After a disappointing first day, I am temporarily entertained by the bedside lights which operate by touch.  I spend a happy half hour going Dim/Bright/Off/Dim/Bright/Off before finally getting the hang of them.  I then settled down for a really good 6 ½ hours sleep.

I’m woken by an insanely loud dawn chorus – which is the only sound from the outside.  The weather has cleared up and so I can now make use of my external decking and get some photos across to Loch Fleet  It’s beautiful out here and I keep my fingers crossed that this is a sign of better things. 

The first test is the shower and as the first one of the holiday, it does pretty well.  It’s easier to use than the lamp and the temperature is perfect – 10/10.  The soap is in a pump dispenser and is not so good.  Initially I can’t get more than a pathetic dribble out of it.  The problem is solved with brute force and ignorance.

After my ablutions, I check my boots – which are still damp after yesterdays unanticipated stream crossing.  Luckily I have trainers and I’ll just have to be careful about any unwise short cuts.

Before breakfast, it’s time to make an experiment.  I’d seen a lot of videos on Facebook which were clearly shot by passengers and which showed some spectacular scenery.  As I was on my own, I wouldn’t be able to rely on someone else and I knew that there would be a limited amount of places that I could stop.  So I bought myself a Go-Pro with the thought that I could set it up, fire it off to capture some scenery and then when I was able to stop, I could download it to my phone.  A very cunning plan.  My cunning plan is foiled when I attempt to plug the camera into the cars cigarette lighter – only to find that it doesn’t have one.  I might be able to use a USB cable – except that all the car has is a tiny USB port.  Dammit.  Another cunning plan foiled.

I head back in for breakfast, as my stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten anything since a Mars Bar about 17 hours ago.  I head in, confident that the order I put in last night will give me an unhindered breakfast.  I hadn’t taken into account the fiendish coffee machine which I manage to get to deliver hot water instead of my desired beverage.  The man who met me yesterday managed not to look superior as he deftly sorts it out and I’m soon tucking into an excellent breakfast.  It’s a definite 8/10 – and the only reason it doesn’t get full marks is I get better ones later in the holiday.

I am now replete and I review the plan for the day: Dunrobin Castle, Helmsdale, the Hill O’ Many Staines, Whaligoe Steps and the Pulteney Distillery Tour.  Let’s see how this plays out.  I’ve seen a lot of things online asking how much people should plan.  Some favour the “free spirit” approach, while others rigidly plan everything they are going to do.  I’m taking the middle ground – I have an idea of what I want to do each day, but I’m open to heading off to look at something that seems interesting, or amending the list as I go on.  The main problem with the NC500 is that there is so much to see and do, that any attempt to do everything will lead to nothing more than insanity.

I bid farewell to the excellent Strathview Lodge and drive off down the overly steep drive.  As I do, Greatest Hits radio gives me a good start as they play “Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow”.  The lyric “Yesterday’s Gone” seems particularly appropriate and I take it as a good sign.  And talking of a good sign, as I drive past Loch Fleet, I see something that I hadn’t registered yesterday – a sign warning me about otters.  Presumably they cross here, or they have particular issues with Steve the Otter.  Whatever the reason, I don’t see any and I head towards Dunrobin Castle.

I arrive at the castle at 09:00 and park up in the completely empty car park – mainly because the castle doesn’t open until 10:00.  I decide not to wait – I have a lot to see before the Distillery Tour, so I get some photos around the outside and jump back in the car.

I head up the coast until I get to the village of Helmsdale.  This is a fishing village with a harbour, but I couldn’t park anywhere near it as the available spaces were all crammed full of motor homes.  Instead I park right back on the main road near the bridge which, I discover with some delight, is a Thomas Telford bridge.  I head across and up to the War memorial.  It’s sunny today but very windy – which I was assured this morning is a good thing as midges can’t cope with winds of over 8 miles per hour. 

I wander down into Helmsdale and find a very pretentious little history centre, which I decide not to look around.  I grab a few photos and head back to the car. 

