Scotlands

The incoming tide has made a labyrinth of the beach. As silvery rivulets spread across Culbin Sands to meet the mudflats, my walk becomes increasingly circuitous: weaving inland towards the pine forest, backtracking closer to the waves, skirting tidal pools and scaling dunes constantly resculpted by the North Sea breeze.

In this shapeshifting stretch of north-east Scotland’s Moray coast, there’s not another soul in sight, nothing to anchor me to the modern day. It’s easy, then, to imagine a longship bringing weary warriors ashore, or a band of man-eating giants marauding from the woodland. Which is exactly what happens here – on screen – in Christopher Nolan’s adaptation of The Odyssey.

At first glance, Scotland is not an obvious backdrop for a nearly 3,000-year-old Greek epic. While the poem describes the Ithacan king Odysseus and his men being cast adrift on mysterious, far-flung shores, its imagined geography is the Mediterranean (unsurprisingly, Sicily, Morocco and the Peloponnese are the movie’s other locations). Few people who live in Moray, including me, anticipated Hollywood actors Matt Damon, Zendaya and Tom Holland descending on our local beaches and sleepy fishing villages last summer. The Moray coast isn’t even well known domestically, overshadowed by the likes of the Isle of Skye and the North Coast 500 driving route in the Highlands.

The more I think about it, though, the more Nolan’s decision makes sense. Unfurling due east of Inverness in a series of vast sand dunes, shingle bars, pine-edged marshes and sandstone skerries, this coastline is both cinematic and unusually varied. The absence of tourist crowds and coastal development must be a boon to film-makers.

Yet the resonances between the world of The Odyssey and these Scottish seafaring communities run deeper than scenery. Legends cling like barnacles to Moray’s shores. Superstitions intermingle with real histories of sieges and tragedies. Take the “Atlantis of the North” at Culbin Sands, the RSPB nature reserve and forest where Matt Damon’s Odysseus clashes with the giant-like Laestrygonians. A thriving agricultural estate and village stood here until 1694, when a freak sandstorm buried the settlement in a single night. Locals blamed either a witch’s curse or their reckless laird’s bargain with the devil.

“The lore you hear along this coast is worthy of a Homeric epic,” says Moray-based author and classicist VJ Randle, whose novel The Athenian Murders is inspired by Greek mythology. She leads me along a section of the 50-mile Moray Coast Trail. Through an early morning Stygian sea-mist, we set off from the fishing village of Hopeman, the sandy footpath weaving between tangles of gorse and heather, before we clamber over the rock pools of Clashach Cove to a shadowy opening between the golden sandstone cliffs.

“This cave always reminds me of Calypso’s home,” Randle says. “Although locally, it’s said that a scarier sort of sea-spirit lives here.” She’s talking about the Grin Iron Wife – a witch with pale-green skin, rusted-red teeth and hair of seaweed who drags children and the elderly down to her underwater lair.

Such tales were once shared by seanchaidhean – oral historians who preserved heroic battles, local legends and clan genealogy. They were to Scottish Gaelic culture what the wandering bards were to ancient Greece.

It’s a fading tradition that local storytellers like Michelle van den Hout of Otherworldly Tales are helping to revive. Her walking tours introduce figures with striking parallels to classical mythology: the Scottish creator goddess and giantess Cailleach, a titan if ever there was one, islands and mountains formed from the rocks that fell from her creel basket; or the siren-like Ceasg, luring sailors who listened to her song to a watery grave.

Such tales were never simply about frightening people, van den Hout explains: “For isolated coastal communities, storytelling was a way to pass down lessons about survival, respecting nature and how to treat strangers. Rather than warning a child with, ‘Careful, that place has a riptide,’ it was more effective to say that a witch lives there.”

Threats coming from the North Sea could sometimes be made of flesh and blood, of course. In the town of Burghead, I stand on the grassy promontory overlooking granite cottages huddled around a working harbour. This is where The Odyssey’s film crew docked a 35-metre (115ft) longship last year alongside the usual fishing vessels. My attention turns to the raised earthworks beneath my feet: the remains of one of the largest Pictish forts ever built, burnt down in the 10th century, most likely during a Viking raid.

