Episode 2 Grand Tours of Scotland

For generations, the Firth of Clyde

was the holiday destination of choice for millions of Scots,

both rich and poor.

Here, you could enjoy healthy sea breezes,

take a dunk in the briny,

and have a glass or two of your favourite tipple.

And, if you were rich enough,

you could enjoy all of the above at the same time.

Bottoms up.

In this series, I'm retracing the routes taken by some of

the early tourists to Scotland.

From as early as 1820, publishers began producing tourist guide books,

and Black's Picturesque Guide to Scotland was one of the first.

A copy of this wonderful volume has been in my family for generations.

It was always kept in my father's car when we went on holiday.

Now, I'm letting its pages guide me again

on my six Grand Tours of Scotland.

On the road, I'll also be

dipping in to the notes and jottings

of some early travellers

to hear about their experiences.

This time, I'm on a voyage to discover

how visitors from all walks of life

enjoyed the islands, towns and sheltered bays

of the mighty Firth of Clyde.

My grand tour takes me down the Clyde Riviera,

calling first at Rothesay on the Isle of Bute,

hops across to Cumbrae, and finally sails south

to the great rock sentinel, Ailsa Craig.

My journey starts here, where the River Clyde

meets the sea and becomes the Firth of Clyde.

This is somewhere that I know very well

and I'm particularly fond of.

I spent a huge amount of time as a child on this stretch of water,

thanks to my father's obsession with sailing.

He was once a member of the Clyde Cruising Club,

and was the proud owner of an antique yacht built in 1890,

called West Wind.

Now, before West Wind dragged her anchor and was wrecked,

she was my father's sailing craft of choice

and, from time to time, he even took his sons with him.

But West Wind was a much more modest craft

than the one I'm sailing today.

It was in Victorian times that the sport of yachting really took off,

when yachts of up to 100 feet in length, with a full-time crew

and every modern convenience,

sailed these sheltered waters.

In the early days, yachting on the Clyde was restricted

to Scotland's super-rich,

men who'd made an absolute fortune from the Industrial Revolution.

And if you've got it, flaunt it, they say,

and what better way of demonstrating

your new-found wealth and social position

than by owning and racing a beautiful yacht?

The famous Scottish magnate Sir Thomas Lipton

loved sailing in these waters

and Prince Edward, the future King,

sailed his yacht Britannia along this coast.

By the end of the 19th century, the Clyde had become a playground

for the rich, and its many coastal towns and villages flourished.

My first destination is the Isle of Bute,

and a small town that was transformed into

one of the most exclusive holiday destinations on the west coast.

Rothesay.

According to Black's,

Rothesay is "agreeably situated

"at the head of a deep bay, which affords

"a safe anchorage ground in any wind."

Sounds ideal.

To a large extent, Rothesay was considered

a posh resort, and early tourist literature

was keen to trumpet the town's royal connections.

If there was one thing that early Victorian tourists loved,

it was history,

and Rothesay could boast a castle which had been a favourite

with early Scottish kings.

Re-enactments of scenes from the castle's famous history

were a popular attraction for visitors.

Here, we see the marriage of Robert the Bruce's daughter,

and the founding of the Stuart dynasty.

But it wasn't only history that brought the well-to-do tourist.

There was also miniature golf,

which the Victorians deemed

a much more appropriate game for women.

Rothesay seemed to have it all.

Why bother travelling abroad

when you've got all this on your doorstep?

Look, palm trees!

Rothesay's main selling point

was its climate,

which Black's enthusiastically describes as "mild and genial."

It may seem hard to believe, but early visitors were encouraged

to compare the weather of Rothesay with exotic and far-flung locations.

Incredibly, the town promoted itself as the Madeira of Scotland.

Not only was the climate of Rothesay thought to be subtropical,

it was also considered to have extraordinary health benefits

and, for this reason,

was chosen as the location for Scotland's first ever hydro,

the Victorian equivalent of a health farm.

The Glenburn Hotel was once known as the Glenburn Hydropathic,

opening its doors for business in 1843.

The Glenburn is still a grand and impressive building

and exudes a sort of stately calm,

and douceness that appealed to respectable people.

Hydropathy, otherwise known as the cold water cure,

became hugely popular in Victorian Scotland.

Hydro treatments were based on a variety of bathing

and dunking cures.

This, combined with fresh air, exercise and strictly no alcohol,

was meant to restore ailing patients to robust health.

For middle-class Victorians, time was precious,

and even leisure time had to be beneficial in some way.

So what better way of justifying having a holiday

than by going somewhere that would improve the health of your body,

your mind and your morals?

To find out more,

I've come to meet historian Dr Alastair Durie.

Alastair, the Glenburn Hotel is

a pretty impressive building, and it implies to me

that in Victorian times,

taking a hydro holiday was really a popular thing to do.

It was.

It was an idea that came in from Austria in the mid-19th century,

and the Scots took to it like a duck to water.

