Castle Gloom: The World's Only Fortification Never Breached

CASTLE GLOOM

In ancient times, a travelling Scot by the name of Argyll came upon a wide pasture in a valley below the Ochil Hills in the Central Belt of Scotland.

A stream bubbled down the glen feeding the ground with fresh, vibrant water. Smitten with the green and fertile land, Argyll drew his claymore and plunged it into the soil, staking his claim to the ‘Doll-ar,’ Gaelic for broad meadow.

Argyll settled there to farm the land. He tamed the wild pasture, and others joined him. A settlement grew in the foothills that were to become the town of Dollar.

Argyll took a wife, and she bore him children. Life took on a new meaning.

But these were turbulent times. Others arrived who coveted the land. This weighed heavy on Argyll, and he now had a family to protect. So he set about protecting his kin.

Stone by stone, he built a stronghold in the narrow gorges of the glen. Each rock carried from miles around, heaved with gasps for breath, weeping sweat, and scraped fingers.

He chose a rocky promontory to build his castle. With robust foundations, his fortress rose into the sky, commanding a view over the village below. Imposing and powerful.

With a chasm to the front, ravines to either side and a thick wall stretching up to the heavens, its bearing seemed invincible. A sturdy bastion capable of repelling all aggressors. It has remained impregnable to this day — unless you pay the £6 entrance fee.

Originally called Castle Gloom, the Clan Campbell acquired it in the 15th-century, and it became Castle Campbell.

It is one of the most dramatically positioned castles in Scotland and has one of the best-preserved tower houses. At the top of the tower is a loggia, an open walkway more commonly found in the warmer climates of Italy and Spain, and provides a stunning panorama of the surrounding countryside.

Hidden behind the tower are attractive terraced gardens where the Campbells could walk and enjoy the views.

One fine spring day, I took Monkeydog to explore Dollar and Castle Campbell.

Before walking to Argyll’s castle, I stopped for a coffee in the town. Each cafe is as inviting as the other. As I sipped a cappuccino and munched on carrot cake, a stream of blue blazers and tartan skirts poured out of the side streets onto the main thoroughfare, signalling break time at Dollar Academy.

The pupils disappeared into the various shops, like meerkats sighting an eagle. The street went quiet again. Safety assured the blue blazers and tartan skirts emerged one by one, gorging themselves on pastries and sugary fare.

The flood of young people now lolled around in a puddle, fixated on their food. It occurred to me there was something different about these students. This was no ordinary school lunchtime; these kids engaged each other in conversation as they ate. Chatting, smiling, and laughing. Something was different.

I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. It reminded me of the time I was at school. When we used to gobble food quickly to play football, it wouldn’t have been the first time I saw a goalkeeper dive to save a ball with half a sandwich in one hand and the other half in his mouth.

The difference, I realised, was the lack of mobile phones. Any other lunchtime in any other school, pupils spend every break immersed in their tiny screens — and they call it ‘social media.’

Here in Dollar, the students held their heads upright, and they busied themselves in chat — a testament to how good a school Dollar Academy must be.

With sufficient caffeine in my system to undertake the walk, I set off passing the abandoned and derelict Castle Campbell Hotel once owned by Alan Longmuir of Bay City Rollers fame.

In the 1970s, the Bay City Rollers enjoyed success at home and abroad with their distinctive tartan outfits and upbeat pop tunes such as Bye, Bye, Baby, and Shang-A-Lang. They had a huge teen following, which included my older brother.

My brother was my hero. He could make me laugh or cry at will. A protector who’d shield me from harm’s way. He wouldn’t let a soul bully me — that was his job.

I was in awe of my older brother, but when he came home at thirteen dressed in a Bay City Rollers outfit, massively flared trousers with a tartan stripe down the side and an unbuttoned tartan edged waistcoat, I thought, ‘what a twat.’

The path to Castle Gloom runs up the side of the golf course and opens out onto a grassy area. The burn on the left. Water tumbles downhill effortlessly, frothing and gurgling as it navigates the many boulders in its path. The grassy area is a favourite spot for the local dog-owning housewives.

They stood in a huddle, blethering away, oblivious as one of their dogs approached me, jumped up, and left two dirty paw prints on my trousers. I gave it a dog treat to chew on whilst it contemplated the seriousness of its actions, but I don’t think it cared.