Along the neighbouring beach of Roseisle, dozens of barnacle-covered concrete blocks and pillboxes are wedged in the sand, half buried, like the ruins of a forgotten civilisation – and resembling the Trojan horse in the movie. But these relics are not ancient; they’re part of a vast defensive frontier from the second world war, when Moray became a secret training ground for the D-day landings. This legacy continues beneath the waves, where several sunken tanks from the wartime exercises can be explored on scuba diving excursions.

Heading further east, the cliffs steepen and craggy outcrops have long stirred up stories of metamorphosis. The soaring, 50ft sea-arch of Bow Fiddle Rock, for instance, is a giant that’s fallen beneath the waves, only the edge of his fiddle still visible, and the cries of nesting seabirds are its mournful music.

A few miles further on, the ruins of Findlater Castle cling to a narrow promontory. Befitting its turbulent past, from Viking occupation to being besieged by troops loyal to Mary, Queen of Scots, this is where Nolan has the sorceress Circe bewitch Odysseus’ men into swine.

There’s magic on my visit, too, only it erupts from the ocean below. The setting sun is a bronze shield, the sea uncharacteristically calm, when a dozen dorsal fins pierce the surface. Bottlenose dolphins. They’re a regular sight along these shores, with the Moray Firth home to Europe’s most northerly resident pod. Minke whales, humpbacks and orcas sometimes pass through, too, making this one of the UK’s best cetacean-spotting locations.

A motor launch scuds across the bay, heading for shore apace as dusk falls. My thoughts turn to homecomings. That, after all, is the essence of The Odyssey, more than monsters or battles. The hero’s yearning to return. His wife Penelope anxiously waiting. Countless women through the centuries have surely done the same from this very clifftop, staring out to sea for a sign of a familiar sail.

But a visit to Buckie and District Fishing Heritage Centre the following day reveals that the Moray coast’s fishwives were no idle, passive Penelopes. While the menfolk were at sea, they baited thousands of hooks by hand, gutted and packed herring, and trudged 13 miles inland to sell their catch.

One faded, sepia photograph in the display is unforgettable: it shows the female fishers, barefoot and skirts hitched, carrying their husbands on their backs through the surf, ensuring the men’s boots stayed dry before they boarded their boats. These are, perhaps, the true heroes of these Scottish shores: not a cunning soldier-king, as Homer would have it, but the stalwart, unsung “fisher lassies”, sharing a sea-swell of stories and ballads as they worked.

Where to stay
The Odyssey’s cast and crew made their base at The Seafield Arms in Cullen (doubles from £150). “The production team turned our meeting rooms into a working base for editing the film,” says owner Charles Milne, “while our grand ballroom became a private cinema where Christopher Nolan and the crew watched the day’s footage each evening.” Its refurbished self-catering accommodation Bow Cottage, where Matt Damon stayed, has been decked out with ancient Greek-inspired touches and movie memorabilia for visiting fans (sleeps seven from £300 a night, minimum three-night stay.) While you’re in Cullen, browse the shelves at Beinn Books for collections of Scottish folklore or perhaps a translation of Homer’s original.

How to get there
National rail services run to Inverness and Aberdeen, with onward train and bus connections to larger coastal towns. Hiring a car is the easiest way to reach its more remote beaches, castles and walking trails.

SOAKING up the breathtaking Perthshire scenery in style is the perfect way to unwind.

Here, Janice Hopper goes glamping in a wagon and discovers some of the area’s best beauty spots.

The Pad

With a wood-fired bath that offers sweeping views over Loch Doine and Loch Voil, an outdoor pizza oven and a wood-burning stove, a stay in Monachyle Mhor’s restored 1950’s Pilot Panther showman’s wagon is pretty unforgettable.

Set on a 2,000-acre working family farm within the stunning Loch Lomond & The Trossachs National Park, it has a double bed, cute bunks and bucketloads of vintage charm.

At the estate’s blush-pink farmhouse, you’ll find your private bathroom and get a free cuppa as you sink into deep-green sofas beside the fire to play board games – just be sure to tuck into delicious, home-made chocolate cake, £4 a slice, while you do.

Explore

Start your day with a bracing wild swim in Loch Voil, before warming up in Monachyle’s cocooning sauna, from £20 per hour.