They built 15 to 18 very large hotels,

whose main purpose is to cure people

and treat them through hydropathy.

It's a system of baths, it's a system of showers,

it's a system of massage.

Your treatment is water and water only.

Your diet is meat and fish, but no drink whatsoever.

Right.

And some very significant figures

in the Victorian world underwent hydropathy.

For instance, Charles Darwin, Tennyson,

Florence Nightingale when she comes back from the Crimea.

These are important people and they're saying it's good for them.

Why shouldn't it be good for you?

So it's got a Victorian celebrity endorsement?

Absolutely.

Well, I think I'm in need of some remedial care.

I can see you are.

So, to try and understand just why

the Victorians were so keen on hydropathy,

I volunteered to experience

one of the most popular treatments first-hand.

The wet sheet.

Lucky me!

This is the centrepiece of hydropathy.

Wrapping you in cold, wet sheets...

Oh! That's ghastly.

..like a mummy. And Jane will now do that.

Aargh! This is hideous. What's the point?

The point is that it's going to get you to perspire,

and the perspiration will bring the badness out of your system

and open your pores for fresh air.

This is doing you good.

No, it's not! It's not.

You may feel it's unpleasant,

but our objective is to get you to perspire.

At the moment, you're shivering, your body is reacting,

but this is your first experience of the process.

Have you tried this, Alastair?

I believe it's far better for the invalid to experience these things...

Right. Right.

..than the doctor. But we will wait and watch and see.

I can't imagine it'll do me any good whatsoever.

You can only trust in the experience of

the many thousands of people who have experienced this treatment

to their benefit and, I may say, with much less complaint than you.

Ah, but they're all dead! Let's face it.

You're hastening me on my way, I'm sure.

It's freezing!

We will return in an hour or so.

An hour?!

I think my core body temperature has dropped dangerously.

'The Victorians may have lapped this up,

'but paying for the privilege of being wrapped in soggy towels

'is not my idea of fun.'

'And one early hydropathy patient agreed.'

"I have been stewed like a juice, beat on like a drum,

"battered like a pancake,

"and wrapped like a mummy in wet sheets and blankets.

"My belief is that I am in a lunatic asylum!"

'I can only agree.'

Brrrrr!

So while the good doctor is out of the room,

I quickly slip away in search of

one of Rothesay's more curious attractions,

tucked away where you'd least expect it.

Now, you wouldn't normally take a camera into a public toilet,

unless you wanted to get arrested, which I don't.

So, before I go any further, I'm just going to check behind this door

to make sure there isn't anyone inside

about to be seriously embarrassed.

Hello?

I think we're OK.

I can now reveal all in its quite,

well, exceptional magnificence.

It's a veritable porcelain palace.

A shrine to the urinal.

These splendid toilets were built in 1899

and are really quite something -

14 urinals,

each crowned with marble.

Walls and floors entirely clad

in decorative ceramic tiles...

and glass-sided cisterns feeding water

through shining copper pipes.

What all this opulence says to me

is, "Wow!"

Now, just imagine coming here

100 years ago for the first time

as a tourist, perhaps from overseas.

What would you think?

Well, you might think if the society that built this

was so technologically advanced that it could create

a palace, really, to meet a very basic human need,

then what would its real palaces be like?

Its great civic buildings, its battleships, its engines of war?

And that's a really awe-inspiring thought to have in... In a loo.

Indeed, such grand designs were not confined

to humble buildings like public conveniences.

And just outside the town is the ultimate example

of Victorian ambition and ingenuity.

This is Mount Stuart House.

Built in 1877, it's a distillation

of the Victorian obsession for an imagined past,

combined with all the mod cons of the age.

It was the first house in Scotland to have electricity,

and the first house in the world to have a heated swimming pool.

This was an era of great technological changes,

and one particular advance taking place at this time

would have a huge impact

on seaside resorts like Rothesay.

Just like modern visitors, Victorian tourists

coming to a spectacular location like this

wanted to take home a souvenir to show their cultured friends

just where they'd been.

Now, we do this all the time whenever we take a photograph,

but back then, cameras were very rare.

Despite this, Victorian tourists were still able to enjoy

the delights and magic of photography.

Magic lantern shows, which projected

glass photographic slides, were extremely popular,

and they provide an amazing insight into a lost world.

Mark Butterworth,

who has a vast library of Victorian photography,

is going to show me a selection of images

that would have delighted a 19th-century audience.

Now, Mark, I recognise that view.

This is Rothesay.

Probably in the early 1890s.

They didn't buy postcards in those days.

There was no postcard industry whatsoever in the UK,

so prints and magic lantern slides

were the principle photographic souvenirs that people would buy.

So back in Victorian times, if you came into Rothesay,

got off at the pier, you'd be confronted with lots of stalls

selling souvenirs and photographic memorabilia

and you could buy a slide.

That's right.

So this is an interesting slide.

On the left of the image there, you can see

there's a carriage with a man standing next to it.

That's actually the photographer's dark room.

