Trails, pubs, bookstores and cafes make this small town worth a visit 

by Jules Torti

The charm meter for Pitlochry, Scotland magnetically swings to the right. Sandwiching the River Tummel, it’s a fable-like town of less than 3,000 residents halfway between Edinburgh and Inverness. I’d guess there are just as many dogs because every business along the main street welcomes them with open arms (and water bowls).

Within minutes of arriving, I’m asked to keep watch over Keltie as her owner slips into the only non-dog-friendly cafe to pick up her soup order. She was an all-wiggle beagle-type dog with a handsome face and howl at the ready.

After spending a few nights in the cramped quarters of an Edinburgh hostel, my wife Kim and I were overjoyed to quadruple our rental real estate at Alba Place. The two-bedroom suite had been renovated just months ago, adding tasteful design to the traditional charms of the heritage building. The thoughtfully curated studio was kitted out with everything divine: a half dozen croissants, tiny pots of jam and honey, the Scot staple shortbread, ginger biscuits, local chocolates and coffee for all palates and persuasions. I sniffed my way around, inhaling the lime and coconut candles, organic wild raspberry lotions and nettle and thistle shampoos.

Recuperating from the journey

The dolphin-skin sky and looming clouds insisted on rain but didn’t. It was tempting to stoke up the small wood-burning fireplace and embrace the fainting couch views with the Rockett St. George Extraordinary Interiors coffee table book that I’d already been sucked into. Kim and I had already lost a few precious hours as the speedy ScotRail service came to a halt at Perth station due to a lightning strike and alleged sinkhole.

Luckily, we were able to find a stranded couple destined for Pitlochry who were eager to split a cab with us. It was a small nuisance that only meant we had to be efficient in what we did next. At McKay’s Hotel Bar & Restaurant we ordered two recuperation pints and unfolded several maps that Mairi, our innkeeper, had left for us.

“Let’s do the Black Spout Edradour route.” I liked that it looped past one of Scotland’s smallest distilleries though our first surprise stop would be at the princely Blair Athol Distillery. We followed the whisky-whiff to the mash tun tasting room where David proved to be both affable and a steady pour. He guided us through bracing, teeth-whitening samples while suggesting we focus on the notes of honeycomb, fruit cake and peat. Repeat!

Feeling the warm zen of the whisky flight, we pressed onward on the 5km trail that led us into a hypnotic moss and fiddlehead nirvana under enormous umbrellas of oak. At Black Spout, the falls were an impressive ribbon that cascaded 18m in a hush. We didn’t see a soul, especially when we needed one most. We had zigged left instead of right on a rural road but eventually backtracked and found the cutesy signature red and white Edradour distillery. It was closed (which was probably a saving grace) but the forested loop was an easy and lovely one. I knew we’d be bagging a bigger climb the next day.

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Finding our way to the Ben Vrackie trailhead

Back in town, we abided by David’s stern recommendation and found an outdoor table at Auld Smiddy Inn for Orkney Corncrake lagers and a mixed seafood pakora of crispy monk, haddock, cod and prawn. I made a scribbled note to add briny capers to our future tartar sauce recipe at home.

The silver twilight kept us out later than anticipated as we walked along the side streets, necks craned admiring the stone architecture of the Fisher’s Hotel, the slate roofs, tall yellow tulips and century-old horse chestnut trees.

The following day, after a potent Bodum of coffee (I can never figure out coffee grounds to water formula with Bodums) and buttery croissants on our lips, we set off for the Ben Vrackie trailhead. In Scotland, “Ben” means ‘a great hill’ and at 841m, it’s really great. We figured we’d have the 9.6km out and back knocked off in no time. To begin, appropriately, we went in the wrong direction twice before finding the trailhead. I’ll blame the impossibly cute ewes that were doing tiny high kicks and bouncing along the fence line as distractions!

To climb Ben Vrackie, you need to pack your titanium tendons. It was a total rock escalator to the top after the dam. The “steep and unrelenting climb” was as promised. We passed a few weary hikers on their descent looking weathered and windblown. “You won’t see anything up there but it’s worth it.” We were warned to hang on to our sunglasses because they’d blow right off our faces. With quads in pudding mode, we reached the summit, wishing we’d had our own croissants, not a shared one. Snot, tears and sunglasses threatened to blow off our faces, also as promised. The wind was just ferocious—and so was the fog. The intended view of tiny Pitlochry was left to the imagination.

The downhill route was just as daunting with slippery rock. “I’m tired of looking at my feet,” Kim said. As she did, a massive wood pigeon clattered out of the trees giving both of us a heart rush. They are the size of two standard Toronto pigeons and after I read about their migration route through the Pyrenees, it made sense. Kim and I have also crossed the Pyrenees on the Camino Frances. Doing it on a bi-annual basis would require girth!

The apres-hike wander

We were ready for a beer massage by the time we reached the 300-year-old Moulin Inn. A few spits of rain teased us as I took some video of the jolly lambs jumping about as though they were on trampolines. I wish I had taken a photo of the little shortbread stand someone had smartly tucked into a hole in the stone wall fencing. Powered by the honour system, there were small bags of shortbread for sale, adorned with paper hearts.

In the warmth of the Moulin Inn we found everything one conjures up with mention of a 300-year-old hotel. Think taxidermy, antlers, burgundy carpet and The Beach Boys? That wasn’t expected. The menu had all the classic offerings from a haunch of venison to curried pheasant and rabbit. Kim felt it was too early for a haunch or rabbit so we shared a falafel with red hummus and rockets. We had decided to pick up some charcuterie fixings for dinner, take advantage of our space and get the fire snap-crackling.

Footloose in Pitlochry, Scotland

Enjoying the lingering light, we checked out the Pitlochry Fish Ladder and Dam—it’s what draws many to this area. Each year, more than 5,000 salmon pass through this incredible ladder of 34 pools (three are resting pools) to reach their spawning grounds. The dam that was completed in 1951 was a contentious construction as locals felt it would taint the reputation of the tiny town. Instead, it’s a big draw card. Because the dam was an immediate and impossible obstacle for the salmon, the 310m ladder was designed to run parallel to the River Tummel. There are underwater cams so you can observe the salmon making their way upward.

Though we didn’t have time to squeeze Footloose in, it was part of the Pitlochry Festival Theatre’s summer season. Once upon a time (in 1951), productions took place under a canvas tent! Founder John Stewart said, “When staying in Pitlochry during the early part of the war, I chanced to see a stately house with a fairly large garden, quite close to the town. I at once realized that here my dream theatre might well be established in this fashionable resort right in the heart of Scotland.”

You can certainly opt to live large (or small) in Pitlochry with the likes of the grand dame Pitlochry Hydro Hotel, the stately Atholl Palace, Fishers Hotel in the town centre (the train stops directly behind it) or the upscale The Old Mill Inn. If you want personality, peace, paperbacks and a wood fire to journal by, the Albaplace Inn was the perfect basecamp for our daily rambles.

How to get to Pitlochry

Pitlochry couldn’t be more convenient as it’s located on both the bus and rail line. It’s the perfect pocket of peace between Edinburgh and Inverness. Check train routes and schedules here.

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