My aim? Ride in a boat somewhere on the waters between Lochgilphead and the Isle of Bute. Not only will this be part of the journey my characters will take on their trip by water from Dunadd to the Antonine Wall, but they also shelter along the coastline from a storm. This is one of the two locations left to find before my plane leaves from Glasgow on Sunday and takes me home to Mobile, Alabama.
Donald is everything you’d hope from a boat captain giving a tour—competent, entertaining, and friendly. We sip tea from well-worn mugs as he regales us with tales in his Scottish brogue. The scenery is gorgeous, but then it is Scotland. I slather on sunscreen because it’s another sunny day, which is not typical Scotland, but I’m not complaining.
We see sunning seals with their pups as well as the island that’s the inspiration for Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, but my vigilant scans of the shoreline are still not turning up the type of formation my story requires.
As the trip ends, I pepper Donald with questions about the nearby coastlines, explaining my plot needs, and he graciously and patiently answers them. When I step off the boat, I still don’t have a specific location, but I feel like I’m closer in my quest. More importantly, Donald has given me an invaluable tip for cruising along the waters around Argyll without having booked boat excursions in advance—ferries!
On the quest for a watchtower:
There’s another boat tour in Tayvallich, Donald told me, which potentially allows me to find the second location—a hill for a watchtower overlooking Loch Crinan and the Sound of Jura. A quick Google search gives me a start time of 2 PM. Taking Donald’s advice, I roll onto the Portavadie ferry after a quick bathroom break, cutting off an hour or more travel time, and then dash a little brazenly along the treacherous one-laners only to arrive three minutes too late. Turns out, though, I needed to arrange the tour ahead of time.
Kicking myself that I didn’t plan this better, I’m contemplating writing the rest of the day off as a loss, research-wise, and take a personal trip to Castle Sween, but I also now have another problem–there’s only about fifty miles left in my gas tank and the closest station is back in Lochgilphead, which I’d passed in my haste to get to Tayvallich. I’ll make it, no problem, but it means I can’t gallivant far. I decide instead to explore nearby Crinan.
I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me to look for my watchtower here, but when I pull up at the Crinan Canal parking lot, I see the perfect hill for it. Assuming it’s private property and inaccessible, I satisfy myself instead with a partial walk down the canal to get an idea of the shore my characters would have walked along in one scene. With sweat trickling down my back from the sun beating down on me (I was prepared for rain, people, not sunshine), I come across an arrow for a nature trail leading into Scotland’s rain forest (who knew!). Up I go, having the time to explore, figuring it will be an interesting jaunt at least. Though my thighs are protesting the climb, this walk has everything for the soul—moss-covered rocks, twisty trees and twisty paths, which occasionally break into the open sun and breathtaking vistas. Then you dip back into the shady forest. I can easily picture faeries here. Or hobbits.
Soon, however, it cuts back to that same hill I’d seen from Crinan—now I’m on the hunt for my watchtower location after all. Lots of expletives pop from my mouth when I reach the top. Though my quest seemed out of reach around lunch, by the end of the day, by pure luck, I’ve found my second location. Now I just need to find that shelter tomorrow, as I hope to attend a Roman reenactment on Saturday.