Queen of the Flask

We have always tried to go away in October. As the need to spread our wings and escape the confines of the home take hold, we search for a place where we can reconnect with each other after the madness of summer. Our October hiatus is our last hurrah before winter sets in and we retreat to the glowing embers of the hearth until the days begin to lengthen again.

For this particular holiday only the countryside will do and the more remote the better. For us, city tourism belongs in the spring. Sitting out in street side cafes, absorbing the energy and vibrancy of city life as it plays out before us in a series of fleeting vignettes, seems to align itself perfectly with the season it inhabits. Everything feels as though it’s off the starting blocks and anything is possible.

But in October the reverse is happening. The world seems tired and weary. Nature, like ourselves is beginning to feel the affects of summer. It needs to shed its old skin and go back to the beginning again. For me, this holiday is a renascence; the revival of my creativity after the dormant summer. I’ve written about this before so I won’t say too much here but I don’t find the summer easy. I often experience an emotional and physical lethargy which affects my creativity. It’s not an easy thing to explain or indeed understand. We know that being outside is good for us but for some inexplicable reason I don’t find nature to be as therapeutic in the summer as I do in the autumn. Perhaps it’s something to do with the air? Breathing in colder, fresher air has always felt healthier and more beneficial to me. Perhaps it’s the light? I’ve explained before how I don’t like the sun when it’s too bright, my face aches from the contortions it makes trying to avoid its intrusive glare. It is a sad thing to confess but I tend to hibernate during the summer and then resurrect myself as soon as the lamps are on by 6pm.

The road round Loch Voil from Balquidder to the MHOR hotel. Just standing here to take this photograph I felt inspired to write this blog.

There is a relatively new term on the healthcare scene; Ecotherapy. There have been countless studies on the positive affects of nature on mental health and wellbeing, and whilst the theories and findings behind these studies aren’t necessarily new or groundbreaking, they are still fascinating and easy to identify with. The effects that being outdoors have on our physical health is obvious; our body moves, our muscles engage, our respiratory rate increases, our heart rate is gently raised and we make a healthy dose of vitamin D for ourselves. But we are also told it improves our mood too. But how? According to a paper published in the British Medical Journal being immersed in the natural world forces us out of our internal world by reminding us that we are part of something much greater than ourselves. We are present in the moment, casting all anxieties and stresses aside. We are conscious only of ourselves in that moment. I certainly find this to be true. I never take my worries on a walk, they are left firmly where my wellingtons were, ready to worn again when I return, only by that time nature will have given me some much needed perspective.

Never happier than when we’re walking in the woods during the throws of autumn.

Traditionally for our October break we have headed over to the west coast of Scotland. Applecross, Torridon and Isle of Skye have been firm favourites over the years but this time we thought we’d stay closer to home.

Often too in the past we have treated ourselves to a spot of luxury, still somewhere remote but somewhere we feel pampered and cosseted. But this year we decided to take a different approach. Those of you who follow me on Instagram will know that earlier this year I got a job as a tour guide at Scone Palace in Perthshire. It’s been an incredible first season and I have really enjoyed it. It’s been fascinating learning about moments and events in Scottish history and weaving them into my own knowledge and understandings. But it has been hard. The days are long and whilst it is only part time, I have struggled finding the balance between home, garden, family, allotment and of course my writing. I felt quite torn at times, feeling most days as though I’m barely a ‘Jack of all trades’ let alone a ‘master of one’. So this October more than ever I needed to switch off. I wanted to go somewhere where my voice would be almost obsolete and where my imagination had space to unfurl and take flight. So we cast the sumptuous hotels aside and booked a little wagon on the shores of Loch Voil near Balqhuidder in Perthshire.

The Pilot Panther overlooking Loch Voil.

The Monachyle Mhor hotel is a little hideaway that once discovered stays with you forever. What started off as a 2000-acre farm has grown into a luxury hotel and a foodies paradise. The family have diversified the business over the years to incorporate a motel, a bakery and a fish and chip shop. Tom and his family sustainably grow and source all of the food used in the various establishments. In fact Tom can often be found foraging around the countryside near the hotel, but don’t be fooled, there may be ducks waddling through the courtyard by the stables but this is still a slice of highland lavishness.

We decided to book the creatively restored 1950’s wagon for 2 nights. Tom came across this old Pilot Panther in a field 17 miles up the road. It was looking particularly sorry for itself. Abandoned and purposeless naturally Tom brought it back to the Mhor and restored it with the vision of artist Sarah Kenchington. It’s now enjoying a renascence of its own as a glamping wagon, sitting contentedly on the spot where Tom and his family used to make dens as children.

We arrived mid afternoon and checked in at the hotel a minute up the road. The receptionist apologised, telling us that the cows had got into the field overnight. She offered us complimentary coffees and told us to warm ourselves by the fire after our journey. She was mortified but Alan and I couldn't help but giggle at the situation. It’s not often you have to wait for a herd of cows to be moved before you can get through the door of where you’re staying. In no time though the fence was fixed and we made our way down to the wagon.

Lighting the fire and candles on our first night.

The afternoon light was already beginning to fade by the time we reached it. The clouds were gradually descending and enveloping the hills in their mist until they floated just above the loch, transient and ethereal. We lit the stove and candles and settled in for the night. There is something so mystical about sleeping in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. You absorb and assimilate the very air that surrounds you. You are forced by the rhythms of your environment to slow down and adapt to its pace. But you are not lost. There is just enough peripheral sound to keep you conscious of each moment. You transcend your physical shell as your spirit stretches and spreads out to fill the void around you. It is one of the best night’s sleep you will ever have.