Uh-huh.

The photographer actually made the plate

moments before he took the photograph.

And it had to be developed as soon as he'd taken the photograph,

and one of the great skills

was being able to consistently make your plates

to give you the same quality every time,

and that was really quite a challenge.

You're working in quite difficult conditions.

It's amazing, cos at that time, this was cutting-edge technology.

Oh, absolutely, yeah.

People didn't have cameras in those days, so magic lanterns

were a way of showing people the views they'd experienced.

But you didn't actually have to own a magic lantern slide

or a projector to have a show.

That's right. There were several firms,

some of them very big companies,

that hired out slides, or even hired out lanterns.

They'd come with a set of lecture notes, and that was very common.

That's amazing.

It's like ordering a DVD online now.

Exactly the same process, but, er, 130, 140 years ago.

Now, how popular were magic lantern shows like this,

to show slides like the ones you're showing me?

Very popular. This was a very common form of entertainment.

Towards the end of the 19th century, you either went to the theatre,

you went to the music hall, or you went to a magic lantern...

Uh-huh.

..performance. Seeing slides like this might encourage you to visit.

And visit, they did.

By the turn of the century, the Clyde was no longer

the preserve of wealthy tourists.

The age of mass tourism had begun.

I'm continuing my journey to the Isle of Cumbrae

to find out how coastal towns and villages were transformed

by another technological advance.

The steamer.

Joining me for this leg of my grand tour is

steaming enthusiast Iain Quinn.

Iain, as I understand it, steaming really started here on the Clyde.

It certainly did, and it was down to one man, Henry Bell,

and the little paddle steamer, the Comet.

Europe's first commercial steam ship.

What was the inspiration behind the Comet?

Bell was a hotel owner in Helensburgh

and he saw this wonderful estuary and said,

"The best way to take people down is by steam ship."

The Comet was launched on 10th of August, 1812.

The sound of the paddle was heard down the Clyde for the first time.

So, really, the whole business of pleasure steaming

began on the Clyde.

It did.

The 1850s, 1860s, it had really started to take off.

Steamers were getting a bit bigger.

Speed was getting a bit more powerful,

so you could then travel a bit further in a day.

How many steamers would have been plying their trade here?

By the 1880s, you would have had about 40, maybe more.

This was cutting edge. This was new. This was the future.

Oh, yes. This was the future,

and by the 1920s and the 1930s,

you could travel the whole Clyde and back in a day.

It would have been lovely to have got away from the dirty, smelly city

to the fresh air of the Firth of Clyde.

With the steamers came the workers, who took full advantage

of the chance to escape from the cities

and factories where they lived and toiled.

With a regular steamer service,

Millport, here on the Isle of Cumbrae, rapidly became

a favourite destination for Victorian day trippers.

My guide book, Black's, describes Millport as

"one of the great summer resorts of the inhabitants of Glasgow,"

and advises travellers that the town's population is

"trebled by visitors in the summer".

They came looking for a bit of fun

and a break from their hard-working lives,

but with only one day off a week,

they tried to pack in as much as possible.

So, perhaps predictably, some Clyde resorts began to acquire

a rather colourful reputation for being full of drunken revellers.

Of course, the antics of working-class drunken revellers

was bound to upset the sensibilities of more respectable tourists.

Especially the sort who enjoyed hydros

and who read The Scotsman newspaper.

A letter printed in this esteemed journal

airs the concerns of all right-thinking people.

"We lament to say that very many Scotch people

"of the working class seem incapable of enjoying a holiday

"without getting drunk.

"Once or twice, we have found ourselves crowded with

"a most disagreeable mob of intoxicated persons,

"including women."

Respectable citizens were getting upset at the sight

of working people having fun.

Demanding an end to rowdy and lewd behaviour, they put pressure

on the authorities to curb what they saw as a dangerous moral slide.

Can I have a pint of best, please?

This led to the infamous Forbes McKenzie Act,

which closed pubs on Sundays.

Thanks very much.

The only day off in the week.

Perversely, attempts to limit the sale of alcohol

to the working classes resulted in the exploitation

of a loophole in the law.

The result - the launch of the booze cruise.

Although the new law made it illegal to sell alcohol on Sundays,

it made a concession for bona-fide travellers,

who were allowed to buy a drink.

Crafty businessmen and steamer owners were quick

to see this as an opportunity

to sell booze to anyone sailing on a Sunday.

Oh, happy day.

Suddenly, steamers were offering Sunday specials for the workers,

and soon, everyone was steamin'.

Not only did these day trips give rise to the expression "steaming"

to describe someone who's drunk,

it actually made the Clyde coast even more desirable.

Perhaps the most vivid record of the massive social change

that was taking place is the seaside postcard.

I'm meeting historian

and postcard collector

Eric Simpson to find out more.

You've got a wonderful collection of cards. They're unique,

because they provide a fascinating window on the past.

This is all social comment, really, and particularly

the habits of some of the more enthusiastic tourists.

