A summer of Highland Games: Join us for a gallivant around Scotland's greatest Gatherings

AROUND this time last year, The Scots Magazine suggested that I write a feature about Highland Games and how this most traditional of entertainments is faring in the 21st century.

I said yes, of course. The only snag was that I hadn’t been to a Highland Games since the 1980s.

As a trainee reporter in Aberdeen, I was sent to the Braemar Gathering to gawp at Princess Di, and I ended up being thrown over celebrity strongman Geoff Capes’s shoulder like a squealing sack of tatties.

It was quite the introduction, but I never returned.

"Like Christmas in July"

Highland Games season runs from early May, with the first being Gourock's gathering, ending with Bowhill's event on September 13.

The Royal Scottish Highland Games Association (RSHGA) calendar lists more than 60 events this year, from Thurso to Kilmarnock and Stonehaven to Mull.

Last year, to get a better idea of the tradition after my long hiatus as a visitor, I picked the brains of Craig Dunbar, secretary of RSHGA and passionate advocate for all things Highland Games.

Craig’s local Games are at Alva, and he likens the event to “Christmas in July” – that one weekend when far-flung friends and family return to town for a right good randan.

There's nothing to match the atmosphere of any Highland Games, he tells me, and every one is different.

And so, buoyed by Craig’s zeal, I decided it was time to test that theory for myself and visit four events last summer to see who does it best.

Stop one – the big hitter

The Atholl Gathering and Highland Games are a biggie, with a reputation as one of Scotland's most iconic. They even have a private army legally sanctioned by the monarch, called the Atholl Highlanders.

The whole spectacle unfolds against Blair Castle, north of Pitlochry, making it a magnet for tourists as well as locals, with the ticket price including entry to the castle gardens.

On the cool May day I go, the weather can’t quite make up its mind, but that hasn’t deterred the numbers flocking to the Games.

Around me, visitors pour out of cars in wellies and waterproofs, and dogs abound.

I meet up with a friend, her hubby and toddler, and we wander round the trade stands, kids’ rides and food stalls before planting ourselves on the slope overlooking the arena.

It is a brilliant vantage point, though the crowd is several bodies deep around the Games field, where there appears to be something different happening on every inch of grass.

Muscled men hurl weights over high bars, lanky youths limber up for races, participants in Highland dress roll out cannons, pipe for the judges and perform impossible dance steps.

It is a people-watcher’s paradise, and we pass a glorious afternoon chomping on churros and cheering on the contestants in the tug-of-war and cycle races.

At one point, we hear the announcer call for entrants in the open running, and the enthusiasm of the day gets the better of my chum; suddenly she’s clambering under the rope and lining up alongside the dozens of all-comers in the women’s race.

Victory eludes her – those tiny Highland dancers are FAST – but I suspect we’ll be back to fight another day.