Rather than nurse my migraine in front of a screen, I decided to pack my cameras, jump in the car and head off in the direction of Loch Lee. I have been to this loch many times, but I have never gone much farther than the old church. I have watched others follow the path that hugs the northern shore, and I have gazed in the distance at the track that climbs the steep slope that skirts past Inchgrundle as it makes its way over the moor towards Glen Clova in the south and Loch Muick to the west. I have often thought I would like to do the walk from Glen Clova to Glen Esk, but am always deterred by the logistics of it, which would either involve doubling back or two cars and a lot of driving. I might do it when the weather improves and the days get longer. Or not.
As I approached Edzell I decided that if I could find a parking spot close to the path leading from The Burn to the Rocks of Solitude, then I would take that path rather than continue the additional distance to my initial destination, the Falls of Unich, which I have wanted to visit for some time now. I was beginning to have doubts about the wisdom because I would still have to drive about 15 miles on a narrow, winding road and then walk almost five miles to reach the waterfall. From Edzell, that’s about another 20-minute drive, followed by a two-hour walk over some quite rough terrain… and then I would have to walk back to the car. At this time of year, it would leave me very little time.
As luck would have it, the car park for the Rocks of Solitude path was full, as was the muddy layby on the Glen Esk road. So, Loch Lee it was, I supposed. After about a mile on the Glen Esk road, I noticed a makeshift sign that read “Path to Rocks of Solitude”, and there was an empty layby big enough for three cars. So, the fates had decided I would be sharing the afternoon with dog walkers and families with children walking on a well-maintained and marked riverside path, rather than with hardened hikers wearing sturdy boots and backpacks alongside Loch Lee.
I followed the path down towards the river, not quite sure whether I should be heading south or north. The route south looked easier, and it did follow the river, so I followed it, pleasantly surprised to find I had the area to myself. As I walked I began to suspect I was going in the wrong direction, but as I turned a corner I found some promising compositions involving a lone tree and a rock promontory that forced the river into a narrow torrent. I carefully made my way down until I could find a safe place to leave my camera bag as I took test photos with my second camera. As I was scouting the possibilities, a group of people came wandering down the path and decided to sit and watch me, which is something I find extremely rude and not a little disconcerting. I understand some people have no problem with having an audience: they can smile politely, even exchange pleasantries, as they set up and capture their image. I am not one of these people. I enjoy landscape photography precisely because it gives me the chance to get away from everyone and lose myself in the act. I don’t like speaking to people when I am out taking photographs, and I particularly don’t like it when people watch me or try to talk to me. While I will interact if I have to, I really do prefer not to. So, faced with an audience, I decided not to set up my tripod, and instead struck out along the path – and because the group were heading south, I decided to head north with the intention of returning a little later.
I followed a narrow track that veered off the main path in the direction of the river. By the condition of this track, I felt confident that I would not come across anyone else. I had to climb over a wall then negotiate a boulder field and a small burn as the track weaved through the trees. The track ended at an outcrop of rock that overlooked a small and fast-flowing cascade as the water made its way through the narrow and rocky gap. I spent about 40 minutes there taking photos with both cameras. I can’t say I was delighted with the composition, but I was delighted to be in the Scottish countryside, listening to the sound of the North Esk rushing past and the wind blowing through the bare trees. I could have stayed another 40 minutes but was acutely aware that time was short and that I wanted to strike out southwards again.
Imagine my disappointment, then, when I got back to my first location, only to find a family of two adults and four children had beaten me to it. I muttered “good afternoon” as I made my way past them. But, you know, silver linings and all that. I carried on following the path south for about another half mile and was presented with a small waterfall where a field run-off burn flowed over a set of rocks and into the North Esk 40 feet below. Unfortunately, however, the vegetation prevented me from getting the view I wanted, but I did manage to get something. No sooner had I set up my tripod, however, than the family walked past, with one of the children helpfully warning me that my camera could fall into the river if I wasn’t careful.
I carried on south and passed the family again just as two women with four unleashed dogs were heading north. One of the dogs almost knocked me off the narrow path, and it was at that moment I decided to call it a day. I carried on south hoping to find a way back to the car that would not involve having to deal with anyone else. I reached a small wooden bridge and found myself accosted by a group of middle-aged people who asked me how far it was to the Rocks of Solitude. I veered left following a track leading away from the river and uphill into the trees in the direction of the road, the car and solitude.
Lusobrandane 