Initially the road wound along valleys with the mountain peaks swathed in mist or along treeless plateaus where the road sides are marked by snow poles. But before long we were down to near sea level as the waters at the head of Loch Lomond appeared on our left, on a sparkling sunny morning.
With our arrival at Tarbet, an ancient settlement which was named from the Gaelic word which means “place of portage”, ie where boats can be dragged or carried overland between waterways, we took a break and the opportunity to take a closer look at the waterway we’d been driving along.
From the ninth to the thirteenth centuries Vikings made frequent and savage raids along the west coast of Scotland. In 1263 The King of Norway despatched 60 ships for Loch Long. On arrival at Arrochar opposite Tarbet they laboriously dragged their vessels overland to Loch Lomond and then pillaged this whole area on an industrial scale.
Strangely enough, on our arrival at the car park I could see a kayaker dragging a sit-on-top kayak over the Bonnie Banks of short and wet grass to the water’s edge, unknowingly re-enacting, on a small scale, the Vikings’ mighty feat.
But we still had a very long way to go and planned to visit the Burrell Collection on the way. Given the choice, Mary opted to continue to drive rather than attempt navigation into central Glasgow (we’re using the iPad, paper maps and a hand held GPS rather than a dedicated Tom-Tom type device).
As things turned out, we went well but it sure is a maze in there, especially, as in our case, there were several forced deviations due to road works, houses falling down or whatever.
To our surprise entrance to the Burrell Collection was free and so was car parking, perhaps a reflection on the reputation of the Scot never to spend a penny unless absolutely necessary.
While there were many extraordinary works in the collection, a series of small (say about 15-20cm high) pictures painted on glass and each displayed with a strongly illuminated background caught my attention. All of these works were several hundred years old and photography was allowed, so here are two which I particularly liked.
Below is the official explanation for what is going on in the second pic, directly above.
The collection was so good that we decided to buy our lunch in the cafeteria, partly in an attempt to donate to the cause and assuage our guilt at getting it all for nothing. This done, we were on the road again, with Mary now navigating, remarking that anything was better than trying to drive a six speed manual transmission car through Glasgow’s narrow and winding streets. That’s right, we’re still in Glasgow, and have to get out.
Knowledge of the direction in which you’re travelling and the direction which the map says you need to travel is very useful and soon, with a couple of minor U-turn incidents and no harsh words, spoken aloud at least, we’d left Glasgow behind and were on track for joining the M74, heading SE.
Leaving the M74 for Selkirk put us on a narrow tree-lined and wet winding road (again!). But we made good time, including 32 miles to Selkirk in 50 minutes (remember, I was at the wheel). During this journey we saw a red squirrel, immediately after a sign “RED SQUIRRELS!”. Unfortunately it was prone and in the middle of the road and did not flinch as we approached. I suspect the worst.
Bang on five, cheese and bikkies time, we entered the beautiful village of Corbridge, where we’d reserved, by email the night before from Ballachulish, a room at The Hayes. This found without much difficulty, we let ourselves into the house and room (owners out, but envelope with key and instructions thoughtfully left in the porch).
This is the first B&B I can recall staying in with one of those chair lift things (you know, like in the movie “Psycho”, where the woman’s head fell off when the seat reached the bottom) on the stairs. For a few seconds I was tempted to try it out as a means of getting Mary’s luggage up to our first floor room but the need to transfer the luggage manually at each of the two corners on the stairs killed the idea. Not to mention Mary’s embarrassment if the owners returned in the middle of the operation.
A glass of settling-in red later we were off on foot to seek sustenance from The Angel or the Black Bull, or whatever local pub attracted our custom.
And the Black Bull it was, where we ate and were served very well, including two pints of Guinness for me and a large red for Mary, for £28, less than $45 Aust.
Tomorrow should be an interesting day with visits planned to my birthplace, here in Corbridge, and also to Hadrian’s Wall, nearby.
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