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Driesh Mayar Map Went up to Ramsbottom on the Friday night and drove up to Scotland on the Saturday with Andrew. We were going to stay in Kirriemuir but there was a festival on that weekend and all the pubs were full up - also no B&B signs to be seen anywhere. Kirriemuir is the birthplace of JM Barrie and there's a pub called the Hook Hotel where we were told we could have a bed for the night but that they wouldn't be able to do any breakfast for us because they were going to be up late (ie boozing). As if to demonstrate this some bloke then lurched past us, staggering and completely plastered - it was only 7.30. God knows what he'd be like by closing time. Andrew thought we should take the offer and go to a café for breakfast but I wanted a proper B&B so we carried on to Forfar, about 6 miles away and got a place there ok. This one was run by an ex-army bloke and his German wife, Mr & Mrs Horsburgh - they had a sign in the window saying 'German-Speaking'; presumably he'd picked it up along with his wife whilst stationed in Germany. There was an umbrella stand on the stairs, full of different styled walking sticks so Andrew asked if someone in the house had a bad leg. A joke which Mr Horsburgh didn't seem to appreciate. It was a collection. That evening we had a vegetable curry at the 'Chapter & Verse' bistro (£7.50) then visited the Stag Hotel, Bensons (a chrome and neon place), and the County Hotel. On the Sunday there were some early spots of rain but after that it was fine & dry all day - cloudy but clear of the tops and with good views. We drove along Glen Clova to a car park where the road ended. Then, starting at 10.55, we walked along a wooded track and turned left to approach the steep ascent route up 'the Scorrie'. The path passed to the left of some forestry plantation and then rose steeply up the hill, mostly over grass. Heart-pounding stuff but once at the top of the bluff it was easier. Skirting around the top of 'the Winter Corrie' we continued up a gentle slope over heather and grass directly to the top.
The summit of Driesh is rounded/flattish, covered with short grass and rocks and crowned with a stone windbreak surrounding the trig point. (1.10). A man and woman were already up there and took our photo for us - as they left another couple turned up. We had also seen a party of about 8 with an energetic white dog slogging up the Scorrie after us earlier but never saw them reach the top. They vanished. From Driesh it was an easy amble along a well-defined path down to the col and on up the undemanding slopes of Mayar, reaching the summit at 2.40. Once again it was rounded, grassy and stony with a cairn, plus a couple of fence posts. Pretty tame. It was still warm and shirt & T-shirt were enough - Andrew was still in shorts and a vest.
Descending north over grass and some boggy bits we arrived at the head of the Fee Burn then carried on down a fairly steep but easy-to-follow path till we reached the forestry track through Glendoll Forest. That gave a long (about 2 miles) gently-sloping walk back down to the car park (4.25). We stayed at Pitlochry that night. The first place we tried couldn't put us up but the lady there gave us directions to her aunt's place, a bungalow called 'Cresta' - the aunt's name was Mrs Beattie. £17 for the night. In the evening we went to the Scotlands Hotel for a pint and food - we got a pasta thing for £6.50. There weren't many people in yet but a party of 4 were arguing, voices just below shouting level. Apparently 'Trevor' was sulking because of 'John' and was threatening to go back to his hotel room to sulk there, while 'Jenny' was arguing him out of it and saying he was always like that. Trev was tall, spare, dark haired, receding temples, about 37 - public schoolboy type; John was about 25, shorter with fair spiky hair; Jenny was maybe 34, medium build, dark. They sounded as if they were all from the south of England. Anyway we chomped our pasta and guzzled our beer and moved on to the Kingfisher, which was a big high street bar where an Irish band was belting out 'Whisky in the Jar'. There was a young barman there from Oldham who recognised us as fellow Lancastrians when he saw Andrew's Manchester City shirt. He said he'd just finished his degree - it seemed an odd sort of career move to be starting off in a pub in Pitlochry. From there we went to Mackay's Hotel then the Old Mill Inn, and who should be there but Jenny and her pals, all well plastered by now, her most of all. She went over and dragged a party of total strangers, 4 girls & 2 blokes, over to her table, saying that she loved them, she loved them and wanted them to be friends.
Minutes later she was hitching her skirt up, sitting on the table and waving her legs in the air, and later still she straddled the sulky Trev (who had just called her 'a South London Slapper') and sitting on his lap facing him began bouncing merrily up and down as she slobbered over him. He seemed less sulky at that point. I was waiting for someone to arrest them or throw a bucket of water over them or maybe the Scottish League of Temperance and Decency to put in an appearance with the tar and feathers… but no. Left 'em to it and staggered off back to Mrs Beattie's - she was not very pleased at the time we got back, though it was before 12. She was OK in the morning though. | |||||
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