Monkeydog and I strode on. I hoped there would be no more dirty paw prints, and Monkeydog hoped I didn’t give away all his treats.

The path splits into two. A handy map shows how the path takes an oval-shaped route around Castle Campbell or Castle Gloom, as I prefer. Castle Gloom is a much more evocative name, don’t you think?

We took the clockwise route, and after a steep ascent, the path emerged next to the highest green on Dollar Golf Club. It had been years since I had played the course; I stopped for a breather and took in the rich views.

I remembered it as a spectacular course to experience, although you could do with climbing boots as opposed to golf shoes. I’d have stood for longer and admired the rolling countryside below, but a chill wind forced me onwards and upwards.

Moments later, I came across a tree stump. Someone had taken the time to haul a chainsaw up the steep slope and shape the stump into a toadstool. Hundreds of coins had been forced halfway into the hood then hammered so flat it was hard to determine their denomination.

The light filtered through the trees, and the coins glittered, giving it the feel of Alice in Wonderland. There was nothing to suggest who had sculpted the stump or why — a pleasant oddity for a passing hiker.

The path meandered higher over some rough ground. Rounding a bend, the landscape opened up, and for the first time, I caught sight of Castle Gloom, and it filled me with foreboding. It loomed, ominous, like a storm cloud threatening a downpour. It deserves the name of Castle Gloom.

The path turned sharp left, and I wondered how it would lead me to the castle; there is no obvious route. I rounded another bend, and as if someone had flicked a switch, I heard the crash of water in the gully below. I came across a gated path to my right, and a sign advised it led to Windyedge Viewpoint.

I opened the gate, and Monkeydog raced through the pile of fallen leaves. Despite a metal fence separating the path from the ravine below, I wasn’t reassured of his safety. He disappeared out of sight, too quick for my liking. I whistled, and Monkeydog rejoined me at my side, obedient as ever.

The rocky descent is reminiscent of a scene from Jurassic Park. Stepping carefully, I reached the viewpoint. The water cascaded over shelves of flat rock and twisted left, disappearing into towering cathedral-sized gaps chiselled through the stone. I gaped in awe.

It crossed my mind this would be as good a place as any to dump a body — so be mindful of who you visit with.

Retracing our steps to the gate and rounding the side basin of the gully, the path brought us out below Castle Gloom. A naturally defended position, it has been impregnable since being built in the 15th Century. It has passed through many hands and is now in the care of Historic Scotland.

When I was a little boy, I recall saying, ‘Wow!’ quite a lot. Stunned by the magic of nature in many forms. That feeling of wonder wanes as we get older. Holding onto that sensation is one of the most positive things we can do.

No matter what life throws at you, there will always be something that can make you say, ‘wow’ — the kid with the voice of an angel, the derring-do of a circus performer, the skill of a magician, the beauty of a flower, the strength of the sea, the majesty of a mountain or even just Monkeydog wagging his tail, happy to have come on an adventure to see Castle Gloom.

There is a single-track road all the way up to the Castle Campbell entrance. A car park is situated about 200 yards short, below Brewlands Cottage on the other side of the gully.

The Boy Scouts used Brewlands Cottage for many years as a base for their adventures. I recall spending a night there in my youth, roughing it in a sleeping bag on the cold floor, not getting much sleep, and then, in the morning, being fed scrambled eggs from a massive pot. It reminded me of spew. It was twenty years before I could face the taste of scrambled eggs again.

I continued my clockwise route and descended the east side of the burn. It is easier going, but still not for the infirm or faint-hearted. One minute the path leads you to the water, then the burn drops away until it seems like an endless pit of Hades. Peering over the rickety fence is to be avoided by those suffering vertigo.

After my fourth or fifth cheery greeting to hikers on their way up, I realise I am in a good mood. A state of being requiring less effort than that of a bad mood.

Our mood is a choice. We can smile, or we can frown. Moping takes effort and induces lethargy. Happy people get up and get on. They get out and about. They take an interest. Unhappy people sit and fester. Avoid them at all costs. Their mood is as infectious as the common cold.

You won’t meet unhappy people walking Dollar Glen in the company of a dog.