SS2:EB, Tyndrum and Callander

My last two days of solo travel were spent tooling around the heart of the mainland, primarily around the Callander area, home to the Trossachs. This slice of the country is considerably hillier than the Lowlands, but it is not as barren and unforgiving as the Highlands. Rather, the hills and Munros are surrounded by deep cut valleys and lochs, and glens are vibrant and teeming with plant and animal life.



Loch Awe, the longest freshwater loch in Scotland. (Technically, Loch Awe is in another council area than Callander, but I had to drive through the area to get to Callander.) Scotland has as many legends and mythologies as it does hills, and the area surrounding Loch Awe is no different. Loch Awe is located in Argyll and Bute, a large council area in the western part of the country. According to legend, the Cailleach--a winter goddess in Scottish mythology--created the mountainous landscape in Argyll and Bute by dropping stones from her large plaid apron. Loch Awe, it is said, was created when the Cailleach of Cruachan didn't cover the wellspring on Ben Cruachan, the largest peak in the area. A deluge surged forth from the mountain, drowning villages and filling in valleys, including the one seen above. Some people still speak of the Cailleach, usually when referring to a bitterly cold winter--which she brings by riding across the country on the back of a wolf--or a severe coastal storm.

Another legendary figure with considerably more historical authenticity hails from the Callander area, the great folk hero and Jacobite outlaw Rob Roy. In the tiny village of Balquhidder, in front of the ruins of the old Balquhidder church, lie the remains of Robert Roy MacGregor, his wife, Helen, and two sons, Coll and Robert.


The front edifice of the old Balquhidder church. Rob Roy's gravesite is usually quite a tourist draw, especially among Scottish Nationalists, but the morning of my visit was rather quiet, much to my delight.



Rob Roy and his family. Having devoted so much energy and attention to studying Jacobite history and Scottish folklore in general, I was a little overwhelmed standing before the tomb. Not that I did anything silly like cry over a centuries-dead Scottish cattle thief. It was just a little surreal, is all. I had the same reaction when venturing through the Pass of Killiecrankie, looking over Clifton Moor, and standing in Culloden.


As I said earlier, Rob Roy's grave is a sort of Mecca for Scottish Nationalists. When they visit, they leave coins behind so that the Scottish Robin Hood might disperse them to the down-trodden.

Another of my stops in the Trossachs was Bracklinn Falls, a short walk from Callander village centre.



Looking out over Callander and Strathyre. Although much of the area has been clear-cut in years past, right behind me was a lush, oakwood forest surrounding the trail to the falls.


I love when the canopy is so dense that it lends a viridescent glow to everything beneath it.

The falls were about 3km from the town centre, most of which was walked up a fairly steep incline toward the Callander Crags. Once you get to the falls, there are one or two large, flat stones that serve as platforms to view the rapids.


As I was standing on one of these stone decks, two young schoolboys came running up the trail, dropped their stuff on the banks, and began to strip off their school uniforms. I eyed them suspiciously, then asked if they were going to jump into the falls. Indeed, they were.

Now, western Scotland was experiencing a bit of a warm spell at this time, and even so, the mercury topped out at 68 F in full sun. Nonetheless, the mild temperatures didn't seem to dissuade them, nor did the prospect of death on pointy rocks at the bottom of one of the smaller falls. I decided I should videotape one of the jumps, just in case there was an inquiry into an accidental drowning.



The drop was about 12 ft, which isn't terribly huge--if you're diving into a 30 ft pool. There is a fine line between recklessness and stupidity, and these boys are tap-dancing on it. (Dear Lord, I sound like my mother.) In any case, they were an entertaining pair, and they gave me some good tips on where to find the best lentil soup in the village.

And so, we have come to the end of my first two weeks in Scotland. I was going to miss my little steed greatly, but I was looking forward to meeting these guys in Glasvegas:


That would be Johnnyfer, Hopsi, and Hendry on the trans-Atlantic leg of their flight to Scotland. (Apologies for the blurry picture; not being there, I couldn't be all anal about image quality.) Don't they look pumped? Stay tuned for my Scottish adventures with the whole clan.