I should point out that I’m worried that I’m going to lose anything that I take with the SLR.  But I want to take the opportunity to use it, so I’m doubling everything up, taking photos with both the SLR and the iPhone.  This results in some odd looks from people as they watch me taking photos with my iPhone while I have the SLR slung over my shoulder.  As I go on, I develop a strategy – SLR as I’m walking one way, iPhone while heading back.  I don’t want to risk losing the SLR pictures, so I’m just hoping the single memory card I have left will have enough capacity.  A friend has already said they may be able to recover my pictures from the first day, so I don’t want to play with the original memory card. 

When I get back to the car, it occurs to me that it’s actually very sunny and the wind has given me a false sense of solar security.  I put on some sun screen and then head off to Badbea…. And almost immediately have to pull over as sun screen gets into both eyes and it bloody hurts!  Having sorted it out, I head off.

Badbea is a clearance village.  This dates from the time when landowners (predominantly English) took crofters that were living on their lands and moved them all to villages on the coast.  This allowed greater grazing land for their sheep and the crofters were encouraged to take up exciting new careers in fishing and clinging to the side of cliffs.  I am expecting a good dose of English guilt and as I head down the tiny path to the memorial, I get a good look at a place that you can find in the dictionary under the word “bleak”. 

There is very little of the village left which clings on scrubland at the top of a cliff.  The sea dominates 180 degrees of the view and it’s clear there would be absolutely no shelter from any storms coming in.  It’s horrendous to think about people being forced to live here and completely understandable why most of these clearance villages no longer exist.

Off to something more fun – the Hill O’ Many Stanes.  I read several things about this saying how disappointed people where when they found it.  Finding it is a bit challenging as the layby bears all the hallmarks of being an entrance to a field and has room for 2 cars.  The hill is reached by a short walk and is exactly as described – it has a lot of stones on it.  These aren’t huge sarsens or dolmens, no, they are about a foot high at the most.  It looks as though someone saw one of the great Neolithic compounds and decided to reproduce it in miniature.  I stay there for longer than really needed out of sheer bloody-mindedness and then head on to what should be one of the highlights of the week.

The guidebook that I left in Slough waxed lyrical about the Whaligoe Steps.  These are (as the name suggests) a long set of steps that goes from the clifftop to the waters edge.  I am somewhat concerned about my fitness to get back up, but dammit, I’m going to give it a try!

Or I would have.

I find myself defeated by a combination of two things: (1) the satnav in the car; (2) the Scottish aversion to signs.  Firstly, the satnav doesn’t have the Whaligoe Steps on it.  It does have Whaligoe though, so I head that way confident that such a renowned tourist spot will be signposted.  Which brings us to secondly and the fact that the Scottish people don’t seem to like signs.  I drive down the main road and come to Whaligoe.  Here there is a crossroads with a very small road inland and what looks like a wider than normal drive towards the sea.  The way inland is signposted for a hillfort of some kind.  The other way has no sign at all.  All this I register as I sweep majestically past and the Satnav rather smugly tells me that I need to turn around.  The opportunity to do this doesn’t come for about a mile, but I head back, hoping to see the entrance that I have missed.  And again, I sweep majestically past.  On the third attempt, I turn inland, hoping to find somewhere to park up or a local person to speak to.  I find neither – and nor do I find the hillfort.  Finally, cursing the Scottish lack of signage I head off towards Wick.  Of course, I later find out that I should have driven down the unsigned driveway.

After that disappointment, surely it’s all uphill from here.  Sadly no, because my next stop is Wick.  There are various ways to describe Wick, and the one I’m going to select is “festering dung-hole”.  It has the problem that a lot of places have – everywhere on the High Street is closed.  But Wick has taken it to the level that makes it an art form.  Those places that remain have that “come in here so that we can slit your throat and turn you into pies” vibe about them.  Despite this I have a wander around and find that even Christ doesn’t want to come to Wick.  There is a Thomas Telford trail – which I don’t follow.  The best thing about Wick is that it’s easy to spell. 