Some chaps looking as if they're really enjoying themselves.

Yes, "The dry weather has its effects,"

so it was not unknown for fairly substantial numbers

to give the doon-the-water holiday a bad reputation

at certain times of the year.

The impression I get

is that generally speaking,

people were having a good time. They were having fun.

-Yes, yes.

-It's lively.

So working-class people would buy these and send them

-to their friends back home.

-Yes.

This is not for posh people,

who'd presumably send different sorts of postcard.

They'd send, for example,

the public park at West Bay in Millport.

-Extremely dull photograph!

-They'd send a photograph.

Now, in stark contrast, I have to say,

these are really quite amusing.

Very colourful Edwardian risque, er, seaside cards.

And what have we got here?

"The water is right up to my expectations."

I've no idea what that means.

No, no. Neither have I.

But there's so much life in these pictures, it's fantastic.

What it says to me is these are ordinary folk,

working folk having a good time.

Yes. Yes.

And that's what the Clyde was famous for.

But it wasn't just the fun and frolics

of the busy seaside resorts that brought visitors here

to the Firth of Clyde.

There were still some who sought the peace and tranquillity

that had first attracted tourists to these waters.

Those early yachtsmen on the Firth of Clyde

may have been industrial magnates

showing off their wealth, but gradually,

sailing became much more accessible, with more

affordable boats being built, and sailing clubs

springing up along the coast.

I've been invited aboard the vintage yacht Camilla

by Bill Inglis to travel in style

to my final destination.

Bill, Camilla, she's a beautiful boat.

She must be one of the oldest craft sailing on the Clyde.

Er, so I'm led to believe.

Camilla was commissioned for a Mr Charles Millar of Tighnabruiach

and built in 1894.

At 117, she's not doing badly.

Mmm.

But like any old lady of 117, she's marginally incontinent.

Oh, no!

She does leak.

Cos the story of yachting on the Clyde really begins with

men of tremendous wealth from the Industrial Revolution

-showing off.

-Yes.

In huge boats. That was for the elite.

This is something quite different.

What kind of person would have been able

to afford a boat like this?

A successful shopkeeper, businessman, tradesman.

I mean, she's not like the big Victorian yachts,

with a paid crew of 20 hands constantly kept available.

-It's not showing off, it's not ostentatious.

-No.

Do you think this is the beginning of perhaps the idea of

yachting for a man of more modest income, do you think?

Yes. Oh, very much so.

Very much so!

For me, this is the best way

to enjoy the Firth of Clyde.

And I have to say that sailing on this little yacht

takes me back to the many trips I had as a child

on board my father's boat.

There's something about sailing, is there not,

that a person's not really at peace

unless they're at sea?

-Do you agree with that?

-Yes, I do.

A day like today, er, sunshine, blue skies

and a gentle breeze.

Contemplating nature and the sea.

It's a wonderful place. It's Scotland, isn't it?

The last leg of my grand tour takes me to a place that's literally

been on my horizon for years, but where I've never been before.

The mysterious island rock of Ailsa Craig.

As a schoolboy in Dunoon, I could see Ailsa Craig

through the window of my French class.

It's a place I've always wanted to explore,

so landing here today will be really special.

Known as Paddy's Milestone

because it sits directly in the main sea route

from Ireland to Scotland, it's a place that many have passed,

but few have visited.

But I must confess that the last thing I expected to find

was this scene of industrial decay.

This railway line

once carried granite from a quarry to the harbour.

The rock was used to make curling stones.

The quarry closed long ago,

and the last inhabitants left the island in the 1990s,

when the lighthouse became automated.

This ruined castle, perched precariously

on the steep slopes above the lighthouse,

was once a stronghold of the Kennedy Clan,

who have owned the island since the 16th century.

As I climb more than 1,000 feet

above the Firth of Clyde,

and the end of my journey,

it strikes me that here is perhaps

one of the few places untouched by the mass tourism

of the industrial age.

What an absolutely superb view.

From up here, you can almost see the entire course of my route.

It was the chance for rich and poor alike to escape the city

that made the seaside resorts along this coast so popular.

And looking out from the summit of Ailsa Craig,

I can understand just what it was they came for.

You know, standing here is like being on top of

the very last outpost of Scotland.

Now, that's a fitting and somewhat sobering thought

to end my Grand Tour doon the water.

Now, where's the pub?

For my next Grand Tour,

I'm pedalling my way through the Central Highlands

on a vintage bike,

where the Grampian Mountains, the granite heart of the Highlands,

present a picture-postcard landscape of magnificent summits,

clear running rivers, dark forests, and sheltered lochs.

Everything that defines the holiday image of Scotland

can be found amongst these hills and glens.

For over 250 years, tourists have been coming to the Highlands

to enjoy this spectacular scenery. But on beating a path north,

these same tourists have helped change for ever

the very things they came to admire -

the culture, the landscape and, above all, the charms of nature.