ALL CHANGE

Abandoned WWII torpedo testing site to become massive holiday resort

COOL OFF

All of the best aquaparks in the UK from huge obstacle courses to glamping sites

Then stroll five minutes along the shore to discover the LookOut artwork – a mirrored cube reflecting the landscape.

Kids will love the hour-long farm tour, collecting eggs, meeting donkeys Jake and Mylo, and feeding lambs, £20 per family.

Or, ditch the clan to try apitherapy – lying in an “apipod”, listening to 60,000 bees buzzing away in the hives beneath you.

It’s surprisingly calming and costs £25 for one hour, including soothing lemon balm tea (Monachyle mhor.net/experience).

Just four miles away is the quaint village of Balquhidder, where you can check out the resting place of famed Scottish outlaw Rob Roy, buried in 1734.

Later, hop in a canoe to beaver-spot on beautiful Loch Tay with CAG Adventures. A two-hour tour costs £40 per person (Cagadventures.com).

Refuel

Combine seafood with the landscape at Falls Of Dochart Smokehouse.

As the roar of the waterfall surges in the background, tuck into a platter of hot and cold whisky-smoked salmon, cheddar, paté, plus oatcakes and blinis, from £22, while sipping gin infused with local tayberries, £7.40 (Fallsofdochart.co.uk).

Quaint cafe The Golden Larches serves up tasty cream teas, £4.75 (Thegoldenlarches.com).

Or join exuberant owner and chef of Monachyle Mhor, Tom Lewis, on a wine safari, combining walking Balquhidder Glen with nibbles and plenty of vino stops. Six-hour wine safaris cost £150 per person.

After a hiking pit stop? It’s got to be Broch Cafe’s suntrap terrace in Strathyre, where you can recharge with a generous BLT, £9.50 (Brochcafe.com).

It handily sits on the 79-mile Rob Roy Way, and the scenic stretch from Strathyre to Callander along Loch Lubnaig is a much more manageable nine miles (Robroyway.com).

Book It

Stays in The Wagon cost £170 per night for up to four guests (Monachylemhor.net).

There aren’t many roads in Britain where you can pull over to cook breakfast and finish it without seeing a single car. While my friend Ben got the stove going, I wandered around the ruins of Dun Dornaigil, an iron age broch (stone roundhouse) more than 2,000 years old. Above us, low cloud drifted across the dark cliffs of Ben Hope. This was exactly the kind of lost lane we’d come to Sutherland to ride.

Our journey had begun the day before, in Lairg – the traditional “crossroads of the north”. With its Spar shop, hotel, train station and a population of about 800, Lairg is the largest inland settlement in one of the most sparsely populated regions of Europe. Sutherland – literally, the “southern land” of the Vikings, who held sway over the far north of Scotland from their stronghold on Orkney – tests life to its limits: bare mountains, impassable peat bogs and one of Britain’s wildest coastlines.

Today, the region’s biggest draw isn’t a particular place but a route. The North Coast 500 is regularly ranked among the world’s greatest road trips – and has been dubbed the “Instagram highway”. Over the past decade, its runaway success has doubled the traffic on its roads. Plenty of cyclists do ride the 516-mile (830km) circuit, or parts of it, but we had not come to this far-flung corner of Scotland to spend our time amid a procession of motorbikes, sports cars and campervans.

Heading west from Lairg, we turned into Glen Cassley. On the map, it’s a dead-end lane that dwindles to a rough 4×4 track. After a couple of miles bumping along the gravel, a ribbon of silky-smooth tarmac appears as if by magic (it is, in fact, a service road for a dam and a small hydroelectric generator). It led us up a steep climb over the top to Loch Shin.

From here, the only way across the next range of hills was an old drovers’ road over the Bealach nam Meirleach – or Thief’s Pass – a name hinting at earlier use by cattle rustlers. Thanks to Scotland’s enlightened access laws, we were free to give it a go. The only question was whether our fully laden touring bikes would be up to it. Though boneshaking at times, it was a thrilling 8-mile ride over genuinely remote hill country, passing a string of lochans (small lochs) flanked by huge, glacier-scoured cliffs. Descending into Strathmore, we found the perfect wild-camp spot by the river. Perfect, that is, until the midges appeared, forcing us to don our slightly absurd nylon head nets to keep them at bay.