Wick’s main claim to fame is that it has the shortest street in the world – which is significantly smaller than Mackay’s bistro where I’m having lunch. 

Ideally, I would move on – but I have a Distillery Tour booked and I’m over-nighting here, so I’m just going to have to put up with it.  I settle down in Mackay’s and wait for my soup and a sandwich – a cheese and chutney sandwich with Cullen Skink.  While I text a friend of mine about my Go-Pro issues, lunch arrives.  The Cullen Skink is excellent. 

This is a good time, to introduce my checklist of things that I want to see while I’m in Scotland:

• Haggis (tick – had some with breakfast)
• Whisky (tour later)
• Scotch pancakes
• Cullen Skink (tick)
• Kilt
• Highland coo (I had a potential sighting earlier, but I was driving too fast to be sure)
• Tam o’ Shanter
• Someone tossing a caber
• Someone called Morag
• Someone saying “och aye the noo”
• Cranachan
• A Capercaillie

Lunch is pretty good and is finished off with a strawberry and almond cake.  Is it enough to redeem Wick…no.

My friend has advised me that there is a phone shop on the benighted Wick High Street that has a good reputation.  So I head over there to see if I can get the cable I need.  I fight my way into the shop – literally, the door is stuck and I have to force it open.  I am then unable to shut it behind me.  I explain my problem and the assistant provides me with a suitable cable.  I then head out of the now insecure shop and back to the car to test the cable.  Immediately there is a problem.  The cable doesn’t fit in the same way that the other one did, so it’s impossible to mount the camera properly.  Despite this, I manage to get it plugged in and drive around Wick to see if I can make it work.  I successfully record some footage and then park up near my overnight accommodation to see if I can transfer it to my iPhone.  Which does exactly the same as it did to the SLRs memory card.  I later find out that this is a “feature” of Apple products.  But basically, the Go Pro experiment is over.

I head into the En-suite Rooms – which sound suitably impressive.  They aren’t.  The outside looks like a complete shit-hole – which fits very well into the general Wick ambience.  My instructions tell me to look for a numbered door – none of the doors have numbers.  The upside to this is that while I’m looking for the right door, I find a list of flat number and one of them is for someone called Morag (tick!)

Inside, the rooms are actually quite nice and well looked after.  This is some form of half board though and downstairs is a large communal area where they have provided tea and coffee – but no milk.  If I’d been expecting self-catering it wouldn’t have been too bad.  As it is, by the time I realise (which is much later) it’s too late.  The floors are all bare wood that creaks alarmingly as I walk across it.  I really hope that fact won’t become relevant later ….

Meanwhile, time to head off for the Pulteney Distillery Tour.  There are 5 of us on the tour – I am joined by two French guys and a German couple.  Jackie, our guide, gives us a great introduction to whisky making and then takes us on the tour.  She is informative and funny and the tour is superb.  Walking into the storage areas is amazing as the air is just filled with the smell of whisky. 

She takes us through the whole process, including introducing us to Mr and Mrs Fraser, the flying cats.  (Ok they’re seagulls, but they perform the same function as cats should – they keep the vermin under control).  Finally, Jackie takes us into the tasting room where she presents us with our complimentary whisky glass and a sample of two of the whiskies.  Then, into the retain opportunity where she plies us with several tiny samples.  Tiny – but potent!  She starts with the cask strength and works down from there.  As a result, my resolve to buy a £20 bottle is chipped away until I leave, weaving slightly, and clutching a bag with a £75 bottle of whisky in it.  Easily the best thing about Wick.

I stagger back to my room and then discover the lack of milk.  I consider going out to get some or even calling in a delivery, but the alcohol wins the battle and I drift happily off to sleep.  Until about 11:15, when the people on the floor above come home.  It would appear that they too have bare wooden floors which creak as though a pair of hippos was having a romantic entanglement in the room above.  Don’t worry, I’m sure they won’t be up in the middle of the night …