So if you think of Perthshire as little tea-shop towns like Crieff and Aberfeldy, think again. At the back of Blair Atholl you can walk over the tops for four or five days, and when your feet next touch tarmac you’re somewhere north of Aberdeen. In the wilds of Rannoch Moor, your only foothold is a bleached limb of pine, bog-preserved over tens of centuries. No longer ago than 1980, a Mr J C Donaldson discovered in an old guidebook an unlisted and unrecorded Munro. It was called Ben Feskineth. At 3530ft, this secret summit was by no means a marginal Munro. And where was it? Ben Feskineth lay undiscovered in deepest, peatiest Perthshire.
Jolly green giants
In the event, Feskineth turned out to be a misspelling of Beinn Heasgarnich (now, amusingly, respelled again on the Explorer map as Sheasgarnaich). Heasgarnich’s high grassy sides are steep, but not unpleasantly so, and hold snow even in unpromising winters. Perthshire’s grassy, pebbly plateaux and rounded ridges are places to relax after the rigours of Scotland’s rocky north and west. But relaxation is relative, when Scottish hills are concerned. Perthshire’s mountains may be soft edged, and noted for their wild flowers. But easy they aren’t.
Schiehallion across Dunalastair Water (Route 46)
Jolly green giants: those are the hills of Perthshire. And from Schiehallion to Atholl, from Rannoch to Ben Vrackie, there are a lot of them. Soggy grass slopes drop to peaty cols. Cross five or six brown streams, hop in and out of a hag, and get back to grips with another of the long grass slopes. In March and April that grass becomes crisp snow, ready for the kick of a stiff four-season boot or the snick of a crampon. The boggy cols freeze over, the lonely curlew comes back from the seaside, and Ben Lawers and Meall nan Tarmachan look all alpine against the sky.
If Perthshire’s slogan is ‘the Perfect Centre’, then the centre of Perthshire is Schiehallion. Standing atop its tall tent shape of off-white quartzite, you look west along Loch Rannoch to Rannoch Moor, Argyll and Ben Nevis. Northwest, Ben Alder bulges big and serious, but is just 66m too low to be the highpoint of Perthshire. It’s also a couple of miles outside the boundary – but included in this book anyway for its approaches from Loch Rannoch.
Northwards lie the heather humps of Drumochter. Northeast is Atholl, and the dinosaur ridgeback of Beinn a’ Ghlo – with the Cairngorms a snowy white line behind.
Eastwards, though, it’s Loch Tummel of the bright birches and the red rowan. It’s Ben Vrackie, a quick up and back from Pitlochry in time for a nice cup of tea and some shortbread. Ben Chonzie rises green and yellow like a ripening avocado. To the south, beyond Ben Lawers, Loch Tay lies grey in its long hollow. Hidden within the green moorland are the ancient shielings (summer sheep pastures), bright streams and little waterfalls, and woodlands of oak and of birch.
Trees, please!
Golden saxifrage and thyme, Loch Lyon
In this bleakest of peat, brown heather and grey stones, the civilised green of the lowlands reaches in along the rivers. Saxifrage and thyme are bright along the banks of Glen Tilt. The River Garry runs brown in autumn spate while the trees overhead are still late summer green. Glen Lyon, Scotland’s longest, is where the river winds below oaks and birches, with primroses dangling above the water. And the silvery Tay runs big and surprising at the back of Aberfeldy, even bigger by the time it’s got down to Dunkeld.
At the eastern side of the Highlands, Perthshire has slightly more sunshine and a bit less rain. So its valleys can be pleasingly bog-free. Green trackways from Blair Atholl, and made paths around Pitlochry or the Black Wood of Rannoch, offer low-level walking as good as any in the Highlands.
And on stormy mornings, it’s time to take advantage of Perthshire’s other promotional slogan: this is ‘Big Tree Country’. The Douglas fir at Dunkeld’s Hermitage could be Britain’s tallest tree, and is named after Mr Douglas from Scone, in Perthshire – though it takes its Latin name (Pseudotsugam menziesii) from Mr Archibald Menzies of Weem, also in Perthshire.
The Birnam Oak could have been there as a young twig when Shakespeare wrote of Birnam Wood’s coming to Dunsinane to conquer Macbeth. Who hasn’t heard of the Birks of Aberfeldy? And the yew at Fortingall is the oldest living being in Europe: according to legend, Pontius Pilate played in its shade as a child. (This is unlikely, as his mother would have worried about the poisonous berries; and anyway, Pontius Pilate wasn’t Scottish.)
Birnam Oak, Dunkeld (Route 35)
High striding hill ridges; quiet valleys floored with grass rather than harsh heather; big trees and even bigger rivers: these are the pleasures of Perthshire.
‘REAL PERTHSHIRE’
Beinn Dorain over Auch (Routes 28, 29)
Perthshire was abolished in 1975. The name is now applied to the Perth & Kinross Council area: its tourist board is called VisitPerthshire and the council’s website is www.perthshire.org. When Perthshire did exist, it did not include Kinross in the south, and extended west to include Ben Lui and Ben More at Crianlarich.
I’ve used ‘real Perthshire’ as an excuse to include the whole of the Ben Dorain group in the west, even though its main approaches are from Bridge of Orchy in former Argyll. Ben Alder is also included; the county boundary runs past Benalder Cottage, and it’s a fine hill with two genuine scrambling ridges and approaches from Perthshire’s Loch Rannoch.
Perthshire, however defined, is a big place; it contains one in seven of Scotland’s Munros. The Lowland part of the county is represented in this book by a single route in Perth itself. Lowland Perthshire, with some fine walking in the Ochils, is covered in Walking in the Ochils, Campsie Fells and Lomond Hills by Patrick Baker, also published by Cicerone Press. That part of the far southwest included in the Loch Lomond and The Trossachs National Park, and by my own Cicerone guide to it, has been left out too.
I’ve also excluded the far northeast of the county at the back of Blairgowrie. Strathardle and Glen Shee drain into the Isla not the Tay, and feel to me like Angus Glens (and eight more Munros would have meant cutting down on the lower hills, riversides and back valleys).
When to go
April is still winter on the summits, but low-level routes offer good walking then and in May. The leaves are breaking and birds are at their noisiest. Low-level routes are also excellent in October as the birch leaves turn gold.
May and June are enjoyable at all altitudes. July and August can be hot and humid, with less rewarding views. East Highland midges come in slightly smaller hordes than in the west; but are getting worse with global warming. The trick is to keep moving, and when you stop, stop high.
Midges hang on until the first frost, normally some time in September. October brings clear air and lovely autumn colours. In between times there’ll be gales. Over much of Perthshire, from mid-August (sometimes July) to 21 October, responsible access to the hills includes avoiding disturbance to deer stalking (see Appendix A).
Creag an Tulabhain of Meall
