Fortrose: 'Whit's Furtrose Ye'll No Go By Ye'

Fortrose

I’ve been told a lot recently that, ‘Whit's Fur Ye'll No Go By Ye.’ A charming notion with the best intentions. Fortrose is a town that I have no connection with other than the want of escapism during a week where things went by me. I disembarked the Number 26 Stagecoach and albeit only 30 minutes from Inverness, it felt a world away.

Standing with my coffee from the charming IV10 on Fortrose High Street, I couldn’t help to think, ‘Whit's Fur Ye'll Will Certainly Blaw By Ye’ like the cold wind whistling towards me as I trembled on this wee bit of green grass overlooking the Moray Firth towards Inverness, shimmering like a mirage in the distance.

Chanonry Point Lighthouse

A cold day is a good day to walk on the beach, and that’s what I did. I turned towards Chanonry Point, a spit of territory that juts out into the Moray Firth, one of the few places in the world where you have to watch out for seagulls, oystercatchers and dolphins trying to steal your picnic. The shallow waters of this treacherous meeting point of the Moray Firth and Rosemarkie Bay serves as a seafood buffet for bottlenose dolphins, who chase their unsuspecting meals towards the shoreline.

The shoreline dances differently on Chanonry Point to most I’ve seen. Like the ever-familiar lapping of wave upon wave upon wave on beaches I’ve stood and starred out on, the Rosemarkie Bay side of Chanonry Point flows along like a river, as currents fight to gain control of the water’s will. A lighthouse, first lit in 1846 and built by Alan Stevenston, a member of the 19th Century version of the Lighthouse Family, sits on the very southern point of this slender triangle on the Black Isle, warning boats of this rocky outcrop.

Ness Road along Fortrose & Rosemarkie Golf Club

As the day wore on, my morning pessimism began to dissipate. I strolled along Ness Road which cuts through Fortrose & Rosemarkie Golf Club like a vein, connecting the remote Chanonry Point back to Fortrose. The greens on this day were bustling with keen golfers, woolie hats on to combat the chilly baltic breeze which accompanied the balls towards their destination. An ancient sport in its own right but not many courses are more ancient than Fortrose & Rosemarkie which goes back to the 18th century, making this the 15th oldest recorded course in the world.

Ness Road slowly winds back towards town, and much like Hansel & Gretel, it leads like a trail of breadcrumbs towards Bakhoos Bakery. A welcome site for a weary walker but it was my day off and I was looking for a pint. The pint, an ever-recurring theme on most adventures I take, was poured in The Union Tavern for me. I sat at the end of the bar listening to the laughter drifting from the crook under the windowsill ironically named, ‘Crankie’s Corner.’

Fortrose Cathedral

Laughter is a strong medicine and sitting in the Union Tavern I received dose after dose. ‘Whit's Fur Ye'll No Go By Ye,’ I thought again and in a small way maybe this laughter was what was for me on this day. On three separate occasions I left this bar and due to my inability to catch a bus, two times I slinked back across the road through the welcoming gate of the Union Tavern for another pint of Wellpark’s finest. Under this roof is where I met the only man from Fortrose to play for Partick Thistle, ‘the accordion at their Christmas party’ a number of years ago. A joke served at that bar as often as a wee nip of whisky by this gentleman, I’m sure.

‘Whit's Fur Ye'll No Go By Ye.’ A charming notion with the best intentions. A phrase uttered to me on countless occasions that week, it began to seep further into my mind, scratching away at soon to be distant worries. What was for me that day was escapism, the simple pleasure of a pint, the smell of sea air and the sound of crashing waves. I left Fortrose with a spring in my step and unlike Brahan Seer, a predictor of the future who met an unfortunate end at Chanonry Point, the notion of ‘Whit's Fur Ye'll No Go By Ye,’ is charming as there’s no predicting our future stories.