My journey starts in a sequestered glen,

discovers the delights of two-wheel travel,

and uncovers the wildlife riches of Scotland's biggest national park.

All compelling reasons for tourists to flock to the Highlands.

To the admirer of nature, says Black's,

"No part of Europe affords more varied landscape than Scotland,

"whose incomparable scenery induces vast numbers of foreigners

"to visit the land of gleaming lakes and healthy mountains."

Sounds to me as if the hills

were alive to the sound of tourists even then.

Now, what was true in the 19th century is even truer today.

In fact, in some places, tourism has almost reached saturation point

and tourists are in danger

of damaging the very thing they came to see -

nature in all its charming beauty.

This is Glen Lyon, which is described by my guide

as one of the loveliest glens in the Highlands.

To keep my impact on the environment to an absolute minimum,

I've opted for an appropriately green form of transport -

-this magnificent old Humber bicycle, complete with a bell.

-BELL RINGS

How about that? Now I'm off.

With bicycle clips and bonnet firmly in place,

I'm all set to enjoy the charms of Glen Lyon,

which Black's guide book

dubiously claims to be located at the centre of Scotland.

But I have to agree with Black's description of the road I'm taking.

"This new road opens up the beauties of the ravine.

"As we proceed up the glen,

"we catch glimpses through the tree-clad banks of the stream,

"now leaping sportfully from crag to crag,

"now smoothed in clear black pools."

I can see why Black's was inspired to verse. It's lovely.

Cycling down glorious Glen Lyon,

I come to the picturesque village of Fortingall.

The thatched roofs strike an odd note of bucolic Englishness

in the heart of the Scottish Highlands,

but there's been a long history of incomers

in this part of rural Perthshire.

In fact, the name Fortingall is derived from an old Gaelic word

meaning "the fort of the strangers". Accordingly to local legend,

the strangers were once soldiers from the legions of Rome.

If this tale is true, then it would suggest that Fortingall

has been on the map for at least 2,500 years or so,

and incredible as it may seem, there's living proof to back up the story,

and you can find it right here in this graveyard.

'Forester Mike Strachan leads me to a special enclosure,

'where I'm given privileged access

'to a yew tree so ancient that it's in all the record books.

'Beneath its venerable branches, Mike tells me more.'

Mike, how old is this amazing tree?

Well, estimates vary from 3,000 to 4,000 to 5,000...

6,000 7,000, 8,000.

But I think the conservative approach

is to give it 5,000 years anyway.

There's a lot of archaeological information locally

that would support that.

So this tree would have been here if the Romans were here?

It was definitely here when the Romans were.

We know that people were living here at least 4,500 years ago,

and the Romans were here 2,000 years ago.

Long before monks built the first church here 1,200 years ago,

the yew tree was scared to pagan Celts,

who helped ensure its protection.

They used it for medicinal purposes.

You needed it for your longbows and arrows,

and the oldest piece of longbow that we know from Scotland

is about 6,000 years old.

-Found in a bog in Dumfries.

-Oh.

So yew has been a very, very important tree.

I know there's a legend

that connects this tree and the story of Christ.

Well, yes, that's correct.

The Romans sent an emperor here to visit the Scottish king -

Metallanus, at the time.

And the envoy, the Roman envoy, that came

was a bit friendly with some of the local women.

They had a child. The child was allegedly born under this tree.

And then they went back to Rome,

and that child is allegedly Pontius Pilate.

So Pontius Pilate, who infamously ordered the crucifixion of Christ,

once played in the branches of this yew tree.

But Mike is rightly sceptical of the story.

Jesus died 13 years before the Romans even arrived in Britain.

But one thing is true.

For millennia, countless visitors have taken their toll.

Today's tourist sees only a shell of this once mighty sacred tree.

There are stories that over the last 300 years,

people have collected souvenirs from the tree and cut bits down,

made bits of furniture.

There are talks of Hallowe'en fires

and people driving through in coaches and horses.

In some ways, I suppose, you could argue that this tree

is an early example of the impact of tourism on the environment.

Well, it is, yes, you're quite right. But in terms of tourism...

I mean, this tree has been visited by people

for 1,000, 2,000, 5,000 years.

Is this perhaps the most visited

and longest visited attraction in Scotland?

Back in the saddle, it's downhill all the way to Aberfeldy,

a town whose proud boast it is to be the very centre of Scotland.

According to some tourist literature that I've read,

Aberfeldy's claim to be at the geographic centre of Scotland

can be demonstrated using this -

a cut-out map of Scotland - and a pen.

Now, the idea is that you balance the map on the tip of the pen,

and the point at which you get a perfect balance

is the exact geographic centre of Scotland,

which I reckon could be anywhere

within a 50-mile radius of Aberfeldy. So who knows?

But Aberfeldy's fame doesn't merely rest on the dubious claim

to be the most perfectly balanced town in Scotland.

It was a visit by the poet Robert Burns that brought the town

to public attention.

