Dollar, Scotland - Castle Gloom and Dollar Glen

I woke up on Sunday at 7:15, galvanized to go. I ran out with the nonessentials to the car. Well, I say 'ran' but it was more like skating and sliding across the frozen car park. On the way back in, I reassured the lass at the desk that I wasn't quite ready to check out just yet, and grabbed a coffee to take back to the room while I puttered around with the shower and getting dressed and cleaned. I had packed the stupid deodorant in the car! Dammit! I got my backpack and the plastic bag with the rest of my stuff together and hustled to the desk, checked out (no swipey needed, no additional charges beyond the deposit), slipped and skidded back out to the car, and chucked my stuff in the trunk. I fished out my deodorant and froze my nipples off deodorizing (it was -1 (30 F) out!). Brrrrrr! I jumped in the car, cranked it, and planned my day as it warmed up.

Not that there was that much to plan. I had wanted to drive over to Dollar, the town below Castle Gloom, about 12 miles to the east of Stirling, right along the A91. From there, I would tour the Castle and if I had time, I'd walk up and down one or the other of the Glens surrounding it. I let the car warm up. According to my thermostat, it was exactly freezing out. Well, hopefully it would warm up a little bit. I didn't think the Castle would be more than an hour or hour and a half, and a 'glen' didn't sound all that imposing... (Ha). I popped the car into gear and took off, north, then east. The road was clear and the Highlands were misty. A perfect brisk morning. Snow on the hills, a little dusting on the sides of the road... Ahhh. I passed through a couple of small towns, most of the people I saw either pulling into churches or wandering around in front of churches. Small towns, happy people, travelling to be inspired... like me! 12 miles of speed-limit-50, then 30, then 50, then 30, then 50, then 30... Aha! A sign, turn left... NOW!

I followed the small streets through Dollar north to the castle. And when I say small, I mean that a standard bus would have filled the walled street. Dollar is OLD. Stone half-walls crowded either side of the streets as I got closer to the Castle. Wait a minute, what did that sign say? Park here, but additional parking 550 m further on? Well shoot, I can go park closer! What's a little slush on the road? I was in upstate NY for 10 years, right? Wrong. I should learn: castles are built on very STEEP mountains or hills or sheer rocks. Yeah. OK, I made it about 300 meters up the hill, until the slush got about an inch and a half deep. Then I stood still, then I started sliding backwards. I'm sure I mentioned the road was almost exactly a car and a half wide? With rocks on the one side and a fence made of *twine and furring strips* on the other side (the side steeping down to the glen, rocks, and water 30 yards below)? I thought I did. So I did what any red-blooded American man would do who had rolled a car off a mountain before (not in this blog, sorry). I pressed the brakes down, turned the wheel, pulled the parking brake, and put the stick into neutral. I slid back a little, then settled. I guess enough snow and slush got under the tires to stop my descent. The slope wasn't that steep, probably 15-20 degrees. Right. I did not see any way to turn around, so I decided on the slide-slowly-back-down-and-change-my-underwear-later ploy. I slid, 3 yards, ok, enough! Stop. Turn wheel. Start another slide. 5 yards! Too much, fence too close! Brakes. Still sliding... Stop. I proceeded in this fashion until I got to a small notch in the road. I slid-backed in (didn't ding any of the boulders on the side of the road), and had enough room to turn about. Great. Now I was sliding headfirst, slowly, down the hill. At least it took the pressure off the steering, that was a plus. I got back to the lower car park and settled into a parking spot. Ok, I walk from here. Checked the Chucks. Ok, I walk through the glen from here, no way these are gonna make it on slushy concrete. D'oh! I should have 'Scotland is a wee bit moist n muddy' tattoo'd on my palm. I had a perfectly good 'new' pair of running shoes in the trunk. But I'm a little stubborn. And a little sentimental. Those hitops have seen a lot, and they deserve the grand tour before they go out to pasture.