The next day, after our roadside breakfast by the broch, we continued on a narrow road from Strathmore to the tiny hamlet of Altnaharra. The very name has a romance to it, and I’d heard it now and again on weather bulletins in the depths of winter (the weather station here jointly holds the record for Britain’s coldest recorded temperature: –27.2C in December 1995). A small hotel, originally a 17th-century drovers’ inn but reopened in the 1820s to bring anglers and deer stalkers to the area, is open from March to October. With the sun blazing in a cloudless sky and the land so lush and green, it was impossible to imagine the long, dark winters where heavy snow can leave the handful of local people cut off for weeks.

Downstream of the hotel is a three-arch stone bridge built by Thomas Telford, wittily dubbed the Scottish “colossus of roads”, who gave Sutherland its first proper highways. We set off on his road to the coast. It crosses the western edge of the Flow Country, a seemingly infinite expanse of mountain and blanket bog. Walter Scott described this far north of Scotland as the “immeasurable wilds” and the distant, never-changing horizons can be disorientating. As the miles ticked by, my eye was drawn instead to the microcosm at the roadside: verges dotted with delicate flowers, mosses and lichens; dark, still pools of water ringed with reeds and tufts of pure white cotton grass.

Eventually, we reached the coast and the village of Tongue. As we freewheeled down the hill, a sea eagle picked us out and glided overhead, matching our speed, as if lazily sizing us up for its next meal before deciding we weren’t worth the bother. We stopped for our lunch on the sunny terrace of the Tongue hotel, a former hunting lodge furnished in the Highland style – all dark wood, polished brass, tartan and antlers. Tongue overlooks a shallow sea loch where whales, dolphins, seals and otters are regularly spotted. In the 1970s, a causeway and road bridge were built across the mouth of the Kyle of Tongue, replacing a ferry crossing. Almost no one drives the narrow old road around the loch. It’s a genuine lost lane, with views across the turquoise waters of the loch and inland to the shapely granite peaks of Ben Loyal.

On the far side of the loch is the Moine, for centuries another impassable morass of blanket bog. To cross it, we had no choice but to join the stream of traffic on the fast and wide A838, which forms part of the North Coast 500. A closer inspection of the map revealed a few fragments of the original road, now abandoned. Some sections were a muddy quagmire, but others were surprisingly intact. Along the way, we stopped in at the roofless ruin of a small house where travellers once took refuge from storms.

Across the Moine, we reached the northern tip of Loch Hope, where the Danish billionaire Anders Holch Povlsen has just opened what may be the country’s most expensive hotel: rooms at Hope Lodge cost upward of £1,550 a night. Povlsen is a paradoxical figure. Scotland’s biggest private landowner, his fortune was made from fast fashion, an industry widely criticised for its record on the environment and on labour. Yet, as well as running a handful of luxury retreats, his company WildLand has made ambitious commitments to nature conservation and rewilding on his vast estates. After pondering what comforts lay behind the metal gates of Hope Lodge, we set off down a narrow lane along the shore of the loch, where we spotted two campers quietly rewilding themselves for free.

We soon discovered this was a gem of a lane, with its thick sward of grass up the middle, winding its way past drifts of heather and eucalyptus-scented bog myrtle, and through sun-dappled glades of downy birch and sessile oak. Stopping in a narrow ravine, we drank deeply of the cool, peaty water that spilled down in a cascade. On this 20-mile stretch, we passed just two farmsteads. The emptiness of places like Strathmore is the legacy of the notorious early 18th-century Sutherland clearances in which thousands of farming families were evicted, often violently, to make way for commercial sheep grazing.

Returning to the crossroads at Altnaharra, it was time to turn south on to the road to Lairg. Our destination for the night was the Crask Inn, a historic drovers’ haunt that offers cyclists free camping in the garden. We pitched next to a lone German who was closing in on John o’Groats, the end of a ride that had begun a fortnight earlier at Land’s End. Our tour of just three days had covered 130 miles. We had travelled along lonesome highways, forgotten byways and the remotest of hill tracks. In setting out to avoid the North Coast 500, we had ended up riding where no campervan could go.

