Day 16 – 20th April 2007
Another fine breakfast. Rosebank is an interesting house. Chris remarked that it was the like the tardis. One enters through the front door of what appears to be a modest cottage and suddenly you are faced with an unexpectedly impressive and spacious hallway and stairwell.
Yesterday was probably the prettiest day of our journey, but today was probably the wildest. We left Kilmartin soon after 9.20 and initially we made good progress. Before we reached the village of Ford, I mentioned to Janet about two large birds of prey I had seen along the loch. One was silhouetted against the sky, the other against the hillside, but both were perched on a dead limbs of an old pine tree. The sign on the gate said “No Entry – birds nesting”. My immediate suspicion of ospreys was confirmed a few minutes later. We met a man, from Norfolk as it happened, having a quick drag outside the Ford village inn. He confirmed that there were indeed ospreys at that location.
Soon we began climbing, and it was tough. The aptly-named Loch Awe appeared to our right. Janet and I had a good view of a bullfinch and frequently the trees would give way to a splendid view along the loch. We came across a coffee shop in Dalavich where we each had coffee and cake. Is there really anything better than a thoroughly glutinous chocolate cake to bring strength back to tired legs?
We didn’t stay long because we still had a long way to go. As usual, Chris was well ahead. Suddenly my attention was drawn by the shrill cry of a bird of prey of some sort. I could not tell what species it was that uttered the cry – the manner of its dive suggested it could have been a peregrine – but I had no doubt about the object of its ire: there, majestic, with long, slow wingbeats, was a golden eagle. I stopped the bike in an instant and readied the camera, but in my excitement I forgot to zoom in. I had only the time for one shot and the entertainment was over, but there were three birds in that shot: a large gull, the unidentified raptor, and the eagle, the last being mobbed by the other two.
We stopped for lunch in Kilchrenan and it was there that a mystery was explained. All morning, a series of cars and some much larger vehicles kept overtaking us on a road that I would have expected to be pretty much deserted. Apparently, there had been some sort of chemical spillage not far north of Kilmartin and all the traffic had been diverted from the A road to this tiny highland lane.
When we reached Taynuilt, we were so much behind the clock that we decided to press on. The A road offered the opportunity to make much better progress and we grasped it with both hands. At one point a large troupe of motorcyclists, all seemingly immaculately turned out in the Geordie Chapter of Hell’s Angels’ Team Colours, went thundering past on their Harley-Davidsons. Somewhere amongst them was an absolutely pristine Land Rover, in the same livery as the riders, clearly their support vehicle. So there you have it: the Geordie Chapter of Hell’s Angels needs a sag wagon. What a bunch of big girls’ blouses!
We crossed Loch Etive by the Connel Bridge. Now some seriously high mountains were coming into view. Loch Etive is fed by the Etive River, in Glen Etive, which in turn is a southerly branch off Glen Coe. We still made good progress. all the time keeping a weather eye open for an otter or other interesting wildlife on the shores of Loch Linnhe, but although the water was beautiful and crystal clear, we saw no creatures of any great interest.
Gradually we approached the House of Keil and suddenly we came upon it. We rode down the driveway to be met by the spectacular sight of a fortified Jacobean mansion and a pair of noisy labradors. I rang the bell and the Lady of the House appeared. We were made most welcome, showed to our rooms, and what rooms they were! Janet and I had a superb family room overlooking the loch and there, below our bedroom, were the fortifications and three cannons pointing out to sea. We were informed that two of the cannons were 17th century and the other from the Armada.
The whole house was steeped in history: antlers on the wall alongside portraits of long-dead ancestors, and pictures of dead birds: was it a snipe and a woodcock, and a wood pigeon and a greater spotted woodpecker? In addition the Broadwood upright piano, probably Victorian to judge by the sconces, was still in place. Beethoven himself used a Broadwood, a gift delivered to Vienna in person by Thomas Broadwood. I was tempted to ask to give it a try, but I felt so strongly that I was so privileged to have a window opened slightly into a bygone ear that I didn’t have the nerve.
We had taken our own food this evening, as there were no restaurants or pubs within eary reach, and the Lady of the House supplied us with a tray of tea. Unfortunately, the first one ended up all over the floor with the teapot smashed – the carpet looked expensive and I’m sure a pot of scalding tea and a jug of milk did it no good at all. The second tray full was more of a success and we had a very enjoyable, if simple, meal of bread, ham, red wine, tomatoes and red peppers followed by a lump of bannock and, of course, a cup of tea.
Before I went to bed tonight, I don’t think I knew what dark was. There were no street lights in the road outside the House of Keil, and our room overlooked the loch. I pulled the curtains back, turned the light off, and I cannot make out the shape of the window on in the wall opposite. It is darker now than anything I can ever remember – darker than the cupboard I used to hide in as a child, because there was always a friendly gleam of light to connect one to the world outside. Here, there is nothing. Just a complete, total and utter absence of light.