Burns was captivated,

not as he usually was by the charms of some young lady,

but by the woods and waterfalls lying above the town.

And he immortalises this in his poem The Birks O' Aberfeldy.

And ever since, tourists have been making a pilgrimage here

to see the source of his poetical inspiration.

"The braes ascend like lofty wa's,

"The foaming stream, deep-roaring fa's,

"O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,

"The Birks of Aberfeldy."

It's a curious thing,

but the birch trees of the poem have almost all gone,

as they had in Black's day,

which says that they had been superseded almost entirely by rowan.

It seems the environment was changing even then.

The waterfall at the Birks o' Aberfeldy

is just one of literally dozens of cascades mentioned by Black's,

and it's a striking feature of early tourism

that waterfalls generally exercised a powerful influence

over the Victorian imagination.

Early tourists loved waterfalls.

They simply couldn't get enough of them,

and the bigger and more powerful they were, the better.

There was an irresistible appeal in the sight of a river in spate

crashing over the rocks.

My own favourite early tourist, Sarah Murray,

was a waterfall addict.

Writing in 1796, she seemed to find something more than just excitement

in watching the foaming power of water.

"The noise was beyond belief,

"and the spray deprived me of my sight and breath.

"Every now, I was by intervals enabled to look

"and to breathe, to admire and, I might say, almost adore."

Post Sigmund Freud and his weird world of psychic sexual symbolism,

I think most of us would feel too self-conscious

to describe our relationship with water quite like this.

But white, foaming cascades still have a power to thrill

and in ways that Sarah Murray could never have conceived.

Just downstream from Aberfeldy, the beautiful River Tay

changes from a languidly flowing river into a series of rapids

where I've come to experience the modern challenge

of white-water rafting.

Now first positions.

And paddle forward.

'This is a breath-taking experience,

'and for a moment, I become almost like Sarah Murray,

'gasping in moist adoration of my watery surroundings.

'Fortunately, I pull myself together before I get too carried away.'

Paddles up in the air!

'Once we've got the rapids behind us,

'I have a chance to catch my breath

'and to chat to rafting guide Dee MacDermott

'about the benefits of an outdoor lifestyle.'

-What is the thrill, really?

-It's just adrenalin.

All adrenalin sports...

I think, if you're into that kind of thing anyway,

if you're into an outdoor lifestyle

and lots of activities, lots of sports, it's just great fun.

Like, it's so nice going down the river every day. It's a lovely job.

-It's exciting. I'll give you that.

-Yeah.

-It's very exciting.

Do you have to be a special kind of person

-to enjoy white-water rafting, do you think?

-Maybe, maybe.

On our course, we did loads of white-water swimming.

So you come down these rapids

just swimming in quite high water over and over again, all day long.

It was great fun, so sometimes me and the guides go out afterwards

and just swim down the rapids a few times just for the craic.

So maybe you do have to be that kind of person.

I suppose it gives you an opportunity as well

to experience the charms of nature

-as you're floating down a quieter bit of the river.

-Yeah, definitely.

There's a bit called Church Pool that you see.

-That tends to be where you see the most amount of birds.

-Uh-huh.

So you get buzzards quite a lot of the time.

It always seems to be on the same corner.

You get herons flying around in pairs.

-I saw dippers as well.

-Dippers, yeah.

One of my friends got hit in the face by a dipper

when he was doing a raft trip.

-He must have done something to deserve that.

-Shifty eyes!

Six miles downstream

is the once-important village of Logierait.

For many years, Logierait was served by ferries crossing the River Tay.

Travellers would often break their journey here

before heading north to Inverness or south to Perth.

Perhaps the most prestigious guest to visit Logierait

was Queen Victoria.

Her royal tour to admire the charms of nature

was interrupted when the great monarch herself

was forced to answer a call of nature.

Caught short, the imperial personage

popped in to use the loos of Logierait.

History doesn't record what she left by way of a tip.

Luckily for the Queen,

porcelain facilities were available at Logierait.

But quite often they weren't,

and travellers were forced to use other means,

which often caused discomfort, embarrassment or both.

Thanks to the ever-resourceful Victorians,

help, or should I say relief, was soon at hand

in the form of this extraordinary and rather disturbing-looking device

known as the patent India Rubber Urinal.

Now, long before trains were equipped with on-board loos,

this contraption was considered to a solution

to the problem of a full bladder.

The idea was to strap it around your waist like that,

so that it would hang discretely and invisibly

beneath your outer garments.

According to the inventor,

the key and unique feature of this device was the valve,

which ensured a one-way flow of liquids through the system.

No wash-back, then.

Back on my bike, I pedal north.

Following the route suggested by Black's,

I enter the picturesque village of Pitlochry,

which I note with dismay also claims to be the centre of Scotland.

Queen Victoria made Pitlochry famous.

After the railway was built,

it developed into a fashionable Highland resort.

But when the caravanning pioneer William Gordon Stables

arrived in 1886,

he found the village too over-developed for his tastes.