Jack Thurston’s new book, Lost Lanes Scotland, is out now (Wild Things Publishing, £18.99). This tour combines two rides from the book

If Scotland lose and finish with three points, there are a number of results they will need to look out for – they will want as many groups as possible with two teams finishing on fewer than three points.

In Group A, if Mexico beat the Czech Republic and South Korea beat South Africa, that would leave the team in third on one point.

The next best scenario would be a big South Africa win to leave South Korea in third with three points and a poor goal difference.

Wins for South Africa and the Czech Republic would spell bad news for Scotland, leaving the third-place finisher on four points.

One of the few games that take place before Scotland face Brazil that has a bearing on where Scotland could finish comes in Group B.

Bosnia-Herzegovina and Qatar meet three hours before Scotland play and, if they draw, both sides will have two points.

In Group D, Australia and Paraguay are second and third respectively and meet in their final game. The losers would end the group with three points, while a draw would leave both sides on four.

On we go to Group E. Ecuador and Curacao have one point apiece and play Germany and Ivory Coast respectively. Failure to win would mean whoever finishes third cannot better Scotland’s tally of three points.

In Group F, Scotland will be hoping second-placed Japan beat third-placed Sweden convincingly. A point for Sweden, though, would leave the third-placed finishers on at least four points.

The key fixture in Group G as far as Scotland are concerned is Egypt v Iran. A win for Egypt will ensure the team finishing third will have fewer than three points.

It is the same situation in Group H where Scotland fans will be rooting for Spain to beat Uruguay so the third-placed team can only finish on two points, while in Group I, a draw between Senegal and Iraq would mean the team in third will have just one point.

In Group J, Austria and Algeria – second and third respectively on three points – meet in their final group game, so Scotland would not want that to end in a draw.

DR Congo and Uzbekistan are vying for third place in Group K.

A win for Uzbekistan would give them three points but, with a goal difference of -7, they would need a big win against DR Congo and for Scotland to lose badly to move above them in the standings.

In Group L, a point or more for Croatia against Ghana could be bad news for Scotland as it would again leave the third-place finishers with four points.

A big win for Ghana, and Panama not beating England, would be Scotland’s ideal scenario from a mathematical point of view.

But the love affair here has gone way beyond baseball, this has been a glorious embracing of two cultures. A point underlined by the news Boston Mayor Michelle Wu has declared a sister city application with Glasgow.

Fittingly, she did so in a Scottish pub wearing a Scotland football jersey.

Tens of thousands of football fans swarming to a city for a major tournament is nothing new, but it is the manner of the revelry here that has set it apart.

At the time of writing, there has not been one arrest of a Scotland fan either in Boston or Providence, another nearby stronghold of the Tartan Army.

The ground work for this Boston bash was laid two years ago in Bavaria. At the last European Championships, Marienplatz felt like it held more Scots within it than Motherwell.

Again, Scotland fans were lauded for their behaviour, generosity and patter.

Alas, the football did its best to ruin the party.

That is perhaps one key difference to this shindig, apart from the obvious step up in excitement from a Euros to their first World Cup in 28 years.

What mood the Tartan Army would have been in if the opener against Haiti had turned into a disaster we will never know. Although, I would say it would not have made a dent.

The team on the pitch have done their bit to keep the party in full swing and a point against Morocco on Friday could trigger a tidal wave of celebration flooding back into Boston that night the likes they have never seen.

The best way to describe it is this has been the trip of a lifetime for people who are still in their 20s. There is a genuine appreciation from Scotland fans that they have waited this long to see their team at a World Cup, that it may be another three decades before it happens again.

And, even if it did, nothing could rival the week in Boston they’ve just had, regardless of what Miami holds.

For near enough a week, Scotland had the city to itself. Now it has become a tapestry of nations settling into one of the warmest, most welcoming place on the Charles River they could have hoped to visit.

Who knows, they may be back here if they are one of the best third-placed teams.

What will be the Tartan Army’s Boston legacy as the sporrans are soon to get packed away and the online check-ins start for flights to Miami?

Their generosity? Their good spirit? Their ability to alert some locals to the fact the World Cup is even happening?

Perhaps all of the above. Just not a haggis supper.

