Willie Shand explores beautiful Kintail in the Scottish Highlands
Willie Shand reflects on his many connections to this mountainous landscape in the Highlands.
YOU never know when you’re making a memory, and in my travels I’ve had so many fantastic days exploring most parts of Scotland.
For some unknown reason, last night I started to reminisce over some of my trips to Kintail.
It’s a bit scary, though, when you start putting dates on them and realise some are now well over half a century ago!
Not all of my memories of Kintail are ones I’d care to dwell upon, though – like the time I was photographing Eilean Donan Castle from Dornie Pier when the tripod leg collapsed and the camera wrote itself off on the rocks below!
I relive that dreadful moment every time I pass through Dornie.
My earliest recollections of Kintail go way back before digital photography and, indeed, beyond the time I even possessed a camera at all, to when I was around seven.
Oh, to be that age again! Dornie Bridge was just a single track in those days, and the road to Skye carried much less traffic than it does today.
Dad was climbing the Munros at the time and, with the prospect of a good weekend ahead, he’d set his sights on striking a few from his list.
In Glen Shiel we stopped off at a wee place that’s no longer there, and that few may even remember existed – Lubaneorn.
This was the bothy of Dad’s friend, Duncan Macrae.
Kintail is, of course, Macrae country.
Anyway, Dad might have been aiming for the hills, but poor Duncan was to be left in charge of me.
We had a great day in the hills ourselves, though, as Duncan took me to Glen Lichd in search of the fairies.
Needless to say, the elusive wee creatures kept themselves well hidden.
It had been arranged that we would meet Dad in the afternoon at the home of shepherd Jimmy Grant.
Dad was back early and, seeing us approach, decided to hide himself in the house.
Duncan was most concerned and all for going in search of him, but soon twigged what was afoot.
We stayed that night with the Macrae family at Letterfearn on the west side of Loch Duich.
There was no need for television to keep us entertained that evening – not that you could pick up reception out there anyway.
One man who could was Duncan Macdonald in remote Ardintoul. His telly, however, was on the blink, and needed a spare part to get it going again.
With no roads to Ardintoul, the postie had little option but to travel four miles by boat around the point at Totaig and into Loch Alsh.
So, at six p.m. that evening, Dad, Duncan, his brother Eddie and I joined the postie in an open motor boat and set sail to deliver the part.
It was dark by the time we returned.
Beyond Letterfearn the single-track road along the west side of Loch Duich peters out at Totaig Pier.
Unless you seek a bit of an adventure, it is best to leave the car at Letterfearn.
What a grand view there is from Totaig across the loch to Eilean Donan Castle.
The most memorable pictures I won from Totaig were, however, of a heron behind the pier house late one evening during a fiery sunset.
Beyond the pier a rough foot track continues round the coast to Glenelg and the Kylerhea ferry for Skye, passing the broch of Dun Totaig along the way.
The word “broch” comes originally from the Norse “borg”, meaning a fort or strong place.
Dun Totaig’s builders shuffled off this mortal coil more than 2,000 years ago.
Of course, some say it was built by the witch Grugaig and that it was her sons who built the Glenelg brochs of Dun Telve and Dun Troddan.
One thing’s for certain – this structure was standing here a long, long time before Eilean Donan Castle ever existed.
Eilean Donan is surely one of the best recognised and most photographed castles in Scotland.
It’s thought to be named after the seventh-century Saint Donan, Abbot of
Eigg, and the foundations reach back to around the year 1230, when King Alexander II built it to keep check on the Vikings.
Strategically set on its tiny island, it’s now linked to the shore by a long causeway.
It stands at the joining point of the three sea lochs – Loch Duich, Loch Long and Loch Alsh.
The original castle from near 800 years ago could tell some pretty gruesome tales, but, alas, during the 1719 Jacobite Rebellion, it was blown to smithereens.
Believe it or not, the castle we see today is less than a century old. It was restored by Colonel John Macrae-gilstrap and Farquhar Macrae in a labour of love that took some 20 years.
Even if you’ve never been to Kintail, you’ll most likely recognise Eilean Donan from pictures on countless shortbread tins and as a location in the filming of “Highlander”.
It certainly looks the part in every detail, but for me poses best for the camera from Totaig, or from above on the Carr
Brae – part of the old road to Skye.
The Carr Brae’s a great wee road: single track and full of steep twists and turns, offering some wonderful views over Loch Duich and the surrounding mountains.
Loch Duich is believed to take its name from the 11th-century Saint Dubhthach.
With a reputation of being one of the wettest parts of Scotland, fine sunny days in Kintail should never be wasted.
The mood of the landscape is always changing and, well sheltered by the mountains, it’s surprising just how often the loch’s waters lie as calm as a mill pond.
On such occasions it’s easy to forget this is a tidal arm of the sea.
I’ve spent many an hour photographing the most amazing reflections on Loch Duich, totally oblivious to time and to the number of films I was going through.
I remember one such rare morning while staying at Ratagan House when it was a hotel.
In great excitement, I’d run to the foreshore with camera and tripod and had forgotten all about breakfast – until about an hour or so later, when the owner, Mrs Macrae, came down to the bottom of the garden and shouted to me to hurry, as the tables were being cleared!
Even the vicious Kintail midges didn’t put me off that morning.
A high rainfall isn’t all bad, though – especially if it’s impressive waterfalls you’re after.
And, from Dorusduain near Morvich, an eight-mile hike will take you to the second-highest falls in the country – the Falls of Glomach – the “forbidding falls”.
I once tackled them with Dad from another direction, by Glen Elchaig.
Just before the start of the steep climb, we met an old chap coming down and, in conversation, Dad mentioned to him the last time he’d approached the falls from this side was before the war.
The old man thought about it a wee while then said, “Aye, would that be the Boer War?”
Dad just had to laugh. Morvich is bypassed by a long, sweeping causeway watched over from the east by the Five Sisters.
Boasting the longest continuous slope in the country, it helps to have some mountain goat in your blood to reach the tops.
Either that or to be getting chased for your life. One of the hills is named Sgurr nan Spainteach – the peak of the Spaniards.
An odd name, you might think, for a mountain in these parts.
Again, it takes us back to the Jacobite Rising of 1719.
The Hanoverian troops had won the upper hand over the Jacobites and had come to Kintail to finish them off once and for all.
Almost a thousand men, including around 300 Spanish reinforcements, took to their heels with their only escape being up.
They all made for the top of the hill that has ever since been known as Sgurr nan Spainteach.
A lower western outlier, Sgurr an t-searraich, is a much less punishing climb, but nonetheless gives a grand bird’s-eye view over the causeway and Inverinate.
The road to Glenelg rises sharply above Ratagan. According to the road sign, Glenelg is twinned with Glenelg on Mars, but they don’t have many exchange visits.
Crossing the Mam Ratagan Pass, this road, like the Carr Brae, gives some cracking aerial views over Kintail and to the bulk of Ben Fhada (Ben Attow).
It is best to keep at least one eye on the road, though – it’s a long way down!
When Dr Johnson and his companion, Boswell, took this road in 1773 they were on horseback.
At one precarious point the horse lost its footing and the poor doctor nearly found his wings.
Yes, for me, Kintail holds many fond memories, but not least the day I met Jock.
He was sitting looking out over Loch Duich when I happened to notice him.
I just had to stop and take his picture.
Jock was a character and a half – an old red tractor with a unique number plate.
What really made the picture was its matching tyres and headlights.
It’s almost 24 years since I made Jock’s acquaintance and, although I’ve been back many times since, I’ve never managed to find him again.
Like the fairies in Glen Lichd, he appears to have gone into hiding. ■