KYQ4: The day I gave my feet a rest

Strathfarrar

After two punishing and hot days walking the 9 munros in Glen Affric and Mullardoch, my feet were shredded - wet socks from river crossings, relatively new trail shoes, searing heat and rough terrain had seen to that. My plan had been to climb the Strathfarrar 4 munros the next day but I was struggling to limp around the campsite the night before, my feet told me that this would be a folly. Instead, John and Mark climbed the Corbett, Beinn a' Bhathaich Ard, from the gatehouse at the entrance to Strathfarrar Glen and I was left with 4 hours to kill. I never realised that pottering around could be such fun.

After reading a newspaper that I had bought in Cannich, I walked back to the A831 Strathglass road. The quiet solitude was only broken by happy birdsong. I decided to walk down to the Erchless estate and castle, which had always intrigued me on drives along Strathglass. I was passed by a car that belonged to one of the estate workers and I asked if it would be ok to look around the buildings, he saw no reason why not. Like so many parts of the highlands, it had a wonderful collection of buildings with stables. courtyards, fine masonry details and a massive walled garden. A number of the cottages were available as holiday lets as is the castle with accommodation for 16 people. Sited alongside the river Glass it is in a superb location and crying out to be restored to its former splendour when a Highland estate. The walled garden was overgrown but was a remarkable enclosure within high stone walls that if restored would host a garden just as impressive as Threave in Dumfries or the Lost Gardens of Heligan in Cornwall.

I took a peek at the castle, which seemed occupied by holidaymakers, before setting off back to Strathfarrar and calling in at the Cnoc hotel for a morning coffee. After eventually finding someone to serve me I sat on the south-facing patio bathed in the morning sun and surrounded by massive lupins with wagtails feeding their young. I felt like an unscripted extra in a Monty Python sketch. I had a chat with the manager and the man maintaining the beer pumps before continuing my walk back. At Struy bridge, I watched the translucent waters flow past below and met three Swiss fishermen. I was able to tell them where to obtain a fishing permit and when they asked what was the best method of fishing I told them that my father had always used grasshoppers on the river Beauly when we used to holiday near here. "Grasshoppers," they asked surprised? "Yes like in Zurich," I replied. They thanked me and set off to the hotel to buy their permits. I wondered if I could still catch grasshoppers, I used to be paid a shilling for every five I caught for my father using my sister's seaside bucket and a midge net.

It was time to move on and at the start of the Strathfarrar road, there was a section of mown grass alongside the river. I had time to lie down in the sun and sunbathe for half an hour. The walk back to the car was interrupted as two young mothers passed me on the narrow road in cars laden with their broods of children and bicycles. They had parked next to Mark's car and we engaged in a long conversation about cycling with children, the mesmeric quality of Strathfarrar, and living in the highlands, they both lived nearby. Their husbands arrived on their road bikes and one of them was a keen hill walker so we found another rich seam of conversation until the mothers had finally dressed, helmeted and installed their young children on bikes and they set off up the glen.

I asked them to tell the nut-brown skinny man walking down the glen to hurry up, his lift was waiting. Mark arrived about five minutes later. Whilst he was changing for the journey home, a family in an Austin 7 came to speak to me about where they could find a walk. Despite living in Inverness they seemed unaware of the charms of Strathfarrar. They would still have time to get through the entrance gate before the glen closed for lunch. I encouraged them to sample the delights ahead. There would be any number of short walks and the scenery was perfectly matched to their car, both superb relics of pre-war Britain.

Half an hour later we were sitting in a friend's garden in the Black Isle over a pot of tea and some freshly baked cheese and chive scones whilst catching up on families, friends and the ways of the world. The day had been thoroughly therapeutic, my sore feet had been given the chance to recuperate and even the A9 seemed an easy journey but for once I wasn't driving. Taking some more travelled roads rather than tough mountain paths had made all the difference.