My red and white 15 day second class BritRail Pass was one of the best friends I had. It takes the hassle out of travel. Unlike the U.S. with its Amtrak, the British are serious about train travel. They actually have crews working the tracks all the time. In America you seldom see anything of the sort except for an occasional inspection vehicle or stacked ties. In Britain it was the only way to go, although next time, if there is one, I’ll go first class.
I decided to go on to Inverness, capital of the Scottish highlands because I not only had plenty of time left on my rail pass, but I wanted to explore a more tranquil and picturesque side of the U.K. Traveling north from Edinburgh the scenery changes dramatically. Vegetation is prevalent to begin with, but soon gives way to desolate moors, lichen covered rocks over which ice water flows, and deep locks past the Grampian Mountains . I understood why Scots are characterized as penny pinchers; there’s nothing up there. I wonder if Scotland ever had any trees. In the valleys there are broad expanses of marsh in which ducks and other wild birds seek sustenance on the reeds and other grasses. It was very pleasant to observe these enclaves. Campers crowd the streams near the greenery below the higher elevations. What houses there are, made of rock - unlike the brick houses found in the south of England. Halfway from Perth Inverness on June 1, I spotted snow on the mountains and a few small locks.
The capital of the Highlands, Inverness, seemed to be the most amiable small town I visited with a population, I was told, of three to four thousand in 1972. I found it remarkably easy to find the youth hostel on Old Edinburgh Road which was situated south of the railroad station where I booked two nights for one pound and set out exploring. I crossed the suspension bridge over the River Ness and watched sea gulls play on the icy waters that seem to surround Inverness. There’s not much there except perhaps the Lock Ness Monster that escaped me. I’m from Missouri. Show me. The whiskey distillery was interesting. I could not help noticing again that the British have a strange habit of leaving their babies in their carriages outside the stores when they shop. At a Wimpey Bar I met an older Scot who invited me to spend a few days with him and his wife at his farm 30 miles out into the moors. I politely declined of course. Visions of the Hounds of the Baskervilles probably had something to do with it other than my natural aversion to final resting places.
Later on in the afternoon at the youth hostel I completed my task of sweeping the floors. When free, I enjoyed visiting with the other tourists who could be from any place in the world, but congeniality does have a price – sleep. There are always a couple of drunks like the guy from Colorado and the Hollander who want to talk all night. Nevertheless, my attention was captured by a small contingent of bagpipers on the other side of the river who began to play a slow mournful march. Somehow I managed to fall asleep in the twilight that lasted all night.
