Don't Pay The Ferryman

Our trip to Scotland in late June and early July of this year lasted almost exactly two weeks. I mean that quite literally. We spent 14 days there almost to the hour from the time we crossed the Scottish border heading north to Glasgow to crossing the same line heading back south to England. That's about 336 hours of time, if you are inclined to do the math. Clearly, I was.

Of those 336 hours north of the border, we spent an awful lot of time on boats. Like an astonishing amount of time. We sailed (sailing here means a boat with a motor; there were no actual sails involved on this trip) on small boats with about 10 other people to massive boats seemingly capable of spending long hours at sea in all sorts of weather. We left the shore in search of puffins, gannets and other sorts of birds; floated past world famous whisky distilleries right on the shoreline; and roamed around the largest loch in Scotland (and largest body of water by far in Britain) in search of monsters that never bothered to have the common courtesy to surface right next to our vessel and make us internationally famous.

But of all the boats we set foot on during this trip, we spent by far the most amount of time on ferries moving us back and forth between the mainland of Scotland and the Hebrides, the string of islands on the west coast of the country. By my count, we spent about 16 hours either on these ferries or waiting to get on these ferries. And they were worth pretty much every minute of it, and not just because we needed them to take us and our trusty Honda Jazz to some amazing places. 

So I'm thinking the ferries deserve a post, right? I mean almost 5% of our total trip was spent on these things. I wrote a post about gannets and our looks at those birds lasted less than an hour. And to be completely frank, we probably spent more than 16 hours with the wait times. We are always early, after all.

Early morning sail from Islay to the mainland (top); and leaving Ullapool en route to Lewis (bottom).

So honestly, if we really wanted to go to the islands of Islay, Mull and Lewis (and we did), we pretty much had to take ferries to get around. Sure, we could have flown to each island, leaving our car at whatever airport on the mainland we flew from and picking up some sort of transport on the islands, but that seemed way more complicated. The ferries (all of which were operated by Caledonian MacBrayne, or CalMac for short) were an essential part of our trip that ultimately probably crossed that line from necessary commodity to beloved travel partner by the end of our time in the Hebrides.

Maybe "beloved" is a bit of stretch but there was for sure a special kind of kinship with the CalMac ferries that we picked up during our first week in country. Part of that love (or whatever it is) is the romance associated with certain types of travel. Most of our time getting away is probably spent in planes and cars, two decidedly non-romantic types of travel, unless we are talking about a seaplane or something like that (like the one that took us to Dry Tortugas National Park in 2014). But if we start talking about moving from place to place on a boat or a train, now we are talking about a mode of travel that definitely makes me happier and more relaxed. 

There is something about being on a boat on the open water (and to clarify, we are talking calm water here) that is relaxing and peaceful. Just the ocean or sea as far as you can see with specks of land in the distance marking your departure point and destination or just an island or shore that you are passing by. It's slow. It's serene. It's exhilarating being out on deck watching it all. It's amazing.

I know...it's not a sailboat. It's a ferry. It has a pace to it that's plodding and unexciting on the surface. And those big engines are working hard and probably using all too much energy to get us from port to port. 

But there is a throwback quality to ferries that appeals to me. They are not fancy but they are the ultimate short and mid-distance people movers on the water that have been around for a long, long time. It's even better if you get to drive your car on and off them (which we did on six of the seven CalMac ferries we rode). There's something cool about putting your entire vehicle onto a boat and just driving it off on the other side. For all the places I've ever been, I'm not sure I've ever driven a car onto a ferry. That sounds crazy but I think it's true. Although, not any more.

About that driving onto the boat, though. You definitely need to pay attention when you are doing it. Most of the ferries we took had a single level of parking for cars; getting on and off those was pretty straightforward. The ferry between Ullapool and Stornoway (on the Isle of Lewis), though, had a second level of parking in its hold on each side of the boat towards the exterior. The second deck was accessed by a ramp on each end that was raised after it was full and then lowered to allow disembarkation. 

We were unlucky enough to park on the upper deck both ways on that trip. I say unlucky here because they let the upper decks off last; it's kind of difficult to lower the ramps to the upper decks when there are cars below. But we were not as unlucky as one person next to us who managed to drive their front wheel off the side of the ramp down from the upper deck. I don't know how long that mess took to get sorted out because we got off as soon as we could. Just watch where you are driving when getting on and off ferries is the message here.

The ferry to Islay opening up their vehicle "door" (top); and driving on at Ullapool (bottom).

One of the great things about boat travel is there is generally enough room to move around some (or a lot) and there's usually some stuff to do. Exploring a boat this size can take some time and we are not talking about open ocean travel here so there's typically something to look at while you are going wherever the boat is taking you. Plus, if you need a meal, there's a full galley. None of this is like a plane or train where you are confined to a relatively small space for the duration of your journey. More room is better.

We did manage to see some pretty amazing things looking overboard, from a very fleeting look at some dolphins (or maybe they were porpoises); to lots of birdlife, like gannets plunging into the water in search of food; to seaside distilleries on Islay; to a few ruins or a lighthouse or two or maybe even a castle. There are some great views of Duart Castle on Mull from the CalMac from Oban to Craignure. Duart is not a medieval castle; it was re-built in the early 20th century. But you still get a great view from the water. People pay for tours to see these sights. You get it all on the ferry for free.

And that food? Pretty good. At least for breakfast. We actually ate breakfast twice on the ferries. I'd highly recommend the bacon and tomato breakfast sandwich. I'll also say that we got the sense that the staff working in the galley really cared. If your order wasn't ready at the counter then someone would find you in the dining room and bring it. I got the sense that the job is not viewed as a stepping stone to something else. We saw when we got back home that the BBC is making a reality series about life working on the CalMac ferries. HAVE to find a way to watch that when it gets released next year.

Oh, there's also a full bar on board in case you need a dram of whisky. Just not at breakfast time. Islay is well represented, appropriately enough.

Waiting for breakfast (top) and I'm counting six types of Islay whisky at the bar (bottom).

As I've already said, we pretty much had to take these ferries to get where we were going but there is actually a benefit to getting to some of the departure points. These places could be seen as a necessity to get where we really wanted to go on the other side of the water, but we used the opportunity to explore a bit and appreciate the drives that it took to get there, wherever there happened to be.

We left for Mull from Oban, which is a bustling ferry hub. There are boats coming in and out of there all day so it would stand to reason that there would be something going on. Our destination here was lunch, which turned out to be a bite to eat at the sketchily named Oban Seafood Hut, a green painted stall right on the water. The shrimp sandwich was great but I'd steer clear of the rubbery whelks. It's the animal, not the place of business. Who likes whelks? I can't imagine.

Our other two points of departure (Kennacraig and Ullapool) took us by some of the best scenery we drove past on this trip. The road to Kennacraig took us past the shoreline of the west coast of Scotland. The road to Ullapool took us through the highlands. Both were amazing drives and the best part was they were just a bonus. We weren't there to drive through spectacular scenery at all; they were just throw ins for free on a drive of necessity. 

Ullapool, where we departed to Lewis from, is a gorgeous little town of rowhouses lined up facing the harbor. I can't imagine what people in Ullapool do for work because it seemed to be utterly remote, but the place is really well put together. I suppose the ferry brings a lot of business to the town. We ate at the local chippy here before we boarded and found a couple of Scottish fish and chip shop delicacies that we had no concept of what they might actually be. We stuck to the fish but looked up the king rib and the red pudding later. Glad we got the fish.

Scenes from the ferries: Port Ellen, the islands on the way to Stornoway, and Duart Castle.

The longest ferry we took on this trip was between Ullapool and Stornoway which was two and half hours (or maybe just a bit longer on the way there) each way. The shortest we took was from Iona to Fionnphort on Mull which was all of 15 minutes long. The ferry from Iona was mercifully short but the ferry to Stornoway was probably the best ride we took, despite the length. The weather was perfectly sunny on that 7 p.m. trip and the islands we motored past were just so picturesque. It was almost worth the price of admission for that view alone.

Speaking of admission and despite the title of this post (I have to search for song titles, right?) we did pay the ferryman here. And before we got to the other side. These things are not cheap, particularly with a vehicle to pay for. We were whale watching (or more accurately staring at the water) in the morning on Lewis talking to a dude from Salisbury, England and complaining about the cost of the ferries. He summed it up well (and I'm paraphrasing here): the cost of taking a car on the ferries is not cheap, but if you want to get to what's on the other side, you just have to pay for it. He was right. The CalMacs got us to some incredible places. I can't imagine doing it any other way.

The menu at Deli-Ca-Sea Fish and Chip Bar, Ullapool. Red pudding anyone?

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How We Did It

The Caledonian MacBrayne ferries run all throughout the islands off Scotland's west coast, from Arran in the south to Lewis in the north. There are about 30 different routes in total and they operate at different times on different days of the week. Their schedules also vary by season. We were in Scotland right near the summer solstice so I assume the ferries were running much more frequently that time of year than during the winter months. Check their website for their most current schedules.

You will likely find that most routes require passenger arrival in advance of departure time, typically 30 to 45 minutes ahead of the actual departure. We were told by the hotel owner in Stornoway that we should not be late on these arrival times or else we'd risk being left behind. We planned on being early anyway (we are always early) but there were signs at some ferry terminals listing what happened to late cars. If I'm remembering right it was that you get put to the back of the line, but I suppose risk of being left behind might be real in some situations.

I like to think that I make travel reservations far in advance but I honestly almost got caught with no ferry reservation to Lewis. I bought ferry tickets on April 4 for that trip on June 25 and two of the three ferries to Stornoway that date and one the next day back to Ullapool were sold out. Fortunately, neither of the ferries we wanted to take were booked solid. Just don't count on last minute availability.

And not kidding about the breakfast. Or the BBC series. The food is good and I can't wait for that series to be released.

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Bass Rock

Our trip to Scotland this summer took us from a starting point in Glasgow; up through the Hebrides Islands on the west coast of the country; down through Inverness and past Aberdeen; before ending up at the terminus of our trip in the capital of Edinburgh. It took us by lochs and glens; past mountains (such as they have in Britain...); over seas and straits; and through fields and fields of sheep. Sometimes literally through fields of sheep. There was actual waiting in some spots for sheep to move off the road.

By the end of all that traveling, we were ready to settle a bit. We spent more nights in Edinburgh than we did in any other city. We wanted to root ourselves a bit after bopping between five prior hotels in various other towns and cities, but we also wanted to take advantage of Edinburgh's proximity to sights around the city by day tripping out of town for a couple of days. Including our last opportunity for a truly excellent and intimate look at some of the seabirds that nest in the summer months of the coast of Scotland before they head out to sea for most of the year.

When we were on the west coast of the country, we spent a couple of hours on the Isle of Lunga getting up close and personal with a whole lot of puffins. On the Edinburgh side of Scotland, our target was Bass Rock, home to a whole lot of nesting gannets. We've seen quite a few species of seabirds on our travels over the last nine years or so but we hadn't managed to get up close and personal with some gannets until Scotland. We couldn't let this opportunity pass.

The point of departure for our trip to Bass Rock was the town of North Berwick, specifically the dock next to the Scottish Seabird Centre right on the shoreline of the town. The day we tripped to North Berwick was rainy and cold, so we figured there would be little chance of us actually going out to sea. After the 45 minute or so ride from Edinburgh, I was ready for some disappointment. But we were pleasantly surprised to find the trip still a go despite the lousy weather. In fact, the staff at the Centre seemed a bit shocked that I would even ask the question. Good thing. We didn't want to have driven all that way only to turn around, and the weather when we actually got on the water turned out to be just fine.

Bass Rock, by the way, is just that. It's a very, very large rock in the middle of the Firth of Forth (or the mouth of the Forth River). Despite being a giant rock, it has, over the years, been inhabited by a number of different types of people. The first recorded inhabitants were early Christian hermits, and there's nothing like getting away from it all to live on a rock. I mean, how did they even survive out there without a reliable source of fresh water? I guess from reading wikipedia's entry on the Rock, it wasn't always as barren as it is today. Probably the guano is making it that way these days.

Eventually, the Rock fell into the hands of the Lauder family who ended up holding the it for several hundred years before losing it to Oliver Cromwell in the 1600s. The Lauders certainly made their mark on the place by building a castle there, the ruins of which are still visible today. After the Lauders built their castle, the island was used as a couple of different kinds of prisons or jails (or gaols, if you prefer), until it made its way into the hands of the Dalrymple family in 1707 who still hold it to this day. The lighthouse on the island (visible in the picture above) was added in the early 20th century. 

Today, all of that is all abandoned and the entirety of the island is used as a nesting colony by some 150,000 northern gannets. Not a typo. One hundred and fifty thousand.

So about those gannets.

The northern gannet, much like those beloved puffins that we found earlier on in this same trip, are predominantly a seabird, which means they spend most (like 9-10 months) of the year at sea feeding and ultimately sort of homeless. But in the summer, gannets return to their traditional breeding grounds and raise a chick for a couple of months. And by a chick, I really do mean just one. One single chick per pair. And the pair is generally the same every year. 

Now, if you think you might want to see some gannets, the coast of the United Kingdom in the summer is definitely the place to do that. Fully 2/3 of the entire global population of northern gannets returns every year to the islands and cliffs of the British Isles to do their part to perpetuate the species. If you decide you only want to visit one spot in Britain, Bass Rock is a pretty darned good choice. If that 150K number seemed like a big number, it should; there are more breeding gannets there during the summer than any other spot on Earth. 

The gannet, like a lot of other seabirds, are an incredibly well put together and perfectly groomed bird. There's not a feather out of place. I feel this same way about the puffins we saw last year in Maine and on this trip on Lunga and the mollymawks we saw off the coast of Stewart Island in New Zealand. I'm guessing they have this appearance because they need to shed water efficiently on a day to day basis. 

Gannets are not the cuties that puffins are and they are not the spectacular gliders that the mollymawks (or lesser albatrosses) are but they are incredibly appealing just the same. The majorities of their bodies are almost pure white, with the exception of their yellow-tinged heads and the black tips on their wings. They really do stand out on the open water from all other species like kittywakes and various types of gulls due to their bright white color.

They are also spectacular divers. When they spot a school of fish below them in the water, they can fashion their bodies into virtual missiles, dropping from the sky at speeds up to 100 kilometers (or 60 miles) per hour. In this respect, they remind me a lot of the boobies we saw fishing down in the Galapagos a few years ago. Indeed, the long, razor-sharp gannet bill very much makes their head resemble a booby head, although the gannet body, particularly for its size (they are the largest seabird in the northern hemisphere) is far sleeker than the blue-footed booby.

Our trip from the Scottish Seabird Centre took us out of the harbor at North Berwick, past Craigleith Island and to Bass Rock. The entire duration of the tour was supposed to be one hour long and I guess that was true, but both Craigleith and Bass Rock are so close to the shore that this ride really does get you a lot of time to get close up looks at the gannets on the Rock.

Craigleith is home to about 15,000 nesting puffins in an average year. In a sign of how good our visit to Lunga earlier in the trip was, we barely paid much attention to the puffins on this part of the trip, preferring to try to spot some kittywakes while really wanting to see a ton of gannets. There are almost no puffins on Bass Rock, by the way, most notably because puffins burrow to make their nests and you can't do that in rock. There is one nesting pair of puffins on the Rock who have made their home in the crevices of the old castle wall built by the Lauders.

There are an astonishing number of nesting pairs of gannets (and their chicks) to watch on this tour. There is ample time to to watch them sit around (lots of that); take off and fly (sort of awkwardly); land after fishing (definitely awkwardly); and interact with each other. On the last point we managed to see a few couples bill fencing, a greeting ritual performed to strengthen the bond between pairs. The picture immediately below shows the end of that ritual.

Now, I am sure to the untrained eye, it appears that there are a lot of gannets in the pictures on this blog post. And no doubt, that is probably true, but maybe not the 150,000 that usually nest there in a typical summer. The islands around Britain had been hit this summer with an outbreak of avian flu, which had started to devastate some of the populations of birds nesting on the outlying islands, including at Bass Rock. 

The Seabird Centre does run trips to Bass Rock that land and allow you to walk around closer to the gannets but those were at least partially cancelled this summer due to the flu outbreak. We also heard after getting back home that landings at Lunga had been stopped due to the flu. I feel like we got really lucky with the spread of the flu. I can't imagine missing that puffin experience. We elected not to take the landing tour of Bass Rock specifically because we knew we already had the same thing scheduled at Lunga. I'm glad we didn't swap those two tours out. We definitely got lucky with the flu and our vacation plans.

The effect of the flu was devastatingly visible on our boat trip our of North Berwick, by the way. All kidding aside with the fact that we got lucky with the flu and our trip plans (because that's really way less important than dying birds), we did see a lot of dead birds around Bass Rock. Our guide told us some were likely victims of their own ability to land safely, but there's no doubt that some of the carcasses we sailed past were avian flu victims.

I don't have a list of bird species that I want to see in the wild before I leave this world. That would be a bucket list and I will never, ever make a list that once everything on it is done then I can die. But I for sure wanted to make getting close to some gannets a part of this trip to Scotland. I didn't really see when I would get this good an opportunity. 

The gannets on Bass Rock weren't the only gannets we saw on this trip. We spent time on several boats that were being followed by a couple or a few dozen of these birds. But the opportunity to see these spectacular creatures at Bass Rock was a real treat. One more species off the list (the list that doesn't exist, of course). I feel we did this one pretty comprehensively in just an afternoon that started out rainy and ended up being pretty much perfect.

As a closing note to this post, I will point out that gannets are heavily protected in Scotland, but there was a time when people used to eat these birds. The methods of cooking that our guide relayed to us were less than appetizing. Apparently, the birds were either traditionally cooked in rhubarb leaves or the young gannets used to be plucked from their nests and the flesh fermented. That second method sounds similar to what goes on in New Zealand today with the sooty shearwaters (or mutton birds) although I'm not sure they ferment the meat. The plate I had when we were there in 2019 didn't taste fermented in any way. 

I stuck to seafood or haggis in Scotland. No gannets on the menu for me.

I found it very difficult to photograph gannets in the air on this trip. I would have loved a close up shot of one in flight. Need to work on that skill. And quickly.

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How We Did It

This experience was pretty short and simple. We took the Seabird Catamaran Cruise offered by the Scottish Seabird Centre and then sat back and had them do all the work. The boat was small enough to offer some really good looks at the gannets but big enough that the cost didn't set us back too much. The crew of the boat did enough turning around so that each side of the boat got some good looks. We grabbed an edge seat towards the back, which seemed to be a good decision.

I know I downplayed the quality of the puffin sightings at Craigleith Island but if you have never seen these birds in the wild, you really can get pretty close to them on the water and that's honestly pretty exciting, That part of the experience didn't match what we saw in Maine last year or the prior week on Lunga but it's a great addition to the Bass Rock experience. Don't let my jaded view of that part of the trip cause you to not pay attention.

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Haggis Etc.

On my last trip to Scotland in 2007, I had my first ever meal of haggis, which is often described as the national dish of Scotland. I waited until the very last meal of the very last day I was in country and had a good amount of beer (or liquid courage, if you prefer) to get myself psyched up for the occasion. It was actually really good. I remember it as meaty and salty and didn't even mind the turnips (or perhaps they were swedes) that came as the traditional accompaniment to the meal.

Why did I need some beer before tucking in to haggis, you might ask? Well, let's consider what haggis actually is. Traditionally, it's sheep offal (perhaps heart, liver and lungs and stuff like that) mixed with oatmeal, salt, spices, suet, maybe some onion and stock and then boiled in a casing until cooked. The casing is traditionally the stomach of the sheep but today, most folks probably use some kind of artificial casing. Sound yummy? THAT's why I needed a couple of beers before my first haggis.

By the way, I'm not sure the haggis I had in whatever bar I found in Glasgow 15 years ago was actually as offal-y as the dish historically is or was. Maybe that's why it tasted so good. 

This year, I was determined to not make the same mistake I made in 2007. I was all in on the haggis and no liquid courage would be required, although beer is an excellent pairing with some offal and oats, if that's what you actually get on your plate when you order it in whatever establishment you happen to be in when you order.

Haggis nuggets and haggis pizza. The Mishnish, Isle of Mull.

I was not just all in on haggis this year, by the way. I was all in on all Scottish food. Fish and chips. Full Scottish breakfasts (with black pudding and tattie scones). Tablet. Fresh seafood like scallops and shrimp and whelks (like eating rubber; never again!). Smoked fish. Afternoon tea. Tunnock's teacakes and caramel logs. Anything I could get my hands on to stuff into my mouth. But none of that (with one notable exception I'll discuss later) really merited writing about. Except haggis. So here you have a post about haggis. Mostly.

We arrived in Scotland on a Saturday afternoon and by the time I laid my head to rest on my pillow for the first night in country that night in Glasgow, I'd had my first haggis. I had my second tasting the very next night also in Glasgow. In addition to two meals of haggis in Glasgow, I ate the stuff in Edinburgh, Inverness and on the Isles of Mull and Islay. I ate it in traditional (meaning likely made from offal) form, in vegetarian form, in a sandwich, in spring rolls, on pizza, in a toastie (OK, so also technically a sandwich) and in nugget form. I covered haggis pretty well on this trip, I'm telling you.

Neeps, tatties, haggis. Ardnamurchan restaurant, Glasgow.

Haggis traditionally comes served with neeps and tatties. For those of you who don't speak Scottish, that means with swede (or turnips, which I guess is shortened to neeps) and mashed potatoes (tatties). Indeed both the full on traditional (above) and the vegetarian version of the same thing (first picture) that we ate came served just that way with a boat or serving of whisky sauce on the side. We found the whisky sauce essential to full enjoyment of these meals of haggis. None of the rest of the forms of haggis we ordered were served with these three sides, although the haggis egg rolls I ate did come with both some kind of chili dipping sauce and chips and gravy.

I am suspecting most of the haggis we were served in our time in Scotland was not offal-based. Most of it had a sort of ground-meat-with-grain texture that belied what it should be and really didn't necessarily improve the flavor, although the mouthfeel of the meat was far more relatable than the really smooth pureed traditional haggis that likely had some animal parts in it that I don't really want to be informed of. I'd put the haggis we had in sandwiches and on the pizza and in nugget form into this meat/grain category, although of all these dishes, I'd put the haggis sandwich I had at the Islay Hotel on the Isle of Islay as head and shoulders above the rest of those other meals. I'd go back for that any day.

Haggis Sandwich. The Islay Hotel, Isle of Islay.

The best plate of haggis we had? Honestly, it was the traditional haggis at the Ardnamurchan restaurant in Glasgow. I'm shocked to be writing this actually because the mouthfeel was cloyingly pasty as if there was some meat I don't usually eat pureed into the mix and the aftertaste was definitely a little metallic. But the overall taste was meaty and satisfying and the mashed potatoes were perfectly fluffy and well-seasoned. When eaten with the neeps and the whisky sauce (which was honestly just fantastic - we could have eaten a lot more of that), the bites of this dish felt homey and very Scottish which was just what we were looking for. I'm not sure I could have eaten an entire portion by myself (it was rich and we split the dish) but I would definitely go back and share this plate again.

The vegetarian haggis we were served the very next day was a reasonable facsimile to the eye, but the taste was nothing similar to the real deal at Ardnamurchan. I'm not sure quite what the point is. It's not good enough to be crave-able. Maybe people eat it to say they have had haggis without eating something legit? 

If there were a close second to Arnamurchan's haggis (and it's really a distant second), it would be the haggis egg rolls I got from The Chippy by Spencer in Edinburgh. They were clearly not as smoothly pureed as the best haggis we had but the texture was different enough from the ground-meat-and-grain texture we had so much that it made this dish seem more legit. At least to my extremely uneducated haggis palate; I mean, after all, I've still only had this stuff eight times. I'd go back to The Chippy for these. They went well with the chili sauce too. 

Considering we spent just 14 nights in Scotland on this trip, I'm pretty satisfied with seven haggis dishes in that time. I definitely got way more into this stuff than I have ever in all my previous at least three trips to Scotland. I could have had more, including haggis for breakfast, but I'm satisfied with my level of exploration here. At least I won't need to get liquored up to try this stuff ever again.

Haggis egg rolls, chips, gravy. The Chippie by Spencer, Edinburgh.

The title of this post is Haggis Etc. And so of course, there's an etcetera to talk about. We really did have a lot of Scottish dishes on our wish list for this trip and really and truly, most of them weren't unique enough to spend any time really writing about. Except for the haggis and one other dish that is probably the most ordinary sounding dish of all, a mix of fruit, oats, honey and whipped cream called cranachan.

Maybe I left one or two details out of my description in the prior paragraph but honestly, there's not much to this cranachan dish. It's kind of like a parfait, with raspberry coulis layered with toasted oats, honey and whisky liqueur whipped cream and then topped with a single raspberry. And maybe it was where we had this dish (Ardnamurchan, again) but this dessert was mind-blowingly good. The sweetness of the coulis with the silky whiskey cream against the texture of the oats was just incredible. We had this dish once in our two weeks in Scotland and it was the best thing we ate. I mean, there is no competition. It's so simple that it seems like it should be easily replicated at home but I'm not convinced it's actually that simple. And we did look for it again. We struggled to find it, although an ability to eat in restaurants in Edinburgh due to contracting COVID certainly affected our options in Edinburgh.

If I ever am in Glasgow again, I'm eating every night at Ardnamurchan and I'm having cranachan for dessert every night. 

That's my Scotland food report. Haggis and cranachan. Great stuff!

Cranachan. Ardnamurchan Restaurant, Glasgow.

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How We Did It

We had a lot of great food and drink in Scotland but haggis-wise (and cranachan-wise), I'd just recommend three places based on what we ate.

The best meal we had in Scotland hands down was at Arndamurchan in Glasgow. We made a reservation for our Saturday night meal and I sort of felt like it was a good thing we did. We only ate three dishes here (we split all three) but the haggis was the best haggis we ate and the cranachan was fantastic (in case that wasn't obvious from the post). Go here. Before we left home it looked like the best restaurant on paper and it certainly delivered.

I'd also recommend The Chippy by Spencer in Edinburgh. They had the second best haggis I ate but they also served up some good looking fish and chips. Unlike some other fish and chip shops we ate from, they seemed to be preparing the food to order, rather than just pulling something from under a heat lamp and handing it to you in a box.

If you are looking for a good haggis sandwich and happen to be on Islay, The Islay Hotel in Port Ellen definitely serves a good one. The bread is super soft and warm and the sandwich comes with melted cheddar and red onion marmalade. It's not just ground meat and some oats on a roll. There aren't that many restaurant choices in Port Ellen. Wandering into the Islay Hotel was a good idea on our part.

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Culloden

Scotland has a long history of conflict. Or maybe a better word here is resistance. For as long as history about people and events in what is now Scotland has been written down, it seems like outsiders have been constantly trying to conquer the land in the north of Britain and bring the people who lived there to heel. And the people there have been fighting back. Hard.

The Romans tried it a few times before just giving up and building a country-wide wall to keep the people in the north out of Roman-held territory. Then the Vikings took a turn and were largely successful. And after the Norman invasion of England, the object of conflict and resistance for the Scots (not always called this; just simplifying a bit here) became the English. And this conflict lasted for centuries. 

But all that resistance came to an end at the Battle of Culloden. And in brutal fashion. We don't spend a lot of time on vacation at battlefields, although we did visit two on this trip and we have spent time on past trips walking sites where huge battles took place. Generally, I find these places to be confusing to understand what really happened hundreds of years ago on what is now usually a field of grass and brush. But Culloden was a must-see for us on our recent tour of Scotland for one reason and one reason alone: last year, we watched the first two seasons of Outlander, the time-travel, adventure-romance series set against the historical background of the Jacobite uprising in Scotland that ends its second season at the Battle of Culloden.

Strange reason to want to visit a battlefield? Maybe. But this is essential Scottish history, even if it didn't turn out well at all for the Scots.

Monument to the Highlanders, Culloden.

The origins of the Battle of Culloden are complicated and are deeply rooted in power and politics and seemingly religion (although I believe the historical conflict that seems to revolve around religion in Britain and Ireland has really way more to do with power than religion). Let's see if I can make this explanation relatively short. Although I probably won't succeed there.

When Elizabeth I of England died in 1603, the line of succession to the English throne passed to James VI of Scotland, who was the son of the great-niece (Mary, Queen of Scots, if you must know...) of Henry VIII (Elizabeth's father). Henry VIII, of course, famously separated the church in England from the Catholic church based in Rome. When James became king of England, he became James I and effectively had joint support to rule both England and Scotland.

When James died, the crown passed to his son, Charles I, who was especially unpopular in Scotland because of his actions to promote the Church of England despite his wife (French princess Henrietta Maria) being Catholic. Charles became a victim of the English Civil War which abolished the monarchy (temporarily) and was beheaded in 1649. It would take until 1660 for his son, Charles II (who was generally endorsed by the Scots), to be restored to the throne.

When Charles II died in 1685, his son James II of England (and VII of Scotland) became king but didn't last long, being deposed in 1689 in favor of William of Orange (who was James' nephew) and his queen, Mary, with heavy assistance from English Parliament. It is here that real conflict between England and Scotland re-ignited. Most Scots supported James, and not William.

When William died childless in 1702, the throne passed to James' daughter, Anne, and when she died 12 years later (also childless), George I (Anne's second cousin) ascended to the throne. George wasn't English at all. He was German. He was also 53rd in line for the English throne. Why pick Anne (over restoring James II) and then a German to sit on the English throne? Simple...they were Protestant, and Parliament had passed an act in 1701 requiring all future English monarchs to be Protestant (this followed a similar act in 1673 banning Catholics from serving in either House of Parliament). Now we are ready to talk about Culloden. Almost.

The brush, Culloden Moor, 2022. Very difficult to really understand the conditions in 1746.

The Battle of Culloden is often thought of as a battle between the English and Scottish. That perception is wrong. Culloden pitted the Jacobites, a group of people interested in seeing James II (or his heirs) restored to the throne of England and Scotland, against the English government, whether that be the government of William and Mary or Anne or George I or George II. There were Scots fighting for the English government and there were English backing the campaign of the Jacobites, along with other nationalities in the mix, particularly French and Spanish fighters. Jacobites vs. English government; not Scottish vs. English.

The conflict that was ended with Culloden was actually the fourth Jacobite uprising. The first started way back in 1689 when William and Mary were installed on the throne. That uprising, along with the second and third versions, was defeated but not crushed. Despite the first, second and third defeats, the Jacobites kept coming back for more.

The fourth uprising was led (at least from a figurehead point of view) by Charles Edward Stuart, grandson of James II, who was better known as Bonnie Prince Charlie (we'll call him Charles or BPC from this point forward in this post). Charles arrived for the first time in his life in Scotland in July of 1945 and started raising an army, with some overseas help and financing most notably provided by France.

And raise one he did. There was a time in 1745 that things were actually going really well for the Jacobites. They recorded victory after victory after victory as they marched through Scotland, over the border to England and all the way to Derby, about 125 miles from London (and the throne). They might have kept going except for the onset of winter and a report that the King was sending an army out from the city to meet the Jacobites. Instead of continuing to London, they retreated back to Scotland, marching their army (which at this point was low on provisions and basically half-starved) fiercely all the way.

Apparently, there was no army sent out to meet the Jacobites. That information had been passed on to deceive and make them retreat. If they had kept going, they might have marched into a city utterly unprotected and taken the throne. Instead, their retreat give George II a chance to raise the army that BPC and his advisors had feared, with George's youngest son, the Duke of Cumberland, in command.

The locations of the battle lines today: blue for the Jacobites; red for the government.

We are getting close to Culloden, I promise.

Despite all of the retreating and the lack of food, the Jacobites managed to make it back to Scotland and got camped out at the perfect spot to meet the government's army. Then they got impatient. And impulsive. They found out that the army they were waiting on was having a party on April 15 to celebrate the Duke of Cumberland's birthday and figured it might be a great opportunity to sneak up on a bunch of drunk Englishmen and slaughter them in their sleep. Charlie was a go. Good plan, yes?

Yes, is the answer. But good plans require good execution. And here the Jacobites didn't quite do it right. We got two accounts of what happened. In one. the guides they hired to lead them on the 12 mile march (that's one way, by the way) didn't quite get the whole Jacobite force to the party, and faced with too many Englishmen to handle, they turned around. In the second, the march started late and the terrain was way rougher than they anticipated and they had to turn back because they just wouldn't get there in time. Either way, they marched 24 miles or so (maybe a little less) in the dark on empty stomachs on the eve of battle. Not good.

The next day, April 16, 1746, the two armies would face off in battle.

A surviving farm building on Culloden Moor, likely used as a field hospital of some sort in 1746.

So let's set the stage here a little. On one side, we have an exhausted, starving Jacobite army that has marched up and down most of the length of Britain. On the other, there is a mile long line of professional soldiers including the second best artillery unit in the world who could release a shot from a musket every 18 seconds. That musket speed is fast, but it was even faster when the 1/3 of the soldiers fired every 6 seconds. And that mile long line of men? Just the front line. There were two more behind it.

The government on paper had the advantage. Big time. The two sides had the same sort of weapons available to them but there were just far fewer Jacobites and they were nowhere near as well trained and they were exhausted. Oh, and in case you were wondering, apparently the Austrians were better trained artillerymen in the mid 1700s. Ready for battle? I guess both sides thought they were. 

According to Andy (or it might have been Andi; not sure here), our guide on Culloden Moor, the Jacobites may have fired the first shot and possibly not on purpose. But once shots had been fired, it was on and the Jacobites did what they always did in battle: run towards the enemy; fire their muskets as much to create a cloud of smoke as to try to wound those they were firing towards; toss their muskets aside; and engaged in hand-to-hand combat in what is known as the Highland Charge.

It didn't go well, primarily because it appears the right third of so of the Jacobite line engaged the government troops in combat while the other highlanders got stuck in a bog that they hadn't realized was between them and the Duke of Cumberland's army. So when a very small part of the government's soldiers were engaged in a skirmish, the rest of their fellow troops pitched in and massacred the 1/3 of the Jacobites who made it to the fight. The estimate here is 700 men killed in 2-3 minutes and a little more than twice that number in 45 minutes. The Battle of Culloden was over almost as soon as it started.

Starting point for 400 Jacobites, looking over the former bog.

I can't help thinking, after walking through the on-site museum and taking a guided tour of a portion of the Battlefield and then walking the rest by ourselves, that Culloden was an entirely stupid endeavor from the Jacobites' standpoint. Pretty much every significant decision BPC and his band of generals made was wrong. And not just slightly wrong; like way, way wrong. Turning back at Derby; marching their men to the point of exhaustion; abandoning a favorable position to go raid a birthday party; getting lost on the way to said birthday party; and then directing (or at least failing to prevent) 2/3 of their troops rushing into a bog that they couldn't get out of on battle day. I guess I can give them a pass on the turning back at Derby thing (they were deliberately misled, after all) but the rest look like bad decision after bad decision. Utter stupidity, even.

I suppose that if BPC had made better decisions, the total death count from the battle might have been greater since it would theoretically have been a fairer fight and more men might have died on both sides (the government claimed just 50 deaths but that number seems suspiciously low according to historians). But the leaders of the Jacobites basically served their men up as slaughter victims before they fled the battlefield themselves.

Charlie, by the way (and, of course, right?) made it out alive. He fled the country disguised as a woman via the Isle of Skye.

Victorian-era marker at Culloden. Likely not entirely true.

As much as the actual battle was a complete and utter disaster for the Highlanders, the aftermath may have been worse. Remember this was the fourth Jacobite uprising and after this one, the Duke of Cumberland had had enough. He was determined to stop this from ever happening again. So after he made sure no injured men escaped from the battlefield alive and maybe did a little burning and pillaging of villages in the area, he imposed some rules: no tartan, no bagpipes, no weapons, no Gaelic, no gatherings of men or boys in numbers greater than five. In all of Scotland. In short, no clans and no Highland culture ever again.

It stuck, mostly because the enforcement of the rules was left to local authorities, who tended to take a very strict approach to making sure the rules lasted. Some even classified farm implements as weapons and when they confiscated them, they took away the very livelihood of the Highlanders. Culloden's impact was instant and it extended far, far beyond the Battlefield.

We were aware of this last point (meaning the impact) before we set foot on Culloden Moor. I just didn't expect to find out that the battle lasted for so little time and feel that the effect of the aftermath through the stories we were told, both in person and by walking through the museum. This was the last battle in Britain fought hand-to-hand. It's incredible that it affected so many people living on the island so severely and so quickly. It almost completely wiped out Scottish culture. Fortunately, despite its immediate impact, it didn't eliminate everything. And that's a good thing, because I think there is a lot to be valued in Scottish culture.

The rolling mounds are mass graves from 1746; stones added later.

A couple of other things we got out of our visit to Culloden Moor are probably worth mentioning.

First, there is a section of the Battlefield where there are mass graves from the actual conflict way back in 1746. It's a bit chilling - our guide told us each grave holds an estimated one to 200 men from that day - and they are right there in front of you to walk past and around. At the foot of some of these graves are stones with the carved names of clans that fought and died in the Battle, but the clan names don't necessarily match the actual people buried there for one good reason: in 1746, clan tartan wasn't a thing so the dead couldn't be identified by the clothing they wore. Highlanders wore whatever they could get weaved for them in whatever color was available.

Now, if you've ever walked the Royal Mile at Edinburgh, I'm sure you've seen souvenir shop after souvenir shop with tartans from each Scottish clan on mugs and plaques and glasses and anything else you can put tartan on including actual tartan clothing. It's all fake. The Victorians made it all up. There never was any clan tartan (although the Royal Stuart tartan may be an exception). The markers were placed on Culloden Battlefield during Victorian times by the way.

Second and last, if you were a Scotsman who really wanted to own weapons and wear tartan after 1746, there was a way to do it: join a Highland Regiment and serve in the armed forces overseas. Sound like a bad deal? It may have been. But faced with a choice between living at home with no way to make a living under constant watch from the authorities just waiting for you to violate some minor rule, maybe it was the least of two evils. 

So a lot of Scottish men did it and when they arrived wherever they were stationed throughout the British Commonwealth, they found out things were better than they were at home and they stayed. There are a lot of Scottish people all over the world. The Highland Regiments were a big reason why. If you meet someone of Scottish ancestry not living in Scotland, there's a good chance they are where they are because their ancestors were part of this post-Culloden Scottish diaspora.

The Fraser Clan stone. With flowers, likely in appreciation of the fictional James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.

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How We Did It

The Visitor Centre at Culloden Battlefield is open almost year round (there is a time in late December and early January when it is closed) starting at 9 a.m. or 10 a.m. until 4 p.m. For full opening times, check the Battlefield's website. The Battlefield itself is open year round even when the Visitor Centre is closed.

We spent a total of about 2-1/2 to 3 hours on site, including walking through the museum, taking a guided tour of the Battlefield and walking the rest of the site on our own. Admittedly, we didn't read every word in the museum but that amount of time feels probably about right for someone to get the feel of the place and more than scratch the surface of the history. 

If you hear someone walking through the museum attempting to round up people to lead on a Battlefield tour, I suggest you drop what you are doing and follow that person. We found that part of our experience to be especially beneficial. I find it's so difficult to really get a picture of how things played out on an open field 250+ years after two sides tried to slaughter each other without a lot of help. The narration from an actual live person helped a ton.

Culloden Moor is about a 15 minute (maximum) drive from Inverness. If you are looking to stay in a town or city with any size, Inverness is pretty much your only option.

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