only outrageously photogenic, Inverness is
the perfect hub from which to explore in all directions, however long or short your stay. If you don’t have a car you’ll still find tours to take you on day trips in every direction. “Explore the city first,” said my host, marking my card. So, the following morning, (after the ‘Full Ben Nevis’ fry up) I walked the short distance from Tomnahurich Street to the riverside heart of Sneckie (the locals’ affectionate name for their city), sensing history in the roofscapes, the turrets, the castle’s crenellations, the gothic spires that pierce the skyline and lay reflected in the river. Spoiling the vista were concrete ‘carbuncles’ built at the end of the 1960s when the council demolished Mary Queen of Scots medieval house and the ancient bridge. Bridge Street today is a hybrid of mostly Victorian buildings and pleasing facades crowned by a Scottish baronial jewel-- the Town House. There, I found all the usual suspects: whisky shops, wool shops, outlets filled with American tourists trying on kilts.
But this city harbours quiet surprises: the Rendezvous Café (showing continuous Laurel & Hardy black and white classics while you eat), and, at the other end of Church Street, Leakey’s book emporium, (Scotland’s biggest and finest second hand bookshop), lifted my heart. The partly pedestrianized central streets were flagged with courtyards and narrow wynds; I toured the perfectly formed but compact city museum (behind Town House), then, surprisingly peckish, found myself overdosing on calories undercover in the Old Victorian Market at Bad Girls’ Bakery queuing for pastries. “Where’s the best place to find great music?” I asked a Bad Girl. “Try Gellions bar,” interrupted an Aussie. “Great Scottish folk sounds. Starts at 10.” With hours to kill, I ran the gauntlet of
July/August 2024
more souvenir shops touting shortbread and miniature Nessies trapped in snow globes, then drove to nearby Culloden Moor where the final battle on British soil was fought in 1746.
There, the
Jacobites, led by ill-starred Bonnie Prince Charlie, were roundly beaten by the Duke of Cumberland’s army. Once I’d read all the gory detail, I left the well-appointed Visitors’ Centre and wandered across the battlefield, trying hard not to picture the scene. A giant stone cairn and fluttering flags marked the site of conflict. Nearby Cawdor provided distraction. Its castle - a14th century fortress - is mentioned by Shakespeare in Macbeth. But he didn’t mention the ancient thorn tree, dating from 1372, which grows unstoppably and directly from the dungeon straight through the building. The turnpike stairs, surrounding moat and picturesque drawbridge, plus one of
the finest gardens in Scotland make this a top drawer destination.
That night I body-swerved Gellions bar and headed to Hootenanny’s, (once voted Scotland’s best music venue), enjoying guitar and accordion wizardry courtesy of aptly named Burst the Bellows. My feet were still tapping into the wee hours while I planned next morning’s drive west.
Encouraged by sunshine, breakfasting early,
and I crossed the
picturesque Kessock Bridge, driving to Dingwall where, buying sandwiches and fruit, I took to the road passing Rogie Falls, (come September you can see salmon leap the waterfalls), heading to Gairloch on one of Scotland’s most scenic drives down the ribboning road towards Kinlochewe and looming Ben Eighe. I was on a designated route called the ‘North Coast 500’, Scotland’s version
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