I walked over to the fence and opened the rickety gate, passed through, and began the descent into Dollar Glen. I checked the map, conveniently posted about 5 yards along the path. There were about 7 marked points along the path, which ran in a circle, crossing the stream four times (there was an S on the east side of the loop). It looked like the east route was a little shorter, so I decided to take the west loop first on the way to the top (castle), and then take the east loop back down later after my visit. I squelched down the hill, squeezing water from the mud and moss with every step, more and more little rivulets and drips with every foot further down the glen. When I got to the stream level, there was a little stone platform jutting out to give the hiker a view of Dollar Burn. Now, I don't know what 'burn' means in Scottish, but I assumed it meant 'cut' as in a steep-sided stream cut through a hill, like a gorge. Becacuse that's what I saw. Fast-flowing water, lots of mossy green growth, branches fallen across the creek, and (imagined due to the temperature probably) a heavy loamy smell in the air. Quiet, peaceful. The water rushed below me and the overcast light filtered through the light canopy. Nice. I moved on, south to the first bridge, and began to cross. I heard a yip and a bark, saw a border collie rushing along the path, followed by a runner. Both came on the bridge, so I sucked in my gut and held onto the rope rail to let them pass. The runner said 'Good Morning', the pup gave me a cursory sniff, and off they ran, up the west bank and out of sight. I plodded on, up the steps (boards set into place with rebar crosswise and filled with dirt) to the top of the glen. I was treated to a view of farmland off to the west, with snowy hills in the near-distance and a rude stone wall separating two estates. Northward, skirting the glen, I could peer down and see the trees and branches and nature's green chaos vying for light and water, moss creeping up the slopes. Once I crossed the highest point, I could see the castle to the northeast. A welcome sight, because the damp was starting to chill my hands, and it was still just at freezing. The castle peeped in and out of the branches for the rest of my northward jaunt, down (squish) and then up (oof!), until I got to the second bridge. I remembered that there was a 'falls' marked here on the map, so I studied the babbling creek running down it's rocky inlet at the north of the glen. I wouldn't call it a falls, but it was charming and cute. More of the ubiquitous moss filled every available niche on the falls, with the overcast silver giving it way more brilliance than it ought to have. What was this place like in the Spring or Summer? I tried to follow the creek further north, there was a footpath, but my feet betrayed me and I went down. Hard. And cold. Ouch. Left leg crusted over with slush and peaty earth. Hands just about frozen, shirt wet... Well, that was enough of that! Up to the north side of the castle, and hopefully a heater. Serendipitously, just as I got to the gate of the castle, the runner and his dog were having a chat with the caretaker, who introduced himself to me as (another) Ken. I took a short break and sat outside the castle on a bench while I waited for Ken to right himself and open up. He came out a few minutes (surprisingly short time) later and beckoned me in. I went through the main gate into the courtyard, ready for the Introduction.

Ken and I talked for a little while in the main Close of the Castle. We discussed the Union flag over Castle Stirling and the Historic Scotland flag over Campbell, and the political ramifications of the Saltaire (St. Andrew's Cross, for Scotland) flag flying. Apparently HM Government is sensitive to flying the Scot national flag due to the separatist sentiment in Scotland. They're allowed to fly it on St. Andrew's Day (in November) and that's about it. On UK holidays, the Union flag is flown, and most other times, the Historic Scotland flag. I did tell Ken about Cardiff and the preponderance of the Welsh flag. He raised an eyebrow and said "Well, that's interesting, isn't it?" He sold me an entry ticket and a guide book (no audio here :-( ). Then Ken took the opportunity to 'chat with' (monologue, but not in a pedantic way) me the archaeological theories currently in fashion about Castle Campbell.

Castle Campbell is old. It's passed from family to family, eventually ending up as part of the Argyll estate in the mid 1700s, along with Argyll's Dwelling which I had seen the previous day in Stirling. It's incongruous, though. The Stewarts had a presence there during their tenure in the 1500s in Scotland, and they feasted visitors in the (smaller-than-Stirling) great hall. Italian influences were evident on the archways off the Close, and the towers came from different ages, from the 1400s (!) to the early 1600s. Extensive interior works were completed by the Stewarts, moving a bit of functionality here or there within the castle, digging cellars under the great hall, extending the gardens. There was a massive fire and some destruction in the early 1600s which led to a rebuilding of one of the tower spiral stairs and a redistribution of the brig (holding cell), guards quarters, and kitchens. The upper floor of the main tower was the Master Quarters, and there were two 'Green Man' faces on the ceiling which looked like they could function as lamp hooks. The stairways were quite wide and generous, the windows opened on pleasant but not-fantastic views, and there was a sense of tranquility to this Castle that wasn't present at Stirling. First, Stirling castle supported a huge population, the grounds are enormous. Second, Stirling castle was an integral part of the town. Its waste ran into and its retainers were in and amongst Stirling's population daily, if not hourly. Dollar is a little further removed from Castle Campbell. It's still in view, and a very short ride, but the glen provides a physical separation that Stirling doesn't have. Ken went on to tell me about the caretaker's quarters (his home), installed by the Crown when they acquired the place, located on the north end of the castle, second and third floors. I commented that that would give a person a lot of peace and solitude, and probably would not be a bad way to live, especially if you had friends in town, but could 'escape' back home. We batted back and forth the pros and cons of such a life and living in an old stone structure with 19th century wiring. Eventually, I screwed up the courage to mention that I was a bit thirsty and would very much like some water or tea to drink. I was told that the warning not to drink the water here was rubbish and Ken had subsisted on the tap water for years. He'd hunt me up some water in the tea room. I ended up buying his last two diet Cokes for 1.40.

