Colette has been up in Beauly looking after her mum, and it was turning into a longer visit than expected, so I decided to go up and join her for a couple of days. During that time, we wanted to get out for a wee cycle to de-stress, and this route popped into my mind. It’s one that I’ve pondered for some time, with its daunting climb, but this was the first time we’d managed to give it a go…
On our chosen morning, the sky was dull, with a light drizzle. Not exactly perfect weather, especially as it was apparently glorious back home, but there was no way we weren’t going to get out. We headed south out of Beauly then took the right turn before Lovat Bridge, sending us up the A831.
Colette was delighted to be back out on her bike and stormed ahead, while I did my best to keep up. It helped to pedal in time to the musical earworm in my head, which was “Everybody wants to rule the world”, presumably because Rule the World was the winner in the Grand National the day before.
The River Beauly was on our left as we gradually made our way westwards and upstream. The still, misty weather was quite atmospheric, so Colette couldn’t resist stopping for a photo above one of the hydro dams, where the river was deep and still.
Soon we went past a sign for Breakachy, where for some reason my earworm changed to a certain Shaking Stevens number! Aaargh!!!
Colette couldn’t pass by her fave gates without another photo…
Colette was also looking for a photo of the mist hanging on the hillsides, but she couldn’t find quite the right composition. Then the drizzle died away and the sun made a brief appearance, just enough to burn back the hill mist into low cloud. I’m assuming that the particularly damp microclimate in this river valley supports the unusually strong growth of lichen (moss?) which was festooning the trees, and which was all the more obvious as they weren’t yet in leaf. It all adds to the special feeling of the place.
The Holy Well of St. Ignatius
As we got closer to Cannich, we spotted a strange structure on the right and stopped for a closer look. It was the Holy Well of St. Ignatius, complete with a metal drinking ladle on a chain. Sadly however, the well is no longer functioning, with just a rusty dribble running down the front, looking like a baby’s bib after a breakfast of Coco Pops. The inscription was really cute, so I’ve taken the liberty of repeating it below…
WATER BRIGHT WATER, PURE WATER FOR ME,
THE DRINK OF THE WISE, THE WINE OF THE FREE;
IT COOLETH THE BROW, IT COOLETH THE BRAIN,
IT MAKETH THE FAINT ONE GROWN STRONG AGAIN,
COMES O’ER THE SENSE LIKE A BREEZE FROM THE SEA,
ALL FRESHNESS, LIKE SWEET INFANT PURITY .-
THEN FILL TO THE BRIM, FILL, FILL TO THE BRIM,
LET THE FLOWING CRYSTAL KISS THE CUP’S RIM,
FOR MY EYE IS STEADY,- MY HEART IS TRUE,-
FOR I, LIKE THE FLOWERS, DRINK NOTHING BUT DEW,
SO WATER FOR ME, BRIGHT WATER FOR ME,
THE DRINK OF THE WISE, THE WINE OF THE FREE.-
GLASSBURN, STRATHGLASSÂ 1880.
Pressing on, we arrived at Cannich and almost missed the sharp left turn straight after the bridge, which takes you to Drumnadrochit. I knew from the map that we had a bit of a climb coming up soon. Nothing like the later one, but it was wise to stop and have a wee snack to fuel up before attempting it.
The climb out of Cannich was steady but never particularly difficult, and gave a nice view back down the valley from where we’d come. The road then swung east, and finally, we reached the top. As soon as we started heading down the other side, the rain started again.
We made quite good time initially, as we were heading mostly downhill, but then the rain got steadily heavier, and we naturally slowed down a bit. Fairly soon, I was pretty-well soaked through on the legs and feet, but my rain jacket kept the rest of me nice and dry.
Luckily, the really heavy rain didn’t last long, and it was dry again as we passed by Loch Meiklie. The turnoff for Cul na Kirk (the really steep climb) was on our left, and I tried not to look too closely as we went past it on our way to Drumnadrochit. We would be coming back to it soon enough.
In the meantime we were looking for our cafe stop, so we carried on into the village, inserting ourselves into the post-church traffic. After I tried to take us the wrong direction at the junction with the A82, Colette led the way to the Glen Cafe, a place she had been to dozens of times in her youth. Reassuringly (perhaps?) it had scarcely changed in all this time.
The cafe was surprisingly busy as we entered, whereupon my wet cycling shoes slipped on the slick flooring and I did an impromptu tap dance routine in order to stay upright. What a way to make an entrance – I should have taken a bow!
We ordered paninis and a pot of tea, then warmed up and dried out as we waited. Judging by the variety of accents and languages coming from the other tables, it was clear that Loch Ness tourist season was well under way already. In contrast however, we didn’t hear a peep out of the couple sat at the table next to us, who ate their meal in sullen silence. He was sporting a black eye, and we couldn’t help pondering quietly to ourselves what was their story…
The food arrived, and though I was happy with my panini, Colette had bacon on hers which was about 50% fat and required disassembly and dissection to remove the offending white stuff. On another day, that might have been enough to put her off, but after today’s efforts she was too hungry not to scoff down her delipidated, and by now frankly delapidated panini.
With lunch done, we backtracked a mile or so, then got down to the serious business of facing the fearsome Cul na Kirk climb. As with all such climbs, Colette and I both do it at our own pace, so I went off in front, not stopping till I got to the top.
There’s a 15% gradient warning at the bottom, and after getting round the first corner, it certainly got steep very quickly. Maybe not quite 15%, but enough to concentrate the mind. I got into a rhythm, this time to another “favourite” earworm that is especially annoying, as I can’t for the life of me find out what it’s called. It’s an instrumental number, probably from the 60s or 70s, and it all started about a month ago, when a lapwing unwittingly called out the opening notes. Now it won’t leave my head. I could hum it to you if you like… but best not.
At the end of the first steep section, the gradient eases as you go round a recently widened corner. After that, the steepest bit looms large, and I had to drop to my lowest gear, cycling just fast enough to stay upright. At that point, a tractor pulling a digger was coming down the hill towards me, doing a very good job of slow, low gear driving. I was afraid that cars might come up behind it and want to overtake, but I got lucky. These things serve to take your mind off the struggle to some extent, and helped me reach the less steep final section without having to stop.
After the climb, Loch na Ba Ruaidhe
After that, the climb petered out, and I stopped in the first layby after the road started going down again. Colette joined me and we continued along the road as it undulated through rugged moorland. A few miles later, we reached Ardendrain and came to a steep, straight descent, freewheeling down at about 40mph. That fairly speeded up our approach to Beauly, which was now only a few miles away, and still mostly downhill all the way there. It didn’t take long before we were back and putting the kettle on.
To sum up, that was a brilliant ride, one of the best I’d say, taking us through such beautiful contryside. I doubt that we could have enjoyed it much more even if it was sunshine all the way.