The Black Spout and Duncansby Head

Tuesday 28th August 2018
(and Tuesday 25th July 2000, and Wednesday 5th September 2018)

After spending three nights in the small town of Pitlochry, which lies just outside the Cairngorms National Park, I had several hours spare before heading north so I made my way towards a tall waterfall that I had visited when I was in Pitlochry in 2014. On that occasion the waterfall had been a diversion added to the end of an already long walk, but now it was the primary goal of an admittedly short walk. Heading off along the main road that passes through Pitlochry for a bit, passing the Blair Atholl Distillery, I branched off onto a track and entered Black Spout Wood after passing beneath the railway line. It was rather dark under the thick canopy of trees but the clear track heads into the wood and is clearly signposted so at the appropriate moment I turned right onto a path that climbs through the wood until eventually emerging at a viewpoint opposite the tall Black Spout waterfall in its setting amongst an idyllic woodland surround. Although it wasn’t sunny the waterfall still looked stunning as it cascades down a series of falls all of varying sizes. After taking some pictures I tried to get a closer view but this proved impossible on the sheer cliff-faces of the bowl that the waterfall has carved out for itself.

Following the path I came up to the stream just above the falls where the Edradour Burn passes through damp, moss-rich woodland in delightful surroundings that would have been a lovely place to visit even if there wasn’t a tall waterfall a short distance downstream. After taking yet more pictures of this tranquil scene I followed the stream up not wanting to leave the water’s edge and eventually came upon a signpost that pointed towards a narrow enclosed path between the woodland and some fields, heading to Edradour. Rather than take this path I noticed an unsignposted path that heads back down to the stream crossing it by a bridge that is marked on O.S. maps as going to Colivoulin Farm, but after crossing the bridge I saw a faint trail that heads through the weeds beside the burn upstream. This proved too tempting for me o ignore so I followed the trail back down to the water’s edge as I slowly followed the increasingly tricky and slippery path through a dark, but magical, ravine. Eventually I came to the edge of Edradour Distillery where empty casks could be seen on the far side of the burn, but also an unclimbable fence that barred further progress.

Reluctantly I retraced my way along the slippery trail back to the bridge and followed the path out of the wood up to Colivoulin Farm where I was able to follow the farm track onto the road not far from Edradour Distillery. I was interesting in visiting this distillery that trades itself on its small size, but the one hour tour would not have left me with much time to get back to Pitlochry to catch the train, so reluctantly I had to be satisfied with buying a sample of their heavily peated Ballechin whisky, which as a fan of smoky whiskies I would prefer rather than the regular non-peated Edradour. Finally leaving the distillery behind I took the signposted path back to Pitlochry that initially passes through some fields before plunging once more into Black Spout Wood gradually descending until the path crosses the Kinnaird Burn and passing around the edge of the Atholl Palace Hotel eventually reaches the main road just outside Pitlochry.

Catching the train I headed north all the way up to the city of Inverness where after a short diversion to have a look at the River Ness I went to the bus station to catch the Express coach to Orkney. I had been to Orkney just once before, way back in the year 2000, before I started to walk on every day of every holiday I got. I had been staying at the John O’Groats Youth Hostel, which used to be in the village of Canisbay a few miles away until it closed. On the day I arrived in 2000, straight after booking in, I ventured into the misty wetness of typical Caithness low cloud and walked the four miles past John O’Groats, the village famed for the being the furthest point north in Britain, to the spectacular cliff faces of Duncansby Head, the actual furthest point north-east in Britain. The rock formations were amazing despite the misty weather conditions and the fading light of the evening, and they had made the long walk along the road to get there worth it, even including the four miles to get back to the youth hostel again. Walking may not have been the primary aim of my holidays back then, but I still did a fair amount.

The next day I caught the bus to the complex of buildings beside the sea just north of the village of John O’Groats that is the spot that has been adopted by the tourists as the most northerly point, and it is from this point that day tours of Orkney set off during the summer. On that day in 2000 I took the Highlights Day Tour of Orkney, which still runs, taking the ferry across the turbulent Pentland Firth and around these magical islands. When I returned to John O’Groats I resolved to come back to Orkney and spend a longer time on the islands to really explore, but then events intervened. Firstly, while waiting for the bus back to Canisbay, I heard that Concorde had crashed, which precisely dates my visit, and then later I became more interested in climbing mountains, and for a place with no mountains Orkney held little interest for me. Thus it was that eighteen years passed before I returned to the tourist resort near John O’Groats to await the ferry across to Orkney. The coach had dropped me off with more than an hour to spare before the ferry left and I would like to say that I took advantage of the time to wander along the coast, but that would be a lie.

It was cold and windy that day so I just tried to stay warm, but when I came back from Orkney I had a similar wait for the bus so with better weather I made my way along a path that attempts to follow the shore. Erosion has forced diversions of the path but a way can still be made with the low buildings of the John O’Groats complex (and ferry terminal) behind me I headed alongside the sea around Robert’s Haven and in a very short time reached the short headland of the Ness of Duncansby. Without the time to continue along the coast to Duncansby Head I turned around and headed back to the tourist trap. A week earlier I had been standing wrapped up against the cold winds impatiently waiting for the ferry to arrive at the end of a long day of contrasts that had seen me walking through dark woodland, getting trapped in a shallow gorge, and briefly visited one of the smallest distilleries in Scotland before travelling by train and coach all the way to the famed John O’Groats. All of them faded in memory compared with the prospect of finally, after eighteen years, returning to the Orkney Islands. My return visit may have been long in waiting, but I was not to be disappointed.