"The little town is almost too civilised

"for my gypsy ideas of comfort.

"There are loudly-dressed females and male mashers,

"so I felt inclined to fly through."

Curiously, my Victorian guide book is rather sensitive

about what it considers to be appropriate Highland attire

and politely asks tourists to refrain from excess.

"It is too evident that many of our southern brethren

"consider the plaid a passport through the Highlands.

"And while it is a fact

"that the Scottish Lowlander is seldom seem in such a costume,

"the English too frequently adopt this dress."

From the evidence, I don't think they were shy

in coming out with the kilt.

"The English seem to love the sheer theatricality

"of swirling kilts aboon their knees."

From the tweed and tartan of Pitlochry,

Blair Atholl is my next destination.

Described by Black's as "a Highland hamlet noted for the wild scenery

"amid which it is situated".

This is Blair Castle, just outside the village of Blair Atholl.

'Every May, the grounds of Blair Castle provide the spectacular venue

'for the Atholl Gathering and Highland Games,

'where I've come to meet Bruce Robb, who, amongst other things,

'has been tossing the caber here for years.'

I've read that the whole thing was really cooked up in Victorian times

to kind of impress people with their physical prowess of the Highlanders,

and before that, there wasn't really a Highland Games at all.

-Is that right?

-It goes back hundreds, if not thousands of years,

where you had clans competing to see who is the best athlete

and put them forward as their best warrior

when they went into battle and stuff,

so I think it goes back a long, long way.

-So it's quite a proving ground, was it?

-Yeah, I think so.

Just to find who was the biggest, the strongest and fastest and so on,

so I think there's definitely a history that says it goes back a very long way.

Which sports are you involved in? Which things do you throw?

Well, today I'll be doing the Scots hammer, the caber,

weight over the bar, the sheaf, which you do over a bar as well,

and the shot put, and weight for distance as well.

-Are you quite good with caber?

-Yeah, not too bad.

It takes a bit of practice,

bit of a knack, so, yeah, I'm not too bad.

What's the origins of that,

cos it seems a bizarrely exotic thing to do, to throw a tree?

Och, there's various... Various myths,

but I think one of them is that it was to do with the loggers.

They used to toss them into the river

so they could float them downstream to the harbour to take away on boats.

In their spare time, they couldn't think of anything better to do than show off?

I think, aye. "Look what I can do with a tree", yeah.

I have to admit, I do have a soft spot for Highland Games,

especially the beer tent.

But not all tourists were so well disposed towards the colour,

the pageantry, or the music.

When the patriotic Scot and caravan pioneer

William Gordon Stables came here,

even his enthusiasm was challenged.

"Half a dozen pipers are strutting about in full Highland dress

"with gay ribbons floating above their chanters.

"Every piper is playing a tune that pleases himself best,

"so that, upon the whole, the music is of a somewhat mixed character."

Leaving the sound of skirling pipes for connoisseurs to enjoy,

I continue north

along a section of a National Cycle Network called Route 7,

which connects Glasgow to Thurso, in the far north of Scotland.

I think these cycle routes are a brilliant initiative.

They encourage modern cyclists out into the countryside

on routes that are either traffic-free

or, like this one, traffic-light.

My old Humber bike is designed more for contemplation than speed,

which is fine by me.

Why work up a sweat when there's so much scenery to enjoy?

Back in Victorian times,

only the wealthy could afford the pleasures of cycling.

But after mass production, bikes became increasingly affordable,

and soon, ordinary working people were taking to the open road.

Today, the bikes may have changed, but the passion is the same.

Cycle guide Scot Tares caters for modern tourists

who want to explore the Highlands on two wheels.

A lot of folk have all said that...

the bike's one of the greatest inventions that mankind's ever made.

-Do you reckon?

-Yeah. Oh, definitely, yeah.

All the different uses it's been put to,

it's been just a fantastic form of transport. When you...

you're riding along on your bike, you experience the smells and the...

you see a lot more than you would shut up in a big metal box.

And, Scot, can you tell me why people come from all over the world

to go cycling here in Scotland?

What's the attraction?

I think Scotland's got just some fantastic scenery.

A really varied scenery and a lot different to the rest of Europe.

We've got an absolutely wonderful network of roads,

particularly around Highland Perthshire.

Do you see yourself as a guide to the scenery as well?

Definitely.

I've been cycling all over the world and all over Europe,

and every time I came back to Scotland, I thought, "You know what?

"We've got it all here.

"Why go elsewhere when everything's here on our doorstep?"

It is stunning, but I also wonder, you know,

are you not in danger of bringing lots of people onto the road,

and maybe, in a generation from now,

you won't be able to move

with the number of bikes on the highways and byways.

I think that would be fantastic.

I think, just in a generation where everyone's getting bigger

and heavier, it's a fantastic way to keep fit,

see the scenery, be green and just...

Just enjoy yourself.

Well, I'm shedding a few pounds, I can tell you.