I awoke early. It was still dark outside so I lit some candles and began to write the notes which would later become this blog. I can understand why so many writers build sheds or cabins away from their house in which to write. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t consider myself to be a writer but I love to write and I have come to understand that the space you inhabit and the view you look out onto can have a profound affect on your imagination and creativity. I quietly made a cup of tea and began to write with the gentle breathing of my husband, the soft puffing of my dog and the restless mewing of the cows in the field as my personal morning chorus, composed just for me, just for that moment.

The little desk in the cabin where I sat to write notes.

As the sun rose so did my enthusiasm for the day ahead. Like I do so often at home, I flung open the door to let the air inside and let the day take possession of us. The clouds were still low but I find increasingly the older I get that a cup of tea and a good breakfast can bring any day in to focus.

Starting the day with scrambled eggs on toast.

As a child my parents didn’t have a lot of money. Like so many adults of their generation they worked long hours and seemed to buy so little. A family day out was a rare treat. My father always used to say that whatever else was going on, there would always be money for a few gallons of petrol, a round or two of sandwiches and a flask of tea. Like her mother before her, my mother was the queen of the flask. She could make a picnic out of anything that happened to be lying around in the cupboards at a moments notice; she had to be able to because my father lived his life entirely between the states of whimsy and restlessness. And I am just like him. I can change the direction of a day in a single breath. As soon as I reach under the kitchen sink and pull out my trusty old flask, Alan and Eliza know that some form of adventure awaits them.

There are so many places in Scotland I want to visit. I follow lots of Scottish tourism and photographic accounts on social media. I keep a little journal on my desk and every time someone posts a picture of a place that captures my imagination, I make a note of it. One castle in particular that seems to be photographed more and more often is Kilchurn Castle on Loch Awe. I knew from my notebook that it would only be an hour or so away from where we were staying so I begged Alan to take me to see it. Over the years, Alan has become the perfect Instagram husband. He understands how rewarding I find the process and will drive me anywhere to get that one shot, the shot that I know instinctively should feature on my feed.

Kilchurn Castle is one of the most photographed castles in Scotland. Built on a small isthmus connected to the shore of Loch Voil, it was built by the Campbell clan who dominated most of western Scotland. The castle was built in the mid-1400s and remained as one of their strongholds for more than 150 years. I have seen this castle photographed in snow, in fog, during a thunderstorm and in an early morning mist. Sadly due to days of heavy rainfall I couldn’t get near enough to get the ‘money shot’. So instead we poured a cup of tea from the flask, leant against the car and watched the clouds roll over. I often used to wonder at people who pulled over in lay-bys to have a cup of tea. I used to think, ‘Why stop there?’ But as I’m getting older I’m beginning to take on these quirky habits myself. I’m learning also that they’re not that bizarre anyway. Sometimes we’re so focused on where we’re going, looking ahead, we don’t look sideways.

From here we made our way to Inveraray Castle. If you were an avid watcher of Downton Abbey this castle will be familiar to you. It was used as the location in the Christmas special in 2012. The Grantham family and the household staff all travelled up to Scotland to stay at the home of their cousins, the Marquess and Marchioness of Flintshire. I remember being so taken with the castle on screen and thinking even then that I must see it one day. It didn’t disappoint.

Inveraray Castle sits on the shore on Loch Fyne and is the ancestral home of the 13th Duke of Argyll, Chief of the Clan Campbell. The current Duke is a direct descendent of Queen Victoria as his ancestral grandmother was Princess Louise, the sixth child of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. She became the Duchess of Argyll in 1871 when she married the 9th Duke of Argyll. The castle is exquisite whilst still maintaining the feel of a highland family home.

Having explored the interior of the castle we decided to walk around the estate. I noticed on the visitor pamphlet a walk entitled ‘Dun Na Cuaiche Woodland Walk’ and knew instantly that was the walk for me. It was October. Any walk that had the word ‘woodland’ in it was going to right up my rambler’s path. So I enthusiastically pulled on the rucksack and off we went. After about 15 minutes I began to feel slightly out of breath as I realised we had actually been gently climbing. I stopped and asked Alan if he was sure we were on the right trail. He confirmed that we were and reassured me that we were probably just ascending up into the woods. So I walked on. Another fifteen minutes or so passed before I stopped again, demanding to see the map. It was only when I took a closer look at the route that I realised it was not a gentle amble through golden autumn woodlands but instead a 813ft climb. Here’s the thing. I can walk for miles on the flat but I am no climber. It’s not actually a weight or fitness issue, I’ve never had the physique for climbing, even when I was young, fit and energetic. I’m simply not built for it. But Alan has always encouraged me to gently push myself and he instinctively knew how much I’d enjoy the view at the top. As always he wasn’t wrong. The view over Loch Fyne was spectacular. I was beyond exhausted. Every muscle in my legs was burning and throbbing but as `I sat on the little bench, with the cool breeze fluttering through my shirt, I couldn’t have been happier. I opened the rucksack and pulled out the flask. As the hot, reviving liquid poured into the cup I thought about my mum. A brew with a view was her heaven on earth. We Brits have a funny way of marking moments with tea. Whether the end of a war or the end of a pile of ironing we seem to cement our victories with a cup of tea. We sat there for a while, reminiscing and congratulating ourselves not just on reaching the top of the hill but on reaching a deeper place of understanding and contentment. We know what we have, we know what we’ve lost but most importantly of all, we know where we want to go next.

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