Monday, May 13, 2013

Monday, May 13 - Day 1 of the Speyside Walk

We walked about 11 miles today. As Kathy said, "We are athletes!" (I have to admit to some non-athletic hobbling down for dinner tonight after my muscles had frozen up.)

I was awakened at 5:30 this morning because I was in the wrong time zone but also because the sun was shining brightly! The sun! I had geared myself up for rain and cold, or mizzle (a peculiar Brit term for mist and drizzle) at the least. To get the sun was a bonus.

We ate breakfast in companionable cheeriness, each of us emailing, Facebooking, or reviewing digital pictures. Are we hip or what? (Ans.: What.) We were stoked to get going. One of the guides estimated a four-hour walk. Why, we could be in Fochabers for a late lunch! Go, team! Let's get upstairs, get packed, and head out the door by 9:00!

By 9-ish we were heading down the street to buy some basic lunch staples at a grocery store. After we were all done paying, I realized I had left my walking sticks back at the B&B. Walk back down, ring the bell, apologize to the lady who answered the door who was also the one who had to change the linen on my bed because I had dumped a whole cup of tea on it. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Get back to the others at the store. Second stop was the "pound store" for gloves. In the US of A we have the dollar store, so of course in Scotland they have a pound store. Matt and Patty emerged victorious with new gloves. "The best gloves I've ever had," exclaimed Matt, not because they were warm but because they were such a bargain.

Next were postages stamps for Jessica.

Then we had to grab a local passerby to take our picture in front of the center square statue. It turned out that he had been to Oregon before. "Aye, yes, the Rose Garden," he said proudly. (We talked to quite a few people -- all of whom were amazingly friendly -- during the day, some of whom didn't know Oregon from Kuala Lumpur, but most of whom had a more-than-passing knowledge of the U.S. "The X-Files," someone else proudly announced. "I drove from San Diego to Washington, passing through Oregon and stopping at Crater Lake," said another. Who knew Oregon was so "famous.")

Then some of us fiddled with clothing, taking some layers off or putting some layers on. It was after 10:00 by the time we really started. Maybe a late, late lunch in Fochabers. We were warmish walking down to the trail that runs along the shore. Warmish until we hit the 6-mile trail. Then we were hit by gale force winds (actually maybe about 25-35 mph?) and cold. We were warmed by the sun on our backs and frozen by the wind in our faces. More fiddling as layers were added back on.

Along about the 5-mile mark some of us were looking desperately for a "tea-and-pee" spot. We talked to one nice fellow who was clipping his bushes, and he cheerfully said that there was no cafe or anything for another 3 miles. Oh, good.

We proceeded through the town trying at churches and town halls for public restrooms, but they were locked. Do some of the towns take Monday off? Was it a bank holiday?

A few more blocks down there was a tavern. It wasn't open but a woman was standing in the doorway talking to another woman waiting for a bus. Is there a place to get tea and use the loo, Kathy asked? "Tea is a few doors down," she said, "but you have to come in here to use the toilet." Would she mind if the six of us ...? "Oh, heck, no. Come on in," she said, "I was just cleaning them." A boys room and a girls room, two stalls in each, freshly cleaned. This woman (see picture below) was the caretaker of the world's most beautiful bathroom.

The woman who was waiting boarded her bus when it arrived during our descent on the tavern. We could just imagine her telling her fellow passengers about the Americans who had to pee. We weren't humiliated, just relieved. :)

About a mile later we wanted to stop for lunch. (Guess we won't make it to Fochabers for lunch, because it was already 1:30.) There was nowhere to get out of the fierce wind, but we spied a fairly deserted golf club right by the ocean. I walked in and asked the manager, who was in the middle of a meeting of some sort, if we could sit at one of their picnic tables. He boomed at me, "Of course, of course." The sun was shining, the food was good, and we were starved. As a bonus, the manager, without prompting, told us to help ourselves to the toilets. When it rains, it pours. (Hmmm, maybe that's a bad metaphor.)

Then I started to pack up the ham. The plastic bag blew away from me. Being a good Girl Scout, I chased after it so I wouldn't litter the pristine golf course. I ran and ran but the bag remained tantalizingly just ahead of me. Then it lodged in a sand trap. Aha, I thought, gotcha, and slowed down a tad. When I got to the sand trap, the blasted bag blew out of the trap and it was rolling away, once again just out of reach. I trampled over the immaculate holes chasing after the bag. It finally caught on the gorse hedge between the course and the water. I had won the battle. Or had I? At that point, I was about two blocks away from the picnic table and later I found out that the gorse had torn a hole in the plastic bag, rendering it useless as a holder of ham. But I did not litter.

I asked one of the people who had been in the meeting how anyone could play golf in that wind. "With great difficulty," she said. The Scottish are as understated as their English neighbors.

We were getting pretty footsore but were past the halfway point. Finally, there was the Spey River, the signal to begin our inland turn.

We entered an enchanted forest area and then another wooded area that strangely reminded me of Lanai's ironwood pine woods. The wind was still blowing but not with such vehemence. Luckily, the path for the most part remained flat. "When do we get to the scenic part?" Matt had joked earlier in the day. 99.9% of what we went through was scenic.

In the dark, swiftly moving waters of the Spey River, we spied fly fisherman. 

Just before we entered Fochabers proper, we came upon two curiosities, a stone-and-concrete miniature golf course -- never would have guessed it on my own -- and a beautiful little garden dedicated to "Famous Fochaberians."

Have you been making jokes about what you think the name of the town sounds like? In any event, you probably have been mispronouncing the name anyway. It's FOLK-ah-bers. The thought of famous Fochaberians was intriguing.

In walking through the town finally -- at 4:30 -- we noticed a dress shop called "Frockarbers." Fochaberians are both famous and funny.

We had a great dinner, were suitably impressed with ourselves, were prounounced athletes by Kathy, and drank a toast to ourselves. It's all about us.

P.S. Matt continues to eat strange, unpronounceable dishes. Yesterday it was cullen skink, which Patty kept mangling into cullen skank. (It's a tasty fish soup, sort of like chowder.) Today it was neeps and tatties, complete with instructions on how to eat it. (Apparently like a kid, with everything mashed up together.)

P.P.S. I have surpassed my own daily record for trying to leave things behind, losing things (but which are then found), and fussing with my backpack and clothing. Where's my award?

At the traditional start in front of the statue.
Picture taken by a nice shopper who put his bags down to take our picture.

Here he is.

We came across this marker which had "end of trail" on one side and "start of trail" on the other. This is Kathy's end to mark the end of the trail. We can all go home now.

Oh, wait. She has actually just started the trail.

We walked along the sea for about 6 miles.

The caretaker of the world's most beautiful bathroom.

There were tons of dogs on the path. "Pose," the owner commanded.

An effective cattle guard because the cows haven't figured out how to pull the bars apart and go through. But if they are reading this, they now know the secret.

Jessica at the start of the "Lanai-type" forest -- still paralleling the shore.

Although dark clouds threatened rain many a time, not a drop fell on our saintly heads.

Taking a break at "The Dolphin Center." Are Patty, Kathy and Jessica playing ballerinas and ballet mistress?

What is this, you ask? It's part of an odd miniature golf course. Of course.

 
Saluting the famous Fochaberians.

The pretty garden.

At last, the mighty River Spey.

Frockabers!


No comments: