Mounted on a sloped platform of green earth beneath a cornflower blue sky, the ruined Ruthven Barracks seems to pirouette on my right. I stop the car and trudge along the side of the highway as semis careen by, shrieking and blowing like a blossom of thunderstorms in the night. When the trees part, I see sunshine scrubbing the gloom off the stones moldering beneath the white ribbon of the Cairngorm mountains. This is the real world painting a picture in my mind. At this moment, with the winds clutched tight in the mountains, the valley hangs in silence.
Almost 800 years ago the Wolf of Badenoch, Alexander Stewart, roamed this land. The son of a king, he clashed with the church and burned Elgin to the ground. Read more...
Loch Morlich holds the sky at Cairn Gorm’s feet. The lake surface is a sheet of frozen glass thawing at the edges where the mountain winds fail to scuff the reflection. A perfume of snow rides the air shivering from the mountain tops. I bend down to stare at the black rocks flecking the shore; they are mountains to whatever looks up to them. I had passed from the fecund darkness of Rothiemurchus Forest where slats of daylight periodically pierced the entwined arms of ancient oaks to this wide vision. The contrast is almost too much: the air frosts my lungs; my pupils constrict to black pinpoints; my reflection wavers in Morlich’s visage.
I have a curious habit of comparing real places like Loch Morlich to those that exist only in stories. Read more...
All the beer and whisky writing I’ve been doing lately has inclined me to write another post about my outdoorsy pursuits in Scotland. I’m not always in the pub draining pints of ale and sipping drams of whisky – before that happens I’m usually out in Scotland’s beautiful landscapes taking in the scenery and working up a sweat.
The Cairngorms National Park is full of such opportunities, and Craigendarroch Hill is the perfect half-day jaunt. The hill forms the northern edge of town and it’s surprisingly tall. The River Dee gives its name to this area of Scotland and the river hugs the pretty little town of Ballater against Craigendarroch Hill, which makes a gorgeous setting ripe for excellent views. Read more...
Here’s a factoid about Traveling Savage you might not know: I actually drink more of Scotland’s beer than whisky when I’m traveling abroad.
It’s difficult to understand the beer preference. Perhaps it’s due to my German heritage, upbringing in the USA’s best beer state (…Wisconsin), and graduation from the USA’s most infamous beer-drinking university (…UW-Madison). It’s not cost: a pint of beer and your average dram of whisky are roughly the same price (£2-4). Actually, the pieces are coming together and I think it’s pretty simple: sometimes I feel like having a beer, sometimes I feel like having a whisky, and sometimes I feel like having several beers. I’ve yet to find a “session whisky,” and my liver is panicking at the mere thought of such an invention. Read more...
The silence and the light bleed from the bright corners of space. The colossal sky overhead roils and undulates in the fading sun and mountain winds while I stand, neck-craned and mouth agape, mimicking a sunflower. A small white-washed church sits contentedly beneath these accessible heavens, surrounded by the markers of the departed. I rest my arms along the stone wall embracing the lichyard and ponder the people in their wooden boxes staring through the wood and earth and sky. Great, frosted peaks rear up behind me and beyond this strip of land the earth tumbles down to the winding River Spey. This is a liminal space levitating between bismuth planes of sky and earth, mountain and river.
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A hunter, oft-stubbled and bleary-eyed, driven by an insatiable hunger for exploration and experience - and perhaps a chance to thin the herd of caffeinated and alcoholic beverages. From the highlands and islands to Edinburgh, Glasgow, and the Borders, I explore Scotland with a pen in hand and a fire in the belly (which could be partly from the whisky). 