'Scot tells me that his tours offer the pedalling enthusiast

'yoga classes, spa treatments,

'massages and bike maintenance classes

'as part of a day's tour.

'At the pace they're going,

'I'm not surprised that cyclists and their machines

'need a little TLC.'

North of Blair Atholl, the road begins to climb

towards the Drumochter Pass.

Early tourists were struck by the grandeur of the scenery.

It seemed a pristine environment, undisturbed by human hands.

Travelling through the Highlands in 1796,

Sarah Murray was moved by what she saw.

"Even this extensive wild pleased me

"and gave me scope to boundless reflection.

"My senses were lost to everything but admiration."

The summit of the Drumochter Pass is 1,300 feet above sea level.

From up here, my route north takes me

through the ancient district of Badenoch.

This is the Highland village of Newtonmore,

which also competes at being the very centre of Scotland.

Newtonmore may be famous for many things, but this claim

to be at the geographic centre of Scotland is new to me.

However, I've been reliably informed

that convincing evidence lies just outside the town.

I've got a map, I've got the co-ordinates,

so I think I'll just have to go and see for myself.

Finding it proves very tricky.

I've been told to look out for a stone with cross on it,

but there's nothing remarkable to be seen.

It's supposed to be around here somewhere.

The geographic centre of Scotland. The beating heart of old Caledonia.

It's supposed to be on a stone somewhere around here.

Finally, I find it.

A simple mason's mark on a stone in this drystane dyke,

indicating the very epicentre of Scottishness.

You know, for such a significant spot, you'd somehow expect

a big monument to be here.

But out of respect for the nation, I've brought my own flag,

which I'll plant. The very brave heart of Scotland.

Brilliant.

From the centre of Scotland, an easy cycle ride brings me

into the heart of the Cairngorm National Park.

When Sarah Murray came here,

she too was stuck by the beauty of this land of mountain and forest.

"The crags are covered with wood, and the verdant meads

"are ornamented with fine trees

"and within sight of the Cairngorm Mountains, whose hollow cliffs

"are filled with never-melting snow."

The Cairngorm area has only been a National Park since 1999.

But long before its treasures were enshrined in legislation,

people were coming here to enjoy the abundant charms of nature.

The area is still rich in wildlife and is famously home to the osprey,

a bird that has come to symbolise the fortunes of the Cairngorms.

I've joined Rob Lambert on the shores of Loch an Eilein

to find out why this became a favourite haunt

of Victorian tourists.

They were coming here to see this wonderful landscape.

The interplay of the mountains and the forest.

As more and more of the decades went by in the 19th century,

birds and, in particular, ospreys became a hugely important part

of that Highland vista and that experience.

And you start to get the first written observations about ospreys

by the tourists in the 1870s and 1880s and 1890s,

and that builds into a genuine concern for the fate of the ospreys.

Early eco-tourists could watch nesting ospreys

on Loch an Eilein, which Black's describes

as the last remaining haunt of the osprey in Scotland.

By 1899, they were down to a single nesting pair.

We're standing here looking at this castle

and we're looking at a monument,

if you like, to the history of nature conservation in Britain.

And the Grants of Rothiemurchus, who own this estate,

were pioneers in that conservation effort.

So much so, that in 1893, the Zoological Society of London

awarded them a medal for their sort of osprey conservation efforts.

Such enlightened estate management was to no avail.

By 1916, the osprey in Britain was extinct -

shot by sportsmen and persecuted by gamekeepers -

but then something amazing happened.

The big return occurred in 1954, when ospreys did come back.

And immediately, the RSPB in Scotland,

along with the Grants of Rothiemurchus,

who were involved, and other organisations in nature conservancy,

set up a watch.

But even then, the nests were disturbed and robbed

on a number of occasions. And then George Waterston,

who was Director of the RSPB in Scotland,

made what some see as one of the most visionary decisions

in the history of British nature conservation.

And he decided to open up the nest to public scrutiny,

to bring people in to show them ospreys,

to get them enthused by ospreys,

to drive forward, if you like,

a change in attitudes towards birds of prey.

The gamble paid off.

There are now over 200 nesting pairs across the country.

Every year, over 300,000 visitors come to watch the ospreys,

pumping £3.5 million into the Highland economy.

The story of the osprey's remarkable return from extinction

leads me to reflect on the impact of tourism.

It doesn't always have to be negative.

From the edge of the Cairngorm plateau, there are stunning views

back along the course of my journey

and across a landscape that has changed enormously

since the first tourists followed Black's guide book.

Roads now thread their way through the glens,

bringing holiday-makers to towns

that have doubled in size to serve their needs.

But if you get high enough,

it's still possible to find peace and quiet,

to be restored by the magnificence of the landscape.

If it's the solitude of the high summits you're after,

then this is the perfect place to contemplate the charms of nature.

Join me on my next Grand Tour,

when I'll be paddling my own canoe

in a bid to find Scotland's sunniest spot.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd