The Giant’s Shower Mondate

As we drove to North Conway, New Hampshire for an errand today, we had no idea where we might hike. And then in the midst of said errand, my guy suggested Arethusa Falls in Crawford Notch. It had been a while since our last visit so we decided it was a great idea.

It’s funny how the trail seems flat in my mind’s eye, but it’s hardly that as roots and rocks or boulders keep all eyes looking down while we climbed up. While it’s long been this way, the impact of hikers seeking solace during the past fifteen months means it’s been trodden even more than in the past.

The hike to the falls is rather generic and I soon decided I wouldn’t need to write about it until . . . we reached the Devlin’s staircase. And then it dawned on me that summer began late last night and we were in the right place, only having missed the celebration by half a day. My only hope was that we might glimpse our friend who had built them.

When we arrived at the falls, I could see that he had indeed turned on the shower and others were standing below taking advantage of the cool water on such a hot day. Do you see the heart created by leaves and trees at the top of the waterfall? That was another sign.

When in Rome–and so yes, we did the same.

After hanging out there for a bit, we hiked down and decided to detour via the trail to Bemis Falls, where even more roots slowed us down a bit, but the water spilling into the tiered basins made the trip well worth the effort. Notice how rather than a shower, the basins offered a place to bathe. It was another sign and again we knew Devlin was responsible.

Farther down the trail, we walked into Colesium Falls and again sat for bit while White Admiral butterlies fluttered around us.

One even paused long enough for us to admire its handsome features. We suspected their presence in this particular area was to serve as decoys.

For without realizing it until we returned to the Bemis Trail, we’d entered Falda’s home range. My heart be still. It was all coming together as planned.

The icing on the cake was a single Pink Lady’s Slipper, which we’re convinced Devlin had planted for Falda.

So . . . who are these two: Devlin and Falda? Why a giant and a fairy, of course. And perhaps you’ve read my fairy tale before, but even if you did, I’d love for you to read it again. And share it. And if you haven’t then, sit back and enjoy. And one more and, if anyone cares to illustrate it for fun, give it a whirl, but please share your works with me and maybe when I post this again in a year or two (It seems I’m on an every-two-years plan for sharing this story) I’ll include your works, with attribution, of course.

Once upon a Midsummer’s Eve, on Sabattus Mountain, a group of fairies gathered in a circle for a night of magic and merriment. All wore crowns of wood sorrel and ferns about their heads. Their sparkly skirts matched the color of their hair, purple and green and yellow and orange and blue. Together they danced and sang this tune:

We whirl and twirl and dance around,
Our feet, they barely touch the ground.
We wish and wish and wish tonight,
For a Midsummer’s Eve that is fun and bright.

Aisling stopped suddenly and stared at the delicate pink lady’s slipper they circled around.

“What is it, Aisling?” asked Carys. “Why did you pause?”

“I had a vision,” Aisling said. Her wings fluttered as fast as a hummingbird’s, which they always did whenever she had a vision.

“Tell us,” insisted Imma.

“It’s about Falda,” said Aisling.

“Oh, will my wings work again?” pleaded Falda, for her wings were folded and though she could dance and jump, she could no longer fly.

“No, Falda. It’s not that, but something even better, I think. And there’s a nice ogre too,” explained Aisling.

“Tsk. Tsk. A nice ogre. Whoever heard of such a thing?” demanded Biddie. “The only ogre we ever knew was a devil. Remember his sign in Crawford Notch: ‘Devl Hom.’ That ogre was so mean, he couldn’t even spell.”

The fairies continued dancing and forgot about Aisling’s vision for a few hours. When the merriment was over, Falda and Biddie, the older fairies, returned to their homes beneath the thick foliage and moss-covered tree stumps. Imma, Carys and Aisling used pine needles to sweep the area so no hikers would discover them.

“Tell us more about your vision, Aisling,” said Carys. “Who is the ogre? And what does he have to do with Falda?”

“I don’t know for sure,” said Aisling.

“Biddie always says that there was a giant who lived near our old home in Crawford Notch. He was cursed and not to be trusted,” said Imma.

“Let’s go back there and check him out,” suggested Carys.

“Yes, let’s,” said Aisling. “Remember, we can always avoid contact with him by reciting the backward chant: Ogres bad big with contact eye avoid always.”

“OK,” agreed Imma. “Let’s go.”

In a twinkle and a flitter, the three fairies left their home in Lovell, Maine, and reached Crawford Notch. The rising moon glowed on the giant’s staircase made of carefully placed tree trunks.

Aisling was the first to smell something awful. “What stinks?” she asked.

“I think it’s him,” said Imma, pointing to where the giant stood building a two-hundred-foot high granite wall. “Biddie said his smell is why we left.”

“Shhh,” whispered Carys from her hiding place high up in a beech tree. “Listen to him.”
This is what they heard: “Humph. I sure hope I can find water to flow over this fall. Then I can finally take a shower. And who knows, maybe Sweet Falda will hear that I’m clean and she’ll finally return.”

The three fairies held their noses and giggled.

“That’s your vision, Aisling,” squealed Imma.

“Humph. What was that sound?” the giant demanded. In the gruffest voice he could muster, he said, “Who goes there?”

Imma quickly waved her magic wand and a breeze moved the leaves. The giant could no longer hear them. He returned to his work of stacking granite boulders on top of one another.

“We’ve got to figure out how to get Falda and the giant together,” said Carys.

“Don’t you think he’s a mean, old ogre?” asked Imma.

“Not at all,” said Carys.

“Me either,” said Aisling.

“OK then. I have a plan, but I’ll need to ask my cousin to help,” Imma said.

In a twinkle and a flitter, the fairies returned to Sabattus Mountain and their village under the moss-covered tree stumps in the old pine grove.

“Falda, Biddie, wake up,” they called.

“What is it?” Falda asked as she walked out of her wee house, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“We just came from Crawford Notch and we saw the most amazing thing,” said Carys.

“Tsk. Tsk. There’s nothing amazing left in Crawford Notch,” said Biddie.

“Oh, but you are wrong, Biddie. We saw a giant staircase, a giant waterfall . . . well, almost waterfall, and a certain giant himself,” said Imma.

“Almost waterfall?” asked Falda.

“Yes, it just needs water,” said Imma.

“Tsk. Tsk. Did you say ‘a certain giant’?” asked Biddie.

Carys fluttered up and down. “Yes, Aisling’s vision is coming true. We saw a certain giant building the almost waterfall and . . .” She was so overcome with excitement that she choked up and cried happy tears.

Aisling continued, “ . . . and he mentioned you, Falda.”

Falda’s cheeks turned as pink as the lady’s slippers that bloomed around them.

“Tsk. Tsk. You talked to that devil? Didn’t I always teach you that he is a cursed ogre and not to be trusted? Did you use the backward chant?” demanded Biddie.

“Oh, Biddie, don’t worry. We didn’t talk to him,” Imma said. The she whispered, “Yet.”

“No, we didn’t talk to him. We just listened to him,” said Aisling.

“I never even knew his name,” said Falda. She twisted her wee hands together. “He used to leave me beautiful gifts though, like a pinecone wreath and an oak picture frame.”

Biddie said, “Tsk. Tsk. He’s the devil, I tell you. And he stinks.”

“Yes, he did have a certain odor,” said Falda. “That was one reason we moved to Maine.”

“Maybe he smelled bad because he was always busy building something and couldn’t take a shower,” suggested Carys.

“Tsk. Tsk. He’s the devil and we’ll not return to Crawford Notch. It’s obvious that he put a curse on Falda and her wings got caught on a branch when we landed here. Now they are folded and she cannot fly,” insisted Biddie. “Enough of this nonsense. Go back to bed all of you.”

Aisling, Imma and Carys returned to their homes . . . momentarily. A few minutes later, when they were sure they could hear Biddie snoring, they met under an oak leaf behind Aisling’s house.

“I’ll ask Cousin Arethusa to provide a spring so water will flow over the boulders,” said Imma.

“Oh goody,” Carys said as she clapped her hands.

“Shhh,” Aisling whispered. “Quiet or they’ll hear us. We must act quickly before the sun rises on a new day.”

Silently, the three fairies formed a circle. Imma held her magic wand high and swung it in a sweeping arch above their heads. Fairy dust sprinkled upon them. Out of the dust, Cousin Arethusa appeared. In a whisper, Imma explained the need for a spring in Crawford Notch to which Arethusa agreed as long as the waterfall would be named for her.

“Thank you, Cousin Arethusa. Now we must go,” said Imma.

In a twinkle and a flitter, the three fairies returned to the Notch. They found the giant placing the last granite boulder on top of the wall.

He blinked when they landed on it. “Humph,” he growled, again using his gruffest voice, which wasn’t really gruff at all. “Who might you be?”

Immediately the three fairies covered their noses and gasped for air.

“Oh my. Do I smell that bad?” the giant asked. His cheeks turned red as the wintergreen berries that grew on the forest floor.

“Yes,” Carys squeaked.

“But if you turn around three times . . .” gasped Aisling.

“ . . . And say ‘water, water, everywhere’ five times fast,” added Carys.

“ . . . Water will flow over the falls and you can finally shower,” finished Imma.

“Really?” asked the giant.

“Try it,” said Carys.

“And hurry,” added Aisling.

“Do it for Falda,” finished Imma.

“Fal . . . da? You know Sweet Falda?” asked the giant.

“Yes, but hurry . . . you need to shower,” said Imma.

“Oh, yes.” So the giant turned around three times, said, “Water, water, everywhere,” five times and water flowed over the falls.

“Look, Arethusa Falls,” exclaimed Imma.

“I can’t believe it. I’m not very good at being mean and scary, but I can make wonderful things with my hands. Only I did wonder how I’d make this shower work,” said the giant.

“Well, you must thank Arethusa for that. And by the way, Biddie thinks you ARE mean and scary,” said Imma.

“Biddie. As I recall, she’s just an old biddie,” said the giant.

The fairies giggled.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked.

“Because that is exactly what Falda always says about Biddie,” explained Aisling.

“Oh, Sweet Falda. I must shower now so I can see her again.”

The fairies told him that Sabattus Mountain was only a few giant steps east of Arethusa Falls. Then in a twinkle and a flitter they returned to their village.

A few winks later, the Earth rumbled. All five fairies quickly gathered at Falda’s house.

“What was that?” they wondered together.

“Sounds like thunder,” said Falda. “A storm must be approaching.”

“But I thought I saw the sun rising as I rushed over here,” said Carys.

Suddenly, the sky darkened. The fairies fluttered closer together. Falda lit a candle. Then they heard a tapping sound near the entrance. She peeked out, but saw no one. Curious, the fairies cautiously walked outside. Standing atop the mountain was a certain giant.

“Oh,” said Falda and her face brightened with a smile.

“Tsk. Tsk. If it isn’t the devil himself. And he’s flattened the trees,” exclaimed Biddie.

“The devil? Why on Earth do you say that, Biddie? And sorry about the trees. I tried my best to tiptoe,” said the giant.

“Tsk. Tsk. That’s what your sign said, ‘Devl Hom,’” said Biddie.

“Oh, that sign. It broke in an ice storm. I just never got around to fixing it. I was too busy building other things. My name is Devlin. That sign should read, ‘Devlin’s Home,’” said the giant.

“Tsk. Tsk . . . you stink too,” stammered Biddie.

“Not anymore. Now I can shower whenever I want. You must come see all the changes in the Notch.” Devlin leaned down, picked Falda up and placed her in the palm of his oversized hand. “What happened to your wings, Sweet Falda?”

“Nothing really. Just a wee accident,” she said.

So Devlin carried Falda over to Crawford Notch for a visit. In a twinkle and a flitter, Carys, Imma and Aisling followed behind him. Biddie tagged along, tsk-tsking all the way.

And they all lived happily ever after. All but Biddie were happy, of course.

Arethusa Falls and Sabattus Mountain Hikes

Guess what! You can hike to both locations mentioned in The Giant’s Shower. First, climb the giant’s staircase to Arethusa Falls in Crawford Notch, New Hampshire. Be sure to pack a snack or lunch to enjoy beside the falls. Who knows, you might even see Devlin working nearby. If he smells, remind him to take a shower.

The trailhead to Arethusa Falls is located on Route 302 at the southern end of Crawford Notch in the White Mountains. The hike is easy, but it does take about 45-60 minutes to reach the over 200-foot high falls. Several trail options are available so be sure to check local guides, such as the Appalachian Mountain Club’s White Mountain Guide and bring a map.

And only a few giant steps east of the falls is Sabattus Mountain in Lovell, Maine. If you are traveling via car rather than giant steps, Sabattus Mountain is about an hour and a half from Arethusa Falls. Follow Route 302 East to Route 5 North in Fryeburg, Maine. Stay on Route 5 through the villages of Lovell and Center Lovell. Just after the Center Lovell Inn, turn right onto Sabattus Road. Drive about 1 1/2 miles, then turn right onto Sabattus Trail Road.

The trailhead and parking area are a half mile up the road and clearly marked. The round-trip hike takes about 1 hour and is fairly easy, with one moderate spot. From the top, you will see Kezar Lake and Pleasant Mountain to the south. The White Mountains of Maine and New Hampshire are to the west.

For more information about this hike, check Marita Wiser’s guidebook, HIKES and Woodland Walks in and around Maine’s LAKE REGION, which is sold at local stores.

Hike up the right-hand trail. You’ll reach the top in about 45 minutes. Take time to enjoy the view left behind when the giant flattened trees with his footsteps. Some trees still stand tall, because he was only tiptoeing. Continue along the ridge until the trail turns left to descend.

In an old pine grove along this trail, you might suddenly feel the presence of fairies. Their homes are among the moss-covered tree stumps. They enjoy visiting Crawford Notch, but Sabattus is now their forever home. Pause a bit and let the magic of this place overtake you.

Do be sure not to add to or take away from the fairies’ homes. These are natural homes and you shouldn’t disturb them.

Happy hiking! And say hello to Carys, Imma, Aisling, Falda and Biddie for me.


Meanings of names used in the story:
Aisling–vision, dream
Imma–water bearer
Falda–folded wings
Arethusa (Ara-Thuse-A)–spring
Devlin–brave, one of fierce valor
Pink lady’s slipper–moccasin flower, large, showy orchid found in the woods of Maine and New Hampshire

How to make your own fairy dust:
Combine dried flower petals, leaves and birdseed in a small bowl. Crush together. Sprinkle outdoors wherever magic is needed.

Fairy houses:
Best if made from natural materials, e.g. bark, sticks, leaves, pinecones, rocks, grass, moss, berries, wood chips and flowers.
Fairies particularly like the thick foliage of moss and old tree stumps.
Remember, they hope that humans won’t discover them, so be cautious and don’t upset nature.

 ©  The Giant’s Shower by Leigh Macmillen Hayes, first published June 1, 2015,, written in 2004

From the Bonny Banks to the Highlands

It had been ten years since we were last in Scotland. With our tween sons in tow, we had rented a house in Duns for a week as we toured the Scottish Borders and Edinburgh. But it was to the Highlands that I really wanted to return and so when an opportunity arose for us to do such, we hesitated for a wee bit and then embraced the invite.

After landing in Edinburgh quite early on September 1, we walked to the car rental, debated size, upgraded our choice, and in true Hyacinth and Richard style (BBC’s “Keeping Up Appearances”), drove off on the wrong side of the road—that being to the left of the center line.

s-ll in morning light (1)

Our first destination was Loch Lomond. Upon reaching the loch and locating our weekend stay, we were several hours too early and so decided to drive north—oh my.

s-tight squeeze 1 (1)

An exhausted driver in a rental car, and a tight squeeze between a retaining wall and lorries aren’t necessarily a good mix. Especially if you are Hyacinth. I constantly encouraged Richard to slow down with a flap of my hand while I muttered under my breath. Lucky for me, he didn’t come completely to a halt and make me walk. What surprised us both was that we were on the A82, a main road between Tarbet and Crianlarich. It hardly felt like a main road. With no other option for our return, we squeezed our way south as we finally headed to our place of rest.

s-Castle Steadings 1

Through Airbnb, we’d rented the Wee Wing at Castle Steadings in Arden, a most delightful spot.


I knew we’d chosen correctly when I spied the star lilies in bloom by the front door, for my wedding bouquet 27 years ago had included these beauties.

s-breakfast spot

A mini-suite it was, with a large foyer, bathroom, bedroom with sitting area and private outdoor patio.

s-Balloch river 1

After a shower, which woke us up (sort of), we again hopped into the van and drove five minutes down the road to Balloch, a small tourist town at the River Leven outlet of Loch Lomond. It was there that we first walked along some trails beside the loch and then made our way to the pub at The Balloch House (a recommendation of our hostess, Amanda). Hans Christian Anderson had visited the hotel in 1847. What impressed us most about the cozy pub was the fact that dogs were welcome—and well behaved. We chatted with a couple at the next table, ate an early dinner of fish and chips for my guy and a burger for me, and then our heads began to bob and we knew we needed to return to the Wee Wing.

s-Loch Lomond in morning

Sleep greeted us quickly and in a flash morning dawned. My guy headed off for a run beside the loch, while I walked. The mountains were obscured by the clouds, but slowly they lifted.

s-breakfast at Steadings

Back at the Wee Wing, we again knew we were in the right place when each morning breakfast mysteriously appeared behind a curtain in the foyer. Fresh strawberries, yoghurt, croissants and muffins—we filled our bellies, skipped lunch and didn’t need to dine again until later. Blueberry muffins the first morning and chocolate the second, both fresh and delicious.

s-C Hill trail marker

Our plan for Saturday was to hike in the Trossachs National Park and so off we went in search of a trail. Much to our surprise, the park office in Balloch was closed, but we ventured into Tesco, where a young man suggested we drive toward Balhama.

s-view of C Hill from island

At last we found what we were looking for and began our ascent up Conic Hill.

s-hiking up C Hill

It was a pilgrimage of sorts for so many were the people. All ages, all abilities, and all nationalities shared the trail.

s-loch lomond fault display (1)

Conic Hill features a sharp summit along the Highland Boundary Fault, a division between the Lowlands and the Highlands as demonstrated by this model. The fault traverses from Helensburgh on the Southwest coast to Stonehaven in the Northeast. To the north, the stone is hard, impervious schist, while to the south it is permeable sandstone, which is softer and offers good drainage.

s-Loch Lomond below

The last leg of the journey was a bit of a scramble, but everyone offered suggestions and we agreed that staying close to the edge was the right choice. The view was well worth the effort. We’d learned from a park ranger that it was from this summit that postcard photos are taken—no wonder.

s-C Hill from harbor

Once we’d climbed down, we made our way to the small boat yard where we looked up to the summit.

s-SS Margaret

And then we boarded the SS Margaret for a five minute journey to Inchcailloch, also part of the national park. There are twenty-two islands on the loch and their names were all coined originally in Gaelic. “Innis,” now anglicized to “inch,” means island. The name, Inchcailloch, can be defined as Island of the Cowled Woman for Saint Kentigerna supposedly set up a nunnery here and was buried on the island in 734 AD.

s-summit view 5

In an hour and a half, we took the high road first and climbed to the summit trail to take in another view of the bonny loch from Tom na Nigheanan or Hill of the Daughter.

s-island cemetery 1 (1)

And then we followed the low road, stopping at the foundation of the parish’s first stone church built in the 13th century and its adjacent cemetery. Apparently, folks were lucky to be buried for we read that in “a late 18th century account of a burial on Inchcailloch, the Highlanders are reported as having drunk so much whisky that they nearly forgot to bury the body.”

s-Tom Weir

Back on the mainland, our hiking continued and we explored one more trail before finishing up for the day. Then we paid homage to the man responsible for all the trails we’d traveled—Tom Weir. He was quoted in 1976 as saying, “We revel in the totality of the natural world as we dump our bag and fairly dance up the airy ridge.” To Mr. Weir we gave thanks—for our chance to dance up the airy ridge . . . indeed.


Sunday dawned a bit on the gray side, but once again breakfast mysteriously appeared behind the curtain at the designated time and we sat on the patio to enjoy it. And then we took off, again heading north but rather than following the road beside the loch, we turned left at Tarbet, a village where my sister and I once spent a long Easter Saturday in 1979 when I was a student at the College of York and Ripon St. John (now it’s just St John College) in York, England.

s-bus stop, Arrochar

She and I took the train to Tarbet, walked to Arrochar and waited for what seemed like hours to catch a bus to Adraishaig. The most wonderful part is that except for the updated bus, everything looked the same as I recalled.

s-view of Loch Long and Mountains by Arrochar

The view my guy and I shared of Loch Long was the same that she and I had had so long ago. Memories flashed through my brain of our ride to Adraishaig, where at the bus driver’s recommendation we walked uphill and knocked on Mrs. Hastie’s door to ask for a room. A view of Loch Gilp, some little cheese sandwiches, a long chat with Mrs. Hastie, and hot water bottles in our bed—it was all quite perfect and when our mother learned of her hospitality, she wrote Mrs. H a thank you note. For years they corresponded.

As was our intention back then, our destination was Castle Sween. The approach was the same, but the journey different, for in 1979 at Mrs. Hastie’s suggestion, we hitchhiked.

s-sheep on way to Sween

Perhaps the sheep that traveled our route this past week were descendants of those we’d encountered in the past.

s-phone booth by sween

At the red telephone booth, we parked and then walked down the road to the right.

s-Big Eric 2

Our first view was of a deer and since another favorite British show is “Monarch of the Glen,” we wondered if perhaps we’d found Big Eric.

s-Castle sween approach

And then we saw the castle overlooking Loch Sween and my excitement increased.

s-Macmillen tower 3

It was the 15th century Macmillan tower we came to see and I’d donned my flannel tartan (thanks for LL Bean for creating these two years ago) for the occasion.

s-Macmillen tower and faces

We poked around inside the castle remains and with ghosts of the past viewed the tower through a window. I suspected it was my long lost relatives who made their presence known in the stone, so many familiar faces did I see.

s-inside castle sween

Our tour wasn’t long, but I gave thanks to Alexander MacMillan, keeper of the castle in the 1470s. On a plaque we read the following: “With its towering curtain wall, Castle Sween is the most impressive of the early stone castles on Scotland’s west coast. Originally, the mighty walls enclosed several light wooden and stone buildings, serving as storage and accommodation . . . The MacMillan Tower had a kitchen in the basement with two storeys of private accommodation above.”

When I had traveled this way with my sister, we were able to hitch another ride from about a mile north of the castle back to Lochgilphead, where we caught a bus to Tarbet. Once there, we waited and waited for a train as the ticket man sat in his little building and sang to his heart’s content. Our journey this time was much faster and more convenient.

s-Inverary 2

The weather had turned from gray to drizzle and so as we drove back toward the Wee Wing, we decided to take a tour of Inveraray Castle, the setting of “Downton Abbey.” It was also a place I’d visited previously, but only to the outside for I was with my college flatmates on a grand tour of Scotland. If any of you are reading, I hope you’ll recall that this is where we met Herman the Vurm.

s-inverary dining room 2

Though a castle has stood at this spot since the 1400s, the Palladian and Gothic-style building that we toured was built in the 1700s and still serves as the monarchial home for Clan Campbell.

s-inverary guns

Despite all its pomp and circumstance and colossal displays,

s-charm stones and fairies (1)

it was the wee things that appealed to me most.

At last, we made our way back to the pub in Balloch to enjoy a pint before heading to bed; our departure would be too early for the mysterious visitor who left breakfast each morning, but since we were in Scotland, I trust it was a fairy who placed the covered tray on the wee stool behind the curtain.

Our early morning departure meant a drive to Edinburgh airport where we were to gather with the real reasons for our visit. Our oldest son’s girlfriend’s mother had rented a castle in the Highlands and invited us to join her family and friends for a four-night stay. Because our group was again too early for arrival, we decided to tour Glamis Castle on the way. But . . . the second vehicle for our eleven-member group had a bit of a problem at a roundabout just beyond the airport—a burned-out clutch. Apparently, smoke filled the car and they quickly excited. Then one brave soul went back to gather their luggage—all in fear that the car might catch on fire. Miles away, we wondered where they were and finally learned of their adventure as they stood on the grassy island and awaited help. And so, we detoured.

s-The Old Course, St. Andrews 1

With a little bit of time to spare, we drove to St. Andrews, the birthplace of golf, and walked along the greens of The Old Course,

s1-flowers at St. Andrews

where our awe included the beauty that surrounded us,

s-St. Andrews 2, Sept 4 blog

as we marveled at the five courses that sit between the North Sea and town center.

s-Bobby Jones consideration

And my guy reflected upon legendary American amateur golfer Bobby Jones and his Grand Slam season in 1930. He mentioned a ball that bounced off a building and into the hole. But which building?


Before leaving, we paused by The Kelpie maquettes, handcrafted by renowned Scottish sculptor Andy Scott to honor the iconic Clydesdales, working horses vital to the industries of Scotland for providing both power and grace.


Soon we tucked back into the van, stuffed as it was with seven of us and our luggage overflowing the boot and packed all around.

Glamis Castle, setting of Shakespeare’s Macbeth and the Queen Mum’s childhood home, was our next stop and the point at which we finally reconnected with the second vehicle carrying five members of our group. A delightful woman named Pat gave us a tour full of stories filled with fact and fiction. We couldn’t take photos inside and it was pouring out, so we were limited in that department.

s-rose and thistle, Glamis

One of the things I found fascinating, besides the ghost who sometimes sits in the chapel, was the rose and thistle theme evident throughout and even on the roof railing—to represent the joining of Scotland and England. Of course, most of the Scots we spoke with hope the two will soon separate, but that’s politics.

s-Forter through gate, Sept 5

At last it was time for our own castle adventure to begin. On to Glen Isla we drove, passing around many a tight bend until at last it came into sight . . . Forter Castle and our own little kingdom. The castle was originally built in 1560 by James Ogilvy, Fifth Lord of Airlie, but was burned by Archibald Campell, the Eighth Earl of Argyll in 1640. From that time until the early 1990s, it was a ruin. That is until the Pooley family purchased and transformed it into our fantasy retreat.

s-Forter and Blair

For the next four days, we photographed it . . .

s-forter from trail, Sept 5

from the trail above,

s1-castle from Folda

road behind,

s-Forter through foliage, Sept 5

through foliage,

s-Forter in twighlight, Sept 7

in twilight,

s-Forter at night, Sept 7

and finally darkness.


On our first evening as residents a rainbow marked the way.

s-our tower--upper floor furthest left

We noted our tower on the far left . . .

s-our writing room

with the upper window housing the writing desk . . .

s1-Katherine Pooley Room

in our posh room.

s-view from the toilet

The bathroom was equally eloquent and the view from the throne worth every minute spent sitting.

s-pistols beside the toilet

Just in case we had unwanted visitors pillaging our fortress, we could sit on said throne and take aim.


On a regular basis, we gave thanks for the rope in the spiral staircase as it guided us down and saved us from slipping.

s2-great hall

On the second level, we all frequently gathered in the Great Hall for conversation, fellowship, and . . .

s-Forter fire, Sept 7

warmth from the largest fireplace we’d ever sat by.

s2-kitchen (1)

And on the first floor, a well-equipped kitchen,

s2-breakfast room (1)

breakfast room,

s2-chapel (1)

and chapel.

s-piggery, Sept 5

Even doing laundry was a treat, for we had to enter the piggery for that task.

s-Cateran Bob, Sept 5

Daily we walked or ran along the lanes outside the castle, but on our second day, our hostess, Lady Anne, hired a local guide to lead the way up the Cateran Trail.

s-following Cateran Bob, Sept 5

Bob Ellis is a recently retired counselor and also designer of the trail, so we were in the best of hands as we followed a six-mile section of this 64-mile circular route.

s-Cateran loch, Sept 5

Along the way, we stopped constantly to admire the heather and the loch below.

s-Cateran Bob's favorite spot1, Sept 5

Over stiles we climbed periodically,

s-S and H, Sept 5

and at one the two youngest in our group (and reason my guy and I were on this trip) showed off their happy faces.

s-grouse blind, Sept 5

We spied grouse blinds,

s-crow catcher, Sept 5

and crow catchers (structure just left of center) used to capture crows that harass lambs.

s-lunch rock mystery, Sept 5

And we paused by a large boulder topped by another, though of smaller scale. Bob shared with us the legend of the trail, which goes something like this: At one time, two giants, a husband and wife, lived in the area. Colly Camb, the husband, was supposedly the last descendant of the giant Fingal, who was renowned for building Fingal’s Cave and the Giant’s Causeway (we’d walked along the Giant’s Causeway almost a year ago when we visited Ireland). According to this legend, Colly lived in a cave on Mount Blair, which towered behind our castle and we could see across the way. Colly had a habit of throwing stones from the top and so the locals feared him greatly. One day, in a rage, he threw a massive boulder intending to demolish a homestead. Thankfully, he missed, but the boulder still stands where it landed in the glen.

s-lunch rock, Sept 5

For us it became lunch rock.

s-boathouse on loch, Sept 5

Our journey was almost done as we circled around and came upon a boathouse by the small loch. As is typical in Scotland, we had sun and rain and a few drops fell before our tramp was completed, but that was OK for we were prepared and the colors around us enhanced.

s-Charles throwing hammer 1

Another day was spent with Charles, our sports director. Under his supervision, we learned the fine arts of axe throwing, archery, crossbows, and air rifles.

s-Charles releasing hammer

With apparent ease and masterful form, Charles sent an axe flying toward the target.

s-Charles at target

And met instant success.

s-S&H with Charles

After demonstrating all, it was our turn to give each activity a whirl.

s-Ann aiming crossbow

M’lady Anne practiced her crossbow prowess,

s-Allen and John

while Laird John and my guy took up the air rifles.


Charles coached us for a couple of hours and then it was time for a competition between the men and the women.

s-me with hammer

As we practiced, I discovered I could occasionally hit the axe target, as well as the crossbow and air rifle targets. The bow and arrow were definitely not my thing. When it was my turn to throw, however, and I went first, I missed each time, not exactly getting our team off to a good start. The women lost, but we all had a lot of fun and talked of creating our own axe targets. I know where I can find all the materials needed.

s-into the highlands

On the day my guy and I intended to bag a couple of Munros, it poured as we passed through Cairnwell Pass.

s-Glenshee ski area

Our intention had been to begin from the Glenshee Ski Area, but much to our disappointment, it wasn’t going to happen. Instead, we drove on.

s-Cathrie Church

At Balmoral, we stopped into a small gift shop, where a delightful tour guide and shop keeper told us that Queen Elizabeth was in residence so we couldn’t visit the castle, but we could walk up the hill to the local parish. And so we did.


