I had been wanting to walk the Dava Way since learning of its existence on a dog walk. The route mostly follows the line of the old Highland Railway Line and allows users a traffic-free walk (expedition) from Forres to Grantown-on-Spey, which is located in the Cairngorms National Park. What was to become an arduous journey began at the modest entrance to the Dava Way in Forres. The route can be accessed on Mannachie Avenue/Rise, where a wooden board will convey distances that simply won’t register in your eager mind.
Due to the length of the route, it’s difficult to remember the order of the sights I saw along the way. This account may prove to be a mixture of dismembered parts, reassembled as a whole. Like a novel torn apart and thrown together again, I’ll rearrange the landmarks in an order that seems the most logical.
The initial path is straightforward and until I left Forres, it felt like a casual stroll in a park. The first sight is that of the disused Dallas Dhu distillery: a stunning example of not only a distillery, but fine craftsmanship. Having seen it for the first time, I was surprised that it hadn’t been recommissioned by another whisky producer or a property developer. The building itself has been looked after and the outlying grounds are immaculately kept. A newly-laid tarmac surface allows visitors easy access to the distillery, so be sure to pay a visit.
Before long, I had arrived on the Logie estate, where I learned of their wind farm that powers ten thousand homes. The scenery begins to change here as the alternating, inhabited terrain makes way for the unadulterated expanses that blanket much of Scotland’s incredible vistas. Heather covers the grounds and hills layer the horizon like thick icing on a cake.
As the landscape transformed from grassy open fields to bleaker swathes of moorland, a wooden hut came into view. Its previous use has eluded me, but I believe it was where railway workers stayed. Inside the hut there are pictures depicting local history, including some that show the hut amidst deep snow. It smelled of old wood and was a comforting place to rest the legs for five minutes. I signed the visitor book, which had strangely been signed by someone from Grantown on the same day. The reason I say strange is because I had seen no one coming from Grantown way. On the table, there was an empty box of Quality Street that contained an assortment of kindnesses people had left for those who may be in need.
Eventually, I reached the Divie Viaduct. Being fearful of heights I was surprised at the designer’s insistence to include walls that get shorter; however, I appreciate this is probably an architectural aspect of the design. The views from here were wonderful and when pressed, I did poke my head over the edge to consider the height and it wasn’t quite as high as I thought it was. Nonetheless, my body suddenly felt heavy being on a surface that wasn’t the Earth good and proper. An annoying fault in the way I perceive the world.
When walking continually at a reasonably high pace (at one point the average was 3.7mph) thirst becomes a constant need. Although I took a 1.5L bottle of water with me, I realised it wasn’t going to be enough, so throughout the walk I stopped to sip as opposed to guzzle. Whilst traversing a section of open ground, a remarkable band of dazzling light could be seen at the foot of a large hill on the opposite side of the road to Grantown. It wasn’t a mirage but its exaggerated appearance beneath the cloudless sky gave the impression it was more than a mere body of water. For the sake of the adventurous romance attached to the symbol, I wanted it to be a mirage.
Either just before or after Dava, the Cairngorm plateau becomes visible. First, as a sort of spectre resembling a range that’s no longer there; a fine mist seems to shroud them, protecting them from being seen too much. My fanciful thoughts subsided when as I walked further, definitions of the plateau became visible and the corries and eroded gullies can be made out. The domed tops of the highest mountains seem to butt the sky as if they were buddies. With the Cairngorms looming on the horizon, simultaneously majestic and ominous, I pressed on through the pain that was developing in my thighs.
The last five or six miles were close to being torturous. The ground was fair but the legs had had enough and were becoming increasingly painful. Whenever I stopped to sip on some water, they would almost immediately start to stiffen. Although it was painful to walk, it was less so compared to doing nothing. A blister had formed on my left foot and I was getting thirsty. Goose pimples covered my arms – a warning I decided to ignore – and yet I felt fine.
Upon my arrival at Grantown, I was surprised by the quantity of people there. I’d only been once before and it was rather quiet. This time, there was a hubbub and a holiday quality to the small town. I walked increasingly slower to the pub and after reconnoitring, walked even slower out the pub. The low lighting, general business and lack of seating made me revaluate whether it was beer I wanted.
The energetic blue Co-op beamed at me across the way, so I crossed the road and bought a bottle of the same blue Powerade I drank often as a child. The blue was almost the same blue as the signage; the kind of blue a drink shouldn’t be. It was at this point that it occurred to me something might be up. I’d long forgotten about the goose pimples earlier on the walk, but now I was overcome by a ravaging thirst. Initially, I sipped the Powerade until my body decided it was craving more and more. I squeezed the bottle and emptied its satisfying contents into my system.
Not long after this, whilst waiting in a queue outside the chip shop, a peculiar sensation overcame me. I could feel the Powerade interacting with my interior and I started feeling a little queasy. This feeling developed in my stomach and worked its way through my body to my head. I started to breath deeply to counteract the feeling of sickness. Despite being surrounded by people – the best place to be suddenly ill – I was struck by a familiar stubbornness that prevented me from walking away from the situation to find a seat.
Instead, I stood there – keep calm, it soon shall pass style – and breathed until the sickness dissipated. The sickness was, of course, replaced by intense dizziness. The queue had shortened and I was on the border between outside and inside, both literally and metaphysically, and the heat from the chip shop was aggravating my condition. The smell, whilst usually delectable, was suddenly appalling to my near-unconscious state. The room span, the floor melted beneath me, bright white stars clouded my vision as though someone had spat in my face, and sound was restricted to the internal droning of my collapsing presence. I vaguely agreed to salt and vinegar and left the shop and desperately claimed the rickety metal seating outside the front. I don’t recall eating the chips but my stomach was satisfied.
I had walked 24 miles (38km), some of which through pain, mostly under the beating sun along a once used railway line, exposed like a cowboy in a Western, through the plains of the Rio Grande. High Noon it was for me; only the time was six thirty and I was heading home.
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