Christie has just signed a new deal with Bournemouth and will remain at the club until 2029. He is, as they say, in a good place. Messi’s exploits at 38 – he will be 39 this month – offers Christie a world of encouragement that this World Cup doesn’t necessarily have to be his last.

In England, he sees players getting better with age, guys in their mid-30s who are still operating well at the top level. “Some are pushing for the high-30s and still churning out unbelievable performances week in, week out,” he said.

Head coach Clarke has spoken often about the dynamic of starters and finishers, the importance of having influential players coming off the bench late on. That was the scenario Christie found himself in against Haiti. Tense moments, those.

Would he rather be a starter or a finisher? “I honestly don’t mind,” he commented. “I’m not too sure, to be honest. The manager’s been very, very big on that, especially since we’ve come into the camp.

“He’s making everybody realise that every single person in our squad is going to be needed at some point, whether some boys play three, four, five minutes, some players might play every minute, but everybody’s got a massive part to play. Everybody’s taking that on and doing their bit so far.”

So to Boston for Morocco on Friday. One point and Scotland are more or less guaranteed a place in the knockouts. One stellar 90-minute performance, however challenging, and they’re history makers.

“It’s a dream come true to even play in a World Cup, but you have to quickly adjust your targets and adjust your mindset,” added Christie. “From being happy to be here you want to go and create more and keep pushing the bar. The manager has kept the foot to the floor.”

Having achieved one dream by making it to America, Christie is now pursuing another. Morocco await – the greatest test of his football life.

Though he’s “not praying for hat-tricks”, many would have been asking the man above for a favour or two as Scotland eyed up their first World Cup win in 36 years.

It was evident early doors against Haiti that if anything was going to happen, Gannon-Doak would be at the heart of it.

Keeping it simple, when he received the ball down the right, he looked to attack. A sight that makes Scotland supporters rejoice, such has been its rarity in recent times.

When McTominay skelped a post, it was on the end of another dazzling Gannon-Doak burst. He set up Che Adams shortly after for a shot that would be parried right in the path of McGinn, who was wheeling away in ecstasy seconds later as Scotland scored their first World Cup goal since 1998.

For 83 minutes, Gannon-Doak was the youngest man to appear at a World Cup for Scotland. That’s until his 19-year-old pal Findlay Curtis came on.

The pair play in a care-free manner. They don’t carry the years of missed qualifications or even the recent disappointments at the Euros. And it shows.

Gannon-Doak departed with 15 minutes to go against the Haitians. A collective gulp was inhaled.

“He had a cracker tonight,” former Scotland winger Pat Nevin said on BBC Sportsound.

“He’s what you want a Scotland player to be,” added ex-captain Scott Brown on BBC One.

Like few others, Gannon-Doak gets the faithful going. Believing. Hoping.

Like the rest of his generation, we’ve grown up believing ‘it’s the hope that kills you’, but with this 20-year-old driving the team, it’s difficult not to.

To think that four-goal first-half performance didn’t even involve John McGinn.

A traditional 4-4-2 brought the best out of Scott McTominay, if that’s even more possible. Although we all know the Napoli star’s position was never in any doubt.

Bologna’s Lewis Ferguson, who captain Robertson said “turned into a man” , externalduring the qualification campaign, again showed his maturity and ability to dictate play in the middle of the park. Cultured, some might say.

But, in truth, the first half was dominated by the work done down the wings by Bournemouth pair Ben Gannon-Doak and Ryan Christie.

Long before he was even in the squad, Gannon-Doak excited supporters. He was the Billy Gilmour of the Euro 2024 team, picking up an injury before the squad jetted off to Germany.

Since then, he’s reminded everyone what they missed with his absence. The epitome of a Duracell Bunny, the 20-year-old dazzled on Saturday.

At times, his end-product has been his downfall, but it wasn’t of concern stateside.

“Ben did himself the power of good today,” Clarke acknowledged. “We know what he can give us.”

Clarke also knows what Christie can provide. In many positions. He was lively down the left, with an instinct to cut in and create.

Many were crying out for Findlay Curtis to start, given his first international goal last weekend, but its hard to make a case for Christie not starting somewhere on Sunday.

It’s perhaps the biggest head-scratcher of them all for Clarke, but what a problem to have.