Journeying on the Jacobite in the Scottish Highlands

Sunday mornings are slow in Scotland. In fact for the parts of the UK we have seen, there is no cafe culture at breakfast time. Finding a place to get breakfast is akin to finding a needle in the haystack. When you do, you will be disappointed. They are quite bland and minimalistic. Some of the B&Bs do a better job, so if you’re in the area bear this in mind. Sunday morning saw us leave our accommodation early, no great loss that’s for sure. It was a grand old building located in a little town of Onich, near Fort William. With spectacular views of the water and mountains we were hopeful. We arrived late Saturday afternoon and we were greeted by the owner advising us that the power was out and therefore no electricity. Not sure what he thought we would say or do, so I simply said thanks and asked for our room key. He looked a little perplexed. Rooms are not numbered in logical sequence here, so room 19, our base or the night was located on the third floor at the end of the hall next to room 26. Did I mention there are no lifts, so we carried our 

worldly possessions over the creaking floorboards, locating the hole in the step about half way up, we were careful to avoid it on subsequent trips up and down those rickety stairs. I suspect it 

was only the worn tartan inspired carpet, that was stopping anyone falling through. The room was open and airy and on first glance seemed ok. Until you looked in the bathroom and noticed the lack of a shower. Instead, a bath was our only option. The creaking floors were a focus and 
we appreciated the thin walls late that night as our neighbours chose to have lengthy, loud and 

animated discussions in a language quite foreign to us. I am not even going to bore you with details of the bed!  The power returned at some stage while we were strolling through Fort William. 

We suspect the failure had been caused by a brief but dramatic storm that went through as we travelled from a Glasgow into the Hughlands. At the foot of the Highlands is a little town called Luss. If ever you have the opportunity to visit, do so. Known as the prettiest town in Scotland, it lives up to its name in spades. According to the Chief of Clan Colquhoun, Sir Malcolm Colquhoun 

“Loch Lomond is regarded as one of the most famous and recognisable place names on the planet. At its heart, the beautiful village of Luss, a place of sanctuary, pilgrimage and habitation for at least the last 1500 years”. Luss is home to about 450 residents and hundreds of visitors a day in the high season. The town was built in the 18th century and most people work in the slate quarries nearby. The view of the lake is stunning, hosting a huge range of water sports enthusiasts, plus is home to a vast range of wildlife, ducks in particular are fans of the visitors. 

The old church built in 1875 is much younger than its graveyard which dates back to the 7th century. There is notably an 11th century Viking hogback grave set amongst the many resting places in this historic site. Gravestones bear the stories of whole families drowned at sea, resting together over the past centuries. We enjoyed a quaint breakfast and contentedly watched the plethora of tourists go by. Of note, in Scotland is the practice of placing a large container of sauces on your table, no matter the meal you are having. See photos for one such container. Sauces in tiny plastic packets ( not very environmentally friendly) of many varieties including tomato, mayonnaise, brown, mustard, HP, and vinegar just to name a few is common practice. We did see a few tourists pocket a number of packets, obviously for later use.

At the storms worst we stopped at a tiny roadside cafe/bookstore in the middle of nowhere. By this stage the thunder rumbled with demand through the mountains flashing lightning at close intervals and pelting rain onto our windscreen. We were gladdened to enter a warm building, filled
with travellers and an empty table just for us. I happily sat there typing away on my blog while Daryl enjoyed scones with jam and cream. Books lined the walls, the hot chocolate was decadent and it was with some hesitation that I agreed it was time to get back in the car. 

Today, I worked out it is Sunday, (it is very hard to keep track of days) sees us journeying on the 

British railways heritage Jacobite locomotive 62005. Queuing up for tickets for an hour, in the rain, we are both relieved to have scored tickets. The seats book out months in advance but they save 20 tickets for tourists like us who wing it each day. Setting the alarm for 6.30 this morning we were second in line at the train centre, behind some very self-important Germans. Despite the pelting rain the staff did not open the doors early and Daryl ended up soaked to the skin from waiting ( I stayed to look after the car). We may need to purchase a new waterproof jacket. 

The Jacobite is described as the greatest railway journey in the world. The 84 mile round trip 

takes us past a list of impressive extremes. Starting near the highest mountain in Britain, Ben Nevis, it visits Britain’s most westerly mainland railway station, Arisaig, passes by the deepest 
freshwater loch in a Britain, Loch Morar and the shortest river River Morar, finally arriving at the deepest seawater loch in Europe, Loch Nevis. The train stops at Mallaig a village of Glenfinnan. 

We are currently and hour into our travels on the steam engine and the iconic sounds of the tracks can be heard along with the rattle of the old windows and the hoot of the whistle through the countryside. The seats are comfortable, old style with booths of four people. We have met new friends, a couple from Birmingham spending the long weekend in the Highlands. They shared with us stories of their short travels across Europe including destinations such as Germany and Italy as we might speak of a weekend to Melbourne. The rain is not as severe now and hopefully our view will improve, the foggy windows make it hard to enjoy the scenery. Our travel companions fortunately have a towel we share to wipe the windows down. The very fat sheep with their black faces scamper as the train rattles passed them, in the background the majestic Highland mountains stare down at us. 
Our stop in Glenfinnan was brief, with enough time to visit the West Highland Railway Museum after crossing the 21-arched viaduct (a location made famous in the Harry Potter films) which overlooks the Loch Shiel and the Jacobite monument. The cloud cover cleared and we were fortunate to get unobstructed views from our window. The Jacobite is now climbing the mountain and as he chugs up the track the pungent scent of coal sneaks into our window. Large boulders grow through the mountainside and I am at a loss how this land can be tamed.

Mallaig is a tiny fishing village that could be a tourist boom if it was so inclined, but from our observations, and we had two hours to observe, it has not taken up the opportunity to fleece the captive tourist market. Many shops were closed, not trading on a Sunday, despite hundreds of people arriving from travelling on the Jacobite journey, each and everyday. In fact there are two trips, a morning sitting followed by an evening trek. The cafes that were trading turned people 

away as fast as they welcomed them inside. On a cold, rainy day such as today, any food outlet did a roaring trade. After wandering around the village, including checking our the ferry to Isle of Skye, we eventually found a lovely cafe to enjoy some lunch. Delicious homemade food, followed by “hot” hot chocolate. Daryl had fish ( Haddock) with fresh cut chips (skins still on) and peas ( the traditional side of choice), while I had the soup. Just what we needed to thaw out from the Scottish summer chill!

Our travelling companions have rejoined us and it is lovely to have easy company, especially in a confined cabin area. Their trusty towel has been put to work and our window is the cleanest on the train. The rain has ceased and we are looking forward to enjoying the views on the return trip. The journey has been most pleasant, apart from the angry German woman who keeps slamming the carriage door closed; a little more force with each slam. The wet stuff also stayed away for the most part, except for the crossing of the viaduct for the second time, which Daryl has attempted to video. Off course it started to rain only a few minutes beforehand and the low cloud settled in around the mountains. We have kept the window open as much a possible, one to stop the window foggy up and also to annoy the angry German woman across the aisle. Now our table has a fine covering of soot and small fragments of coal. 

The train whistle is blowing, long and loud, we shall soon alight in Fort William and begin the next leg of our Scottish adventure. We have decided to drive to Isle of Skye. This will take us about two and half hours or more if we stop along the way, no doubt we will and with daylight staying with us until late into the evening, it is easy to lose track of time. 

Until next time,

N