smokingboot

We went to Loch Inchmahome, or the Lake of Menteith as some maps have it. Inchmahome is famous for the 13th century priory on the island, currently closed. But this little excursion was my surprise for R, who hadn't really had any celebration for his birthday, and to my eyes needed a break; old priories with connections to the Bruce and Mary of Scots wouldn't really sing to him, that's more a Boot adventure. But woods and hills and waters, he's up for all that when not exhausted by work.

I chose the place for no better reason than that my counsellor recommended it for food and sunsets. I wanted R to be able to enjoy wine and sleep, so decided on an overnight stay, little for R to bother his mind over, just pack a change, put a postcode into the satnav and away!
(https://karmagroup.com/find-destination/karma-resorts/karma-lake-of-menteith/)

The whole area is steeped in fairy lore. Aberfoyle was the stomping ground of the 17th century clergyman Robert Kirk who wrote 'The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies,' long before Philip Pullman 'borrowed' part of that title for his own work.

Robert Kirk's fate was a strange one. His body was found on Doon Hill, where the portal to the underworld was said to be, and folk claimed that the body found on the hill was not his but a stock, that is to say a crude replica left while he was taken captive into the knowe for revealing fairy secrets. I have been here before with a friend, though we found ourselves at Balquhidder where Kirk first made the acquaintance of the other folk. It seemed a lot more magical than Aberfoyle, where the most unearthly phenomenon was the Forth Inn's ability to make money disappear. £4 per glass of lemonade? That Traveller's Choice award on Tripadvisor has a lot to answer for.

Some time I must climb Doon hill, though I hear it's become something of a hippy ribbon forest, fabric tied to trees as requests for fairy favours. It surprises me that anyone who read about Robert Kirk's kidnappers would hope for favours from them, but whatever. The tradition of 'clootie' wells and healing places is extremely old in Scotland and I don't expect it to stop soon. However, expecting R to climb a hill to be greeted by crusty wishland was not going to happen. I'll have time enough for my own stuff.

There were more tangible magics to be found; we made our way to the nearby Queen Elizabeth forest, walking the trails to find red squirrels and a waterfall, tall trees swaying and the presence of many beautiful tiny birds. And as ever with delicious moments, there's no real way to capture them but to be there. The birdsong was out of this world.

Back to the hotel we drove past lochs Katrine and Archay, and then alongside a loch large and brilliantly blue with white topped waves. It intrigued me, because it was utterly gorgeous, but had a vibe of Kelpie country. Inchmahome is too shallow for such legends, and in any case, a holy island would be considered sanctity enough to drive away fairies and their ilk, but this place was different. A moment's spurious check revealed it to be Loch Venachar, a place once infamous for a particularly malign and murderous Kelpie.

Here the whole 'beautiful horse by the shore' aspect of the legend came into play; not only was the Venachar Each Uisge lovely in equine form, it could stretch to accommodate more playful children on its back which it would carry off into the waters to drown, eat, and leave to float back to shore. There is a specific tragedy associated with the Venachar Kelpie. Recounted at the beginning of the 19th century, locals spoke of a catastrophe in which it carried off 15 children, who were bathing in the loch close to a place dubbed 'Coille a' Bhroin' meaning the wood of lamentation. When precisely this occurred, there is no way of guessing, but locals were worried for the beast had been seen again.

Waterhorse legends may well have had a number of cautionary purposes (don't approach unknown horses, don't get too close to handsome strangers, and above all, don't go swimming in large deep bodies of water!) but I am tempted to think that there was some kind of tragedy, that maybe a group of children were swept out by a freak current or something, and the sense of a local tragedy stayed. That beguiling pony grazing by the shore becomes a metaphor for the loch itself, beautiful but dangerous. Still, if I saw a horse grazing by a loch, I might think twice before going close to it. Just so as not to scare it, you understand.

Nothing like that at Inchmahome of course; all benign and lovely. We had a table outside before dinner, and watched the world change. I couldn't capture things like the osprey fishing by twilight, the swans in the morning. But the light was so splendid that even a phone camera couldn't entirely fail to capture it.