OK, I was ready to explore! Ken had me thumb through the guide book. As I got to the portion about the cellar storage areas, with my guide reading over my shoulder making little comments like "oh aye, you've got to check out those seams between the rocks!" or "you'll love the ceilings at the top!" he suddenly remembered something and dragged me back into the gift shop. Ken said, "Hey, I've got a little mining headlamp I can lend you. If you'd like?" Hell yea! I thanked him profusely. Now I was an official Castle Underground Explorer! I climbed up the stairs, noting the alcoves for guard placement. I also noticed that the floor numbering in the guide book did not quite match the number of landings on the stairs. I think the book called the Master Quarters the second floor, but it was the fourth landing. The rooms (floors) were vaulted and spacious, and surprisingly well-lit from the meager light glittering through the single window on each floor. The first floor (third landing) appeared to have been a barracks, at least evidenced from the brig hole near the stair. I had seen a similar pit in Castle Campbell and Castle Cardiff. I guess that was standard procedure, just throw the incarcerated down into the hole. Easy-peasy. The stonework was tight-fit, and looked somewhat freshly mortared. Renovation at work, no doubt. The second (fourth) floor's ceiling was immensely vaulted, with the two Green-Man decorations, and I could see the bore holes in their mouths for chandelier or lighting hanging, of course. I put the mining lamp to good use and jumped a few times to get a little closer for some better focus and detail. After the Master Quarters, I continued up, to the roof. Surprise! There was a shingled attic with access from the roof (boarded up at present, with a note 'Leave the Bats alone, they're protected!'). But the view from the top was majestic and soggy and ... dare I say ... gloomy! I descended the stair well, noting at one of the guard alcoves above the second landing and below the third that there was a very curious juxtaposition of silvery snow-blue light from the window and warm orangey light from the gift shop. The two hues were perfectly divided by the stair's center column. Wow! Down a little more, out into the Close, to the remnants of the Great Hall. This ruin had a lot of character and some tough bones! Along the tumbled hallway, there were steps going into four cellar chambers. I silently thanked Ken for the lamp again and ducked in to find dry, spacious storage areas which were used for salting meat or laying aside grains, I suppose. Probably beer-brewing as well! I went back out into the Close and was somewhat cheered to hear high feminine voices, a group of about 4 girls, I guessed, approaching for their turn at the tour.

Ken, aided by his Caretaker Radar-Sense, bustled out from the gift shop/tea room and made ready to welcome his next set of guests. A girl dashed in and then dashed out of the Close, before he got the chance to say 'boo'. He chased after her, then shuffled back into the Close, somewhat dejected. "Ah, they wanted to walk the glen and the hill, first." He came over and confided, "So, you know how I told you not to bother with the gardens because of the weather?" I nodded. "Well," he winked, "I 'forgot' to mention the poop shaft and the Pulpit." I blinked. Did he just say... "Aye, there's a cut in the glen out past the garden and a bridge to a stone arch. Now, we know that John Knox spent some time here, and there's a tradition that he preached from that arch and platform, but according to the historians, he would have been in the hall, and that's all rubbish." I thanked him again. Sure, I'm interested in history! If the founder of the Church of S had associations with this arch, it at least deserved a picture. And I must admit, I was curious to see this crease that they think might have been the wastewater sluice. Why not run it right to the castle? I went out the castle garden gate and promptly slipped and fell (that's 2!) on the slushy cobble walk down. Dammit! Left side again! Grumbling and thanking Knox or whomever that my camera was slung to the right, I righted myself and slid a little more cautiously to the stone formation. I wasn't sure if the stones between the mortar were carved, blasted, chiseled, hewn, or natural. I'm not a geologist, nor am I an anthropologist. It was pretty cool, though. It looked like it had been assembled in 2 stages to my untrained eye. The sluice was overgrown with more moss and lichens and was well-shadowed. No petrified Stewart number-2 that I could see. However, the view from the Pulpit to the castle was impressive, as was the glen overlook from there. I think that this halfway mark, between the silver-lit world of stone above and the vibrant green mire below, internalized for me the true mournfulness of that gray behemoth on the hill. I picked my way back up to the castle and hunted up Ken and returned the head lamp. I said I was heading back down to the car park. He smiled and shook my hand and bade me to tell Dunedin halloo when I got back. He also asked whether I was planning on sliding down the road or going through the glen (I think he'd noticed my snowy mudded pants). I shook my head and chuckled and said that it didn't matter too much at this point, eh? Ken kind of studied the back of his hand and fingernails. He deadpanned, "Aye, and I noticed a couple of wee-car tire tracks on the road up this morning. Looks like two cars tried to make it where they oughtn't have." I grinned back and said "Yeah, I think that was all me, brother. I'm really happy I didn't take your fence out." He replied, "Aye, even though we haven't had the fun of pulling anyone out of the glen in years, I'm glad you made it back down." We shook hands again and I left for my descent back down Dollar Glen. I made my way out the north end of the castle grounds, 'baaa'd at the surprised sheep, and hooked right to get to the east footpath. This bank turned out to be orders of magnitude more interesting than the west.