Craithie Kirk is the Queen’s place of worship when she and the rest of the Royal Family are on holiday nearby. We learned from another guide that the family sits in pews in the south transept, which they enter from a private doorway. Apparently, the count of parishioners increases dramatically from the regular twenty or so when Queen Elizabeth is in town.

s-Queen Victoria

Queen Victoria had worshipped at the former kirk that stood on this site and laid the corner stone for the current building in 1893.

s-rose window

In the west gable, the rose window added a dash of color and life to the dark interior.

s-Allen, hardware man

Our adventures about the region included a shopping trip and lunch in Pitlochry, where of course, my guy needed to visit The Hardware Centre.

s-hardware store

He also found one in Blairgowrie, where his comrades joined him for an exploration of goods.

s-weaver shop, Sept 8

It was in Blairgowrie that the ladies of the castle discovered the works of master weaver and craftsman, Ashleigh Slater and his Warpweftweave Studio. He’s famous for his Blairgowrie Berries and Cherries tartan that honors the fruits grown locally.

s-Cataran plaid, Sept 8

What they were really interested in, however, was his latest work–created in honor of the Cateran Trail. While they placed orders, I chatted with Slater’s mother and learned a wee bit about the town of Blairgowrie. We talked about the fruits grown there and subsequent festival, weather of the region, tourism, or lack thereof, mills of yore that once dotted the town and Ashleigh’s work.

s-telephone booth library1

Several times as we were out and about we passed by iconic red telephone booths repurposed as libraries.

st-telephone library, Liz

A few of us needed to . . .


take a closer look, where . . .

s-library books, Sept 7

we were impressed with the variety of offerings.

s-woodferns, Days 1 and 2

When not shopping or participating in an event, we walked. A lot. And saw so much more, including wood ferns,

s-polypody, wall by Arrochar


s-maidenhair fern 1

and maidenhead ferns.

s-rosebay willowherb 1, days 1 and 2

Everywhere, the rosebay willow herb grew like weeds. I so love the common Scottish name for it over the American name of fireweed.

s-thistle 10

And besides carpets of heather, thistle also grew abundantly,

s-thistle 1

showing variation in color,

s-thistle 11

and texture,

s-thistle and bee, Days 1 and 2

from smooth to . . .

s-prickly thistles


s-fly on thistle

Some was still being pollinated,

s-thistle seeds

while others had already set seed.

s-digitalis, Sept 5

Much to my surprise, on a few occasions I spotted digitalis,

s-Jacob's Ladder

and one morning found a single plant of Jacob’s ladder.


Lichens were also in full view everywhere we looked–I could have spent the entire week examining the crustose, foliose and fruticose forms.

s-black slug

And then there were other forms of life to admire, from thick black slugs to . . .

s-toad, Sept 5


s-butterfly, Sept 5


s-hedgehog, Sept 4


s-grouse, Sept 7


s-pheasant 1, Sept 7


s-brown hare

brown hares,

s-golden sheep

golden fleeces,

s-sheep 1, Sept 3 blog


s-ram 1, Sept 4


s-ram 2, Sept 7

and more rams,

s-Big Eric on Cateran, Sept 5


s-calf peeking


s-momma feeding calves


s-neighborhood bull, Sept 4


s-cow 3, Sept 3 blog

and everyone’s favorite, the hairy coo.

s-tossing the sheep, Sept 7

Because we were at the castle located across the street from Forter Farm, we got to see some action, including sheep being returned to pasture,

s-cattle drive 1, Sept 8

and cattle driven past our gate.

s-new bridge over Forth, Sept 8

But . . . all great things must come to an end, and Friday afternoon found us driving south to the Queensferry Crossing, a just opened cable-stayed bridge across the Firth of Forth. Just after we’d headed north on Monday by crossing the Forth Road Bridge, Queen Elizabeth II had officially opened the new one fifty-three years to the day after she opened the adjacent former. Wow. Since we’d crossed both it felt like we’d come full circle on our Highland adventure. At the airport, my guy and I hugged goodbye to our lady and laird of Forter Castle, as well as our son, his girlfriend, and her family and their friends. They were returning their vehicle and heading into Edinburgh for the weekend. We drove back to Queensferry for our last evening.

s-q bridges (1)

And fell in love with one more town in Scotland, where we could view the two road bridges to the left and rail bridge I once crossed many moons ago to the right.

s-q 9 (1)

We were thrilled to discover this quaint village by the river,

s-q 2 (1)

and enjoyed exploring its main street . . .

s-q6 (1)

where the Scottish lions flew.

s-qpub 4 (1)

In hopes of finding a drink and something to eat, we stepped into The Ferry Tap, a pub where locals gather. Of course, we were too late for any vittles, so tied ourselves over with a bag of crisps each.

s-q pub1 (1)

But . . . we made some new friends for as we’ve always noticed, the Scots are among the friendliest. While one Sandra took our photo through laughter, Segna,  Sandra (II), and Malcolm posed with us. We chatted for a couple of hours before climbing the hill to our last bed in Scotland.

From the Bonny, Bonny Banks of Loch Lomond to the Scottish Highlands, we’d enjoyed a delightful nine days and only wish it could have lasted longer.

Until we meet again, mòran taing.