Bring On The Birks

“Listen. Can you hear that?”, I asked with a finger to my ear lobe. A trick question of sorts, as there was nothing at all to hear. The blissful sound of silence; no traffic, no conversation, no music. We’d earned this pleasure by crossing a swing bridge over the River Tummel and tackling a continuous, and rather unexpected, incline to the highest point on the trail. We were walking from Pitlochry to Aberfeldy on a section of the Rob Roy Way; a 94 mile walk across from Dymen to Pitlochry, along paths which were once traversed by the famous cattle thief himself. 

Pitlochry looked miniature from our viewpoint over the treetops, particularly against a backdrop of field and snow dusted hills. I’d obviously been suffering from ‘selective vision’ when I researched the walk, as I didn’t recall any mention of a muckle hill. A combination of naivity and wishful thinking had obviously lead me to assume it would be flat! We were now basking in the complete absence of noise, and wishing we hadn’t worn so many layers.  

My leg mucles had got a wee fright, having just been ressurected from a winter-long hibernation. I was chuffed to see the trail plateau as we progessed over snowy tracks tunnelled by trees. We emerged into an open clearing, and of out the corner of my eye caught a glimpse of what looked like a stone circle. And it was! There were only three, and while not particualry large or imposing, standing stones always exude an air of mystery and wonder in my eyes. I was equally amazed by the stunning weather. Clear blue skies and warm sunshine in February… say what?!

We entered our what would be our favourite section of the route through a classic wooden gate, and into a huge meadow which sloped downwards towards the village of Grandtully. If only we’d held hands and skipped, it would’ve been like a scene from a cheesy TV advert. We were giddy with excitement, tipsy on scenery and crisp, winter air. 

A single tree stood alone in the wide expanse, allowing for an uninterupted panoramic view. Gnarly black mountains wore a patchwork of snow on one side, infinite scenic countryside on the other. The mesmerising movement of wind farms lined the horizon, alongside rolling hills which resembled freshly plumped white cushions under their complete blanket of snow. We were nearly at the halfway point, but our pace was unhurried. The surroundings deserved to be appreciated a wee while longer. 

Arriving in Grandtully we gravitated towards the Highland Chocolatier shop like it was a desert oasis, and purchased a posh pick ’n’ mix box of four sweet delights which we set aside for after lunch. We shared three plates of bar snacks at the Inn on the Tay, whilst watching determined kayakers paddle up-river against the river's fierce current. I was glad to be a spectator, perched with a pint of Innis & Gunn in hand. Soon, Aberfeldy was calling. 

The last five miles were a peaceful meander, the sound of the Tay never far from earshot. Perfect reflections of the clouds on the surface of the water distracted me from my aching legs and desire to be horizontal. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before we kicked off our muddy boots in the vestibule of the Fernbank House B&B in Aberfeldy, our recuperation facility for the night. 

Owner Annette warmly welcomed us to her 19th century Victorian abode, the former residence of the Earl of Breadalbane. Grand both inside and out with high ceilings and intricate cornices, the house felt modern and fresh, yet full of character. Aside from the impressive lodgings, Annette’s husband happens to be the local butcher, a huge bonus on the breakfast front. Imagine my excitement as I filled in the breakfast order and got to choose from a variety of sausages, and ticked for both haggis and black pudding. On to the bedroom. 

The wide staircase led us to exactly the type of room you want to check into after a 10+ mile walk. I star-fished on the bed until concern grew over my ability to resurface, and I decided to relocate to the bubble bath where I enjoyed a cup of tea and a biscuit. Can you believe I’m under the age of 30? I could easily have cosied up for the night with a DVD from the collection in the hallway, but we were starving. Thankfully Annette had kindly reserved us a table for 8pm at Ailean Chraggan, a highly recommended restaurant across the other side of the Tay. We just had to find our way there. 

As we followed the road out of town, the lights from the residental homes were soon behind us. We could definitely hear the river, but could only faintly make out the road bridge to cross it. Disorientated by the darkness, we were unsure whether to advance. The flashlights on our phones highlighted a pavement on either side of the road over the bridge, so we began slowly shuffling along. Momentarily tilting my head backwards, my eyes began frantically scanning sky. 

The stars were twinkling in their masses, and were so clear and bright it was as if Nicki had arranged the install of an artifical sky just for my enjoyment! We were less concerned about being enveloped by darkness now. A couple carrying torches (smart!) passed us on the bridge and we could soon see the warm glow of the restaurant up ahead. 

Having only brought small backpacks and the walking boots on our feet, we were worried we wouldn’t be polished enough for such a popular local restaurant. I was instantly relieved upon entry. The interior was modest, unpretentious, and packed full of chatty groups of dinners. It almost felt like walking into a massive dinner party at a friend’s house. 

Our waiter Tony was our favourite new pal of the trip; we enjoyed chatting to him as much as we enjoyed the food. I suspect he’s a bit of a local celeb to the dinners there. We shared a comforting starter of baked camembert with cranberry and walnuts, then tactfully chose two different mains so we could do a wee swapsie mid-way. Both the duck breast with fondant potato, and the beef cheek (nicknamed ‘cheeky beef’ by Tony) with horseradish mash were delicious. We decided that dessert would be in the shape of a couple of wee drams back in the town. A decision we would regret in the morning… 

A full day of walking, followed by a daft o’ clock departure from the local pub, was about to catch up on us. Getting out of the impossibly comfortable bed circa 9amwasn’t exactly the highlight of the trip, but hope was in sight. Breakfast. I’d read about Annette’s famous porridge prior to our visit, so we agreed to share a bowl ahead of our build-your-own cooked breakfasts. A very good decision indeed. The rest of the breakfast was everything I wanted it to be and more, the haggis being the star of the show. I was starting to feel better. 

The weekend was set to end just as it began; walking boots and backpacks on, and an all-you-can-enjoy buffet of Perthshire scenery, served up at the Birks of Aberfeldy. We were quickly consumed by the magic of the forest.

Every surface was coated in bubblegum-green moss, or frost which sparkled like fairy dust when smooched by the sun. Rows of icicles hung from the rocks, and the fast flowing water was so clear you could still see the pebbles at the bottom of the deepest parts. The waterfalls were part-frozen, creating a 3D spirograph of ice that resembled something your’d conjure up in a chemistry class. 

The walk is named after the poem which Rabbie Burns was inspired to write after his now famous visit there. I felt inspired too. I’m not sure my modern words can rival those of oor Rabbie however. 

“Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come, let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldie!”

***

Kay stayed with Fernbank House Aberfeldy
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