The soles of my shoes stuck in the loam and slush, but it wasn't quite as wet as when I come up the west side. Ken had warned me that the view back up to the castle from this side wasn't quite as grand, but I would have to disagree: with the canopy fallen for the winter, this angle on Gloom was spectacular! I stood in the hollow below gazing up at the walls and windows and stones, with the tree's fingers seeming to suspend the pieces in midair. It was grand. I followed the path up and down along the creek bank, crossing one bridge made of twine, wire, and stone, passing a small fork down to what was probably another burn, and then onto... wait! Another burn! I doubled back, cursing at losing myself in reverie and the green high of nature's spectacle. The glen was just so alive! Even without animals prowling about and the trees asleep, the moss and ground cover gave it such a ... life! I went down into the Burn of Sorrow. The creek cut vertically through the west wall of the glen, making a small falls and looking like a miniature of the Argo's path through the Clashing Rocks. That was seriously the first thing I thought of: Greek seas, with sheer rock faces separated by churning straits. It was the charcoal-colored stone and deep green mosses, the sound and sight of the water coursing, and my mood, of course. I looked off to the south and saw fallen branches and tumbled boulders, leavings from when the creek was broader and mightier and pounded this hill to dislodge them. Everywhere there was an emerald carpet. I thought forward to Ireland, as well. Is this the kind of deep all-covering green I would see there? To find this much life in January, the dead of winter, with slush and snow all around and the temperature hovering at the freezing point... It was unnerving. The Celts must have known something that we and their modern scions have lost. A little humbled, a little put off, I drank the scene in as removed from it, and climbed back to my woven stone bridge. That was the last major stop on the way out of the glen, except the final climb, when I wanted to follow a footpath to get the view from the glen's highest point, and slipped and fell to my knee (left, of course, and that was 3!). That was it, it was time to go. I scrambled through the gate and to the car. I popped the second (and final) diet Coke procured from Ken and started the car. Let it warm up. Looked 'round. Got in. Took off. South through the windy Dollar streets, back to A91, back to M80, ...

The drive home, during the day, was significantly faster than the drive to Stirling. Considering I had added about 15 miles to my drive, and it took me 45 minutes less time, I was in a fine mood the whole way. I guess Sunday drivers don't make it out to the motorways. I listened to a few noncommital book reviews on the BBC, a gardening show, and a review of Frost/Nixon, which I decided I might go see on an off night. At first, I tried flipping the station for some music, but since I'm not a Technohead nor am I an 80's freak, I stuck with the calm English voices on BBC-4. Oh yeah! I'd forgotten that 'Lost' was to be on Sky-1 Cable this evening. Whoo-hoo! And it looked like I'd make it with plenty of time to get rested and ready! I stopped off for petrol around Blackpool, got a quick bite there, and zoomed the rest of the way without incident, except the normal annoyances of drizzle and mud-spatters from the cars ahead of me.

When I got back to Cheltenham, after saying hellos to the desk staff and dropping off my stuff in the room and showering, I ran out to get some take-away food from Prezzo's. Pizza (personal) and chicken med-salad. M m m m M! And another soda. I was ready! I even plunked down 70p in the vending machine in the lobby (yes, they had put a vending machine in that weekend, probably so that the staff didn't have to talk to people unnecessarily) to get a Cadbury Dairy-Milk candy bar! Oh boy! I went to the channel guide. What? No Sky-1? Maybe one of these other arcane abbreviations means Sky-1. Never mind that Sky-3 is spelled out fine. Call the desk. "Hallo?" a warm Northern Irish voice lilted. "Hiya, Brooke, this is Gerhard." "Oh, hallo. Can I help you?" "Yeah, what channel is Sky-1? On the tv?" "Oh, I'm sorry, the rooms don't get Sky-1. We have it down here in the lobby if there's something you'd like to watch after the football is over." "No, thanks, Brooke."

Damn.

[GJF: Written 27 January 2009]

Album link: Facebook "Castle Gloom and Dollar Glen"