The Courier & Advertiser (Angus and Dundee)
Hunting for new horizons
There are moments when you just need to get out of the house and seek new horizons – so, bundling Inka into the car, I set off.
Actually, I headed north out of Fettercairn on the B966 and, at the foot of Cairn o’ Mount, turned right at the Clatterin’ Brig for Drumtochty Glen and Auchenblae. Before the bridge was built, the road crossed a ford paved with cobblestones over a burn called the Slack Water, over which the iron-bound wheels of the fine ladies’ carriages clattered.
I stopped at little Loch Saugh at the entrance to the glen and let Inka out for a run. I was surprised to see several trout rising as the temperature was just above freezing. I could hardly believe that any insects could survive in such cold conditions.
The Glen of Drumtochty is steepsided and narrow. The Luther Water, which eventually joins the River North Esk just below the Upper Northwaterbridge, winds through the glen. At this time of year, the low sun penetrates for only a short time between stands of tall, mature trees.
The glen proper is known as Strath Finella, named after the wife of a Lord of the Mearns who was involved, Lady Macbeth-style, in the murder of King Kenneth II in revenge for his part in the murder of her only son. There’s a Castle Hill – a likely spot for a murder – and a Priest’s Well, Abbot’s Face and Friar’s Glen all marked on the map, indicating a significant ecclesiastical community.
After her foul deed, and fearing for her own life, Finella fled to the coast pursued by the dead king’s supporters. Between Johnshaven and St Cyrus, at Den Finella – named in her memory – in order to avoid capture and dishonour, she “leapt from the rocks to a wild boiling pool where her body was torn and tossed”.
From Auchenblae, the road to
Glenbervie takes you along a high shoulder of hills with long views to the east and the coast. The sun was blinking out of an uncertain sky and I thought it might soon rain.
Carved in stone
I couldn’t resist the finger post directing me to Glenbervie Kirkyard. Moss-covered walls give an indication of its age. The headstones in old graveyards are often a fascinating source of information, and names that are familiar historically sometimes turn up in unexpected places. Our national poet Robert Burns’s ancestors farmed in the district and are buried there.
The Bervie Water runs through the glen separating the graveyard and Glenbervie House on the opposite side. I bought a springer spaniel from Mrs Badenochnicolson of Glenbervie, a noted breeder of the dogs and well regarded in the field trials world. Jasper was a memorable dog who exhibited great goodwill to the world at large, except hens – over which I prefer to draw a discreet veil. But I remember him with affection tempered with frustration at some of his more wayward behaviour.
Leaving Glenbervie behind, I turned off right before Drumlithie, aiming for the coast. Turning right again on to the A90, and first left at Bridge of Mondynes, I was on an unclassified road with passing places which joins the B967 at Arbuthnott. You are in Sunset Song country now and the Lewis Grassick Gibbon Centre is on the left as you leave the village, with next stop Inverbervie.
Cat of nine tales
There’s a ghost story attached to a cottage in Bervie that I’ve never been able to verify. In 1341, King David II, returning from exile in France to reclaim the Scottish crown, was shipwrecked on rocks known as Craig David at the mouth of the then Bervie Harbour.
Several cottages in the village were roofed with timbers salvaged from the wreck. It is said that one of the cottages is haunted by the ship’s cat which drowned when the king’s ship foundered, and in stormy weather its frightened mewing can be heard in the loft space.
Time for a lunchtime stop at the Harbour Bar in Gourdon where I tucked into a welcome plate of sausage, egg and chips. On then to Johnshaven where the harbourside is piled high with creels while the shellfish season is closed. Anyway, heavy winter seas could cause much damage to creels set in shallow water close to the reefs of the rocky Kincardineshire coast.
I was amused by the local spuggies that appear to have taken up residence in the creels, roosting among them as if it were a hedge. There may also be feeding for them off scraps of fish caught on the netting which covers the creels’ catching chambers or “parlours”.
The light was beginning to go out of the day as I headed down the coast and through St Cyrus, turning right past the Moorie Kennels where we take Inka for his holidays, and on over the Wide Open.
Back home, I was ready for a cup of tea and a slice of Selkirk Bannock smothered with the Doyenne’s homemade raspberry jam. Scrummy.
“It is said that one of the cottages is haunted by the ship’s cat and in stormy weather its mewing can be heard in the loft